by Chris Niles
“Have you ever flown out of here on a small plane?” Even through her headphones, Steve’s voice sounded as giddy as a boy who’d just gotten his first Red Ryder BB gun.
“Nope. First time.”
“You’re in for a treat. William, we’re good on time, aren’t we? Let’s head out over the Marquesas and past Fort Jefferson.”
“Roger.” William tapped the push-to-talk button. “Key West Clearance Delivery, this is Cirrus Two-Five-Zero Charlie Delta, IFR to Cozumel, with information bravo, clearance on request.”
A crackly voice burst from Kate’s headset. “Cirrus Two-Five-Zero Charlie Delta, Key West Clearance Delivery, you are cleared to Cozumel International as filed. On departure climb and maintain two thousand, expect one-zero thousand within ten minutes, departure frequency one-two-four point zero-two-five, squawk two-seven-three-four.”
“Does that—” William popped his hand up between the seats, and Kate cut her question short. William repeated the entire confusing sequence back over the radio.
Finally the plane began to roll. As they taxied, William glanced toward the back seat. “Sorry, Kate. We’ll have time for questions later, but I need to keep the radio clear until we get to cruising altitude.”
Kate gave him a thumbs-up between the seats just as the plane drew to a stop and the radio crackled again. “Cirrus Two-Five-Zero Charlie Delta is holding short of runway niner, ready to go.”
“Cirrus Two-Five-Zero Charlie Delta, Key West tower, fly runway heading, wind calm, runway niner, cleared for takeoff.”
“Okay, cleared for takeoff runway niner.
Seconds later, the little plane shot down the runway, then its nose slowly began to rise. It gently climbed over Stock Island and into the bright morning sun.
“Cirrus Zero Charlie Delta, contact Navy Key West Departure on one-two-four point zero-two-five. Have a great flight.”
“One-two-four point zero-two-five for departure. So long.”
As the island fell away, the plane banked around to the northwest, giving Kate a birds-eye view of the Lower Keys. Susan tapped Kate’s shoulder then pulled her headset down around her neck and shouted over the whine of the engine. “You can’t see it, but Shark Key is off to the east over there, then as we come around you’ll be able to see the whole island of Key West.”
Kate peered out the window. As they passed north of Old Town, Susan pointed across the water. “Sunset Key sits just ahead, with Christmas Tree Island just this side of it, and then you can see the shallows running a few miles out. In a couple minutes, we’ll be out over that area and coming up on the Marquesas Keys. Even if you’ve taken a boat out there, it looks totally different from the air.”
“Yeah, I’ve been out there a couple times, but don’t know those sites as well as the reefs to the south.”
“This area just below us now is a wide swath of quicksand. It just looks like sand from up here, but back in the eighties, the wreck of a Spanish Galleon, the Atocha, was found there, half buried.”
Steve pulled his own headset off as he twisted between the front seats. “The site stretches across forty square miles, and I’m sure there’s a lot more down there no one has ever found.”
As William took direction from the air traffic controllers and continued to climb, Susan and Steve continued the guided tour until their voices grew hoarse. They flew over Fort Jefferson, built during the 1800s to protect the shipping lanes into the Gulf of Mexico. “If you haven’t been out to the Fort yet, it’s a fun trip. Make sure to take the tour with Hollywood. You’d never know it looking at him, but he’s the best storyteller in Key West. And that’s sayin’ something.”
As the fort fell away behind them, William adjusted their course to the southwest. He tapped his headset, then pointed to each of them. Kate slipped it back over her ears, tucked her feet beneath her on the light gray leather seat, rested her head on the window, and immediately fell asleep.
After what felt like ten minutes, William’s voice rattled back into Kate’s headset. “Ladies and gentleman, we are beginning our final descent into Cozumel. Please make sure your tray tables are stowed and your seat backs are in their upright position.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
I’m way too old to sleep on the frickin’ ground. Tina pulled her knees toward her and rolled over to twist out the muscles in her lower back.
“Ow!” The lump of blankets beside her cried out as she kneed Lucas in the kidney.
“Then get out. Git.” The blankets fell still. Tina rolled to her other side then fished a five-dollar bill from her purse. “Here. Go take this up to the office and see if they got some coffee made.”
Lucas crawled through the tent’s low vestibule then clambered to his feet. He only made it two steps before screaming because a huge sandspur embedded in the arch of his right foot. Hopping on his left foot, he tried to pull the spiky seed without impaling his fingers. When his left foot landed on another sandspur, he collapsed back on his butt, both feet stuck in the air, and wailed.
“Cheese and crackers, Lucas! What’s your —” Tina’s fully-grown son was rocking on his back, feet and arms flailing, screaming like a child.
She tugged on a pair of cutoff shorts, pulled a threadbare tank top over her head, slipped on her flip-flops, then she climbed out into the morning heat to help him. After she had tugged the spurs from both his feet, she ordered him to stay while she crawled back in the tent to find his shoes.
A few seconds later, she returned with them. “Here. Put these on, idiot. You lived in Florida all your life. You know better.”
Lucas rubbed the bright red pinprick wounds on his feet, put on his shoes, then carefully pushed to his feet. He retrieved the money from the sand before lumbering up to the concrete block office building.
Tina popped the trunk lid then dug through her bag for a light long-sleeved shirt. She pulled one out for the sniff test. It barely passed, and with a shrug, she tied it around her waist. Next she took a toothbrush from the side pocket, then walked to the long concrete-block building with the “Comfort Station” sign in front.
The entrance to the women’s side faced north, on the east end of the building. The men’s room sat on the other end, and the laundry room backed up to it from the south. When she’d visited the bathrooms the night before she hadn’t bothered with the lights. But in the bright morning, she noted that the white tile and cotton shower curtains were cleaner than her bathroom at home. She quickly brushed her teeth, spit a little blood into the gleaming porcelain sink, then headed back to the campsite. Lucas had returned with coffee and left her a foam cup on the weathered wood picnic table. The heavy sound of his snores drifted from the tent. At least he’s good at sleeping.
She plopped down on the top of the table and listened to the rustle of the palm fronds in the light breeze. Low hollow thunks and metallic clangs sounded from beyond the hedge as the boats tied to the dock rocked in the gentle surf. The salt air smelled fresh, tinged with the scent of fish but with none of the city smells she was used to — exhaust fumes, garbage, or the sour mildew funk that spread under the carpet of every apartment she could afford.
Tina allowed herself to imagine for just a few seconds what it might have been like to live here if Gigi had stayed and kept her claim to the place. She saw herself as a kid, swimming in the little lagoon and learning to sail like a proper rich girl, meeting a wealthy developer’s son and being a guest at all the parties she’d had to work instead. But Gigi left, sealing her fate. Now was Tina’s chance to reclaim her birthright. She pulled her phone from her back pocket then typed “Key West Marriage Records” in the Internet search bar.
Two hours later, she scraped a huge white Ford pickup truck as she squeezed her Saturn into an illegal spot near a two-story white office building on Simonton Street. She slipped the long-sleeved shirt over her tattered tank before stepping into the cool, dry air conditioning of the vital records office.
“Can I help you?” A tall, slim woman with auburn h
air met Tina at the long counter. The nametag pinned above her breast pocket read: TREVA.
“Sure, Treeva.”
“It’s actually Treva. The E is short. Like Treh Vuh.”
“Whatever. I need some old marriage records. Nearly a hundred years back. Thomas and Gigi Miller. I think they were married here in nineteen thirty-something. How long will it take to get that?”
Treva’s forced smile stopped at the corners of her lips as her fingers tapped the keyboard. “The fee is $5 for the first copy, and $4 for each additional copy. I’ll need your name, address, valid ID, and payment to start the search for you. How many copies will you need?”
“Lemme get this straight … you want payment before you start the search? And you want an ID?”
“Yes.”
“I thought these were public records?”
“They are.”
“Then why ain’t they free? And why do you need an ID?”
Treva shrugged. “Just the policy. If you don’t want to provide an ID, I can’t give you a certified copy of the record. If you just need the date and an unofficial copy, these are all on ancestry.com. You might be able to get help with that at the library.”
Tina balled her hands up but held them tight at her sides. “The library. Where’s that?”
“Oh, it’s not far at all. You just go a few blocks up Simonton here, then go right on Fleming. It’ll be on your right. You can’t miss it.”
“Can’t miss it, huh?”
“Nope. It’s pink with white shutters, and it takes up the whole corner. I promise you’ll see it. Can I help you with anything else?”
“You didn’t help me with what I came for, so I doubt it. Thanks for nothing.”
“Well, you have a nice day, now.”
Tina stomped out of the office. Even the public servants down here are annoying. She stomped out of the building then turned right on Simonton. After three blocks, she stopped a scruffy man on a bike. “Do you know where the library is?”
“Long walk the way you’re goin’ now, for sure. Shorter if you turn around. Few blocks up that way, you’ll hit Fleming. It’ll be a block to the right.” He raised a bottle wrapped in a paper bag, took a long pull, and rode off down the street.
Tina spun around then stormed back up the street. The old man at the library’s information desk was only slightly more helpful than whatever-her-name was — tree-something — but he eventually managed to find a record of the marriage of Thomas Miller and Regina O’Halloran on June 30, 1932. He printed the web page for her before returning to his sudoku puzzle.
Her sunglasses fogged up when she stepped back out onto the wide library steps. She paused a moment to get her bearings then headed west on Fleming Street. Halfway down the block, a brazen rooster flapped out from behind a flowering vine with heart-shaped leaves and white flowers. Tina’s heart raced, and she screamed as she kicked the squawking bird away. The same scruffy drunken biker who had given her directions was riding by.
“They’re everywhere. They don’t hurt nobody.”
“What kind of friggin’ barnyard is this island? How do people live here?”
“You get used to them eventually. I swear.” He pulled a bottle wrapped in a brown lunch sack from the basket of his bike and held it out to her. “You look like you could use a drink.”
“It’s ten-thirty in the morning.”
“Is it that late already? You’re behind.” He nudged the brown sack closer to her. She glanced at the rooster staggering away down the sidewalk and took the bottle.
“Thanks.” She twisted the cap off, took a gulp, and nearly choked. “What IS this?”
“Kombucha, of course. What did you expect, rum? We’re not all drunks down here! Only half of us.”
Tina took another sip and shrugged. “Thanks, I guess.”
“You’re welcome, I guess.” He rode off down the street then parked his bike in front of the library.
She sipped the kombucha and strolled down the shaded sidewalk, looking at the printout. Tommy and Gigi had been married in 1932. They’d had one son, Paul, who’d had one son, Chuck.
Gigi had told her she’d left Key West just a few months before Tina’s mother, Bridget, had been born, but she never divorced Tommy. So Chuck and Tina were cousins and equal heirs to Tommy’s estate. Shark Key might be on the verge of repossession, but Tina would still make sure she got her fair share of whatever they’d stolen from Al Capone.
When she got to her car, a parking ticket lay folded under her left wiper. She pulled it out, tore it up, then left it on the street for the wind to scatter.
Can’t find me if the car doesn’t belong to the tag and the tag doesn’t have an address.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Kate rubbed her eyes.
“What time is it?”
William laughed. “It’s almost ten-thirty We’ll be landing soon.”
“Did I miss the inflight snacks and beverages?
Steve passed bottles of water between the two front seats. “You were snoring pretty hard back there. I didn’t want to wake either of you.”
Kate peered out the window at the azure sea. From their altitude, she could see the island of Cozumel ahead of them and the Yucatan peninsula beyond it. Tiny whitecaps dotted the sea east of the island. The shallow waters between the island and the mainland glowed bright greenish blue, dotted with dark shadows of reef.
“Should have brought our dive gear. I haven’t been down here since—”
She and Danny had come here for their honeymoon. A full week of sun, diving, and matrimonial bliss. Her heart sucked like a vacuum in her chest. She rested her forehead on the window and counted the whitecaps below them.
Moments later, William gently guided the plane to the ground and taxied to the small private terminal.
“Hola, Señor Jenkins!” A stout uniformed man trotted out to greet them. He pulled William into a half-hug, and Kate thought she saw William slip something into the man’s shirt pocket.
“You look well, Luis. How’s Marguerite? Still feeding you plenty, I see.”
“Good, thanks. See for yourself when you join us for dinner tonight.”
“Thanks, friend, but we can’t. As much as I’d love to catch up, we’re in a bit of a hurry. This is just a day-trip for us.” He held up their passports, with a completed immigration and customs form sticking out of each.
Luis glanced at the paperwork then waved them on through the terminal as the local FBO crew tied down the plane and began refueling.
Steve flagged a taxi just outside the terminal. As he climbed into the back seat, Kate spotted a distinctive bulge at his waistband. She leaned over to William. “Was that … is he … are you …”
William patted her hand. “Yes, yes, and no. One is enough for what we need to do today, I think.”
The taxi whipped out of the airport toward the oceanfront highway. As they turned left, Kate glanced north up the highway. A tall stucco hotel stretched high above the trees. She spotted a sign near the road. Playa Mirador. A Kingsbury Resort. Kate’s breath caught in her throat. It finally released once the taxi was moving south.
Racing down the narrow lane, the driver narrowly dodged parked cars and beachgoers unloading for a day in the sun. Off to their right, calm blue water sparkled under a clear mid-day sky, and shadowy reefs dotted the shallows. As they drew closer to the town of San Miguel, the sidewalks grew thicker with ambling tourists who pointed, nudged their companions, and drifted in and out of the open shops along the east side of the road. The cab jerked to a stop behind a line of traffic, then they only traveled three blocks over the next five minutes.
“I think we can walk from here.” William pointed out a big white building a few blocks further south. He handed the driver a fistful of bills, then the four of them spilled out of the hot cab.
“Do you always carry pesos around?”
“A man can never be too prepared.” William winked at Kate. “Michelle and I have been in and out of
Mexico a few times in the past year, so yeah, I keep a little local cash handy. I raided the supply as I was packing this morning. But a lot of the shops catering to tourists here actually prefer to trade in dollars. They can often get higher prices out of tourists, and the locals get a better exchange rate with the banks, too.”
Kate leaned over a thick, shell-encrusted wall to admire the clear, shallow water. Small boats dotted the harbor, and a few clusters of snorkelers explored the reefs. Further down the narrow beach, she saw a small group of tourists climbing from a low dock onto underwater scooters. Across the street, the shaded sidewalk was crowded with tourists milling in and out of the tiny shops.
The foursome walked south along the sun-soaked route with Kate in the lead. William dodged tourists and nodded to the many locals setting up vending carts or selling wares from the trunks of beat-up cars. Kate stopped one and bought a floppy white hat to keep the sun — and her target’s eyes — off her face. Steve and Susan brought up the rear, just a typical tourist couple holding hands as they enjoyed the tropical sun.
To their right across the harbor, a small cruise ship approached the downtown pier. Dockhands scurried up and down the pier, throwing thick ropes to secure the huge vessel. Doors opened as the ship’s crew arranged the barricades, small podiums, and monitors used in each port to check guests on and off the ship. Within minutes, the first passengers began disembarking.
Steve pointed to the crowd crossing the long walkway. “He’ll be in the first crowd off, and he’ll want to get clear of the area pretty quickly, so let’s stay on our toes.”
Kate adjusted the brim of her sun hat. “I’ll go ahead and get as close as I can. When I see him, I’ll signal you and fall in behind him. You all close in from both sides, then we’ll herd him into a corner.” She nodded toward Steve’s waist. “I sincerely hope you don’t plan to use that.”
“No plans, no. But after what that guy did to Chuck, I want an undisputed advantage when we finally meet.”