Bitter End (Seychelle Sullivan #3) (13 page)

“I’ll do my best,” I said, remembering the somber boy who had sat in front of his father’s coffin that afternoon, and who now sat with a policewoman while they arrested his mother for murder. The kid didn’t have much to laugh about these days.

Molly stood up and shook my hand like we had just concluded some kind of business arrangement.

At that moment the door opened and Detective Mabry’s bulk filled the frame. “Ladies, I’m afraid we are going to have to ask you to leave now.”

I tucked the necklace in a side pocket of my shoulder bag and followed Jeannie out of the room.

XI

Zale sat straight-backed in a plastic chair, holding a can of Hawaiian Punch and watching the latest incarnation of the TV show
Survivor
with the young woman who had greeted us and shown us back to the interrogation room. Her blue uniform looked very much like those of the other officers, but she didn’t wear a gun. Jeannie and Mabry waited out in the hall as I went in.

“Hey, Zale,” I started, not knowing what words were going to come out of my mouth, but knowing that if I just kept talking I would at some point figure out how to tell him that his mother was going to jail. I nodded at the can in his hand. “Hawaiian Punch, huh? I can just hear what your mom would say about all the chemicals in that. Right?”

His mouth stretched wide and thin, but the corners turned down. “Where is my mom? Did you talk to her?”

“Yeah, yeah, I did.” I pulled back a chair, scraping it across the linoleum, and sat down next to him. “And she asked a favor of me. See, the cops have really got this screwed up.” The young woman looked at me with raised eyebrows. “Sorry, miss, but it’s true. See, Zale, they’ve got it in their heads that your mom is somehow involved with your dad’s murder. You and I both know they’re nuts, but Jeannie is going to have to go through all kinds of red tape here to get her released, and your mom really doesn’t want you sitting here all night drinking Hawaiian Punch, so I’m going to take you over to spend the night at my place.”

“They’ve arrested her?”

Damn. The kid was sharp. Young as he was, he knew exactly what was going on. “Yeah, they have. There’s no way they can make it stick, though.”

“Is she going to jail?”

“Yeah, I’m afraid she is. Just for a little while, though.” I watched the people on the television earnestly discussing one another’s fate by candlelight. “They are going to take her over to the jail for the night. There will be a hearing first thing in the morning and hopefully they’ll let her out then.”

“Can I see her before we leave?”

I glanced back over my shoulder at the door. Detective Mabry was leaning on the doorjamb and he shook his head.

“I’m afraid not. Not tonight. We need to get you back to my place and into bed. It’s late. Abaco will sure be glad to see you.”

“Okay,” he said, his voice a monotone. He stood and handed me the can of punch, which, by the feel of it, he had not touched.

Jeannie drove us by Molly’s house so Zale could pack some clothes and things in a bag, then back to my place in Rio Vista. The night was not as cold as it had been the night before, as the Gulf Stream was once again carrying up the warm water and air from southern climes. The kid sat in the back of her van, his sweatshirt hood pulled up on his head, and didn’t say a word the entire trip. When I asked him a question, he’d nod or shake his head, but that was all I could get out of him. When Jeannie pulled up to the curb, I jumped out first and slid the side door open for him. He slung his backpack over his shoulder before I dragged him around to the driver’s side so he could say good-bye to Jeannie with me.

She reached out her window, got his head in the crook of her arm, and pulled him to her. The peak of his sweatshirt hood poked out above her ample biceps, and it looked a little like she’d captured herself a lawn gnome. “Son, I am not going to insult your intelligence by telling you not to worry,” she said. “We’re all worried. But notice I said we. You and your momma are not alone. You’ve got friends. Lots of ’em. We are gonna fight this thing with a fierceness like they’ve never seen. You hear me?”

Zale tried to nod, but his head was clenched in the mass of pink flesh.

“Okay,” she said, releasing him. He stumbled back and his hood slid down his back. I could see he was fighting the urge to reach up and massage the back of his neck. “I’ll call you two soon as I hear anything,” she said, then put the van in gear and drove off up the dark street.

Zale put a hand to the side of his neck and said, “Man, she’s strong.”

I patted him on the back and directed him toward the path along the side of the Larsens’ house. “Yup. And that’s just the kind of woman you want fighting for you when you go to battle.”

We were halfway across the Larsens’ backyard before I realized there were lights on in my cottage where there shouldn’t have been. B. J. knew where I hid the spare key, but he’d never just let himself into my place on his own. That would imply a level of what? Connectedness? Some level that we hadn’t reached, anyway. Abaco was nowhere to be seen, either. Was she inside?

“Wait here a minute.” I put my hand on the center of Zale’s chest and pushed him into the shadows along the path. “I want to check something.” I crossed to the window behind the bougainvillea bush on the side of the cottage and peered through gaps in the miniblinds. I couldn’t see anyone in the middle of the living room, but my rustling the bushes set Abaco to barking inside. I heard a man’s voice say, “What the heck are you barking at?” That was a very familiar voice.

The door swung inward just as I reached for the knob, and there stood my brother wearing my Fort Lauderdale Lifeguard sweatshirt.

“Pit!” I yelled and threw my arms around his neck. “Hey, Sis.”

I let go and looked up at him. “It is great to see you.”
 

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing at the spot where I’d planted a kiss on his cheek. “Hasn’t even been a year. I seem to be making this visiting thing into a regular habit.”

I stepped back outside the door and called into the darkness. “Come on, Zale. It’s okay.” When the boy got to the doorway, he stood there blinking at the interior lights through his wire-rimmed glasses, the straps of his backpack making his shoulders look even more thin and narrow. “Hey, come here. I want you to meet my brother. Pitcairn Sullivan, I’d like you to meet Zale Pontus.”

Pit’s eyes widened at the name, and he glanced at me with a look so quick our eyes never really connected. Then he stepped up to the boy and with a broad smile shook his hand. “Man, and I thought I had it bad in the name department. What excuse does your mom give for saddling you with Zale?”

“She says it means ‘sea strength’ in Greek.”

Pit cocked his head to the side as though tasting the idea. “That’s cool. That sounds like Molly. I’d rather have that than be named after some island in
Mutiny on the Bounty
.”

“You know my mom?”

“
Know
her?” He spun the boy around and started helping Zale take the backpack off. “Man, once upon a time we were practically like family. We grew up together, me, Sey, and your mom. I could tell you some stories about her that she’s probably never told you. Like about the time we let loose all the baby hopper frogs in Mrs. Vannostrand’s fourth-grade class? Remember that, Sis? All the girls went screaming out of the room, and Miz V was running around trying to collect the little guys by sticking them in her coffee mug.” He laughed, and I could see the hint of a smile on Zale’s face.

“Molly’s going to be furious with you, Pit, if you tell him all those old stories.”

Pit threw the kid’s backpack on the couch and motioned for him to sit. “Well, hell, I’d guess after all these years of her not talking to me, I really have to be careful not to get her mad.”

Zale was still standing in the middle of what passed for a combined living room and dining room in my cottage. He was staring at Pit, slack-jawed, as though he were looking at some exotic creature he had never seen before. Pit walked around the bar into the tiny kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. “The first thing you’ve got to learn about my sister over there is that you can’t expect to eat much at her house.” He bent lower and peered onto the bottom shelf of the refrigerator. “Well, I can offer you a Coke, a glass of milk, or a cold beer.” He stood up. “What’ll it be?”

“Pit! He’s a kid,” I said.

Pit squinted across the room. “Looks old enough to drink beer to me.”

“Milk,” Zale blurted out. “I’d like milk.”

Pit winked at him as he reached for a glass, and I figured I was happy to be the butt of their teasing if it made Zale feel better. Abaco hopped up on the couch and began to nuzzle at Zale’s hand.

“She likes you,” I told him.

That earned me a look that might have been a smile on another day. Zale scratched the dog’s ears. “I’m always asking my mom if we can have a dog. I’d like one just like Abaco.”

“Good choice, kid. Labs are great,” Pit said, pouring the milk into a frosted beer mug.

“So, Bro,” I asked, “what brings you to Lauderdale this time?”

“Got a delivery on a very cool go-fast sailboat. They’re taking it down to Antigua for Race Week. Got an appointment in the morning to meet the owner and the captain over at the Marriott where they’re tied up.” He handed Zale his milk, flopped down on the opposite end of the couch, and chinked his bottle against the boy’s mug. “After that I should be able to bunk on the boat.”
 

“Zale’s got dibs on the couch for tonight, but you can bunk out on
Gorda
if you want.”

“That’ll be great.”

After a long drink that left him with a little white moustache, Zale said, “Are you talking about that red hull named
Firestorm
?”

Pit grinned at the boy. “That’s right, you’re a sailor, aren’t you? Optimists at the Lauderdale Yacht Club, right?”

“Yeah,” Zale said and shrugged. “Saturday I was racing with the Lasers, though. I’m trying to move up. Anyway, I watched as they brought that boat in and docked over there. She sure looks fast.”

“You ever do much big-boat sailing?”

He shook his head. “My dad was into fishing.”

I noticed that he had started using the past tense when referring to Nick.

“Yeah, I remember that,” Pit said. “Even back before your old man could afford the fancy boats and gear, he always used to win the local tournaments. Heck, I bet they’ve got a whole room dedicated to him over at that new game-fishing museum.”

Zale shrugged again, but I could see that he was pleased to hear his dad complimented. Probably didn’t hear it very often.

“Hey,” Pit said, “we’re going to be doing some sea trials to check out the new sails the owner’s buying here. I’m sure I could convince them to let you come along.”
 

Zale’s face looked more alive than I had ever seen it. “That would be awesome. What kind of sail inventory has she got?”

While I went about getting out the spare sheets and towels for the two of them, I marveled at the instant ease they had found. They spoke the same language, shared the same passion. I was always happy to see my brother Pit, but tonight his being here was an exceptionally lucky break.

I was only half listening to their conversation, but I heard the rhythm change when Pit asked, “So, where’s your mom tonight?”

“Hey, Pit,” I butted in as though I had not heard his question. “What time did you get in?”

“Round eight. Flew in from Baja, you know, Cabo? Been working at a resort down there, Los Frailes, all winter. I don’t mind teaching windsurfing when the client has some kind of athletic ability, but I get so many of these yahoos who take lessons all week and still can’t even stand up on the board. That gets boring. I was glad to get out of there, even if I did leave them in the middle of the season.”

I threw a towel at Zale and pointed to the bathroom. “There’s three of us and only one bathroom. You go first. Grab your PJs and do what you gotta do, ’cuz my brother here is next.”

After the bathroom door had closed and the water started running, I sat down on the couch next to Pit and Abaco. The dog had moved her head into my brother’s lap and he was scratching the top of her head.

He said, “So tell me what’s going on. How did Molly’s kid end up in your living room?”

“You haven’t heard about Nick?”

“Nick?”

I sighed and tried to collect my thoughts so I could explain it as briefly as possible.

“You saw him get shot?” Pit asked after I had described the scene on the river that morning.

“Yeah. You know, over the last ten, twelve years, I’ve wasted a lot of time and energy hating that guy for what he did to us, for getting in the middle and destroying the best friendship I ever had. But I never wished him dead. Anyway, without going into all the details, Molly and I have started talking again. I had to be the one to break the news to her that morning, and I was there when she had to tell him,” I nodded toward the bathroom, “that his father was dead. We all went to the funeral this afternoon.”

“Holy shit,” he said, shaking his head.

“B. J. and I were eating at the Downtowner tonight when Jeannie came and told us that Molly’d been arrested for murder.”

“What?” Pit shouted as the bathroom door opened and Zale came out wearing Spiderman pajamas. With his hair wet and tousled, he looked even younger—far too young to have to face this kind of a loss of innocence. Kids were supposed to be able to go on believing that they and their parents were immortal. At least that’s what I’d heard.

“Yup,” I said. “So Zale’s going to be bunking here on the couch, and I have to scoot you into the bathroom so I can make up his bed.”

After all his recent experience with brief boat showers, Pit emerged, wet-headed and wearing my sweats, about the time we finished making up the sheets and blankets on the couch. I grabbed a sleeping bag and pillow out of my room and said, “Zale, I’m going to go unlock the boat for Pit. I’ll be right back.” Then I slapped the side of my leg. “Come on, Abaco. Time for you to go outside, too.” She’d been sitting on the couch next to Zale, and she gave him a nudge with her nose, then jumped down to follow me.