Lost Key

by Chris Niles

  Melodic steel drums faded as she crossed the small, crushed-gravel parking lot. Warm, humid air hung heavy and still. Just another week or two, then the heat would break, leaving the locals about six weeks of pleasant weather before the snowbirds began to migrate south to their campers and condos. The money they brought with them made life in the Keys possible for most of the residents — there was little industry there that didn’t spring from tourism in some way or another. But the footprint the interlopers left behind every spring lingered longer each year. The newspaper was filled with stories of drunken tourists befouling their island paradise, and the streets were littered with yesterday’s newspaper.

  At first, the Keys were simply a place for Kate to escape, and she had come to love the quiet haven she’d found. The idea of a bully taking this spot to build another gaudy money-trap and running out native Conchs like Chuck was appalling. But Kate had come to the Keys to avoid drama, not to get mired down in someone else’s problems. She’d seen enough trouble on the mainland to last her a lifetime. And then some.

  She picked up a chunk of driftwood and held it up in front of Whiskey.

  “What do you think, buddy? Our home sweet home isn’t going much of anywhere. Maybe we pack what can fit in the car and just start driving? Feel like a road trip, boy?” She tossed the wood toward their dock. Whiskey bolted after it. He met her halfway across the parking lot, and she tossed it again, landing it on the dock a few feet from where Serenity’s stern line was tied off. The boat sat low in the water below the dock, leaning a little as the port side hull scraped the shallow bottom on an extraordinarily low spring tide.

  The dog ran for the driftwood but pulled up short, his hair bristling and a deep growl forming in his chest. Kate drew up behind him. In the shadows of the full moon, she noticed a form settled into one of the folding chairs on the deck outside her door.

  She patted the dog on the neck. “Can I help you?”

  As she drew closer, she saw a walking cliché — the Hollywood version of a New Jersey mobster in all his Godfather glory. He was thin and swarthy, with dark, slicked back hair and a chunky gold chain. Instead of the ubiquitous pinstriped suit, he wore a tacky Hawaiian shirt. But it was the way he moved that told her he wasn’t a wannabe. The man held himself like every enforcer she’d met covering organized crime back in New York.

  Crap.

  “If you’re here about the dog …”

  He stood then took a step forward.

  Whiskey quivered beside Kate, anticipating his release command.

  “Stay.”

  The dog held in place in the parking lot, watching closely as Kate approached the man standing on her boat. She stopped on the dock near the stern cleat.

  “Thing’s a menace.” He rubbed his arm as if he’d been the one Whiskey bit. “Mr. Baumann has every right to report him and have him put down.”

  “But he won’t.”

  “We haven’t decided that yet.”

  Kate looked him up and down. “Yes, you have. Your boss doesn’t want any more attention on his business than I want on mine. That’s why you’re here and not the cops. So let’s settle this now. Why are you trespassing on my boat?”

  “I just came by to share a little friendly advice. Stay out of Chuck Miller’s problems.” He stepped over the transom then climbed up onto the dock. “You seem like a nice young woman. I’d hate to see anything happen to you or your sweet little pooch over there.”

  “I appreciate your concern. But my relationship with Mr. Miller is not yours to worry about. And you might want to reconsider that threat.”

  “Threat? No one is threatening anyone here. I love animals.” He took a step toward Kate.

  Whiskey launched down the dock and flew at the man. The intruder anticipated the attack and spun off just before the dog made contact. Whiskey’s momentum carried him across the dock and into the water of the empty slip beside Serenity. Whiskey scuffled to get a foothold, but he was stuck in the water and out of the fight.

  Kate planted her feet and dropped her weight lower. “You need to leave.”

  The man laughed. “I recommend you go ahead and start packing. You won’t have a slip for much longer, and this bucket ain’t goin’ nowhere, darlin.”

  “Go.”

  “Or what? You’ll make me? Is this middle school?”

  “Go.”

  The intruder shrugged, then charged toward Kate. Just as he reached her, she ducked and spun out of his path. Grabbing his arm, she leapt to her feet. His body twisted, landing face down on the dock, his arm wrenched behind him. She dropped her full weight to her knee planted in the small of his back.

  “Interesting.” His voice was muffled by the rough wooden boards. He powered his body up with his free arm and stood, flinging Kate onto her back. She tucked, rolled backwards, then bounced back up onto her feet. Whiskey barked as he swam around the end of the dock to the shoreline.

  “It’s okay, boy. I’ve got this.”

  The man laughed. Then he charged her, grabbed her by the throat, pressed his thumbs against her airway.

  The force of his charge pushed Kate backward. With only a few seconds to break free from the man’s powerful grip, Kate dropped her weight onto her back foot. Crossed her arms. Swooped them up between his. She twisted her hands in front of his face, pressed her arms out and down to break his hold. In one fluid arc, she circled her arms around then clapped her open hands against his ears.

  He buckled.

  Kate slammed her knee upward into his gut. He dropped down hard on the wood planks. Grabbed his head with one hand and his belly with the other, struggling to suck in a breath.

  Training dictated the next step was to run and scream for help, but she never expected anyone else to fight her battles for her. She backed down the dock. When her heel hit the first concrete step, she climbed up onto the more solid ground of the seawall. Whiskey pulled himself out of the water then crouched beside her, growling, the salt water dripping from his fur.

  While she and Whiskey huddled together panting, she managed a demand between gasping breaths. “You need to leave.”

  The man reached into his pocket then waved a sand-colored handle. His thumb flicked a lever, releasing a four-inch blade that snapped into place.

  Whiskey froze, mid-growl.

  The man grinned at Kate. “I’ll leave when I’m ready.”

  He leapt up the two steps to the seawall.

  Kate dropped and spun, grabbing his wrist as he came at her. She pushed his arm across his body and crossed her foot in front of his. As the man struggled for balance, Kate clenched her right fingers into a fist then swung. Her knuckles landed against the side of his face three times before he planted his back foot against her weight.

  She clutched his wrist with both hands then twisted it backwards. Dropping low and using her body for leverage, she jammed his forearm up into a wrist lock, twisting him onto his back and forcing the knife from his hand. Kate rammed the handle of the knife down into his face. He grabbed his nose with both hands as he rolled onto his side. Blood gushed between his fingers.

  Kate kicked him once in the ribs, then backed into the parking lot. “Leave. Now.”

  He struggled to his feet. Tugged his shirt over his head to mop the blood from his face. “Dumb bitch. I wanted to give you a chance to get out of this. But you’ve chosen your side. Better watch yourself.”

  She shifted behind a car as he gingerly moved through the parking lot. Once he passed her, she stepped back down to the seawall then crouched beside Whiskey, still frozen in place.

  “Whiskey, buddy. It’s okay.” Kate held both hands open in front of him and continued whispering words of comfort until the dog relaxed. He shook the remaining saltwater from his thick coat then gingerly stepped toward the dock.

  “Come on, boy. You need a nap, and I need a beer.”

  Chapter Ten

  Two Years Earlier

  The sudden clang of the doorbell jerked Kate back to reality. Sh
e pressed her body hard into the back of the chair. Her head flew from side to side, checking for threats. Sunlight streamed through high skylights onto the pale carpet that still smelled of disinfectant.

  The doorbell chimed again. Kate peeked through a small fisheye lens in the center of the green steel door. Pete and Jennifer stood on the front step holding a casserole dish covered in tinfoil. Kate froze. If she was still enough, they’d turn around and leave.

  “Kate, honey, we know you’re in there. We saw your shadow moving. Please let us in for a few minutes? I promise we won’t stay long.”

  Inch by inch, Kate slowly drew her body into a tight ball on the floor in her tile foyer.

  “Kate, please.”

  She clutched her knees to her chest and shut her eyes, praying they’d leave.

  “Kate, don’t make me use the key.”

  Crap. The key. Kate had forgotten Danny gave his partner a key the last time they’d gone away for a long weekend. She unclenched, uncurled. Pulled herself to her feet. And after a fortifying breath, unlocked the door.

  Jennifer passed the dish to her husband then gently wrapped her arms around Kate, who stood on the white tile, arms at her sides, allowing the hug without returning her friend’s affection.

  Pete stepped over the threshold, shut the door, then locked it behind him.

  Kate met his gaze and gave a curt nod. It was all the acknowledgment she could spare.

  He set off for the kitchen, casserole in hand.

  She didn’t want him in there, but then, she didn’t want them in her home, either.

  Pete came back then led her to the couch. As they walked to the living room, he glanced at his wife, then back to the kitchen.

  Kate hadn’t washed a dish since it had happened. The thought of her friend seeing the state of the kitchen was unbearable, but the words wouldn’t come to stop her. Jennifer quietly stepped around the corner. Moments later, the utilitarian sounds of running water and clinking dishes drifted to the front of the house.

  Curling against the corner of the couch, Kate stared at her bare toes.

  Pete wrapped a soft blanket over her shoulders. “It’s okay to cry, Kate.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and tucked it into her clenched fist.

  She shook her head.

  “I miss him, too.” He pulled her small body against his side. “They tried to give me a new rookie, but I’m not … I … I miss him, too.”

  Kate held her breath. She tipped her head back to keep the tears from spilling down her cheeks.

  “It’s okay.” Pete’s lie felt like twice the betrayal in his soft, gentle voice.

  “No,” she whispered. “It’ll never be okay.”

  He squeezed her shoulders. “Fair enough. How about this? What happened to Danny will never be okay. But you? You can be okay again. It might take a long time, but you can. I promise.”

  Kate sat limp in his arms as gravity tore the tears from her puffy eyelids, leaving wet trails on her cheeks.

  When her friends left an hour later, her kitchen was clean and her stomach was full. She locked the door behind them, went to the hall bathroom, then threw up.

  It would never be okay again.

  Jennifer stopped by every few days. Kate still couldn’t bear to enter the master suite, so Jennifer brought shampoo and a toothbrush to the hall bathroom for her.

  She would have ignored the gesture, but Jennifer waited until Kate showered. She also made Kate eat, and after Jennifer left, Kate threw it all up again.

  Then she retreated to the corner of the couch to resume staring at the wall.

  Eventually, Jennifer brought Pete back.

  “Katie, you can’t stay like this.”

  “Do. Not. Call. Me. That.”

  Pete’s mouth twitched into a stifled smile. “At least you care about something. Look, you have to snap out of this. You’ve got to get back out there and start putting the pieces together for yourself. We can’t do this for you forever. You have to eat on your own. You have to think about hygiene.” He lifted her chin. “Kate, you have to live for yourself.”

  She slowly focused on him and nodded. “I think you need to leave now.”

  The next day, Kate put a For Sale sign in the front yard. The real estate agent brought a team in to clean and stage the house. Kate slept on the couch. She ate cereal and made sure to put the bowl and spoon in the dishwasher when she finished. While she waited for the house to sell, she made herself busy. Took Krav Maga self-defense classes to refresh her skills. Trained hard. Toned up. Won every sparring match.

  She still had nightmares.

  Then the department asked if she would adopt a retired police dog named Whiskey. She thought maybe he’d make her feel safer, so she said yes.

  Two days later, she accepted an offer on the house. She signed a power-of-attorney, packed Whiskey into her Civic, changed her phone number, then headed south.

  Chapter Eleven

  Whiskey sat on the dock while Kate nestled her last few bottles of Yuengling into a small cooler filled with ice. She climbed the stern ladder to the roof deck, settled into a lounge chair, and snapped her beer cap into a bucket across the deck. It rattled and landed in a deep pile of its brethren.

  The dog climbed onto the bow and up the stairs. He nuzzled against her arm then turned three times before curling up beside her chair. His eyes remained alert and trained on her.

  Kate scratched behind his ear. “Well, that was something, boy. I don’t get to upstage you very often.” She tipped her bottle toward him. “Here’s to Krav Maga.”

  Footsteps thudded on the dock.

  Whiskey jumped to his feet, shaking.

  “Ahoy! Permission to come aboard?” Steve called.

  “Jeesh, it’s after nine. You’re still here? How has your wife not divorced you yet?”

  “And give up my paycheck? Why would she do that? She’s already got the house to herself.”

  “That woman is a saint to put up with you.”

  A high, musical voice drifted up to the roof deck “Yeah, I am, for sure.”

  “Susan!”

  Steve climbed the ladder, his wife right behind him. He reached into the cooler and pulled out two bottles of beer. After opening one, he handed it to his wife, then dropped the cap into the bucket.

  Kate gave him the side-eye. “You ask permission to set foot on the boat, but you’ve got no problem helping yourself to my beer?”

  “If you bought better beer, maybe I’d ask.”

  Kate laughed. “Rookie cop pension doesn’t go far enough these days, but my beer is your beer, Captain, whatever it is.”

  “If you’d work for me more often …” He let the offer hang in the thick, humid air.

  Kate climbed out of her lounge chair and offered it to Susan.

  “Thanks.” The slight woman perched on its edge. “We can’t stay too long, but we were headed to the truck when we heard some commotion over here. Are you okay?”

  Kate laughed. “It was a misunderstanding. It’s fine. I can take care of myself pretty well.”

  “Yeah, but it doesn’t mean you have to do it alone, either.” Steve patted the small of his back.

  “I shouldn’t have to do it at all. But as long as you’re here …”

  Steve sat on the dull, pitted railing and leaned his elbows on his knees.

  “Has Chuck mentioned any … trouble to you?”

  “No, but I’ve noticed a couple of Stock Island’s finest scumbags milling around a little more than usual. I wondered if something was up but figured Chuck’d say something if he needed help.”

  “Well, he’s said something to me.”

  “Go on.”

  “He’s fallen behind, and a developer is pressuring the bank to call in the loan. He’s got a couple weeks, tops, to come up with it.”

  Steve let out a low whistle.

  “Yeah. He’s got some harebrained story of a hidden treasure from his grandfather he wants me to help him find. I told him I was st
aying out of it. But that bastard …” Kate nodded her head toward the parking lot. “He just made it personal.”

  “Hidden treasure? For real?”

  “I don’t know. Chuck seems to think there’s something to it. His grandfather had some connection to Al Capone or something. Look, I like him. And I love it here. I’ve got it pretty good, cheap beer notwithstanding. But I’m not interested in getting into someone else’s problems.”

  “I don’t know. Sounds like his problems are our problems, too. Regardless, if we can help, shouldn’t we?”

  Kate shook her head. “What happened just now down on my dock? I handled it. But it’s what I came down here to get away from. And it’s bad for Whiskey, too. He’s been doing great, but then he saw the guy’s knife and freaked. I got lucky, but I’m not interested in pushing that luck much further.”

  “Whiskey freaked? He’s the most badass dog I know.”

  “I never told you the story of how he got retired, did I?”

  Steve shook his head.

  “I don’t know a lot of the details, and honestly, I don’t want to know. It pushes a few of my triggers, too. But Whiskey and his handler were out on a call one night when a junkie came at them both with a knife. Whiskey made it. His handler didn’t.” She crouched down and gently patted the top of the huge dog’s head.

  “Big guy here was in the vet hospital for three weeks, but he pulled through. They tried to pair him with another handler, but he wouldn’t respond. Refused to take commands. Froze up. They couldn’t put him back to work. It happened right around the time I lost Danny and …” Kate looked across the little cove, focused on a point far past the horizon.

  Steve and Susan waited.

  After a moment, Kate shook her head and rejoined the group. “So they thought we’d be good for each other, you know? And I guess in a way, we are. We understand each other.”

  Susan nodded. “Who knew dogs could get PTSD.”

  “Most people don’t ever have to think about it, but yeah. It happens. Dog and handler usually bond really closely. Most of the time, the handlers adopt the dogs when they retire, but sometimes the dog’s trauma makes it hard for them to be with a family.”