“Don’t hang up,” he said the instant I answered. “You have no idea how many times I’ve stopped myself from calling, but this is important. And strictly business, so give me a chance. Okay?”
Rather than start the conversation with a question about him stealing my uncle’s orange tree, I asked, “Did Sarah get her sketchbook?” More than a week ago, I had mailed it, and some other things I thought she might like, to Reggie’s home, with a separate card asking the little chauffeur to pass the package along.
“She’s about worn out that DVD on manatees. Very sweet of you, and she keeps asking when can we visit again. Or live on a boat instead of in a house. Funny, what sticks in a kid’s mind, huh?”
Through the windshield of my cabin cruiser, the glass streaked with salt, the bay was a froth of wind and waves. “The weather we’ve had this week might change her mind,” I said. “What sort of business is it you want to discuss, Kermit?”
“So formal-you’re still mad.” This he said in a gentle way as if hurt.
“You’ve done what I asked, why would I be? What you’re hearing is, I’m a little late for”-it seemed a pious affectation to reveal my destination, which was church, so I said-“an appointment,” and blamed the wind, which was true. Chapel-By-The-Sea, on Captiva, was only a few miles by boat but more than an hour’s drive by car. It would be another day before the water was calm enough for fishing.
“Then I’ll get right to it,” he said. “Have you seen Lonnie Chatham yet? I think she’s on her way there now. Or she’ll call you, I’m not sure. But whatever she does, whatever she says, don’t believe her. Can I stop by tonight?”
“What in the world are you talking about?” I said, opening the cabin door. He’d spoken in such a rush, I wasn’t convinced I’d heard him correctly but checked anyway for an unfamiliar car outside Loretta’s house. In the drive was a white SUV-a Lexus, it looked like-which is something a wealthy woman would buy. I went up the steps to the dock with the phone to my ear.
“Kermit, I can’t talk now. If my mother tangles with Lonnie, she might have another stroke.”
“Hannah, listen! Her attorneys have locked me out of everything-our house, even my office. My wife’s a mess, and Sarah’s upset, too. It’ll be okay. I’ve already got another job lined up, but… Well, I need to tell you about something in person. I’ll see you around sunset, okay? Please. I need your help.” After a long silence, he added, “Hannah… Beautiful? Are you still there?”
That word again.
I couldn’t think clearly, so replied, “I can’t talk now,” and hung up.
Getting out of the Lexus was a man wearing a gray suit, with a gray ponytail that hung between shoulders wide enough to suggest he was a weight lifter or a pro wrestler. Not tall, but thick as a bulldozer. A graying Hemingway beard, and a copper bracelet, added to the effect. He stooped, retrieved a briefcase, and started toward the house. Thank god, Loretta was getting dressed, not lounging on the porch.
“Can I help you?” I called.
“If you’re Hannah Smith, the fishing guide, yes you can.” He sounded Cuban, which is commonplace in Florida; his voice, a resonate baritone.
“My number’s easy enough to find if you’re here to talk about a charter,” I said. “As it is, I was just leaving for, uh… a place I need to be.”
His eyes did a slow pan, up and down, taking in my short herringbone jacket, gray blouse, and black skirt. I was barefoot-heels had to wait until I was in my car-but he was polite enough to pretend not to notice. “Myself, I attend early Mass, but twice in one day might do me good-doesn’t matter which church. May I drive you? We can talk on the way.”
By then, I was close enough to confirm the Lexus did not contain Lonnie Chatham, and took a breath. “I don’t know who you are or why you’re here,” I said. “It’s a silly rule I have about getting into cars with strangers.”
The Hemingway beard matched the face and his wide, wry smile. “Did Harney give you that lecture, too?”
Harney. Aside from Loretta, I didn’t know anyone who’d been on a first-name basis with the late lieutenant governor.
“You were friends?”
“Better. We were confidants.” This was said with the inflection used by those who take the word seriously.
“I didn’t see you at the funeral last week.”
“Nor did I see you-or your mother. I suppose that’s because none of us wanted to draw attention. Isn’t that right? Sometimes, it’s better to blend in.”
I couldn’t argue with that. Loretta and I had stood among trees, far from Mr. Chatham’s casket of mahogany, while a hundred people in suits and black dresses kept their backs to us, listening to the minister read their good-byes.
The man said, “I have a business proposition, Captain-that’s what Harney called you, by the way: Captain Hannah. Now I can see why. It’s the way you handle yourself, I think, not just because you’re tall and… by god, attractive, too. I thought he might have been exaggerating about your looks.”
A man who used his age to camouflage flirting as harmless fun. With him, maybe it was.
I remained blank-faced while he handed me his card. I was speaking with Sabin Martinez, of Brickell Avenue, Miami, with a second office on Disney Way, Orlando.
I slipped the card into my jacket. “It doesn’t say what you do.”
“No, it does not,” he replied. His voice had an elegance even while slamming doors. “My offer still stands. You don’t want to be late to church.”
I wasn’t getting in the Lexus no matter who he claimed to know. “Are you here because of Mr. Chatham? Or his wife? A friend just called and said she wanted to contact me, for some reason.”
“Lonnie? I’ll be darned.”
He shunned profanity, I noted-or, at least, was careful about it.
“You weren’t aware?”
“I’ve never met the second Mrs. Chatham. It’s one of the few mistakes Harney made, I think.” He toyed with his copper bracelet, and let me ponder that, before adding, “You’ll like what I have to say. It won’t take long. Harney trusted me with-how should I put it?-delicate matters. Come on… You can even drive, if you like.”
I looked from the house to the Lexus, then at the dock. “I can spare ten minutes,” I said, “but we’ll talk here, not in your car. If that’s not acceptable, it’ll have to wait.”
The man followed me to my boat.
I memorized the plate on the Lexus as it pulled away. Only then did I remember church and that I was late-too late for heavy Sunday traffic. Cars would be backed up for a mile on the causeway to Sanibel.
Truth was, I was a little dazed after thirty minutes of listening to Sabin Martinez. Once again, intuition told me I could trust the man-he was a churchgoer, like me, and we had a respected friend in common. But tragedies that had befallen my three namesake aunts urged caution.
On the other hand, the thick leather satchel Martinez had given me was real. So were the contents.
Call me if you need help with anything, he’d said as he left. Anything. I’m a problem solver from way back.
What I needed was someone to help organize the thoughts spinning through my head. I also needed to make up my mind about church. Driving to Captiva was out of the question. If I was to get there in time, I’d have to cross three miles of rough water by boat. Attendance wasn’t mandatory, of course, but I am happier if my week is grounded by ceremonies attached to my faith. It is a personal matter. I don’t push religion on people, nor do I shy away if derided by the arrogant few who view faith as a childish cliché.
There was another option. Aboard my boat, I jotted down the license number of the Lexus, then carried the satchel across the road, up the hill, to the house. Loretta was getting ready to attend services with her friends at Foursquare Gospel. Every Sunday, she awaited the church bus like a child eager to attend school. When she came out of the bathroom, I said, “How about I call Mrs. Hendry and the girls and drive you, for a change? With this wind, I’d be soaked through by the time I got to Captiva.”