SEVEN

I waited for Maxine to say something following Randy’s outburst, but she stood silent as a stone. So did I. She felt protective toward “her Randy,” and I wasn’t ready to share my feelings with her yet. Randy Jackson wanted revenge. His anger put me on guard, but his sad story prompted me to identify with him. Me identifying with an ex-convict! How could that be! We both were well acquainted with the status of underdog. We’d both known extreme mistreatment and the ensuing hopelessness.

Randy and I had met, not in person, but through this TV show, and I have a strong belief that people never meet accidentally. Somewhere there’s a master plan. People meet when there’s a need for them to know each other. What was the need here? Randy was in an almost hopeless situation—a situation similar to my own when Jude Cardell controlled my life and I could see no way out. Now, Maxine was asking for my help. I locked my thoughts deep inside myself as we prepared to return to my office.

Snapping off the TV, Maxine picked up the leavings from Lavonna’s snack and tossed them into a trash basket. She grunted a bit when she stooped to coax Lavonna to her and then grasped her collar. Her knuckles whitened from the effort of grabbing the countertop and hoisting herself upright. I wondered how she managed to clean houses when stooping and rising again were such a struggle. She needed to lose some weight? Easy for me to say. Not easy for Maxine to do. I wondered if she’d ever tried going on a diet. Weight loss might do her body more good than foot reflexology.

“Out you go, Lavonna.” Maxine pulled the iguana toward the door and coaxed her outside with a tomato. Lavonna ate the tomato and then strolled to the palm tree that supported one end of a hammock. With little effort, she climbed the smooth trunk before disappearing into the greenery. I wondered if Randy ever slept in that hammock unaware that Lavonna might be watching from above. Lavonna the watch iguana.

“Aren’t you afraid she’ll run away? Is she safe outside?”

“Lavonna stick close by. She knows who feeds her.”

Maxine didn’t speak again until we were in the car and back on Highway One headed for Key West. Nor did I.

“Now you see why I need your help?” Maxine sighed and relaxed for the first time since turning off the TV.

“I can see Randy’s having a hard time adjusting to his new world. His situation has changed a lot in twenty years.”

“My Randy. He’s like a firecracker with a sizzling fuse. This morning I think his ready-to-fight attitude scared Reverend Soto and likely the TV people, too—the very people who are trying to help him.”

“You’re right. His attitude could scare people.” I almost blurted that I was one of those people, but I bit my tongue and swallowed the words. I had a lot of thinking to do.

“I’m worrying that one day all his bottled anger will explode unlessen he find Dyanne Darby’s killer. Once the true killer’s convicted and put behind bars, people will have to admit my Randy’s innocent. Only then will they be sure.”

Maybe. I said the word in my mind, remembering the long hair, the ear stud, the Hog’s Breath Saloon T-shirt. “Finding the guilty one might help. I agree. I didn’t realize people were giving Randy such a bad time. I understand his anger and depression.”

“And hopelessness. That’s the worst thing. He’s lost hope for a better life.”

The driver of an RV trailing both a pick-up truck and a twenty-foot cabin cruiser gave a blast on his horn when Maxine cut ahead of him and turned onto North Roosevelt. Maxine flipped him the bird and eased into the right lane. I looked the other way.

“When will Randy return from New York?”

“On a seven-fifteen flight tonight. I’ll meet him at the airport.” I smiled at the thought of Randy passing through airport security. People traveling in and out of the Keys usually face extra scrutiny including a thorough baggage mauling and a body-wanding that can reach the point of embarrassment. Then I scowled; guards might be just as likely to pass Randy through quickly, thinking nobody carrying drugs or weapons would appear dressed so obviously like a crown prince of the underworld. Instead, they’d scrutinize some white-haired grandmother type and give her the treatment with their wands and X-ray machines. But since 9/11 I never complained about extra security. The guards can’t guess which granny might carry a bomb tucked under her garter.

I gazed across the bay where sunlight made the water surface look like crumpled aluminum foil. A slim jogger pounded along on the sidewalk between the street and the bay, leading his Great Dane on a leash while a woman wearing headphones power-walked, nodding to a rhythm only she could hear. Gulls screamed and wheeled overhead. Pelicans perched like icons on dark coral rocks that studded the shallows. In the distance three sailboats caught the salt-scented breeze and skimmed across the water, their white sails taut. I seldom tired of the sea scene and I kept my eyes averted from the string of fast food cafés, auto repair shops, and hotels on my left, pretending they didn’t exist.

When we reached Garrison Bight, only one fishing boat remained in its slip. I could hardly wait to get my own boat in the water.

“Hopeless.” Maxine said the word with a sigh. “That’s how my Randy feels.”

“Maybe Punt can help. I know you’ve had no time to get Randy’s permission to talk to Punt, but surely you can persuade him to agree. You heard me call Punt before Randy’s TV appearance. Punt’s a wealthy guy from a wealthy family, but he knows firsthand what it’s like to be down and out on booze and hard drugs. He knows how it feels to have society against him. Punt can identify with the underdog, and after hearing Randy’s story, I think he’ll be willing to try to help him. And if Randy’s smart, he’ll accept all the help he can get.” I still couldn’t admit my own feelings of identification with Randy. Maybe it was enough just to put him in touch with Punt.

Maxine inched the Ford down Duval, honking and narrowly missing three girls wobbling on rented mopeds. Tourists seldom read news about tourists’ moped accidents. They never make the front page. Stopping in front of my office, Maxine double-parked long enough to let me out. Motorists behind us honked and shouted.

“I’ll call you this evening, Maxine. I’ll try to make us an appointment with Punt. You try to get Randy to talk with him. Okay?”

“I’ll try, but I’m making no promise.” Maxine drove away as if oblivious to the traffic snarl she had caused.

Consuela sat waiting, perched on a bar stool in Gram’s shop and sipping a latte.

“Finish your drink,” I called to her before I entered my office. “I need to make one short phone call.”

Hurrying inside, I checked my phone for messages. None. Punt seldom ignored my calls. I punched in his number again. No answer. Drat. Had he seen Randy on TV? I willed myself to be calm. I couldn’t give Consuela a reflexology treatment if my hands were shaking. I didn’t know what scared me the most—the person who wrote the warning note, the one who made the telephone threat, or Randy Jackson himself. Identifying with Randy didn’t make my fear of him disappear.

Consuela, now wearing a lime-green sarong with a matching shoulder purse, made her usual whirlwind entry into my office. Sitting down uninvited, she kicked off her spike heels and plunged her feet into the footbath before I’d had time to add the frangipani scent to the fresh water. Consuela always insisted on frangipani, maybe because I’d told her it was one of the most expensive fragrances I offered.

“I suppose you watched the program, Keely.”

“What program?” I pretended ignorance. It graveled me that Consuela knew so much about my business, my activities.

“You know good and well what program.” She deliberately splashed water onto the floor. “The TV program Randy Jackson just starred on in New York. I watched it, too. People treat Randy rotten.”

Starred? I had to admit Randy had upstaged Reverend Soto. “Yes, the public’s been very unkind to him. I didn’t realize…”

“I have a late date with Randy tonight. He’s going to tell me all about his trip, his first-class plane cabin, the big-time hotel—the whole thing. When my writing makes me famous I’ll know about those important things from personal experience. I’ll have opportunities to experience them for myself.”

“I’m sure you will, Consuela. Where are you and Randy going for your date tonight?” I wondered how a guy like Randy could afford any place Consuela would consider appropriate for a famous writer-in-waiting.

“Randy’s got no money. I know that. But his charm makes up for that. We’ll relax at my place. I’ve made conch chowder and a Key lime pie—his favorite foods.”

Consuela left the footbath and walked to the treatment chair without bothering to slip into the slippers I’d provided. I sighed and said nothing about the puddles she left on the floor. When she lay back in the chair, I raised the footrest and I didn’t offer her a pillow. Didn’t want to talk to her if I could avoid it.

“Need a pillow, Keely. Got plenty to say to you this morning. You rude to me earlier. Didn’t like that at all. We are long-time friends, yet you keep me waiting for my appointment. Don’t like that none, either.”

“I apologize, Consuela, I’m sorry. I know I’m a few minutes late, and I’ll work with you a few minutes longer. This morning you interrupted Maxine’s treatment. That’s why I had to ask you to leave. It was Maxine’s first treatment, and she felt wary of being tipped back in the chair.”

“Consuela accepts your apology.” She brushed her flowing hair aside and adjusted the pillow beneath her head. “I would like to help you find Dyanne Darby’s killer, Keely. We would be doing the world a service.”

I didn’t doubt that Consuela would like to be in on any murder investigation. Her kind thrived on excitement—and male attention. Had it been possible she would have worn her boyfriends like charms on a bracelet.

“Why do you think I’m trying to find Dyanne Darby’s killer? I’ve no plans to get involved in a mystery that happened when I was a child. No way.”

I worked on Consuela’s big toe and felt the crystalline deposits break up. I knew she must have felt twinges of pressure, but she never flinched. She often complained of headaches and she believed my reflexology treatments kept them at bay.

“I think you’ve decided to help Randy and his mother because you’re a kind person, Keely. You have a good heart and you like to help people—underdog people like the Jacksons. You deny this?”

I didn’t reply.

“Okay, so I tell you the honest truth. I know you be the one who tries to help Randy because he hint that to me. He say a friend of his mother found one killer on this island and that she may help him. Now who could that be except you, Keely. Who?”