The Butterfly Forest

SEVENTY-FOUR

Later that night, after Elizabeth and I ate a dinner of broiled flounder and shrimp with Dave and Nick, we said good night and came back to Jupiter, Max leading the way. “I went to the master berth to grab a few of my things. She followed me in. You’ll be comfortable sleeping in here.”

“It’s amazing how large the bedroom is,” she said, smiling. “You’d never know this room is down here just by standing up on the dock and looking at your boat.”

“You’ll have privacy and some small degree of spaciousness.”

“Where will you sleep? I don’t want to take your bed.”

“Jupiter has two staterooms, and she sleeps six people comfortably. When I’m on the boat, sometimes I fall asleep on the couch in the salon, and sometimes Max and I have been known to climb topside and catch a breeze sleeping under the stars.” I stepped to a small chest near the bed, opened the top and took out a .38 Smith and Wesson.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a loaded .38 caliber. It holds six shots.” I took the pistol out of the holster and showed her where to find the safety. “If you need it, hold it with both hands, then aim at the chest and squeeze the trigger.”

“Why are you showing me this?”

“Someone with the Gonzales family, probably Soto, tried to kill you with arsenic, thinking it’d be ruled a suicide. Should there be a next time, they’ll be quicker and deadlier. I want to make sure there is no next time.”

She was quiet, stepping to the porthole and watching the lights across the water. “At dinner, you said Luke Palmer is out on bond. Dave said that since Palmer supposedly saw the shooting of Molly and Mark, maybe they’d go after him before me. Do you really believe that?”

“I do.”

“Do you think they’ll kill Palmer?”

“If they can find him, yes.”

“Maybe they’ll never find him.”

I touched her shoulder. “You’re going to be fine. Do you believe me?”

She nodded.

“Good. Put your things away and join Max and me on the bridge for a nightcap and a great view of the bay.”

Topside, I shut off the overhead lamp. In the darkness, I leaned back in the captain’s chair and watched a shrimp boat slide out of the marina and chug into the Halifax River. The shrimper’s running lights pulsed in the dark wake as the boat headed south a half mile before it would take a left into the inlet and emerge into the Atlantic Ocean. I caught the scent of blooming mangroves and wet barnacles hugging the air while the tide pulled and eased the ropes holding Jupiter.

A few minutes later, Elizabeth climbed the steps to the bridge. She’d changed into jeans and a light blue sweater. She sat next to Max, who had drifted off to sleep on the bench seat. I asked, “Would you like a drink? I have scotch, vodka and Irish whiskey up here. Wine and beer are down below.”

“Vodka’s fine. Water, ice and some lime, if you have it.”

I opened the small liquor cabinet and fixed the drinks, wrapping Elizabeth’s glass with a napkin. She sipped once and looked out across the marina to the Ponce Lighthouse. “It’s beautiful up here at night. You can see from the river to the ocean.”

“After the Tiki Bar closes, and the marina becomes quiet, you can hear the breakers crashing when the wind is not blowing.”

“Do you miss your old house on the river?”

“I do. When I’m here I miss it. And when I’m there I miss the boat and the people in the marina.”

“You’re friends are kind, especially Nick and Dave. Thank you for making me feel at home.”

“You’re welcome.”

“It’s cool tonight. Would you sit next to me? We can pick out the constellations together.”

I looked at her face, and for just a second, I saw a glimpse of what she may have looked like as a girl. It was in the way she held her head and absorbed the stars, a half smile, the roll of her shoulders, eyes that reflected the vastness of the universe. The moment was no longer than a flash of lightning. It was almost too quick for the eye to transmit the image to the brain. But it was there, if only for a blink, a second of pure innocence, a snapshot of an expression I’d seen in Molly.

“Let’s just sit and look at the twinkling stars and the plump moon,” she said. “I lost my husband, and now my only child. You lost your wife. We’re like two lost souls gazing up at the universe trying to connect dots that are too far apart.”

“They’ll come closer.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

“Do you miss your wife as much as the day she died?

“More. I miss her more now than ever.”

“I understand that. Let’s just sit here and take in the heavens together, okay?”

“Okay.”

She smiled as I sat next to her. She reached over, slipped her hand in mine and said nothing. We sat that way for a long while, the breeze gentle off the ocean, the rising moon minting gold coins across a shimmering bay, the stars bold as holiday lights in a wreath that hung on the doorstep of the universe. Elizabeth yawned, tired eyes looking at the dark ocean, her head now resting on my shoulder. Then her breathing became steady, and her body pressed against mine.

It was good to see Elizabeth sleep. I simply sat there with her for a while, my eyes catching the rotation of the lamp in the lighthouse, my thoughts wondering if there was light at the end of this dark tunnel and where it would lead. I looked over at the woman who slept against my shoulder, her face still not at a complete rest. I’d soon help her down the steps and into the big bed. When she awoke in the morning, she’d read my note.

By that time, I hoped that Joe Billie and I would have found Luke Palmer before Pablo Gonzales did.