“I don’t always like to give my name.”
“It is you. You came to the house. Can you help me?”
“I don’t know, Susan. What is it you need?”
Her scowling boss approaches, saying nothing. Susan blinks her big blue eyes, not bloodshot this time, and mouths, “Not now.”
“Call me.” I slip my card through the window and leave.
#
Back in the car, I don’t mention Susan to Allison, because I’m not sure where that will lead. If she doesn’t call, I’ll call her. And I know where to find her—at work and at play.
Jeremy’s place is on East Riverside Drive, on the Caloosahatchee River near the interstate. We pull into the drive of one of the multitude of cinder block rectangles built all over this area from the fifties through the nineties. They still build houses from concrete block but they’re huge and much more expensive. Money, money, money.
Jeremy’s is freshly painted white stucco, shaded by a huge banyan tree, surrounded by a well-kept yard and flowers. A cop, a sexy hunk, and a gardener to boot. My eyes travel the row of blooming hibiscus and I see the river. Nice. His house is on the water. Makes it worth big bucks these days, anywhere in Florida. How can a cop afford it? Probably bought it for a song a few years ago.
“You coming in, Pratt?” Jeremy stands in his doorway, fists on hips, wearing shorts and tee. Allison and Bert are waiting for me to quit gawking.
“Checking out your place, Deputy Thorpe.” I head up the walk and into his house. Bright and sunny, windows everywhere. Clean windows even. He’s either a good housekeeper or he did a quick cleanup when he knew we were coming. I can see from the front door through living room, dining room, Florida room, to the river sparkling in the sun.
“Like your house.”
“Thanks. Want a beer?”
I look at Bert and Allison.
“No thanks, Jeremy. We have some errands to run,” Allison answers.
“Why don’t you go shopping while Jeremy and I take care of business,” I suggest. Of course, it’s not really business I’m thinking about.
“You guys have only one car, one boat?” Jeremy asks.
I nod in answer.
“I could take you to the island, Pratt. Save Bert and Allison driving back here.” He points at a sleek looking boat at his dock.
My heart revs a notch. I can’t think of an answer. Bert raises his right eyebrow in question, just like Mom.
Jeremy asks Bert and Allison, “Can you find your way around? Make it to the island without Ernie? Not get stuck on any sandbars?”
Bert grins. “We can manage.”
I toss him the boat keys. “Don’t wait ’til dark to go home.”
“I’ll make sure we’re early.” Allison is halfway out the door.
“We’ll be fine, Sis.”
They’re gone and I’m standing in the middle of Jeremy’s living room, alone with my favorite hunk. My body is doing some strange things. There’s a pulse down low where it has no right to be, and my face feels like it’s flaming. My legs are a bit rubbery. If I don’t sit, I’m going to melt into the floor.
“You look nervous, Pratt.” Jeremy moves close, almost touching.
“How about that beer?”
“Wanna work or play?” His teeth nibble on my ear.
My body says, PLAY! My voice says, “Let’s get work out of the way first.”
“Um, don’t think I can concentrate.” His hands move down my back, stopping at my bum, pulling me in. I feel his concentration problem hard against me.
My brain says, not so fast. He won’t respect you in the morning. My body says lust, sex, gimme, gimme, gimme. My brain turns off and my body takes over. It’s been a while, but it still knows the game. My hands go behind his head pulling him down so my tongue can seek his. I’m gone, over the barriers. Before I can even think about it, we’re in his bedroom, stripping each other naked, falling on the bed. It’s a quick, hot, passionate explosion from both of us, followed by a slow round of exploration and gentle sex.
I’ve never experienced a partner like this. Granted, I’ve experienced nothing in recent months and maybe I’ve forgotten. But sex with Jeremy makes earlier memories seem like groping child’s play.
We lie in his king-size bed, laughing and talking and exploring each other. He explores my bony contour: the ribs and hip bones that stick up when I lie on my back, the scars from numerous clumsy accidents. He kisses each scar and insists I tell him the stories that go with them. He laughs ’til the tears roll down his cheeks. I explore his muscles, rock-hard arms and legs, the six-pack abs I’ve never seen up close on anyone before. This man pays serious attention to his body. He has a few scars of his own, but the stories are quite different than mine. One on his shoulder is a bullet wound—his side shows the ravages of a knife.
We talk and touch until through the sliding glass doors I see the sun slip behind an island in the river.
“I’m not following my own advice about getting home before dark.”
“No need. You can stay the night if you like.”
It’s so tempting. “I should go home. I have guests.”
“They’ll take care of each other.” He chuckles and nuzzles his face into my small boobs, pushing them together with his hands. His evening whiskers are scratchy, but my skin doesn’t mind. I can feel him getting hard again against my leg.
“You have lots of stamina.”
“Been saving up for you.” He hovers over me and slips into me, this time sans condom.
“Jeremy, you forgot something.”
“Feels much better this way.”
No, no, no! Feels so good. Must stop. “I’m not on the pill.” The words come out in a squeaky, tiny voice.
“Sorry.” He reluctantly rolls over and makes the necessary adjustment. Then he’s back inside, bringing me to one more glorious, mind-blowing climax.
Chapter 16
Jeremy fixes sandwiches, while I stand around watching. Both of us are starving. He leaves nothing in the sink, wipes away every sign of food; his kitchen is spotless. “What’s this?” I point at two dishwashers, one on either side of the sink.
“I don’t have much cupboard space, so I use the dishwashers. I take clean dishes from one as I need them and put them in the other when they’re dirty. When it gets full, I run it.”
“Very clever, Deputy Thorpe.”
Oh, this man has a serious neatness problem. You’d best be careful if you’re going to spend any time here, Pratt.
We move the sandwiches and beer to Jeremy’s office, which is one of three bedrooms in his house. He allows me to eat here, not knowing what a slob I can be. The room is tidy like his kitchen. No piles of paper, like my office. I find a corner of his desk and spread a paper towel. Don’t want to spill anything.
Aren’t you glad you slept with him first, Pratt? You would have been uptight if you’d tuned into his neatness first. At least he’s not a neat freak in the bedroom. When we left there, clothes were tossed to the floor and the bed was totally destroyed.
Time to work. I’m amazed that this compulsive cleaner eats at his computer. One hand holds a sandwich, the other works the keyboard. He connects to the sheriff’s department system, giving me the name and password so I can login at home.
I bring him up to date on my Alex search as we look through the missing person files. When I get to the part of my story about Susan Bain at the bank, he asks, “Do you want me to bring her in for questioning? I’m sure we could do another drug bust at that house.”
“No. She probably wouldn’t tell you anything, and it sounds like she wants to talk to me. Let’s see if she calls.”
I spot a familiar name as I flip through the paper files placed carefully in my lap to keep them a safe distance from my food. “Look, Bruce Mondrone.”
“Who’s he?”
“A name on Mrs. Stark’s list. She said he came to Florida with George.”
A strange musical sound emanates from a
nother part of the house. “Is that your phone?” I ask.
“No. Is it yours?”
Oh, shit! I have no idea what my new one sounds like. Where did I leave it? I jump up, follow the sound, and find it in his bedroom, under the bed. By the time I answer, the caller is gone. A musical chime sounds and my phone speaks to me—a male voice with a British accent. “You have a message.” Damn! This is going to annoy me.
Jeremy watches over my shoulder as I decipher which buttons to punch. “Fancy phone, Pratt.”
“A bargain.”
The message is from Bert. They arrived home safely. Call him.
“You guys okay? Have food to eat and such? Is Mom there?” I ask when Bert answers.
“Yes, yes, and no. Mom’s still out.”
Mom must be having a good time with Big Jim. Wonder if she’s having as much fun as I am? We’re still in the bedroom and Jeremy moves closer, wrapping his arms around me from behind, breathing in my ear. I try to ignore him.
“Did you make it home before dark?” The alarm clock by Jeremy’s bed says it’s almost ten. I’ll bet Allison and Bert just made it back.
“We arrived at sunset.”
“Then why are you calling now?”
“Because Allison started to worry about you.”
“Been busy. Forgot the time.” I’m liable to forget time again with Jeremy’s hands doing their magic.
“You don’t have to come home, Ernestine. We’re fine here.” I can almost see Bert’s raised eyebrow. Is he peeking through the window?
“I’ll be home later.” There. I’m committed. Not staying the night.
When I hang up, Jeremy gives me an arms-open gesture. “Stay or go, Pratt?”
“I’d better go. Maybe another time.” I move into his arms and snuggle against his chest.
“Okay, babe. Whatever suits you.” He gives me a hug, grabs keys off the nightstand, and heads to the office.
The papers from my lap are strewn across the floor with the remains of my sandwich mixed in. So much for neatness, Pratt. At least the beer bottle is sitting on the desk. Jeremy leans over and starts gathering papers, chuckling.
“What are you laughing about, Mr. Clean.” Oh no! I called him Mr. Clean. “I’m a major disaster, a tornado tearing through your neatness.” I think I’m going to cry.
“Doesn’t matter, Pratt.” He hands me the official sheriff’s department folder marked with grease spots. “I was being neat to impress you.”
I sincerely doubt it. But my worries disappear when he wraps me in his arms and kisses my forehead.
#
The boat speeds down the Caloosahatchee, faster than my little fishing boat could ever go. I thought there was a speed limit in the river, but if there is, Jeremy ignores it. The night wind blows in my face—only a windshield in front of us. The water shimmers in the moonlight. Wish we were heading to parts unknown, maybe the Caribbean to search for the boys. What a trip that would be.
Could the boys have taken off like this, the excitement of sailing away making them forget about past lives, friends, and family? Seems like one of them would have called home. They’ve been gone six months.
When we arrive at the island, Jeremy insists on walking me home. Mom is sitting on our porch, a dreamy smile on her face.
“Evening, Jessica.” She insists Jeremy call her Jessica, not Ms. Pratt.
She nods at him in reply.
“See you later, Pratt.” Jeremy gives me a peck on the cheek, and he’s gone.
“Where are Bert and Allison?” I plop into a chair beside Mom.
“Walking.”
I would walk myself, but the walk from the dock was interesting, to say the least. Muscles I didn’t know existed, cry out. My body is feeling the effects of the exuberant exercise of the afternoon. It’s been ages since I’ve had that kind of workout. Never in fact. None of my previous sex partners was capable of more than one round at a time.
Did Mom indulge with Big Jim? None of your business, Pratt.
“No, Ernestine, I didn’t.” She reads my mind again. “I barely know him.”
“Did I say anything?”
“Your brother and Allison are sleeping together.”
“My brother? He’s your son.”
“It bothers me that she’s married.”
“Me, too. But she’s getting a divorce.” I want to see those divorce papers.
“Well, she’s married. Still wearing the ring.”
“We have no idea who his girlfriends are in New York, Mom. He could have any number of married women in his harem.”
She chuckles at that. “This is right under our noses. And Monica only left yesterday.”
“Yeah. Casanova Bert.”
“Wish he’d settle on one girl. Get married maybe. Have kids.” She looks dreamy again.
“That would make you a grandmother.”
“I guess it can wait.”
We sit watching the moonlit water in silence.
“Jim has a granddaughter. He’s going to bring her over on his next day off.”
“Nice, Mom.” Is that good or bad? I want to ask her, but instead I stare at the water, relaxed, happy, totally de-stressed. That’s what good sex can do for you.
Tuesday
Chapter 17
Breakfast at our house is usually a piece of toast with lots of butter and jelly or some pastries from Billy Sue’s Pizza. But this morning, Bert’s cooking for four of us.
“What’s in this thing?” I poke at my plate, which holds a huge omelet, more than I want to eat at this hour.
“Ah, sweet Ernestine, don’t ask me to give away my culinary secrets.”
“I hope you didn’t use anything that was growing green fuzzies. It’s been a while since we cleaned the refrigerator.”
“I assure you, all extraneous growth went down the garbage disposal.”
I go for another cup of coffee and peek in the fridge. It’s spotless. Wow!
“Nice job here, Bert. I know you like to cook, but you also clean? You’ll make someone a great wife.”
“Nah, Allison did that while I cooked.”
“Thank you, Allison!” Mom says. Allison takes a small bow.
Cleaning the fridge is one of those jobs I’m always meaning to do. I hate cleaning and so does Mom, but we manage to keep the place dusted and vac’d and free of the mold and mildew that creeps in here in Florida. Also, free of bugs and ants, with the help of our exterminator, Lady Bug. Max and Mindy also help with extermination. Where are those cats? Haven’t seen them today. Maybe one of them would like my omelet.
I sit again, taking a tentative bite. Surprise. It’s not bad. Spicy. Cheese and veggies and some kind of meat. I inspect, pushing food about with my fork. Maybe ham, something else. I taste. Chicken? We haven’t had chicken in a week. “Where did the chicken come from?”
“The freezer. You know about microwaves?”
“Sure, for making popcorn and warming up leftover coffee.”
Bert sits to eat. He’s finished cooking, and Allison is cleaning up after him. Maybe we should hire them as a domestic couple.
“What time is your flight, Bert?” Mom asks.
“Hey! I’d forgotten you’re leaving already. Do you need a ride to town?” I ask.
Bert mumbles his answer through his food. “If you don’t mind...” chew, chew, chew... “I’d like...” chomp, chomp... “to stay ’til the end of the week...” chew, chew, swallow. His table manners leave a little to be desired.
“Do you do that at fine restaurants in New York?” I ask.
“Do what?” He wipes his mouth with a napkin. He’s finished. Half my omelet languishes in my plate.
“Talk with your mouth full,” Mom answers.
“Oh. No, I don’t think so. But you guys don’t mind do you? I was hungry after all that cooking.”
“Sorry, Allison.” He turns and smiles at her and she smiles back. She wouldn’t notice. She’s smitten, and since no one has objected, Bert’s staying
’til the weekend.
“Can I use your computer?” Bert directs his question at me. Mom’s computer is off limits. All that secret writing for her novels, not to be seen until she deems it readable and dumps it in your lap for comments.
“Yes, but I have work to do. Will you be long?”
“Need to change my flight reservation.”
“Can’t you do that with your new phone?”
“Easier on the computer. I haven’t quite figured out my new toy.” He removes it from his pocket and admires it. “Good choice, Ernie. Good bargaining, too.” He shows it to Mom. “I’ll bet you could get a new one.”
“Do I need to drop mine in the water or bake it in the oven ’til it turns to a cinder?”
“Do you want to hear how we finagled them?” Burt asks.
“As long as there was no destroyed car or other violence this time.”
Three of us compete to tell the latest tale of the phones for Mom’s pleasure. The family that laughs together stays together.
#
Allison, Bert, and I head for my office. Bert takes over my computer, trying to change his afternoon reservation to New York. Unless he’s a magician, he’ll pay through the nose for that change of heart. He’d rather stay here with Allison than go home and make amends with Monica, even though he claims he wants to spend more time with his family. I guess he can afford it. He makes the big bucks in the city.
“Do you know any of these people?” I hand Allison three lists of names. One is a list of George’s friends from his mother, two are from the sheriff’s office—the people at the house the cops busted on Fort Myers Beach, and those who were reported missing last summer.
Allison checks off some names. Good. “Bruce Mondrone is on two lists.” “Yes. Mrs. Stark’s and missing persons. Do you know him?”
“Sort of.”
I should call Bruce’s family. I dial their number on my new device. A short conversation with Mrs. Mondrone tells me she’s not interested in talking to “another useless PI,” as she puts it. She knows nothing and is not going to help.
The only other duplicate except for George is Susan Bain, who appears on George’s mother’s list and the beach house bust. How can she get a job in a bank? Oh, I forgot. No arrest. Interesting that Jeremy gave me these names when supposedly they have no police record. I wonder if Allison and I are in their files for our complaint against Gorilla Bob. There is no privacy these days.
Mangrove Madness: An Ernestine Ernie Pratt Mystery (Ernestine Ernie Pratt Adventures Book 1) Page 9