It all looked so good I practically skipped down the stairs and across the deck to the table. I could tell by their empty plates that Michael and Paco had already eaten, but waiting at my seat was an absolutely yummy-looking slice of spinach and mushroom quiche, lying on a bed of bright green baby lettuce. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been able to stay in bed this late, and I was pretty confident Michael and Paco had both been fast asleep when Ethan left for work. Not that I was trying to hide anything. I can do what I want. I’m a grown, mature woman, sort of.
In fact, Michael and Paco had been encouraging me to go out with Ethan for months, so I knew they’d probably be pretty happy about it, but I just wasn’t in the mood to be bombarded with a hundred and one questions.
Turns out I was out of luck. The moment I saw the looks on their faces, not to mention the stack of newspapers spread out in front of them, I knew I was in for a good ol’ session of Q and A with M and P.
Of course they had read all about Mr. Harwick’s death, and now there were a number of articles in the paper with my name in them, and a quote from the police department saying there was a search under way for the primary person of interest: Kenny Newman, the Harwicks’ pool man. I told Michael and Paco the whole story of everything that had happened, excluding Kenny’s revelation about his father. I did tell them that Becca had revealed to me that she was pregnant, and that both of them had been missing ever since Mr. Harwick’s body was discovered.
Michael and Paco sat quietly and listened, except when I was describing the ordeal of pulling Mr. Harwick out of the pool and trying to revive him. I must have looked pretty shaken, because Michael got up and came around the table and put his hands on my shoulders.
When I was finished, we all sat for a while in silence. Finally Paco said, “So, Michael, I think we should all agree right now to not ever say ‘I told you so’ about Kenny Newman.”
Michael squeezed my shoulders and said, “Yeah. I totally agree, we should definitely not ever say ‘I told you so’ about that guy.”
I rolled my eyes and said, “Hilarious,” but I knew their teasing was only meant to make me feel better about the whole thing. In fact, I was pleasantly surprised that Michael wasn’t more upset—I hoped it meant that he was beginning to feel a little less responsible for looking out for me all the time. He had a few gray hairs mixed in with the blond, and I knew every one of them had my name on it.
Paco said, “So still no sign of him, huh?”
“Not exactly.”
Michael said, “What do you mean, not exactly? You know where he is?”
I took a bite of quiche and reveled in its buttery, cheesy deliciousness for a couple of moments. “Not really, but he paid me a visit last night.”
Michael’s voice rose. “What? He was here? Goddammit, Dixie, what were you thinking?”
“Michael, I know this is going to be hard for you to understand, but I just don’t think Kenny Newman is a dangerous person.”
Michael started to interrupt, but I cut him off. “I know what you guys think about him, and I agree it doesn’t look good that he disappeared after Mr. Harwick died, but he has an explanation for all of it, and I think I believe him.”
Michael took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m sorry. So what did he want with you?”
“He wanted to talk to me about a message he left on my answering machine the night before I found Mr. Harwick. He was worried that if I turned it over to the police, they’d think it was a confession.”
I could tell Michael was getting a little more agitated. He rolled his eyes and said, “Oh, great. I can’t wait to hear this. What was the message?”
I sighed. “He said he was about to do something. Something big. And that he was sorry.”
Michael sat back down and rubbed his temples with the tips of his fingers. “Dixie…”
“I know, I know, I know,” I said. “But there’s something else, something that explains why Kenny has led such a secretive life here.”
Michael raised his eyebrows. “What is that?”
I said, “Mr. Harwick is Kenny’s father.”
Michael had just taken a sip of coffee and almost spit it out all over the table. “What? How is that even possible?”
I told them Kenny’s entire story, and even Michael, who’s about the most skeptical person I’ve ever known, had to admit it was almost too crazy to make up. He also brought up a point I hadn’t thought of before: Even though Kenny worked for me, he didn’t have anything to gain by explaining himself. If he had been planning on murdering Mr. Harwick, why would he have called me first to warn me about it? Any fool would know that would’ve aroused suspicion about him right away.
I felt a sense of relief that Michael saw some logic in the whole thing. So much had happened in the last forty-eight hours I wasn’t sure I still had the ability to see straight. I was grateful he didn’t think I’d finally gone off the deep end.
Paco had grown more and more quiet the whole time we’d been talking. Now he was holding his newspaper out in front of him, taking an occasional sip from his coffee cup.
I said, “Paco, what do you think?”
He lowered the paper. “Hmm?”
We both saw it in his eyes immediately. Paco’s not normally one to hold back his opinions, especially when it comes to matters of law and order. There was a reason he wasn’t chiming in with his thoughts. He knew something.
I said, “What did you think of Kenny’s story about Mr. Harwick?”
He nodded nonchalantly. “Yeah. Sounds about right to me,” he said and went back to his paper.
Michael and I shared a look. As a member of the special crimes unit, Paco has a lot of experience with all kinds of investigations. One week he might be meeting with an informant to root out an illegal narcotics ring, and the next he might be working undercover as a temp in a law firm, gathering evidence for a corporate fraud investigation. If he was somehow involved in an investigation into the affairs of Sonnebrook or the Harwick family, that was about as much as we would get out of him.
Michael turned to me. “So please tell me Kenny isn’t running out of town.”
“No. By now he’s turned himself over to the police. I made him promise he’d go straight there after we talked.”
He sighed. “Good. So your work is done. Right?”
I bit into a juicy slice of mango. “Right.”
* * *
Weekends are usually busy on the Key, especially on a nice day. I was riding my bike up Midnight Pass, and I thought to myself, It’s not just a nice day. It’s a glorious day. The sky was a deep periwinkle blue, there wasn’t a cloud in sight, and the sun felt warm and healing on my body. The road was chock-full of cars and joggers and couples on bicycles. Every twenty feet or so I passed a family or a group of kids, all draped in towels and carrying chairs and coolers to the beach.
Right before I got to the village center I took a quick detour down a side lane so I could ride by a pair of ancient magnolia trees. They’ve been there for about as long as I can remember, and I always make a point of going by them when I’m on my bike. They were in full bloom, their white cuplike blossoms tilted toward the sun. Their heady, sweet perfume was so powerful I could taste it on my tongue.
I pedaled into town and found the Bronco right where I’d left it the night before, parked just a couple of doors down from Yolanda, which was in the midst of a bustling brunch crowd. There were six or seven tables on the sidewalk outside, and I saw Alfred bringing out a tray of drinks. I indulged myself in a tiny fantasy in which Ethan and I were sitting at one of the tables sharing a frozen margarita. Something about having a margarita in the middle of the day always seems so decadent and wrong. I resolved to make that happen with Ethan as soon as possible.