Gone

SEVENTEEN

THE TIKI BAR IN CAXAMBAS WAS NAMED RUM ’N’ COKE, which had the dirty sound of smugglers and meth addicts, so fit a tile room with fake palm thatching, two video games, and initials carved into the tables.

“Heart attack in a basket,” Nathan said, disappointed by the menu. “Why not stop in Marco and get a smoothie? There’s a vegetarian restaurant, too. Lots of decent places to eat.”

It was hard to believe that Marco Island, with its million-dollar sky-rise condos, silver beaches, and golf courses, was five miles north of this trailer park village, separated only by mangroves and a shell road. To the east was Goodland, an historic fishing village, another nice place my uncle liked, but not as close by boat.

“The lady’s grandson said he’d have her call,” I reminded Nathan. “I’d hate to come all this distance and leave without something new to tell Martha.” I was referring to the Caxambas postmistress, who wasn’t at work, of course, this being Sunday. We’d asked half a dozen locals before finding the right house, then knocking on the postmistress’s door. A snotty-nosed ten-year-old had answered, telling us, “Maw-maw will be back soon, write your number on this matchbook.” Turned out the kid’s Maw-maw was a notary public who did weddings when she wasn’t sorting mail.

This was after the disappointment of confirming that no one at Caxambas marina had gotten even a glimpse of a passenger on the white Skipjack cruiser with blue canvas that showed up Mondays for fuel. The same was true of Cordial Pallet’s friend, a nice old man who smoked a pipe and had hands the color of sugar-cured ham from being in the sun, fishing pompano and pulling crab traps, all his life.

“Martha, huh?” Nate said, smiling up from the menu. “You sure mention that woman’s name a lot for not liking what she did in the swimming pool. Come on, be honest. You didn’t tell me everything.”

“Now I’m sorry I said anything at all, the way you’re acting,” I replied, tapping my foot on linoleum, looking from my menu to the woman ignoring us behind the bar. “The least she could do is bring napkins and water,” I said. Then raised my voice to call, “Excuse me, miss! Could we get a couple of iced teas over here? Sweet tea if you have it.”

Nate wasn’t going to miss this chance to goad me about secretly preferring women, a topic he enjoyed and often hinted at. “I think Martha’s gorgeous,” he said, “but in a frosty, ball-breaker sort of way. You said yourself you find her attractive. And that you were flattered.”

Being honest has its risks, and my friend had caught me at a soft moment during our ninety-minute drive south. First, he’d impressed me with background information on three ex-cons who might be using the name Ricky Meeks, as well as a paragraph that seemed to describe the unusual gun I’d found. Twenty years ago, a gun-customizing company named Devel had produced a concealment weapon for a State Department agency that was still classified. Fewer than two hundred of the guns had been made. The weapon was a shortened Smith & Wesson with a hooked trigger guard and “window” grips, plus some other tweaks for fast shooting.

“I’m not sure if the name’s pronounced Dee-vel or Devil,” Nate had added, telling me with his tone that he preferred the second. There was no photo, but it sure sounded like the mysterious weapon I’d brought along for him to see.

Then my muscular friend had softened me more by giving me a photo of Barbara Stanwyck framed in polished aluminum. The frame was too modern for my taste, but I was touched by his thoughtfulness and loved the picture. It was different from the one in Darren’s magazine, but I’d seen it on the Internet when researching the actress. I’d never been compared to a beautiful Hollywood star before so, naturally, was hopeful of finding other similarities that would support Darren’s compliment. To my surprise, I’d discovered a couple that even the skeptical girl inside me couldn’t deny.

As I’d told Nathan, “Barbara Stanwyck’s father ran off when she was a little girl, too. Went to Panama or someplace when she was barely three, never saw him again. And she was a real outdoorsman. Owned a ranch, rode horses, and loved to trout-fish. Plus, she lived most her life as a single woman after divorcing. Didn’t feel the need to hook her star to a husband to be happy.” As a secret compliment to myself, I’d almost added, “She was an independent lady. A man’s woman,” but unfortunately did not.

That was the slip that had led to prying questions from Nathan, then me revealing how Martha had tried to seduce me. Worse, I’d admitted I had found it flattering-as unwelcome as Martha’s behavior was-to be picked out by such a successful, attractive woman when there were plenty to choose from on a night when live music was being played at Jensen’s Marina just down the road.

I’d sworn Nate to secrecy! Instead, he was jabbing me with more questions, and in a public place, where the woman ignoring us behind the bar could hear if she’d bothered to put down her cell phone and pay attention.

Now he was asking, “After she tried to kiss you, what happened? Jesus, Hannah, the details! You slapped your boss. What’d she say?”

Yesterday, I would not have revealed to Nate, or anyone else, the exchange that took place between Martha Calder-Shaun and myself two nights ago. What the woman said had troubled me so much, I’d left the Seasonses’ estate sleepless and was still wondering about my feelings the next day. But that was no longer true.

Even so, teeth clenched, I leaned forward and spoke in a low voice, saying, “I pushed Martha’s hand away-more of a whack than a slap. Then the two of us agreed to forget it. If you’re so darn nosy, I’ll tell you the details-but later, when we’re in the truck. I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. It’s kind of funny, really.”

“Oh, come on! Tell me now.” Nate’s huge head swiveled toward the bar. “Our waitress is too busy texting to hear.”

I sighed, confirmed that it was true, then wiggled my index finger to summon him closer. “You’re a mess, you know that?” I said.

“Please?”

“Okay!” I hissed, then whispered what the New York attorney had said after I’d knocked her hand off my breast.

“Hannah, you beautiful, unusual girl. Ninety percent of all women are bisexual, they just don’t know it. It’s the most natural thing in the world. You’re afraid to let go… risk finding out how sexy and tender it can be. Why? Because you know you’d love it.”

To Nathan, I added, “Those aren’t her exact words. But close. It isn’t true, of course.”

Nate said, “That’s awesome! The woman’s crazy about you. My God, she was still trying to get in your knickers even after you slapped her.”

“Martha isn’t one to quit easily,” I agreed. “You don’t get to her level unless you’ve got some grit.”

“Listen to yourself! You’re defending her!”

“A woman who comes right out and says what she thinks? I admire that. I wish I was more like her. Why not?”

Nate was loving it. “You were tempted to let her kiss you, I can tell. Just a little? Admit it, Four.”

I shrugged and shook my head, comfortable with what I was about to say. “Like I told you, I was flattered. Sure, I’ve thought about what it would be like. Do something that’s fun and feels good-especially with someone I admire-I don’t see anything wrong with that. But my body makes the rules-so far, at least-and I don’t see that changing. My body tells me I’d have a lot more fun and feel a lot better with a man who has something between his ears and between his legs.”

I shrugged again, adding, “There’s no doubt in my mind about what I like.” Which wasn’t a lie-especially after last night, sitting in a small, warm room with the biologist, listening to his voice and watching the way his hands and shoulders moved. If Dr. Ford had a woman in his life, there was no evidence of her in his manner, or in his bathroom shower soap caddy. I’d checked.

Nate parroted Martha’s words, wanting to remember them: “Ninety percent of all woman are bisexual, they just don’t know it.” Then asked the same question I’d made the mistake of asking: “What about the other ten percent?”

I quoted Martha Calder-Shaun, getting it almost perfect. “They’re lesbians, kiddo. Don’t fret-most of them are a hell of a lot happier than we are.”

The dumb grin on Nathan’s face told me he was trying to commit the conversation to memory, but then his expression changed. I realized he was looking beyond me at a man who had just come through the door. Short man, with muscled forearms, wearing a turquoise Miami Dolphins cap and white rubber fishing boots.

“I think that guy’s following us,” Nate whispered. “He was hanging around the marina. Then drove past when we were at the door where the postmistress lives. Remember the old pickup with the loud muffler? Red one. I saw his face.” My friend made a subtle hushing motion with hands. “Quiet. Here he comes.”

To balance Nathan’s timid body language, I sat taller on my seat and didn’t disguise my interest as I watched the man stop for a moment, silhouetted by the bright day outside. His eyes moved around the room until he found me, then he smiled, teeth whiter and straighter than expected.

–

“YOU’RE THE FOLKS been asking questions,” the man in the Dolphins cap said when he got to our table. “We’re looking for the same guy, I think. Ricky Meeks. That crook owes me money. How much he owe you?” Spreading like a cloud over our table floated the smell of beer and lighter fluid or what might have been sweat.

Nathan was a foot taller when he stood to shake hands, which caused the man to puff up and try to appear larger, his eyes still fixed on me. “Name’s Eugene. And you’re Hannah Smith. Don’t look surprised. I sell fish to the marina, and the boys told me what a famous family you come from.” He still hadn’t craned his neck to look up at Nate but said to him as an aside, “Place as small as Caxambas, people talk. Everybody knows everybody else’s business. That ain’t always a bad thing… unless you do bad things-like that boy you’ve been asking about. Mind if I sit down?”

I couldn’t place the accent. It was Southern, but not Central Florida, and definitely not Deep South. One of the Western states, maybe. Something else I couldn’t put my finger on was why I felt an instant distrust for this drunken man who, so far, had been open about why he was looking for us. Unless… he was lying.

The waitress, at least, liked him. She called him by name, still ignoring Nathan and me, but soon Eugene had a beer in front of him while I sipped sugarless tea that tasted of plastic. Nate had made a safer choice ordering bottled water.

“What’s your last name again?” I interrupted when the man went right back to the subject of Meeks owing him money. The way he hesitated before responding, “Schneider… Eugene Schneider,” caused more suspicion, which must have registered on my face.

Like a curtain falling, the man’s genial manner disappeared with his smile. “You got a problem about something, darling?”

Nathan winced, but I felt right at ease. “I’m not your ‘darling.’ And you’re the one who came to find me. If you’ve got something to say, say it.”

Schneider pushed the cap back on his head, his expression broadcasting disbelief. “Just ’cause you’re sitting with muscle boy here doesn’t give you call to be snooty… darling. Especially to a man who’s only trying to help.” For the first time, Schneider looked up at Nate, whose face I noticed was mottling just like in school when older boys picked on him. “What about it, biggun? Your girlfriend always this ornery?”

“Always,” Nate said, “except for when she’s worse.”

“There you go!” Schneider’s smile reappeared as he toasted the ceiling with his beer. He took a sip, spread his arms to claim more table space, then returned his attention to me. “You want to find this Ricky Meeks character or not? Cops won’t listen to me because I loaned the guy five thousand cash and didn’t get a receipt. If you’ve got something in writing, though, I know where the guy is.” The man leaned closer. “Trust me, he’s not staying where some folks might have told you. I know that for a fact.”

I didn’t believe for a moment that Eugene Schneider had ever owned five thousand in cash, but his claim was worth exploring, so my brain told my mouth not to say anything else to offend the liar. Instead, I tried a lie of my own, saying, “If someone told us where to find Ricky Meeks, it’s because they trusted me and I trust them. So I don’t see how we can help each other.” I gave Nate a look to make sure he understood what I was doing. He understood.

Standing, my friend said, “Thanks for the offer, but we’ve already found out what we need to know.”

Eugene ignored the outstretched hand, preferring to keep his drunken eyes on me. “You sure you don’t want to at least listen? Might save us both some time.”

I exchanged another look with Nate, who handled it exactly right. “Wouldn’t hurt to hear what the man has to say, Hannah. Besides, if he leaves, the waitress probably won’t be back to take our order.” My friend, playing the good cop, grinned and took his seat as a way of answering for me.

Schneider rewarded Nathan with a fraternity boy cackle, then lowered his voice to stress the importance of what he was saying. “A few weeks back, some local Crackers might have seen Ricky’s boats anchored back side of East Drake Key. Sure. His Skipjack cruiser, and he’s got an over-powered little jon boat. But that was two weeks ago, and these know-it-all Crackers don’t work after sunup like me.”

A jon boat is a flat-bottomed aluminum skiff built for running fast in shallow water. This was the first I’d heard of Meeks owning anything more maneuverable than his thirty-foot cruiser and a blue dinghy, but I didn’t want Schneider to know the information was useful. “You remember Drake Keys,” I said to Nathan. “They’re south of here, part of Cape Romano.”

To Schneider my friend said, “So far, you haven’t told us anything new.”

“Biggun,” Schneider said, getting impatient, “I’m not finished yet. What I’m trying to tell you is, I fish around Cape Romano a lot. I know Drake Keys like the back of my hand, and Ricky’s not there anymore. I know where he went, though-but you’ve never heard of the place. Dismal Key. It’s southeast a few miles but hidden so far back in the islands you couldn’t find it if you tried. I’d have to take you-if we come to some agreement.”

If Uncle Jake hadn’t taken me to explore Indian mounds on Dismal Key-an island dense with cactus, mosquitoes, and heat-I would have thought Eugene had stolen the name from a movie or was making it up. Dismal Key was a real place, though, and there was never a more accurate name. Now my brain was telling my mouth Don’t say anything stupid, keep him talking.

“Interesting,” I responded as if I wanted to believe this drunk with angry pale eyes. “What you’re saying is, you expect us to pay you for your help.”

“The guy owes me five thousand cash. How else you expect me to recover what I lost? Either that or tell me the truth about why you’re looking for Ricky. If you’ve got enough dirt on him-or receipts for the money he owes you-maybe the cops will listen if we join up together.”

Schneider was still lying. If the locals had told him my name, they’d also told him we’d been asking if there was a passenger on Meeks’s boat, not looking to recover a bad loan. But why? The man wanted something-money, of course. Or maybe he was just nosy and liked being the center of attention. Ricky Meeks wasn’t the type to win loyal friends, so Schneider had no reason to put us on a false trail. But after taking our money, he could always claim that Meeks had moved to another spot when we failed to find him.

“I’m kind of fussy about who I do business with,” I said, no longer worried about making the man mad. “Nathan, instant tea is all the lunch I’ll get if we stay here. You ready to find a place that’s more particular about its customers?”

Eugene Schneider’s temper had been sparking all along. Now it flared. “You little bitch!” he snapped, pushing his chair back. “I ought to slap you across this room for that.”

Nate was instantly on his feet. “Shut… shut your mouth, mister!” he stammered, looming over the little man. “Lay a hand on Hannah and… and you’ll regret it!”

I’d never experienced such behavior from my friend before. It was so unexpected, I couldn’t speak for a moment, then had to hide a smile because of the way Schneider was cowering, looking at his dirty fingers, the table, anything but Nate’s red face.

“Now, now, boys,” I said in the tone of a grade school teacher, then waited until Nathan had taken his seat. “Eugene? You need to be careful who you taunt. Nate doesn’t get mad quick, but he’s a dangerous man when it happens.” Not making eye contact with Nathan was the only thing that kept the smile off my face.

“Smart-ass woman,” Schneider mumbled, his expression sullen. He was still inspecting his fingers.

I told him, “There’s no reason I should tolerate that sort of talk, but here’s what we’ll do. Tell me who Ricky’s got on his boat and there might be a business arrangement. But no promises.”

“Lady, you just got all the free information out of me you’re gonna get. I have things to do this afternoon, but I’ll run you down to Dismal Key after sunset. You can see for yourself-but it’ll cost you… a thousand dollars. Five hundred if his boat’s not there.”

Nathan answered for me. “We can’t. Hannah’s going to a yacht party, but maybe tomorrow-”

“Party?” Schneider interrupted. “I’d know about it if there was a party on a boat anywhere near here.”

“Fishermans Wharf, not Caxambas,” Nathan explained, laughing because he was nervous. After showing such strength, my friend seemed to be seeking peace through camaraderie. I didn’t appreciate him mentioning my personal business to a drunk, but I was busy thinking about Schneider’s offer to take us to Dismal Key. Not that I intended to go with him, of course, but we could rent a boat at the marina ourselves. I’d just have to get approval from Mr. Seasons for something that expensive.

The problem was, Schneider had told us so many lies it was impossible to pick out the small bits of truth-if any. If Ricky Meeks had been anchored off the Drake Keys, why would this local drunk reveal the exact name of Ricky’s new hiding place? Schneider either didn’t suspect I could boat to the place on my own, or he was intentionally trying to nudge us off the trail until he’d had time to warn Ricky to move-not out of friendship, but because of what remained of Olivia’s fifty-thousand-dollar checking account.

As I sat there thinking, the party aboard Sybarite no longer seemed important… but that suddenly changed. It changed when I noticed how curious Schneider was about the name of the yacht hosting the party.

“Nate!” I interrupted. “Eugene was about to tell us who else is on that Skipjack cruiser. You mind letting him answer?”

Schneider was disappointed. I could see it. The man finished his beer, his mind working hard at something, no telling what, then finally said to me, “I know the person you’re talking about.”

“On Ricky’s boat?” I countered.

“She’s a woman about your age. A rich young woman, or so that asshole claimed. I only got a quick look at her-she was coming out of the post office. Her and Ricky together. She reminded me of a stork, all bones and legs. Can’t imagine what the dude saw in a piece like her.”

My face warming, I replied, “We can’t all be short and soft, now can we?”

The man missed the sarcasm. “This was… two weeks ago or so. But she took off.”

I said, “What?”

“You offered to pay if I told you about Ricky’s passenger. So I told you. He had a woman with him-I just described her-but that was a while ago.” The man’s eyes moved from Nathan to me to see how we accepted the news. “I’ll be damned!” he said after a moment. “She’s the reason you’re here! Well, you’re wasting your time, darling. The woman got pissed off at Ricky, or he got bored and kicked her out. Who knows? But she’s been gone at least two weeks.”

“Gone where?” I demanded.

The man was shaking his head. “If you want more details, it’ll cost you… two hundred dollars cash. Now.”

Confident after seeing my reaction, Eugene Schneider was smiling again, back in control. Within a few hours, I’d get my first look at Ricky Meeks whether I paid or not, but there was no way of knowing that. No way of predicting or even guessing at events that would soon follow.

So I did what I thought was prudent. As I reached for my wallet, the little man was signaling for another beer.