Fallen Honor: A Jesse McDermitt Novel (Caribbean Adventure Series Book 7) (10 page)

I’d become accustomed to her occasional cop talk. I guess being a woman who excels in a job held mostly by men would tend to make one a little jaded.

“He applied this to all facets of life,” I replied with a smile, remembering the many different ways I’d used this one little piece of advice. Russ’s comment about the easiest way out of something being to go through it meant pretty much the same thing, and I’d employed the advice of both men a few times. “He’d say, ‘If that don’t work, get a bigger hammer.’”

Linda laughed again. The kind of laugh that made me feel good hearing it, no matter the circumstances. “You should run for the Florida senate, Jesse. You’d sure shake these fools up here in the capitol.”

I laughed with her. “No, sometimes I think using a sledge on delicate balsa wouldn’t work out in anyone’s favor.”

We talked for twenty minutes as I watched the sun slowly sink toward Water Key half a mile away. The sky was clear and bright, just a string of low clouds far to the west. The southern tip of the line of clouds seemed to glow like the end of a cigar. I did my best to describe it to her, knowing that she missed watching it with me.

The truth was, I missed her. We’d become very close these last few months. Every Friday afternoon, I’d pick her up at the
Anchor
and she’d stay until early on Monday morning. Sometimes, not so early.

After ending the call, I joined Carl and his family for supper and then turned in early. I wanted to spend a few hours going over every inch of the new boat. Until Carl and I could work something out down below, we’d have to tie it up to one of the piers, or haul it out and put it under the temporary shed.

I didn’t much like either option, but the dock area under the house was full. Besides the forty-five-foot
Revenge
, there was a Cigarette boat, two center-consoles and two skiffs down there.

I had an idea about relocating the boat hoist I’d built long ago to lift my skiff out of the water before a storm. Since then, I’d enlarged and enclosed the whole area below the house and hadn’t used it. I could winch Kim’s skiff up, since she’d be gone most of the year, secure it up high, and dock my skiff below it. That’d free up enough room for the new runabout.

I drifted off to sleep about twenty-two hundred and dreamed about sawing and nailing.

“
S
o, you’ve seen it before?” Michal asked after he and Coral had eaten two dozen oysters and chased them down with two bottles of beer. “The green flash?”

Coral smiled. “A few times. I try to watch the sunset every evening, but in winter it’s already over before I get off work.”

Michal was curious about why the setting sun seemed to be so important here. “What’s the big deal about the sun going down? It does it every day.”

Looking out over the water outside, a deep peace came over Coral’s face. “It’s more than just something that happens every day, Michal. And there’s no guarantee that you will see another. It’s the symbolism that marks the end of the day, a time to reflect on what you’ve accomplished.” She turned back and looked deeply into Michal’s eyes. “Too often, I watch it and can’t mentally jot down anything I did that was worthy of the day I was given.”

“What did you wish for, when you saw it?”

“Always the same thing. To live one more day in paradise. And here I am, so one of those wishes must have worked.”

“Maybe just wishing at sunset works for you.”

Coral smiled. “Could be.”

Michal looked out over the now-dark water of the bight. Several long docks extended out toward the breakwater and beyond that, the seemingly endless ocean. Halfway down the sky, a half-moon glowed, creating sparkles on the surface as far as his eyes could see. “I can sure see why you wished that.”

“I do believe the bug has bitten you, Michal. I can tell when you looked out over the water at the dock and again just now.”

“I do like it here. Is it always so hot?”

“For a few months in summer. Most of the year it’s very comfortable, especially winter. There’s no better way to celebrate the beginning of a new year than taking a midnight swim in the ocean. Why are you here, Michal? I mean here in Key West.”

Michal thought for a moment, wondering how much he could or should tell her. “Just tired of the cold winters up north, I guess. New place, new start. You?”

“My aunt lives here. She’s a palmist and tarot card reader. Aside from that, pretty much the same reason.” She stared into his eyes as if trying to come to a decision. “Are you running from something or someone, Michal?”

“Why do you ask?”

“A lot of people come here to escape their old life.” She sighed, just a tinge of melancholy in her voice.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he replied, acknowledging both the question and the statement, but not really saying which. Changing the subject, he asked, “What’s your last name?”

Coral sat up straight and smiled. “La Roc, capital
L
,
a
, capital
R
,
o
,
c
. Coral La Roc.” She extended her hand across the small table.

“Michal Grabowski,” he said, taking her hand in his and feeling a rush of warmth from the contact. “Wait! That’s a palindrome.”

Coral beamed. “You have a quick mind. I like that in a man.”

“And it seems your folks must have had a really great sense of humor.”

“They didn’t come up with it. I did.”

“It’s not your real name?” Michal asked.

“The first name, I was born with. I had my last name changed legally when I moved here.”

Michal lifted his beer mug in a toast. “Well here’s to
your
sense of humor, then.”

Coral raised her own mug to his. “And to
your
quick mind.”

Over Coral’s shoulder, a passing figure caught Michal’s eye. It was the pickpocket from the bus station, walking through the parking lot just outside the far window. The guy he’d sold an eight ball to up in Belle Glade.

Keep the credit cards and just keep walking, asshole
, Michal thought. He didn’t need the ugly, stinky little man ruining things. Coral turned in her chair and followed his gaze out the open front window, but the pickpocket was out of sight and she turned back to Michal.

“What was it?” she asked, hesitantly.

“Oh, nothing,” he lied. “Just someone who looked like a guy I used to know.”

Coral looked out over the water and took a deep breath of the salty air, listening to the gentle sound of the rigging, clanking on the masts of the few sailboats tied off to the docks. “Know what would be really great right now?”

Michal was admiring the side of her face. Her small chin and tiny mouth lifted to the breeze, elongating her slender neck. “I sure do. Probably not the same thing you’re thinking, though.”

Coral giggled and reached up to touch her hair again. Michal suddenly realized he hadn’t seen her do this with any of the other guys at the bar. “All things in their time,” she whispered. “What I was thinking is, I’d love to smoke some weed right now.”

“You get high?” he asked incredulously.

“Sometimes. When I really want to relax and unwind.”

“Wish I had some.”

She stood quickly and came around beside him, tugging on his arm. “Let’s go to my place. I have some.”

With no further urging needed, Michal rose from his seat and dropped two twenties on the table. They left the restaurant and walked south on Margaret Street, arm in arm. A block later, they were swallowed by the tall, stately trees of Key West’s charming and historical Old Town.

Half a block further, Coral steered him into an alley between two white picket fences, and they emerged in a tiny but well-kept yard by a small cottage. It was no more than twenty feet wide and not much more than that deep. The little house sat on brick pilings and was painted pale blue with bright yellow trim. Two windows, one on either side of the front door, had long louvered shades that would block the sun, but you could still see through.

Stepping up onto the little porch, Coral took a single key from her small purse and opened the screen door. She inserted the key in what looked like a centuries-old lock and turned it, with a heavy click. Turning the doorknob, the heavy-looking wood door opened on silent hinges. “I’m guessing Michal Grabowski is your real name, huh?”

“Yeah,” he replied, a little confused and holding the screen door open for her.

“If someone’s looking for you, you should change it. Wait here, while I light a lantern.”

Coral disappeared into the dark house, leaving Michal wondering who it was that might be looking for her. A moment later he heard the scratch of a wooden match and stepped inside slightly, still holding the screen door open. Coral was standing on the far side of the small room, next to a wood-burning fireplace. She held the glass globe from an antique oil lamp in one hand and a lit match in the other, lighting a lamp on the mantel.

“You don’t have electricity?”

The flickering light from the match strengthened as it touched the wick. The dim yellow light dancing across Coral’s face created a very stunning and erotic image in Michal’s mind.

“No, they never ran wires to this cottage. It used to be an icehouse. At least the main room was. The rest was added on. I bought it as is, at a ridiculously low price, and have come to love not having power. No phone or cable either. But, I do have plumbing.”

“But no hot water?”

“There’s a gas water heater, but I turned it off since it’s rarely needed. Out back is a huge rain barrel up on stilts where the sun heats the water. In winter, it’s barely lukewarm and I have to heat a couple of gallons on the gas stove to take a hot bath. Cheaper than heating thirty gallons.”

She replaced the globe, and the light spread across the tiny room, revealing the furnishings. The exterior walls were all covered with a dense, heavy-looking wood, having light and dark swirls of grain. It appeared the same as on the outside, Michal noted, but the inside was unpainted. Not paneling, but rough-sawn planks, probably original. On the walls hung a few brightly colored tropical paintings. There was a recliner next to the front window, turned at a slight angle so a person sitting in it could see the front porch. Another oil lamp sat on a small table next to it for reading.

Opposite the door, the whole wall surrounding the fireplace was filled with bookshelves. They ran floor to ceiling, and there was even one of those ladders on wheels like in some old libraries. All of the shelves were nearly full.

A small love seat was against the interior wall to the right, with a tiny wooden coffee table in front of it. Next to the love seat was the opening to what looked like a small alcove-type kitchen. Beyond that, a short hallway extended to the rear of the little house, a door on each side and another at the end, presumably the bedroom, bathroom, and linen closet.

To his left, the other exterior wall was empty, just a window with the shade pulled completely down. Coral walked slowly toward Michal and closed the screen door behind him, leaving the heavy wooden door open to let the heat out of the room.

“Welcome to my home.”

“But you got in a cab after you got off work last night,” Michal said, somewhat confused. “We can’t be more than a few blocks from there.”

Coral laughed. “A friend of my aunt. He’s an old Bahamian man, sort of a mother hen to a lot of us that he sees as vulnerable. He insists that he pick me up when my shift ends. Then we stop and pick up a few other girls at different places where they work and he circles the island before dropping us off. He’s really nice. You’ll probably meet him sooner or later.”

“Smart idea in a party town like this.”

She crossed over to the coffee table and, bending over it, she opened a small drawer, hidden from sight on the other side. Michal stood, staring. The back of her little dress rode up her thighs and he gasped slightly when he saw that she had nothing on under it.

“Let’s relax,” she said as she took out a small plastic bag, a lighter and some rolling papers. “Can you roll?”