The Butterfly Forest

SIX

The whine from the engine of a small plane sounded in distress. From the end of my dock, I looked up to the east as the pilot began a skywriter’s message. He formed the letter G, the engine sputtering, the G clinging to the cloudless, blue sky. I stood, reached in my pocket and read the name and address of the restaurant on the card.

Dave called my cell and asked, “When you say you’re going to call back, is that today or in some other time zone?” He chuckled.

“Sorry.”

“I met a man who needs a 41-foot Beneteau delivered to Ponce Marina. It’s moored at Cedar Key. Sounds like your kind of job. You coming to the marina today?”

“Tomorrow. I have another unscheduled stop. And I hope I’m not too late.”

“How can you be late for something that’s not scheduled?”

I glanced at the sky. The pilot had written: G O “Got to go, Dave.”

I looked at my watch: 3:30 p.m. The hours printed on Elizabeth Monroe’s card read: 6:00 a.m. ‘till 2:00 p.m. I punched in the number to her restaurant. A woman answered. I said, “Molly?”

She hesitated. “Yes, who’s this?”

“Sean O’Brien. We met at Walmart.”

“Oh, hi. Thanks again for… for what you did.”

“No problem. Is your mother there?”

“Yes, we’re closed. I’ll get her for you.”

Ten seconds passed and Elizabeth Monroe was on the phone. I told her about the man who’d pulled the gun on them, gave her the name, Frank Soto.

“It’s just Molly and me. I know how to use a gun. My late husband taught me. You said police believe this man, Soto, is a suspect in murders… an enforcer?”

“Yes.” I could hear her breathing.

“Mr. O’Brien—”

“Please, call me Sean.”

“The last thing I want on this earth is to impose. But you called me before the police have. You were there and saw what this man was trying to do, and you stopped him. I’m an independent person, raising my daughter after Jeff died years ago. But at this point, I could use some advice. You said you had been a cop. Maybe you could offer us some things we should be aware of…” She stopped. “Just in case he comes back.”

“Okay. The first thing to do is—”

“Molly should hear this, too. Can you stop by the restaurant? She’s going back to college soon. She’s here making some extra money before returning to the University of Florida. I don’t want to be a bother… but maybe you could stop by the restaurant. I’ll put on a fresh pot of coffee. Our homemade pies are to die for.” She made a nervous laugh. “That sounded odd after what happened.”

“Do you have apple pie?”

“Yes, we do.” A sense of energy was back in her voice.

“Do you have cheese?”

“Of course. Do you like cheese on your apple pie?”

“Not really, but Max likes cheese. I don’t want her to feel left out.”

“Is she your daughter?”

“She’s my dachshund.”

“I love dachshunds! We had one when I was a little girl. We’re closed, so she can have the run of the place.”

“Half hour, okay?”

“Absolutely, bye.”

I glanced down at Max. “Ready for some dessert?” She wagged her tail then looked up at the buzzing in the clouds. The skywriter, ending his acrobatics, wrote:

I watched as his plane became a tiny dot in the sky. The smoke letters bled white against the deep blue like cosmic dust floating toward the darker clouds building far out over the ocean.

“Come on, Max. I feel a storm brewing in my bones.” She trotted off the dock, pausing briefly to see if I was following. I picked up her bowl as a cooler wind blew through the cypress and weeping willows, the breeze sending a ripple across the murky surface of the river.