The Secret Page

by Al Turner

  “It would be wiser if you went straight to the source.”

  The way Fumi said it told Pops it wasn’t a matter to be discussed further. “Okay, but I’m not exactly thrilled about working with Shelby. The man has a tendency to leave messes in his wake.”

  “I understand, Bradley, but you’ll need him on this one.”

  “You know I value your wisdom. Still, it would have been nice to have arranged a poker game. It’s been too long since we had our regulars at the same table.”

  The term used for secret meetings was well known to Fumi. “Yes, it’s been far too long. Unfortunately, the new collar I wear comes with a shorter leash.”

  “Understood. Don’t let me cause you to take any undue risks.”

  Fumi lowered his voice. “I fear that bridge has already been crossed, my friend.” He automatically resumed his normal tone, as if for some unseen audience. “I wish I had more for you, Bradley, but I was just passing through. As always, the chamber appreciates any assistance you can provide. Be sure to see Sammy on your way out. You know he loves to share his fishing stories.”

  Pops was surprised to hear the name of the grandson of one of the permanent chamber members. He hadn’t seen Sammy since he was a boy but remembered he and his father didn’t have much use for the family patriarch. He didn’t care for the young man’s grandfather either, but the rest of his family were good people. Still, it was odd for him to be on a journey with Fumi that took him so far from home. “I may just do that.”

  “You should hurry, though. Sammy’s eager to get some fishing in before we depart.”

  Pops took the hint that it was time to leave. He stood, stretched, and returned the bow his friend gave him.

  “Oh, one last item,” Fumi said as Pops started to walk away. “Tell my nephew I’ll be sending him something soon.”

  “Will do,” Pops replied and then left.

  FOLLOW THAT CAR

  The faded blue muscle car cruised east on US Highway 98. It was over a decade old and showed signs that its previous owner had also driven it in an environment of moist, salty air. Tripp, the current owner and driver, attempted to have a conversation with Carson, who sat in the passenger seat. This proved difficult; the windows were down since the air conditioning was on the fritz.

  For her part, Carson tried to listen while not making fun of how her brother’s short, dark hair stood straight up from the hot wind. She glanced into the vanity mirror a couple of times to confirm that her own sandy hair looked sexy as it blew around her small face. Still, she wished she had pinned it back.

  They had left the church in Viridian Cove and headed toward Destin. At that time of day during summer, it wasn’t unusual for traffic to slow to a crawl. Tourist season on the Emerald Coast made for tedious travel along the barrier islands.

  “We’re going to have a great time,” Carson said. “I just wish I hadn’t wasted so much of my life yesterday convincing you of that.”

  “As usual, you hardly needed to exert yourself,” Tripp replied.

  It was late morning but still early for two adults in their twenties who had stayed up late into the night. Tripp had been at his apartment with Daniel, trying to finish a quest they had started online. Carson had spent her evening at Navarre Beach, playing volleyball, drinking, and being pursued by young men—both locals and vacationers. In a game she played, she typically hung out with whoever could put up with her the longest—a task she never made easy. She didn’t go home with the winner that night, since it might have interfered with Derrick’s offer to take her on his so-called yacht the next day.

  “Daniel was a bit hurt at the lack of an invitation,” Tripp said.

  His sister scoffed at the thought. Although Daniel was an attractive man, Carson couldn’t see him as anything more than her geeky friend. Even at that, she tended to be mean-spirited toward him. All part of the experience, she told herself. “He’ll get over it.”

  “If only he would,” Tripp muttered, mostly to himself.

  Carson figured her brother never understood what Daniel saw in her. It was obvious she had good genes, but in spite of that, few mortals seemed willing to spend any length of time with her. Daniel was an exception.

  “What?” asked Carson.

  “Never mind. Tell me again why it was so important I tag along?”

  “Because I love my lil’ brother, and you need to get out and mingle.” She felt entitled to tell him what to do; she was, after all, technically the older of the two by a good eight minutes. She often reminded him of that fact. Tripp, in turn, would counter that she was out of the womb first because she was the impatient one. She could hardly disagree.

  “I do socialize, though I’m hardly as gregarious as you.”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  “Say again?”

  “Well, if you’d roll up the damn windows,” Carson said.

  Tripp rolled them up and turned up the fan. The muggy air filled the cabin as the wind noise dissipated. “Is that better?”

  “For hearing, yes. Why didn’t you have Daniel fix the air in this thing? I thought he loved doing that sort of stuff.”

  “He does love to try and invent things, or at least make them better—the key word being ‘try.’ As you’ve observed, on more than one occasion, his success rate is less than impressive.”

  “The damn thing’s already broken. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “You do remember the microwave that used to be in my office?”

  Carson giggled at the memory. “You survived it.”

  “I still worry about the possibility of cancer. You missed what happened to his new Smartwatch.”

  “Yeah, about that . . . sorry we haven’t hung out much lately, with my being out of town storm chasing and all.”

  “You have been back from Oklahoma for almost two months, you know.”

  “I had to catch up on my life.”

  “We live in the same building.”

  Carson quickly changed the subject. “This car smells. I wish now you’d kept the Bimmer.”

  “And listen to your perpetual disdain for it?” He glanced at her to catch her expression.

  She simply snorted. “I only pointed out the fact that the asshole loved you more than me.”

  “Grandpa also bought you a Jeep that you seem to have gotten a lot of mileage out of. Case in point, this past spring’s extended tornado hunt in Oklahoma and Kansas.”

  She knew Tripp would never understand the level of venom she had for their mother’s father. He tried to make eye contact with her, but she looked away.

  “So? He got me a used Jeep and you a new BMW. You were always his favorite.”

  “I know he can be biased. But have you thought about trying to be more pleasant toward him? It may change how he, and possibly the rest of the planet, treats you.”

  “I’m not going to kiss anyone’s ass, particularly his wrinkled buttock. My Poppy treats me fairly regardless of how I act. I guess we know which side of the family has good grandparent genes.”

  Tripp snickered. “Good grandparent genes are an important trait.”

  She ignored his sarcastic comment. “You know Dad’s side of the family is way cooler.”

  “It shouldn’t surprise me you’d feel that way.”

  “Oh?”

  “Mom has said you have a personality that rivals Pops’s.”

  Carson rolled her eyes and turned her attention to outside her window. Something caught her eye. She scanned the white Mercedes for the pink license plate cover with little black paw prints all over it. She had bought it with her own money many years before. It was also attached to the car up ahead.

  “Nothing witty to say?” Tripp asked.

  “No, I’m done with that conversation. Follow that car.”

  “Why?” he asked, apparently trying to determine which one she referred to. Traffic had become dense and there were several possibilities.

  “Really, detective? You haven’t spo
tted it?”

  “Mom’s car? Why should I follow her?”

  She gave him that look, the one that would make him feel stupid for not knowing what was on her mind. “Because I want to know where she’s going. Please keep your eye on the SUV in front of you.”

  Tripp applied the brakes and glanced over at their mom’s car, about three spots ahead, still in the right lane. “It’s not like she is having an extramarital affair.”

  Compared to the many other parents they had heard about, their parents were the epitome of the perfect couple—or so Tripp seemed to think. They hardly ever fought and, with few exceptions, they always showed one another respect. More importantly, the couple that prayed together stayed together. At least, that’s what their mom always said. Carson realized that Tripp found no reason to doubt this and considered their long relationship itself empirical evidence.

  “In your eyes, Mother can do no wrong. Now follow that car!”

  “You always call her Mother when you’re upset. Now what did she do?”

  “Just drive.”

  With a sigh of surrender, Tripp made his way to the next lane, behind his mom’s car. They followed her to the next turnoff.

  Carson ensured he duplicated the turn, knowing her mother wouldn’t notice them behind her. Amateur, she thought, smirking. She, on the other hand, was always aware of her surroundings.

  They tailed the car as it headed south toward the barrier islands. As they drew closer to the destination, Carson recognized the place. That sneak, she thought. It was far enough away from their town to reduce the chance of running into the church folks but still close enough to get back from quickly if she was missed.

  It was also where her mother’s friend Lynn liked to go, and this may have been a good cover story except for one problem: Carson knew her son, and he had already mentioned his parents would be out of town for the weekend. Since they had a pool, plans were already afoot for a party at their place.

  After their mom had pulled into a parking space, Tripp found a spot not far from her car. It was close enough to monitor her without giving them away. Carson decided those private eye classes—or whatever he had hired that grubby skip tracer to teach him—might actually have proven useful. They both watched as their mom got out of her car, finished a quick call on her phone, and headed into the little bar and grill.

  Her long dark hair was pinned back in a French twist, and she wore faded blue jeans with a white blouse. Nothing special for someone allegedly having a secret rendezvous. Still a very attractive forty-something, she made simple attire look sexy.

  “She must’ve forgotten to shave her legs,” Carson said as she noticed the jeans instead of shorts or a skirt. “That old lady still has a nice ass,” she added as her mother disappeared inside the bar.

  “That’s hardly something I’d notice or comment on,” Tripp said with a scowl.

  The Brine Barnacle wasn’t as nice as the place where Carson bartended, but still not bad. The beer selection was paltry, but the appetizers were reasonable. The view of Santa Rosa Sound from the back patio was the best part. That said, it was hardly a place their mother would venture off to without either her friend or her husband.

  Carson got out of the car and motioned to her brother.

  “I’ll stay with the getaway vehicle,” Tripp said.

  Carson walked over, stood by the entrance, and silently debated if she really wanted to go in.

  Finally, she forced herself to enter the Brine Barnacle and scanned for a sign of her mother. The place had a small inner bar, along with a coastal decor, and a larger outside back patio for enjoying the view. Most of the patrons were outside. Sitting at the bar was a very unattractive woman in an equally unflattering sundress.

  Through the open door that led to the patio, she spotted the back of her mom’s head. Slowly, she wound her way to the bar, where she could get a better look.

  The day outside was lovely, with blues skies and little whitecaps in the bay. A kite surfer a few hundred yards away caught Carson’s attention and she wished she were out there instead. First things first, she thought.

  She hovered around the bar near the entryway to the outside patio. Waiting to see who sat at her mother’s table, she suddenly felt she too was being watched. Off to her left the ugly woman was staring at her. It took a second look to realize it was a man dressed in drag.

  “How are you today, young lady?” The voice was unmistakably masculine.

  “Good, I suppose.”

  “Enjoying the view?” The man had a terrible blonde wig and even worse makeup. He nodded toward the patio and lifted his glass in a toast before he drank.

  A drink sounded good, but there had been no sign of a bartender since she arrived. A waitress meandered around the back and checked on tables but never even looked her way. Not exactly a well-run bar, she thought.

  “The bartender stepped out for the view,” said the man in drag, as if he read her mind. He motioned to the outside again.

  Carson had been distracted just long enough to almost miss the bartender take a seat at her mother’s table. His white shorts and half-buttoned Hawaiian shirt might have seemed sexy to her mom, but he seemed like a throwback from the old Magnum, P.I. episodes she used to watch with her dad.

  The man had to be at least a decade younger than her mother. “Cougar,” she said in a low growl. The drag queen to her left must have heard her because he chuckled. Carson couldn’t have cared less and decided to go crash the party.

  As she was about to leave, the man spoke to her. “What’s your name?”

  “Forgive me,” she replied with obvious irritation. “I’m not really in the mood for niceties.”

  “I can see that,” he said. “You seem a woman on a mission.”

  “You’ve very perceptive. Now excuse me while I go start a fight.”

  The man leaned back in the bar stool and stretched. “I’m Shelby,” he said. “Before you go out there, do me a favor, kiddo.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Remember my name.”

  An odd request, Carson thought. She hesitated before she exited to the patio.

  LUNCH TO DIE FOR

  The light, salty breeze coming from across the sound was a welcome visitor. It didn’t completely offset the heat of the summer day, but it was better than the small fans in the corners of the patio of the Brine Barnacle. The breeze also gently swept a loose lock of Kate Page’s dark hair across her angular face, and it dangled over one of her dark, almond-shaped eyes.

  As she considered the sweltering day, Kate wondered why she hadn’t taken the time to shave her legs that morning. It would have allowed her to put on something a bit cooler than jeans. A better question was this: Why had she even bothered to show up? She tried to look past the younger man seated across from her and get a better look at a boat, the blue water . . . anything but the eyes that were undressing her. His stare made her uncomfortable.

  Of course she was flattered by the invitation to have a drink sometime. It wasn’t as if it was the first time someone had made a pass at her, although it had become increasingly rare after she hit forty. She reminded herself she was happily married, for the most part, and loved her family. Her husband was still the most attractive creature in the world to her, although she wondered if he felt the same way about her.

  She snapped herself back to the moment. Something about this man piqued her curiosity. It was more than just his flattery. Her gut was telling her it was something else. She needed to know. If she had learned anything from the family she married into, it was to look beyond the surface. Still, lying to her husband and meeting a stranger wasn’t her style.

  That said, she had assumed the invitation meant he would serve her a drink, not have one with her. It was a bit presumptuous of him. It wouldn’t look right. She had a reputation to uphold.

  The man looked at her curiously. Kate wondered if she had been doing that thing where her hands moved in the air as she was thinking. For the first t
ime, she noticed his attire. It had taken her years to get Jack to quit wearing stuff like that, although he still did on occasion. But she wasn’t in any position to be judgmental.

  “You sure you’re okay with me sitting here?” the man asked.

  He had dropped in a week ago at the hair salon she owned and operated on Viridian Square. He had made a point of speaking with her while also making it clear he wasn’t interested in a haircut.

  “No, you’re fine,” she replied with a forced smile.

  Kate was certain he could tell she was uncomfortable. He had the type of gaze that looked through someone, not at them. She knew at least a couple of other people, her husband included, whose gaze had that quality.

  “I just stopped in for a quick drink—then I’m off again,” she said with a nervous laugh.

  “Well, I’m glad you dropped in,” he said. “A new guy in town like me doesn’t usually get to chat with someone as interesting as you.”

  It was clearly just a line. She wondered if he hoped she was a cougar. “I’d think a bartender would talk to a lot of interesting people,” she said.

  He seemed briefly taken aback but recovered. “Yes, a lot of people, but not very interesting ones.” A charming smile followed. “I’m usually bad with names, but I believe you are Kate?”

  “Very good,” she said, trying to remember if she had told him or if he’d simply read the sign at her shop, Kate’s Place. “And you are?”

  “My mother calls me Matthew, but to everyone else, it’s just Matt.”

  “As a mother myself, perhaps I should go with Matthew.” She laughed but immediately felt awkward and regretted more than ever that she had shown up. “I come here often with my friend Lynn,” she said quickly. It wasn’t a complete lie, since she had been there a handful of times over the last year. “Maybe you’ve met her. She has short blonde hair—”

  “Let me grab you a drink. A beer? Cocktail?” He obviously wasn’t interested in talking about her friend.

  “Vodka and soda, with a lime, please.”