A Deadly Feast

by Lucy Burdette

  “Is this a busy time for the police department?” Allison asked, taking a sip of her wine and nodding her approval at my father’s selection.

  “Ordinarily, not so much,” Nathan said. “We often have a lull before and then right after Thanksgiving, leading up to Christmas. And New Year’s, which is one of the busiest times of the year.” He explained how visitors to the island came in waves, usually based on the weather and special events. And this meant visitor shenanigans and crime came in waves, too. And during these high times, extra law enforcement types came in from out of town, and all that took some managing too.

  “We chose Friday after Thanksgiving for the wedding, thinking it would be a downtime,” I said. “But Nathan’s bad guys aren’t cooperating. And the tourists aren’t either. I nearly got mowed down by a gaggle of scooters that ran the red light on Eaton and Duval. And none of the walkers pay a lick of attention to those lights—I guess we should all bow down to their vacations.”

  “There’s so much to see in this town,” Allison said. “It’s hard to pay attention to the necessary details of life. Which folks in your family will we get to meet this weekend?”

  An uncomfortable silence fell over the table. Finally Nathan said, “No one. My parents got divorced about seven years ago, and my mother hasn’t been the same since, I’m afraid.”

  Allison looked mortified. “So sorry to hear that.”

  “Miss Gloria had quite a conversation with your mother,” I told Nathan, my eyebrows peaking. I wasn’t going to spill all the dirt about Mrs. Bransford in front of my family, but I kind of wanted Nathan to squirm a little. “She can’t wait to meet all of us. But she’s not able to make the wedding.” He flashed a strained smile.

  After another ten minutes of chitchat about the weather in New Jersey, Rory’s sports schedule, and a polite inquiry about my mother’s catering business, Nathan announced that he had to leave. “I’m very sorry to miss dinner, but I feel certain there will be more opportunities in the future.” He squeezed my wrist and gave me a kiss, and then stood up to kiss Allison on the cheek. He shook my father’s hand, another mano a mano display, and chucked his fist into Rory’s shoulder. “Until tomorrow,” he said.

  “I’ll walk you out,” I said, getting to my feet and moving toward him.

  “Stay with your family,” he said, hugging me. “You don’t get to see them very often.” Then he lowered his voice. “Can we possibly do the rehearsing thing Friday morning instead of tomorrow? I’m afraid I’ll be out all night again tonight, so I’d love to get some sleep.”

  “Excuse me a minute,” I said to my family, and to Nathan, sweetly but firmly, “I’ll walk you out.”

  “What about Thanksgiving dinner?” I said, once we’d walked across the patio by the pool back to the hotel. “Are you going to be able to make it?”

  “Of course I’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss it. I’ve already checked with Steve and your mother about moving the rehearsal, and it’s fine with their schedules.”

  “You checked with them first?” I couldn’t keep my hands from dropping to my hips.

  “I didn’t want to make you crazy for no reason, if either of them couldn’t switch.” He had a funny expression on his face, half impish, half imploring.

  I wasn’t thrilled about this change—in fact, I was both irritated and unsettled. But I remembered the conversation we’d had with Steve Torrence about learning to be a cop’s wife. Flexibility and communication were key. It would not do to pitch a fit the first—or second—time something didn’t go exactly to my plan.

  “Did you get my note about the antidepressant Audrey Cohen might have been taking?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said, squinting. “I passed that along.”

  I wanted to ask him what he was doing at the strip club, but I felt nervous about bringing it up. “What really goes on in the Buoys’ Club?” I asked. “I jogged by the place this morning, and it registered for the first time. I don’t think I’d ever really thought about it, except as kind of an island joke about visitors too dumb to watch their credit cards. Is it just tourists and naked dancing women?”

  His entire body seemed to grow rigid. “Why do you want to know?” he asked. “What could this possibly have to do with you?”

  “I met Eric at the dog park this morning, and he mentioned that they knew a woman who went to work there. He seemed so sad about it. And that got me wondering.”

  He took both of my hands in his and looked directly into my eyes, as if he knew I wasn’t telling him everything. “You saw the TV show The Sopranos, right?”

  “Yes, Tony ran his crime business out of the Bada Bing. But that wasn’t a real place.” I could see he was getting upset. But I couldn’t tell the truth without telling him I’d been snooping around his car and had seen Ziggy’s stuff. And he was in a hurry, and we didn’t have time to have a blowout and then sort out both our feelings.

  “It’s not a nice place,” he said. “Let’s talk about this after the wedding, OK?” he asked. “Please. For now, just stay away from that place. I know you’re softhearted and I love that about you. But it’s not good people there, and you could get hurt.”

  I kissed him again. “OK. I’ll be glad when this case or stakeout or whatever you’re calling it is over so we have time to talk. About your family, too. No one is coming, right?”

  “Obviously you’ve already talked to my mother.” He glowered a little. “My grandma wasn’t up for the trip.” A look of pain flitted over his face. “I promised we’d visit her after the wedding. You’ll like her, and I know she’ll like you. I spent every afternoon after school at her house. She baked a mean cookie.”

  “If she helped raise you, how could I not love her?”

  “My father is a no,” Nathan said. He had a grim set to his lips, bending the usually soft curves into steel lines. “He’s mule-stubborn. I’ve been told I take after him that way too. I promise we’ll have the rest of our lives to figure this all out,” Nathan added. “You can talk until you’re hoarse. And I will listen like the big lovesick dope that I am.” He hugged me close and hard and then wheeled away.

  I returned to my family, where my father was watching Nathan disappear into the lobby of the Casa Marina. “What did you say he’s working on?” he asked, turning back to me.

  “I don’t think she did say,” said Allison, nudging him in the ribs.

  I shrugged. “I didn’t because I haven’t a clue, which makes sense if he’s working on something top secret. He can’t be leaking the details to me and my family.”

  “I bet it’s a sting,” Rory said, his eyes lighting up. “Did you see the episode on Live PD where the night-shift cops were hiding from the bad guy in a boat? And it turned out he had accomplices and the good guys got ambushed. And one of them was shot and started to bleed out—”

  “Rory!” Allison said. “Enough about that show. This is Key West, not La La Land.”

  “Yeah,” Rory said, sinking from excitement back into a teenage slump. “Nothing happens here. Nothing bad, that is. Nothing fun.”

  The muscles around my father’s mouth tightened, as if he was on the verge of reminding his stepson that he would have died last time he visited had we not rescued him. But Allison squeezed his arm and he remained silent.

  “Right,” I said, feeling glum too, but trying not to sound that way. “Nothing except murders and kidnapping and drug runners from South America—”

  “Do you think he’d take me on a ride along?” Rory interrupted.

  “Rory,” my father said, “get that out of your mind. You aren’t going on a ride along with anyone but us.”

  “He thinks he’s too old to feel this way, but he’s very excited that you’re marrying a police officer,” Allison explained.

  “I’m sure we can arrange a visit to the station,” I told Rory. “Nathan or my friend Steve Torrence could show you the command center and the gym and one of the patrol cars. We’ll make sure to fit that in.”

  �
�Where are we eating tonight?” Allison asked.

  She was a marginal cook, despite being an accomplished chemist. But contrary to what I’d told Palamina, she did share my love for eating, even if she wasn’t obsessed as my mother and I were. In the end, her kindness and warmth toward my father and me and the rest of the family were all that mattered.

  “I made a reservation at Santiago’s Bodega tonight. They always have lots of choices and we don’t have to share the dishes unless we want to. I was thinking I’d follow you over on my scooter so I can stop at Mom’s on the way home.”

  “How is your mother doing?” my father asked.

  “She’s blossomed down here,” I said. “At first when she told me she was planning to start a business in town, I wasn’t so thrilled.”

  “This was your adventure, after all,” said Allison with a smile.

  I nodded. “But she’s so busy and so happy, and Sam seems happy, too. You’ll like him,” I added, thinking my father would like him. If he allowed himself to relax and not let the weight of his own past mistakes color his view.

  “Let us know if we can help with dinner tomorrow, too,” Allison said.

  “You’re already on the hook for wine for both dinner and the reception,” I said. “That’s all we could possibly ask. Nathan feels uncomfortable about even that much.”

  “We wanted to help you celebrate,” Allison said, and my father made noises of agreement. “He’s still your father”—she pointed to my dad—“and you are his one and only daughter. And we all three love you to the moon.”

  I blew him a kiss, and then another to her. “We should get going. It’s probably a busy night for eating out, and I’d hate to lose our table.”

  “Can we swing by the Sunset Celebration on the way to dinner?” Rory asked.

  It wasn’t exactly on the way, but if we parked a couple of blocks away and took a quick tour through the performers, we would still be on time. And if Rory was enthused about anything in Key West, I hated to discourage him.

  Mallory Square, where street performers and visitors gather to salute the sunset, was crowded with tourists, but not so packed that I couldn’t hear the voices of seagulls flying overhead. My mouth watered at the smells of popcorn and conch fritters and the scent of crushed mint wafting from the bars. With a plan to meet back at the street in ten minutes, we left Rory and my father admiring a man juggling fire on a high wire. Allison and I headed to Lorenzo’s booth, recognizable by its brightly colored umbrella, a deep-blue tablecloth dotted with silver stars and moons, and a beautiful lamp that might have been at home in my grandmother’s living room. Lorenzo was dressed in a white dress shirt and plaid tie, his dark hair curling in the humid air.

  He recognized Allison instantly and got up to greet her warmly. Then he gave me a hug too. “We don’t have time for a reading,” I said. “We just stopped by to wish you happy Thanksgiving. We’ll see you on the beach?”

  “Would not miss that occasion for the world,” he said with a grin.

  “Where are you having Thanksgiving?” Allison asked.

  “I’m not celebrating this year,” he said, after a slight pause.

  “You don’t believe in Thanksgiving?” she asked.

  “I don’t have anything against it; it’s just the stars didn’t align this year. Sometimes that happens and it’s OK, really.” He adjusted the knot on his tie and flicked at an invisible spot on his white shirt.

  I suspected that meant he hadn’t been invited to join anyone’s dinner table. Allison must’ve had the same thought at the same time. I gave her a little nod.

  “Why don’t you come to Hayley’s mom’s tomorrow? Honestly, this family always prepares more food than anyone can eat. And if they’re willing to invite the ex-husband and the wicked stepmother to the Thanksgiving table, they couldn’t resist including you.”

  We all laughed, and I chimed in: “Absolutely, please come. My mother would be furious to know you were eating by yourself and we hadn’t done anything to fix that. You know what she’s like. She loves you to pieces.”

  “I do know. And I thank you.” He crossed his hands over his chest and bowed his head. “What time, and what shall I bring?”

  “Nothing to bring, and five o’clock.” I reminded him of my mother’s address on Noah Lane, and we headed back to the car and my scooter.

  Chapter Eighteen

  If there’s one thing you should cut from your diet, it’s fear.

  —Aaron E. Carroll, “You Don’t Need to ‘Eat Clean,’ ” The New York Times, November 5, 2017

  After a fabulous dinner of spanakopita, skewered shrimp and chorizo, beef tenderloin with blue cheese butter, and the veggies and salad Allison had chosen at Santiago’s, I got on my scooter and drove the back way to my mother and Sam’s home. These streets took me past the corner of the Naval Air Station, housing an old artillery bunker that I’d heard contained remnants of missiles from the sixties’ Cuban Missile Crisis, abandoned brick buildings near the new city park that formerly functioned as a Keys Energy coal-burning plant, and then into the southern end of the Truman Annex. The City of Key West had agreed to buy those brick buildings for practically nothing. As often happened with those decisions, the buildings still sat empty while officials argued over their proper use, and the money it would require to rehabilitate them, and then what to do with them after they’d spent gobs of taxpayer cash on the purchase.

  This end of the island was eerily quiet during nighttime hours—a little spooky unless a concert was scheduled in the new city amphitheater. I was glad to pull in front of my mother’s place in the peaceful Annex neighborhood. I knocked and then let myself in. The house smelled delectable, so I made a beeline for the kitchen. Two trays of biscuits were cooling on the center island, but there was no sign of my mother or Sam. I broke off a piece of one of the biscuits that had obviously been taste-tested and popped a little corner of it into my mouth. It was light and flaky and tasted like pumpkin or more likely sweet potato with the faintest hint of cinnamon, followed by a late kick of cayenne pepper—and loads of butter.

  I traced the sound of classical music and found my mom and Sam enjoying a glass of wine on the back deck. They were reclined on side-by-side lounge chairs, holding hands.

  “Sorry to barge in—I just wanted to check in and see how things are going,” I said. “Your biscuits are killer good.”

  “Thanks. New recipe. Get a glass and have a nightcap with us,” Sam said, swinging his legs off the chair and beginning to get to his feet.

  “No, no, I just wanted to touch base.”

  “How was your dinner? And how did Nathan and your father get on?” my mother asked.

  “Dinner was great. Something for everyone. As for Nathan and Dad—” I shrugged my shoulders. “The little time we spent together, they seemed to be fine. Then Nathan had to go back to work, so he couldn’t have dinner with us after all. He’s on some top-secret undercover mission.”

  I could hear my voice hovering between annoyance and worry, neither of which I wanted to pass on to my mother. She had enough on her plate without fretting over my husband-to-be. “We stopped at Sunset on the way to dinner, and I wanted to let you know we invited Lorenzo for Thanksgiving. It’s a little late to be asking, but is that OK?”

  “Of course,” my mother said. “We adore Lorenzo. There’s always a place for him at the table.”

  “Thanks.” I grimaced. “I also invited Palamina because her beau dumped her. She won’t eat much,” I added quickly. “I should have checked with you first—”

  “Absolutely no problem,” said Sam. “It’s Thanksgiving, a time to celebrate family and welcome people who don’t have as much to celebrate as we do. And besides, Connie and Ray had to cancel because the baby is sick. Palamina hasn’t tasted our food. Maybe we can tempt her into overeating on turkey day like the rest of us.”

  “Maybe. She’s a tough sell.”

  “What else?” my mother asked, studying my face. “You look bothered.”<
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  “We’ve moved the wedding rehearsal to Friday morning instead of tomorrow,” I said. “Nathan was afraid he’d be up all night and that would be the only time he could rest.”

  “Perfect,” my mother said, not letting on that she’d already approved the change. “That actually works better for the turkey and a million other things. But you’re the one getting married. Is it OK with you?”

  I puffed out some air. “None of this is my favorite way to run a wedding. But since I’m going to be married to a cop, I figure I’d better get used to adjusting.”

  “That works for every marriage,” Sam said, drawing my mother into a hug and then blowing me a kiss.

  After bidding them good-night, I buzzed back up island to our pier. The sound of sixties rock music drifted across the water from the boat next to Miss Gloria’s best friend Mrs. Dubisson’s boat. A new couple had moved into that big blue boat at the end of the pier, and they loved a party. The fairy lights on our houseboat were twinkling a friendly welcome. As I got off the bike and lifted it onto its stand, our next-door neighbor, Mrs. Renhart, returned from her nighttime walk with her elderly Schnauzer.

  She picked up Schnootie and squeezed her close to her chest. “It looks like you finally got someone to work on that old tub,” she said. “Let’s hope they last longer than the other fellows.”

  She smiled a little, and I imagined this was her attempt at friendly pre-holiday conversation. “I get a good feeling from these contractors,” I said. “Thanks for noticing. And that reminds me to put some lights up on that boat before Friday. Are you sure you won’t change your mind and come to the wedding?”

  Not that I was dying to have her and her curmudgeon husband in attendance, but it had seemed too sad not to send them an invite.