Forever’s Just Pretend: A Hector Lassiter novel (Hector Lassiter series Book 2)

by Craig McDonald

  Chewing his lip, the man kept watching the little blond girl and her parents now frolicking in the sand and creaming surf.

  2

  Hector Lassiter stood at the corner of Truman Avenue and Windsor Lane, staring up at the twin spires of St. Mary, Star of the Sea Catholic Church. His mouth was dry and his stomach unsettled. He pressed his hand to his belly, surprised by his own nervousness. A woman approached. She was pushing a baby carriage. Hector smiled distractedly at her as he stepped off the sidewalk to make room for mother and baby to pass.

  Babies, family… houses?

  Right.

  The last time he had seen Brinke Devlin had been the previous February on a cold night in Paris. February had been blustery in the City of Lights that year, and when it wasn’t raining, it was nearly always snowing. This February Florida evening the temperature was still in the high seventies, very humid, and Hector’s white cotton shirt clung to his back.

  Hector looked up a last time at the twin crosses topping the church, a hopeful man convinced he was without faith. Churches, for Hector, for some reason, were places he wrote in.

  He stepped into the shadow of the church’s canopied entrance and tugged at the door.

  ***

  A lone woman sat in a back pew. A single candle flickered in a small alcove.

  The woman’s hair was blue-black and just brushed her shoulders. In Paris Brinke had worn her hair almost as short as his own, cut in fact by Hector’s Parisian barber.

  Now she wore a white dress, the straps glowing against her bare, bronzed shoulders. She heard his footfalls on tile and took a deep breath, squaring those proud, brown shoulders. Without turning her head to look back, the voice he remembered, the voice that dogged him so many days and in dreams since last February, said, “Please, God, it better be Hector.”

  He placed his hands on her shoulders and squeezed. Her hands closed over his. Hector leaned down to kiss the dark down on the back of her neck.

  He slid into the pew next to Brinke and cupped her chin. She hugged him to her so tightly it robbed him of breath. They kissed, long and hard. He touched her breasts through her dress. Their tongues were in one another’s mouths. She leaned back, stretching out across the pew and pulling at her skirt, urging him on top as she fumbled with his belt buckle.

  “We can’t here,” he said.

  Her breath on his neck. “We can. There’s been nobody by for the hour I’ve sat here.”

  Brinke wasn’t wearing anything under her dress. She spread her legs and pulled his pants down around his thighs. “Hurry, Hector,” she said. “Please.”

  ***

  After, she led him a short distance from the church and down to a small strip of beach. She slipped out of her dress and walked naked into the water. Hector shed his clothes and followed her in.

  The sand quickly subsided to rock and shells that hurt underfoot so they swam back closer to the shore and made love again in the water. They climbed back up onto the sand; his knees were still trembling. They stretched out naked in the shade next to the haphazard pile of their clothes, close by an old banyan tree. “We’ll be okay here, like this,” she said. “I swim here every day.”

  Hector smiled, squinting against the sun. “Just like this? Nobody else comes here?”

  “Not so far. And people wouldn’t care. Probably most swim naked.”

  Hector noticed then her lack of tan lines. Brinke said, “It’s seemed like forever. I can hardly believe you’re here, Hector.”

  “I had to come,” he said. “There was never any question of that.”

  That knowing smile of hers he loved. “Of course there was. You’re the kind who always has options.”

  He shook his head. “No. Not when you said that I’d find you here. There was no choosing then.”

  ***

  Across the Key, the man on the patio checked his watch and took a deep breath.

  The little blond girl and her parents were packing up for the evening.

  That child was balling up everything for him. Kid was wrecking all his dark and bloody plans.

  Still.

  The man drained his lemonade, made a sour face, then rose and stretched. He walked around the end of the hotel to his car to begin his preparations.

  3

  They were sitting on the patio behind the restaurant, looking out across another small, short beach at the setting sun.

  Brinke said, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it, darling? Sunsets here are an event. It’s as if everyone stops to watch the sun slip away, regardless of how long they’ve lived here.”

  “It’s the berries, for sure, just truly gorgeous,” Hector said. Orchids hung in baskets from the latticed roof of the patio’s enclosure. The salt air was scented with hyacinth. Gulls squawked overhead. From somewhere, Hector heard a Nighthawk call.

  He smiled, watching his lover eat. Brinke’s insatiable appetite hadn’t changed since he’d last seen her. He’d often wondered how this slender, athletic woman could maintain her fetching figure with her linebacker’s capacity to put away the grub. Brinke had already made short work of her own swordfish with almonds and sautéed spinach. She was helping herself to spoonfuls of Hector’s conch chowder and bites of his Sicilian-style swordfish. The fish had been rolled in breadcrumbs and then grilled with olive oil. The fish was crunchy around the edges and smoky tasting.

  “Yummy,” Brinke said. “Damn, I should have had this.”

  “You are now,” Hector said, smiling and scooting his dish closer to her side of the table. “God, you still eat like two of me.”

  She shrugged and said, “How long have you been in Key West, Hector?”

  “Came in on the train this morning. Been walkin’ around since and getting a feel for the place. It’s everything you said a year ago. God, how I love it. How long have you been here?”

  “Since before Christmas,” Brinke said. “Before that, it was a lot of running and weaving. Making sure everyone but you believed me dead. Making sure that horrid, murderous woman Estelle wasn’t on my heels. I wanted to get down to this island knowing we could be safe here. Serenity of certainty, you know? It’s the perfect place for us, beautiful, bohemian and off all the tourist maps.”

  Brinke leaned across the table, crossing her bare, bronzed arms, studying him. “And look at you, you’re already tanning. Me? I went straight to sunburn my first day here. You look wonderful. Even handsomer than I remembered.”

  He reached across and squeezed her hand. “You are the looker. I like your hair longer like this.”

  “I was going to grow it out even more, but in this climate?” She squeezed his leg under the table. “You know conch’s an aphrodisiac?”

  “So I’ve heard,” Hector said. He smiled. “But we won’t need that kind of help. We haven’t so far.”

  “It has been a year,” she said, smiling. “But a week from now? Maybe then…?”

  “Nothing will have changed. We have forever now.”

  Brinke smiled sadly and shook her head. “Forever is just pretend, Hector.”

  He said, “We’ll just have to see about that. Where are you staying?”

  Brinke hesitated, then took the plunge. “My last two novels have been doing gangbusters, really selling like daiquiris in hell, so I took the earnings from those two books and bought us a pretty little love nest.” She studied his face again. Evidently encouraged by what she saw there, she was emboldened to press on. “It’s on the corner of Green Street and Elizabeth. You can see the ocean from the front window. Real estate is crazy here in Florida right now, Hector, and getting ready to boom even more, they say. It’s a great investment.” She bit her lip. “Have I scared you buying us a love nest, Hec?”

  “You, the nomad, bought a house?” Hector could hardly believe what he was hearing. Brinke was the consummate globetrotter. He bit his lip, watching her. Well, well.

  “We promised one another so much in Paris a year ago,” Brinke said. The candlelight flickered in her charcoal eyes.
“All this time apart has only made me goofier for you. A real Dumb Dora. I mean to keep my vows, darling.” She put down her fork and squeezed his hand. “So what about you?” She was holding her breath.

  “I’m here,” Hector said.

  “We made another promise, remember, Hector? A promise about vows. Remember?”

  “I proposed. I remember just fine. I asked you for a trip up the middle aisle and meant it.”

  “And I accepted.” She held up her left hand. The candlelight caught the diamond in her ring. “I still have this. I’ve never taken it off. The only tan line on my body now. But are you still sure? You’ve always seemed so proud and protective of your solitude. In Paris, you were always declaring yourself solo lobo and pleased and proud to be that way. At least to all appearances.”

  “Playing the lone wolf was souring, even back then,” he said. “You can only make yourself your own mark for so long before it becomes your life or plays out very badly. Let’s get that ring a mate.”

  Brinke smiled and squeezed his hand harder. “When?”

  “Just as soon as you can arrange it. That church, St. Mary, Star of the Sea—why not get married there? Do it lickety-split?”

  “You mean that, darling?”

  “No second thoughts,” he said.

  Something was flicking further down the shoreline, an orange glow, shuddering and pulsing in the dying light.

  The waiter was suddenly looming at Hector’s elbow. Hector raised his empty glass and said, “Another of these, whatever the hell it was. Sucker hit the spot.”

  “A mojito,” their young Cuban waiter said. The waiter added, “May I get you anything else?”

  “A bowl of gazpacho,” Hector said. “I find myself still strangely hungry.”

  Brinke smirked at Hector, then smiled at their waiter. “Two slices of Key Lime pie, too.”

  The waiter nodded and moved to take his leave. Brinke caught his arm. She pointed at the glow down the beach. “Any idea what that is?”

  The young man nodded. “A fire. The hotel down the beach is burning down.”

  Brinke bit her lip, nodding. “Another hotel fire?”

  The waiter nodded. “It was very old and in poor condition. All made of wood. It was bound to happen sometime. Some rummy probably fell asleep, smoking in bed.” He raised his arms. “Whoosh!”

  When the waiter was gone, Hector said, “This hotel isn’t the first to burn down?”

  “No,” Brinke said. “There have been several fires lately. Some suspected to be arson. That’s the mixed blessing of this island. It’s beautiful, remote…” She ran her fingers back through her black, wind-whipped hair. “But lately, this island is rather dangerous, too.”

  4

  They stood naked on the beach under the stars, brushing sand off one another’s backs and backsides, waiting for the balmy night air to dry their skin from their swim so they could dress again.

  “See that,” Brinke said, pointing at the sky. “It’s the Crux. Key West is the only place in the United States where you can see it.”

  Looking up, Hector said, “Crux?”

  “The Southern Cross,” Brinke said, shivering.

  He wrapped his arms around her. “Ah. What’s that light?”

  “It’s the lighthouse.”

  Hector nodded. “And that one?”

  “The burning hotel, I think,” Brinke said. “Terrible. Like I told you, fire is a deadly serious thing here. Nearly all the houses are all-wood construction, and many are built very close to one another. So they roofed the houses with tin so the sparks have a harder time jumping from one burning house to a neighboring roof.”

  “Is your house built close?” Hector zipped up his pants and shrugged on his shirt.

  “Our house, and you’ll see soon enough,” Brinke said. “At least it’s away from this blaze. Two years ago, there was another terrible fire, Hec. It happened around Whitehead Street, in twenty-three. Forty-three houses were destroyed. Forty families left homeless.”

  “So they’re rebuilding?” She turned her back to him and he zipped Brinke’s dress.

  “Sure, but not rebuilding them for those burnt-out families. The property is worth too much now for that.” Brinke rested her head on Hector’s shoulder. “Whatever that is burning down over there will be some speculator’s boon tomorrow, likely. If it is old, insurance will never cover costs for new construction. The landowner will be given some offer he can’t possibly turn down, and in a month, there will be some new hotel or resort space under construction. Wait and see.” She kissed his arm. “We should probably head home now, yes?”

  Hector nodded. “Surely want to. But my stuff’s still at the train station. Just need to make a call and tell ’em where to deliver it.” He held Brinke’s hand to steady her as she slipped on her shoes.

  “We’ll call from a hotel, our place doesn’t have a phone yet,” Brinke said. She kissed him again, then reached into her purse. She pulled out a Navy Colt and handed it to Hector. “You better carry this. You really know guns like this. You should probably give me lessons soon.”

  Hector hefted the gun, cold suddenly. “What in God’s name is this iron for?”

  “Protection,” Brinke said, frowning. “As I said, nights here get a little rowdy. And there have been some other bad things happening. Women raped. All of them attacked and then beaten to death.”

  “Christ Almighty,” Hector said. “What the hell is going on on this rock?”

  Brinke nodded. “The question everyone is asking. We’ll talk more about that later. Right now, I just want to get you home and naked again.”

  ***

  It was a small white house, one lot away from the corner. It had a sheltered front porch with a chair swing dangling from its eaves. As Brinke had promised, from the front of the house the view included a patch of ocean. With the windows open, in the quiet of the night, Hector guessed one might just hear the waves slapping coral.

  “It has an extra bedroom. That room could be made into a nursery,” Brinke said. She shrugged her bare shoulders. “If we want to go that way.”

  Hector said, “If?”

  Brinke shrugged again. She arched an eyebrow. “When?”

  Hector tried to read her expression, made a guess, then said, “No, let’s stay with if.”

  Brinke stroked his lower back through his damp shirt. “Right. What do you think?”

  The house had a New England air about it, and its tin roof was painted hunter green. The lot was shaded front and back with tall old palm trees. He could smell the tang of the ocean.

  “It’s perfect,” Hector said. “Really jake.”

  “You can be happy here?”

  “With you here with me? It’s going to be idyllic. I already love it.”

  In the distance, Hector heard a scream; what sounded like a police whistle—men yelling. Perhaps a gunshot.

  Brinke took his hand. “Probably just bell bottoms or spongers on some drunken tear. Just another Saturday night in Key West, darling. Now come inside with me.”

  ***

  Hector lay sprawled on the damp sheets, struggling to catch his breath as the oscillating fans on either side of the room caressed them.

  Brinke’s cheek was pressed to his belly, her head rising and falling with his ragged breath. He raked his fingers through her damp black hair. He said, “Why in God’s name are you carrying a gun, darling?”

  “You snuck around with a gun, last year in Paris. That big old Colt of yours.” The old 1873 Peacemaker was in Hector’s steamer trunk, in fact, oiled and wrapped in soft cloth and tucked between some shirts. Hector thought of the old, dying fiction writer who’d gifted him that gun so many years ago on the far side of the Mexican border. Poor, wicked Ambrose Bierce—dying alone and far from family who, admittedly, hadn’t struck a young Hector as particularly close to the old man’s dark heart.

  Hector stroked Brinke’s hip. “Sure, but I’m me. You didn’t carry a gun in Paris. What’s goin’ on?” />
  She brushed a thick comma of hair from over his right eye. “I told you, things here are dangerous lately. Some pretty terrible things have been happening around here.”

  Hector, still stroking her body, said, “You mean all these fires?”

  “And murders, Hector. Quite a few of those, too.”

  “Murders? What the hell?”

  “Vicious slayings. Senseless killings, on face. Then there are these fires. Most think the arsons and the murders are linked in some way.”

  “Brinke, you’re not poking into these crimes, are you? Your penchant for playing detective is what cost us what could have been our first wedding anniversary this month.”

  “It’s different this time, Hector. This isn’t just some other country I’m passing through, soaking up color for another mystery novel. This is home, now. This is our place, yes?”

  Hector combed his fingers through her hair. “Yeah, well, Europe is pretty balled up about now, too, Brinke. Did you hear that bastard Mussolini has turned Italy into a dictatorship?”

  “Don’t change the subject, Hec. Point is, this is the place we’re going to live. This is home now.”

  “Brinke…”

  Her chin was pressing into his belly. She said softly, “The fires apart, it’s women being killed. Raped, then murdered, like I told you. Beaten to death with baseball bats. The papers have given the killer a spooky name. They call him the Key West Clubber. It’s giving all the women on the island the heebie-jeebies. You can count me among the terrified.”

  “For God’s sake.”

  “Lurid, I know, but it sells papers, Hec. All these crazy, bloody scream headlines.”

  “And it could sell books aplenty,” Hector said. “Dark novels. Could be fodder for the next Bud Grant crime novel, couldn’t it?” Bud Grant was Brinke’s new penname, one Hector had coined for her. Brinke had this perplexing impulse, drawing on her life to feed her fiction.

  She raked her nails through his chest hair. “No, Hector. I learned my lesson last year. Learned it very well and at a too-stiff price, as we both know. I’m not going to write about anything happening here. But I have… skills. I have them, and so do you. I can see that very clearly, now. It’s wrong for us not to use those talents to set things right here in our new home.”