“Hey, Daddy.” Maggie accepted his hug, then leaned over and kissed her mother’s cheek. “Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, honey. Do you finally have a day off?”
“I do. Just the one.” Maggie smiled and nodded at Jim Fairbanks, who worked for the State Park, and his wife, whose name she couldn’t remember. They nodded back.
Georgia lowered her voice and leaned towards Maggie.
“Honey, Jim was just saying that they found Gregory Boudreaux’s body on the beach out on St. George.”
Maggie glanced over at Jim, who didn’t bother looking sheepish. It didn’t really matter. The paper didn’t come out until Monday, but probably most everyone had heard.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Maggie said.
“That’s a shame,” her father said, looking down at the ground.
“He was so young,” Jim’s wife said, shaking her head but still managing to look titillated.
“He was about your age, wasn’t he, Maggie?” Georgia asked. “Did you go to school with him?”
Maggie stared at the space beside her mother’s head and wished she was somewhere else.
“No, he was a few years older than me,” she said. “I didn’t know him.”
“Well, I wish he’d done it somewheres else,” Jim said quietly. “Tourists don’t like it when people shoot themselves all over the beach.”
Jim got Georgia’s raised left eyebrow, a move Maggie had learned at her mother’s knee. Her father noticed it, too, and headed her polite indignation off at the pass.
“Georgia, why don’t we go find some shade?” he asked her.
“It was good to see y’all.” Jim’s wife waved, and Maggie and her parents headed in the direction of Gray’s old light-blue pickup.
“He’s such a twit,” Georgia said under her breath.
“Ah, he’s decent enough,” Gray said.
“He’s just scared,” Maggie said. “We need the business.”
“The oysters will bounce back,” her mother said. “They always do.”
Neither Maggie nor her father replied. They both knew that a little less fresh water and a little more oil could finish the Apalach oysters for good.
“What are you guys doing today?” Maggie asked instead.
“We’re gonna try to get some work done on the deck, if it doesn’t rain too hard later,” Georgia said.
“Should be finished by Tuesday,” Gray added.
“Why don’t we grill out Wednesday night?” Georgia said. “We can have a tournament.”
Maggie’s family regarded Scrabble with the gravity that some people reserved for fine art or politics. Every game was a tournament.
“That sounds good, Mom,” Maggie said. “I’ll let you know for sure if I can make it.”
“Do you good,” Gray said.
“I’m sure it would.” Maggie reached over and hugged her father. “I’ve got to get home. I’ll see you later, Daddy.”
“See you later, Sunshine.”
Maggie hugged her mother and bid her goodbye, then headed for her Jeep.
She looked up at the sky as she opened her door. Dark clouds were rolling in from the west and there was faint hint of ice or metal in the air. Maggie caught it on her tongue and closed her eyes for just a moment, then got in the car.
Maggie pulled into Piggly-Wiggly, the town’s only grocery store and only slightly larger than a really good 7-11. Once a month, she made the drive to Publix an hour away, but the Pig was okay for the occasional quick stop. It was also across the street from the Apalachicola Police Department, a tiny, light-blue building that looked more like a day care center than a center of law and justice.
She climbed out of the Jeep and headed toward the entrance, planning to grab some root beer and vanilla ice cream for her movie night with Kyle. Halfway to the door, she spotted Richard Alessi coming out.
Alessi was a fairly small-time meth dealer who was two strikes out. The last time he’d gone to prison, Maggie had been the one to put him there. It had pretty much soured any chance they’d develop a friendship, but Maggie hadn’t cried long.
There was the average lunatic, and then there was the lunatic who self-medicated with coke or meth. Alessi was the latter. When he was fifteen, he’d hung the neighbor lady’s cat just for fun. Maggie was of the opinion that someone should have shot him then. Now thirty-five, he was twenty years crazier and had the dangerous notion that most of his crimes would go unknown and unpunished.
Alessi was wearing his usual uniform of tattered jeans and a biker vest, though he’d never owned a motorcycle. His longish, dark brown hair looked eight days unwashed and he had several days’ growth of beard. He stopped just outside the doors and bent his head to light the cigarette already dangling from his mouth.
As Maggie continued walking in Alessi’s direction, a young girl followed Alessi out the door. She was carrying an infant that couldn’t have been more than a month old, and had a little post-natal pooch on her otherwise skinny frame. She held the hand of a little girl of about three, who held the hand of a little boy about four.
The procession stopped behind Alessi and since they were all blocking the door somewhat, Maggie stopped in front of him. He got his cigarette lit and looked up at her.
“Oh, look. It’s Lieutenant Dan,” he said in a fairly decent Forrest Gump.
“Hello, Richard,” she said.
“You here for me? ‘Cause I ain’t doin’ anything.”
“No, I’m here for some ice cream. You can wait.”
“Naw, you can wait, hun.” He blew a lungful of smoke in her direction. She refused to wave it away. “You can wait a good while, ’cause I’ve been keeping my nose clean.”
Maggie looked over at the girl. She looked either embarrassed or afraid. She couldn’t be more than eighteen or so, but the kids’ clothes and faces were clean and they looked well-fed. Maggie thought about Sky being attached to someone like Alessi, even having his babies, and wondered why no one had snatched this child out of harm’s way.
“Your nose has never been clean, Richard,” Maggie said.
“Maybe I’m just smart, then,” he said back, grinning around his cigarette.
“I think you’ve just been lucky,” Maggie said, smiling kindly. “I’ve eaten sandwiches smarter than you.”
He took a couple of lazy steps toward her, no doubt finding himself menacing. Maggie was intelligent enough to know he was dangerous, but even he wasn’t stupid enough to try anything in front of the police department. She stood her ground. If for no other reason, then just in case the girl needed to see it could be done.
Alessi bent just enough to get eye to eye with Maggie. He smelled of Miller, smoke, and meanness.
“I think you’re the one that’s been lucky, Miss Redmond.”
“Maybe. But somebody’s going to do you in one day and the only one who’ll miss that party is you.”
He lifted her a slow bird and she stepped around him casually. She looked at the girl, whose eyes were frightened beneath a slash of damp, dishwater bangs.
“What’s your name?” Maggie asked her.
“Grace,” the girl said softly.
“Don’t talk to her. She ain’t none of your business,” Alessi said behind Maggie.
“You can do better, Grace,” Maggie said and headed for the door.
“Get in the car!” she heard Alessi say. She turned around and looked.
Alessi tossed a look over his shoulder as he herded his little group across the parking lot. As Maggie turned back to go into the store, she noticed two cops standing out in front of the station. Andy Thorn, a twenty-year veteran, was smoking a cigarette and waving. Josh Burke, a new recruit, had his hand on his holster.
Maggie waved back at Andy, then went into the Pig.
The distant rumble of thunder woke Maggie about eleven o’clock.
She was lying on the couch and Kyle was sitting with his legs over hers, his feet on the old trunk they used as a coffee table. Coco’s tags jingled
as she stood up from where she’d been sleeping beside the couch. Maggie scratched her ear and looked over at Kyle.
His head was back on the pillow, and a soft snore came from his nose. The TV screen was bright blue and she wondered if he’d made it to the end of their second Redbox movie.
She sat up and slid her legs out from under Kyle’s, then brushed a lock of silky black hair out of his eyes.
“Kyle,” she said softly.
There was a momentary pause in his snoring and his thick dark lashes quivered, but he didn’t wake up. She took the opportunity to run her fingers through his hair, just as she had his whole life, just as she had his father’s. He looked so much like David that sometimes her breath caught when he smiled at her. Sometimes her heart broke again, too.
“C’mon, buddy.” Maggie shook his shoulder and he stirred, opened his eyes halfway. “Let’s get you to bed.”
“Unkay,” he said, then closed his eyes.
Maggie laid him down on the couch, grabbed a throw from the chair behind her and unfolded it over his legs. Then she turned off the TV, picked up their root beer float glasses, and started for the kitchen.
Coco took a few steps to follow, but Maggie stopped.
“No, you stay with Buddy tonight, okay?”
Coco whined, but jumped up on the couch and curled up at Kyle’s feet.
Maggie walked into the dark kitchen and put the glasses in the sink.
The sky grumbled again as she filled the glasses with hot water. She left them for morning, and after checking that the doors were locked, she headed for bed.
Maggie’s face was pressed hard into the dirt and three inches of musty autumn leaves. Sticks and at least one rock cut into her left cheek.
The ground, and the weight on her back, made it hard for her to breathe. She was sure that her heart was pounding too hard to let her live, and her chest was on fire. Everything was on fire and yet she was so cold.
“Tell me you love me!” he said, his hot breath blowing like a dragon’s on her right ear.
She kept her lips tightly shut, her nostrils flaring as she tried to get enough air without opening her mouth. She could see her fishing rod a few feet away where she’d dropped it, the one Daddy had given her for getting straight A’s last semester. He didn’t know where she was, didn’t know she needed him, and she closed her eyes as hot tears flooded them again.
“Tell me you love me!” he insisted again. She felt another sharp pain and her mouth flew open. She intended to tell him what he wanted to hear, but suddenly her throat felt like someone had scraped it with a nail file. She didn’t hear, didn’t even realize she was screaming, until the weight came off of her and she heard him yell “Shut up!”
He flipped her over roughly and she felt herself getting ready to scream again, against her own will. The sight of him stopped her. His shirt was hanging open, his pants around his thighs, and he was holding a rock the size of a basketball over his head.
She was fifteen and nobody knew she was way back in the woods. She was going to die in the dirt and the moldy leaves, and Daddy’s heart was going to break.
She clamped a hand over her own mouth and willed herself not to scream anymore.
Gregory Boudreaux slammed the rock down right next to her head and laughed. Then he leaned down to kiss her neck.
Maggie sat straight up in bed, her right hand pressed so tightly against her mouth that she could taste blood.
Coco was standing on the bed, crying, her back hairs standing straight up like dried grass.
Between the pounding of her own heart and the pounding of the rain on the tin roof, the room was filled with noise.
Maggie took her hand away from her mouth and brushed at her lip with her tongue, tasting salty blood and tears. She took a few deep breaths, then put her arms around Coco’s neck, and buried her face in the dog’s fur. Coco sat and whimpered as Maggie waited for her heart to slow down, for the smell of molding, wet leaves to be washed from her nostrils.
Finally, she lifted her face, kissed the side of Coco’s head and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. It had been a long time since she’d had the nightmares and the flashbacks, but she knew there would be no more sleep tonight.
She looked over at her .45 on the nightstand, the glow from her alarm clock casting an orange light on the grip. It was 3:22 a.m. She picked up the gun and her cell phone, and walked into the living room with Coco at her heels.
First Maggie checked to make sure that Kyle was still sleeping safely on the couch. He was, one forearm thrown over his face. Then she got a glass of water from the kitchen tap and drank it down, one thread of the cool liquid running down her chin and neck.
Maggie walked back into the living room, lifted Kyle’s head and sat down, putting his head in her lap. Coco jumped back onto the couch and sat on Kyle’s feet.
Then Maggie put her weapon down on the end table and waited for morning.
It was Monday. Maggie had spent the last two days interviewing Gregory Boudreaux’s associates, taking the statement of the man who’d found his body, and talking to Gregory’s psychiatrist in Tallahassee, who was distractedly saddened to hear of Gregory’s death, but not especially surprised. He’d treated Gregory off and on for several years.
Maggie was hanging up the phone when Wyatt walked into the office she shared with Lt. Terry Coyle, the only other investigator in the Franklin County Sherriff’s Department.
Wyatt was drinking a Mountain Dew and had a bulky manila envelope in his free hand.
“Whatcha doin’?” he asked.
Maggie rolled her head to loosen up her neck and put her pen down.
“I just finished checking all those flight numbers,” she said. “It looks like Boudreaux was trying to decide between Costa Rica and Brazil. Either way, he was looking at flights for last Saturday.”
“Huh. Well, looks like he decided to go another way. Larry just sent over the autopsy report and Boudreaux’s effects. Official decision for suicide.”
“Okay then,” Maggie said.
Wyatt sat down in the metal folding chair she and Terry used for company, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He tossed the manila envelope onto her desk.
“Thought maybe you could run this over to Uncle Bennett when you’re done.”
Maggie looked up at the wall clock, which said it was almost four-thirty. Her shift typically ran from 7 a.m. to 5 p.m., unless something important happened. The deputies and Apalachicola PD handled most of the crimes in the area, which were generally fights and burglaries and violations of parole.
She looked at the envelope.
“I don’t suppose you could take it. You live like five blocks from Boudreaux.”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“Because one day you’ll probably be the Sheriff, but today you are not,” Wyatt said. “And besides, I have a dentist appointment.”
“I’ll bet you’re a lot of fun in the dentist’s chair.”
“I’m told I am,” Wyatt said. “The cute little hygienist is named Heather and she thinks I’m a riot. She also admires my gums.”
“Your gums are okay,” Maggie told him.
“I work out.”
“Alright, so I’ll do the paperwork on Boudreaux and then I’ll take this stuff over to his uncle. Anything else you need from me?”
Wyatt looked at her for a moment that was just long enough to make her a little nervous, and to remind her that he really was extremely handsome.
“No, that’s it for now,” he said, then broke into a big, dimpled smile as he stood.
“I have to go brush my teeth. Heather disapproves of Mountain Dew.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want you to disappoint little Heather,” Maggie said.
He stopped in the doorway and looked at her.
“Oh, I think I probably will anyway.”
He winked at her, then walked out of her office. Maggie watched where he’d been for a moment, willing the slight tinglin
g in her stomach to postpone itself for another time.
Then she looked down at the envelope on her desk and sighed.
“Mr. Boudreaux?”
“Yes?”
Maggie held the cell phone with her shoulder as she backed out of her parking space.
“This is Maggie Redmond. The medical examiner has released your nephew’s personal effects. I thought I would drop them off to you on my way home, if it’s convenient.”
“Where are you?” Boudreaux asked. He sounded like he was outdoors.
“I’m just leaving my office in Eastpoint.”
“Well, I just tied in at Boss Oyster,” Boudreaux said. “Can you meet me here?”
Boss Oyster was a raw bar just a few blocks north of Battery Park. It was right on the river, on the channel that ran past Big Towhead Island and out to the bay. It was one of Maggie’s favorite places to eat.
“Maggie? Lt. Redmond?”
“Yes sir, that’ll be fine. I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”
“I’ll see you when you get here then.”
Maggie heard him disconnect, but she tapped on the phone with her fingernail a few times before she closed it and pulled out of the parking lot.
Boss Oyster was housed in a bright green building that looked like a little cottage, guarded by two fan palms, and dwarfed by the warehouses on either side. The warehouses, one of them belonging to Boss, had a derelict appearance that Maggie thought enhanced the place’s appeal.
Maggie pulled into the oyster shell parking lot and grabbed the manila envelope before stepping out of the car.
Thunder rumbled overhead and close by, and the air had acquired a quality that Maggie had never experienced outside Florida. It was at once cool and hot, damp and perceptibly electric. This wasn’t going to be the usual 3:15 summer rain.
In front of the warehouse next door, a metal sign swung back and forth on its metal rod, sounding like a child’s first attempt at the violin.
Maggie walked in and paused in the doorway for a minute to let her eyes adjust to the dimness. She spotted Bennett Boudreaux on the deck in back as one of the servers approached her.
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