The Lottery Winner (10 page)

“I could drive over there.”

“The road doesn't go where we're going. You'd never see what I can show you from the kayak. No Name's a cool key. There are only forty-four homes, and it wasn't on the power grid until 2013.”

Her sigh and dipping shoulders signaled capitulation. Satisfaction flooded him—like it used to when he landed a big client back in his advising days. He couldn't protect Miri if he couldn't identify the threats against her.

“I guess I could spare an hour.”

The tear had
almost
evaporated. “Put on a long-sleeved shirt. And water shoes.”

From the way she stiffened he realized he'd barked the commands. “Unless you want me rubbing sunscreen on your back.”

“Give me a minute.” She shut the door in his face. Then the lock clicked. Why would she lock him out if she didn't have something to hide?

Moments later she returned wearing sunglasses, a ball cap and a loose buttoned-up white shirt. Her face glistened with sunscreen. She stepped outside. Her upper half was covered, but she'd left her legs bare.

“What's in the sack?” he asked to get himself back on track.

“My phone, insect repellent and a sketch pad. Photos are great, but sometimes I just have to...” The fingers of her right hand twitched. “I have to draw.”

He waved her ahead and caught a whiff of strawberries and coconut as she passed. Keeping his gaze fixed on her thick braid, he descended the stairs. She paused, glancing up at the kayaks hanging from the underside of the house. “Which one should I use?”

“None of them. You're riding with me.”

“I'm pretty coordinated. If you'll tell me how, I can paddle my own.”

“Not this time.”

Looking less than thrilled by the prospect of riding with him, she strolled down the dock, pausing to thread her hair through the back of the hat. “That isn't the same boat you had the other day.”

“Kayak,” he corrected automatically and jerked his attention from the curve of her butt, revealed when her shirt hiked up. “This one was Miri and Jack's. It's a tandem.”

“When does she ever have time to go out? She's always working.”

He handed her the pink life jacket then donned his own. “Before Jack died the Widow was closed on Wednesdays and Thursdays. Those were Miri and Jack's sacred together days. They spent them either paddling the backwaters or on
Holy Jackerel
.”

Her expression turned wistful. “My parents swear couple's time is the only way to keep a marriage healthy.”

He and Elizabeth had never gone out solo. She'd either invited her friends or they'd been wining and dining one of his clients. “What do your parents do when they go out?”

“Mom loves to—” The wariness returned. “Do different things. How do I get in that?”

He fought the need to push for more. Patience would tease more out of her than pressure. “You're sitting up front. Let me get in first, then you hand me your bag and I'll put it in the waterproof compartment.” He put words into action.

“Sit down on the edge of the dock and slide in.” He waited while she eyed the craft and looked over the edge of the planks into the water. “Come on, Jessie. It's not deep. I'm holding her steady.”

“Don't rush me.” She flashed him an irritated scowl as she eased down onto her bottom and very slowly, very cautiously stretched out a leg.

“Can't you swim?”

“Yes. But a shark hangs out under here sometimes.”

He leaned over, spotted a four-foot nurse shark lurking by the crab pot. “She's harmless.”

She snatched her leg back, banding her arms around her bent knees. “She's there now?”

“Yes. Waiting for a fish or a crab, not a human.” He caught himself grinning and couldn't stifle it. But her cautiousness when she'd been so ferocious with him was interesting. “I promise she won't bite you. Not even a nibble on your toes.”

“That's not funny.” She took a bracing breath, then extended a long, smooth, tanned limb and his grin vanished. She had great legs—not something he needed to notice.

“How'd you get the scar by your knee?”

“I fell out of a tree.” She scooted into the craft so quickly she almost overturned it. Squealing, she clutched the sides with a white-knuckled grip.

He braced himself against the dock. “I wouldn't have pegged you for a tree-climbing tomboy.”

“Then you'd be wrong.”

“Why were you climbing a tree?”

“Because my brother dared me,” she said in a distracted tone.

“Is he older or younger?” he pressed, shamelessly using her distraction and fear to his advantage.

“Older.”

“What does he do?”

She took a deep breath as if to reply then seemed to collect herself. He wished he could see her face. “Pester me. Like you're doing.”

He battled frustration. He'd been getting somewhere. “Unsnap your paddle. We're going to scoop and pull our way across the water.”

She did as he asked, hesitantly at first and then after a few hundred yards, more competently. They made it halfway across at a pretty good clip. She was stronger than he'd expected. “You've paddled before.”

“A canoe, not a kayak. But...it's been a while.”

“Are your shoulders getting tired?”

“I'm okay. The exercise feels good.”

“We're coming up on a sunken sailboat. Keep your eyes on the water and you'll see it a little farther ahead.” They reached the submerged craft. He dragged the paddle to hold them in place. “It's about ten feet deep here. Can you see fish and lobster swimming in and around it?”

She cautiously leaned to look. The kayak wobbled. She gasped, dropped the paddle and grabbed the sides. He caught the floating handle before it drifted away. “Relax. I won't let you turn us over. Even if you did, the kayak will float and so will you as long as you keep your vest on.”

“How did the wreck get here? Did it run aground?”

“No. Storms and hurricanes break boats away from their moorings. Some sink and don't get salvaged because they aren't worth the recovery cost. There are several wrecks in the waterways and offshore. They make a natural reef—good for fishing and diving. Have you ever been diving?”

“No. I want to, but...” She shrugged. He again regretted that his position behind her kept him from seeing her face and gauging the emotion behind her guarded words.

“Why haven't you?”

“I wouldn't know how to go about it. How do you know where the wrecks are?”

He again had the feeling she was screening her words. “Jack was a certified diver. He used to take me out snorkeling for lobster. You can catch them by hand down here. No need for a trap.”

“What about the claws?”

“Spiny lobsters don't have big claws like the American or Maine lobsters you see north of here.”

“It must have been great growing up with this in your backyard.”

“It was. What did you have in your backyard?”

“Grass.”

“Where was that?”

“North of here.” She threw his words back at him, upping his frustration.

“How far north?”

“Too far to walk. Have you dived in the Tortugas? I've been meaning to take the boat ride over there.”

The finality of her tone told him he wouldn't get more right now. “I've dived there and several other places around the world.”

But that had been in his previous life, when expensive vacations hadn't been unusual—before Elizabeth and Trent had screwed him. “I don't have a mask and snorkel with me today, but the water's pretty clear if you want to dive in and take a closer look.”

“No!”

“You're perfectly safe. If you get a fishing and lobster license, I'll take you diving.”

Her braid swung like a pendulum as she shook her head. “No, thanks. Can we go to the island now? I have things to do when we get back.”

Derailed, he decided to bide his time and grill her more over their early lunch. He dug the paddle into the water, propelling them forward. “Do you like to fish?”

“I can take it or leave it. But I'm not here to fish. Tell me about Jack.”

Another diversion. He let her get away with it. How could he describe the man who'd been more of a father to him than his own?

“Jack was a great guy and probably the smartest man I've ever known. He usually had either a book or a fishing rod in his hand. When the bite was slow he held both. He ran his house like he did his charters—with strict rules for safety and genuine enjoyment of every day and everyone. He was crazy about Miri and not afraid to show it or say it.”

“She said he loved the
Holy Jackerel
more than her.”

“Wrong. He pampered that boat
because
of Miri. Their goal after they retired was to sell the house and the Widow, then live onboard and travel. He maintained it like he did his wife—as if he intended to keep her forever.”

Her shoulders dipped in a sigh. “That's sweet. Have you told Miri?”

Had he? “No.”

“You should. She feels second best. No one likes that.”

The defeat in her almost inaudible statement raised a dozen questions. He tried to find the right way to follow up while steering the craft into the creek mouth. Jessie shoved back her sunglasses and shrank into her seat as they entered the low canopy of mangroves.

“Are there snakes in here?”

“A few.”

She hunched lower and scanned the branches. “Venomous?”

“Some are. But we probably won't encounter those.” He beached the kayak in his usual spot. “Look. There's a yellow-crowned night heron.”

She twisted to see where he was pointing then followed his finger. He dug out his camera and tapped her shoulder with it. She startled and turned in her seat. “Lord, I thought that was a snake dropping out of the trees.”

He couldn't help chuckling. “Want this?”

“Yes. Thanks.” After a quick once-over, she turned it on, adjusted the lens and snapped several shots. Her competency revealed a familiarity with high-end cameras—another remnant of his old life.

“Head ashore. There's a picnic table down the path. I'll bring the basket. Take as many pictures as you want. I'll email them to you later.”

Her shoulders stiffened. “Could you put them on a memory stick?”

“You don't want to give me your email address?”

“I'm not set up for email while I'm here.”

That was hard to believe. Nobody survived without email and internet access anymore. “I'll download them onto your computer when we get back.”

“I don't have one. I told you. I'm on sabbatical. No distractions.”

Sure she was. “Right. Go ahead. I'm right behind you.”

She rose carefully, shakily in the rocking craft, then stepped ashore. He handed over her bag. She scanned the area. “Where's the road?”

“Are you planning on walking back?”

“I need to be oriented,” she stated with exaggerated patience.

He pointed. “That way. A few hundred yards past the picnic table.”

She picked her way down the path, carefully watching her steps as if she expected a giant snake to jump out and bite her. Bringing her to an unfamiliar place was a strategy to keep her off balance while he questioned her. It had worked with clients when he'd wanted to know their true investment goals and not hear them parrot what they'd heard others say.

When he joined her, she was sitting on the bench spraying insect repellent on her legs. She popped to her feet, set the spray down and circled to the opposite side of the table but remained standing. The directness of her gaze nailed him in place.

“You said Jack was smart?”

Why did that sound like a leading question? “Yes.”

“Do you think Miri isn't?”

Sensing a trap, he spoke carefully. “She is. But she's too trusting.”

“Would you rather she be jaded and bitter and emotionally cut off?”

“Of course not. But she can't be a sucker for every sob story.”

She shook her head. “You underestimate her. She's a very good judge of character.”

“No. She isn't. The reason she's always looking for help is because she has a habit of hiring anyone who's down on their luck. She patches them up and they reward her by moving on.”

“You used the word
reward
, but with a negative connotation. Do you believe giving someone a hand up is a bad thing?”

How had she put him on the defensive and made him feel as if he were failing some kind of test? “Having to repeatedly train new workers isn't cost-effective.”

“Helping people is not only the right thing to do. It's a satisfying endeavor. You need to trust her instincts more and stop trying to micromanage her.”

The jab knocked his chin like an uppercut. “I don't micromanage. I promised Jack I'd look after her.”

She leveled another one of those long-suffering looks on him again. “Logan, one of the reasons Miri asked for my help was to run interference with you.”

The bald statement delivered a staggering blow. He and Miri needed to talk. “There are things you don't know.”

“Tell me what I need to know to understand your viewpoint.”

He set down the basket and opened the lid, trying to formulate his reply as he extracted the covered dishes containing their meal. How much would he have to give Jessie to regain the upper hand in this conversation?

“After Jack died Miri wouldn't come out of her bedroom. It took Sue and me days after the funeral to coax her out and get her to eat something. She wouldn't leave the house. The Widow stayed closed for two weeks.”

She lifted the card Miri had taped to one lid and read, “‘Amaretto shrimp, citrus coleslaw and jalapeño-cheddar hush puppies.' Sounds delicious.”