There’s a tight band around my chest I’m trying to ignore as Eve and I board our flight to Miami.
Truth is, Art’s words are looping through my mind, like a song, over and over, and it has me in a knot. Pray you don’t need that watch ever again.
I’m not going to panic. But he’s right.
As soon as I started to time travel, life was no longer fixed in place.
Outcomes could be changed.
Lives repaired, and a better—happier—ending at my fingertips.
In theory.
Now, I have to live with what I get, just like everyone else.
Eve and I are traveling light. Her contacts in Miami (and no, I’m not asking too many questions, yet), dug up Helen Fitzgerald’s address at a residential care facility outside the city. I called to confirm, but I didn’t talk to her.
I don’t want to spook her.
We’re close, I can feel it in my bones.
I have no recollection of ever being in Miami. We took a trip to Hawaii for our fifth anniversary, so I’ve seen the ocean before, but as we angle over the city, I’m caught by the massive expanse of water along the shore, so much blue, extending to the horizon.
Having grown up near a lake, I’m not afraid of the water. But there’s a part of me that is mesmerized by what lies beneath. I suppose it’s that same part of me that decided traveling back in time might be a good idea. What did Eve call it—reckless?
Maybe. But that was then.
Now, I’m smarter, right? (Don’t answer that, thanks).
I do feel about twenty-eight when I discover Eve has rented a Corvette convertible for our quick tour through Miami. I put the top down in the parking garage while she pulls up her GPS to the Cyprus Gardens Senior Care Center.
She looks over at me. “Miss that Camaro, don’t you?”
“And my Porsche.”
“Right. You were born for speed.”
I don’t know why, but I have urge to flex as I pull out of the garage, my sunglasses on, the hot wind in my hair. The air is heavy, filled with the lure of palm trees and beach even as I move toward the highway.
Like me, Eve is wearing her office clothes, but I notice she’s pulled off her shoes, leaving her feet bare. Her hair is wild and free, and she leans back and closes her eyes.
I wonder just how much she loved Miami.
Her phone rings just as I hit the on ramp to I-95.
“Stay on this for twenty-four miles.” She answers the phone. “Director Stone here.”
I miss the manual transmission as I dart in and out of traffic. Eve covers one ear as she talks. I hear her mention the tattoo we sent out statewide. Then, “Yes. We’ll be right there.”
She looks at me and motions toward the next exit. I get over as she hangs up. “That was Val,” she says, like I know exactly who she’s talking about. “The tattoo turned up a hit. A guy matching Fitzgerald’s description works for a trucking company based out of the harbor. All their employees have to have a background check, and their file is kept in our—rather, the Miami Police Department database.”
“Seriously?” I take the exit but pull over at the first gas station.
“Yeah,” she says, the sky glinting off her sunglasses, bright and sunny. “And what’s better, he’s supposed to be coming in from a run tonight.”
Tonight. I do the math— “Wait. Are you saying he’s on the road?”
“I don’t know.”
The math doesn’t work, does it? Because Fitzgerald is supposed to be in Minnesota, cooling off after his crime.
More, if Meggie slathered him with pepper spray, odds are he wouldn’t be driving anytime soon.
Still, it’s worth a look. “Where to?”
“Val says to meet him at his office.”
Him.
Now, you thought Val was a woman, didn’t you? Me too.
“Super,” I say.
She pulls up the directions and we navigate to the police station while my brain conjures up all sorts of Val-related questions.
Was Val her partner?
Was Val the one she tried falling for?
Was Val the reason she came home? (And the answer to that is no. She came home for me, remember?)
I know these aren’t the answers we came for, but I can’t help it.
I’m an investigator, and Eve is suddenly a mystery to me.
The Miami Police Department headquarters is located downtown in a massive concrete and glass structure surrounded by palm trees. We park in a nearby lot and I follow Eve into the lobby. It’s all black tile and sleek lines and I can’t help but compare it to the stately and ornate Romanesque fortress that is our City Hall.
But maybe that’s the way they are down here. Flashy and slick. With guys named Val and Sonny and Rico. With fast cars and sleek boats and tans—
I feel a little overdressed in my suit as I hang back and wait for Eve’s…friend.
Admittedly, I’m expecting white parachute pants, a collarless shirt and Ray-Bans, but Val shows up out of the elevator wearing suit pants and a white shirt, rolled up past his elbows, a stark contrast to his dark skin. He’s handsome, wears his hair short to his scalp, and is bigger than me. Not that that bothers me. Really.
He possesses a sort of confidence about him that’s supposed to tell me he has nothing to prove. But he’s not wearing a ring and he’s just a little too friendly with ‘his girl Eve, whatdoyaknow’ who he pulls into a tight hug and kisses on her cheek.
Okayyyyy.
“And Rembrandt,” he holds out his hand, still friendly and maybe it’s me who has something to prove. “Detective Valentine Castillo, I’m sure you remember.”
I don’t, but I meet his eyes. She’s my girl, not yours, I say with mine.
He smiles, nods and the game is on.
Listen, I know how it sounds, but that’s just the way it is. Eve is the prize, and although I’ve won, I have a feeling there are coups yet uncounted.
“Listen, I found your guy, and I talked with the dispatcher. He’s due to come in tonight around eight. He had a short haul from Atlanta today.”
“Did he start in Atlanta?” Because I’m still doing math.
“I don’t know,” he says. “It’s only about ten hours on the turnpike.”
So he could have gotten on a flight, landed in Atlanta and ended up tonight in Miami.
Where we wouldn’t think to look for him.
For twenty-four years?
I check my watch. It’s nearly six p.m.
“I figure we’ll head over there in an hour or so, stake it out, and see if we can catch him.” He looks at Eve. “Hungry?”
“Chef Creole?”
“I know you love your conch fritters.”
“And fresh slaw?”
She says it slow, the syllables drawn out, the ending more of an “ow,” and I can’t contain a look of horror because she just winks at me.
What is going on?
Val swings his keys around his finger as we head back out into the sun. It’s low, its long dusky fingers threading through the buildings. I’d like to take the Corvette, but apparently, we’re taking his car.
Appropriately, a Dodge Charger. Yeah, well, I’ve got two more cylinders and 650 horses under the hood of my, um, rental.
He opens Eve’s door and pushes back the seat of his two-door. Waits.
I climb inside.
“Rem—I’ll sit in back—” Eve starts but I just hold up my hand.
I’ll sit back here. Someone just turn up the air conditioning. I’m already sweltering.
Val wears a gold bracelet on his wrist. As he pulls out into the city, he turns off the hip hop on his radio. “Eve and I used to hit up this place for lunch.” He glances over at Eve. “An alternative to donuts, right?”
She laughs, almost a giggle.
What is happening?
“You know, the thing about conch—like most seafood—is it’s an aphrodisiac. And usually it makes you get, um, a little more personal, right? But we use it to focus on solving our cases.”
Sure you do. I lean back and fold my arms, watching, my teeth grinding a little. Val’s so friendly with other people’s wives, he should have a dentist on retainer.
Miami is a well-used town, the buildings showing wear, graffiti on the underpasses. I’m sure it has better areas, but I can’t see much out of the tiny triangle windows.
My shirt is soaked through by the time we pull up to a little open air diner, grease so thick in the air I feel it land on my skin like salt. Pictures of conch and other seafood specialties hang above the counter like specials at a coffee shop. Patrons sit at the counter, eating out of foam containers.
Val orders for us without asking—I let it go—and Eve takes me over to a row of counter stools affixed to the pavement, facing out to the street.
Whatever.
“Seems like he knows you pretty well,” I say.
She’s sipping on a lemonade she got from a giant bubbler in front. “We worked together. He trusted me.”
My mouth tightens, and she laughs. “Rem. Calm down. Val is nice. And a great detective.”
At the moment I don’t care what kind of detective he is. Because what I wanted to hear was the standard “we just worked together,” defense.
I didn’t hear that, did you?
I try not to, but my gaze drifts back over to Val. He’s built, wide shoulders, and he’s laughing with the gals behind the counter. He sort of reminds me of Burke, a solid presence about him.
Someone emerges from the kitchen with three containers and he carries them over to the bar and hands us each one. I open it up and the smell of cayenne pepper and garlic strips the skin off my nose. The conch is fried to a deep golden brown, and layered with lime slices, green peppers and dipping sauce.
“Your eyes are going to roll back into your head,” Eve says and picks up one of the fritters, then dips it into the sauce.
As if fate is trying to intervene, an old Chevy Impala drives by, sits at the light, blasts out Boston’s, “Peace of Mind.”
“So, what’s the story on this Fitzgerald guy?” Val asks as he dips his conch, leaning over his tray so he doesn’t drip on his fancy, no-sweat-at-all white shirt.
“He’s a serial killer,” I say, picking up my conch. “Been on the run for twenty some years.” I stare at my conch. “What is this?”
“Seafood,” Eve says. She’s on her third fritter and isn’t shy about the dip. “You know those big shells that you can hear the ocean in?”
“You can’t really hear the ocean,” Val the tour guide says.
“Yeah, I know but….”
She doesn’t finish, and I’m refraining from adding, but this idiot doesn’t.
I know. Stop, Rem.
“It’s good,” I say, and hate myself a little for admitting that. But I’m making nice for Eve.
Val looks over at me, grinning. The smile seems genuine. Maybe he’s not a total jerk. Maybe.
“Eve and I sometimes picked up conch before we headed out to Miami Beach, right?”
Okay, that’s enough.
Eve grins. “They had the best bands—we saw Journey there once.”
I look at her. Really?
“Val introduced me to all sorts of new music.”
Did he now? I try another conch, but I’ve lost my appetite. I wipe my hands and sit back. “Leo Fitzgerald first started killing in 1997 although we recently found five more victims that predate that.” I don’t mention that it was in my—
“They were in Rem’s backyard,” Eve says. “So, clearly, the killer is playing a game with him.”
“Wow.” Val frowns. “Any idea why?”
“I don’t—” I start, but Eve interrupts me.
“Rem tracked him down in his early days, and tried to arrest him, but he got away.”
When did Eve turn into Miss Chatty?
“Whew, that’s rough,” Val says. “Twenty plus years playing his game. That’s gotta hurt.” Val finishes off his last conch. “Good thing he’s in our backyard, now. We’ll get him.” He’s wiping off his hands.
I lean forward. “He strangles them. Chases them down after their shift—most of them are waitresses, or bartenders, although a few have been hookers—and after he’s done, he leaves a tip. A twenty-dollar bill.” I give Eve a look and her eyes widen. Because I’m fishing, but I don’t want to give anything away. “Have you had any crimes that fit that MO?”
The thing is, if he says yes, then this case slips like sand through my fingers and becomes the property of the FBI.
Leo is my fault. He’s my collar.
Val shakes his head. “We’ve had a number of waitresses and bartenders killed on my watch, but…no, nothing like that.” He takes Eve’s empty tray and stacks it with his own. “Our last serial killer was Sam Little. Guy killed ninety women over the span of thirty years. Most of them here. So, I get ya.”
I’m not sure he does, but I nod anyway.
“You gonna finish that?”
“Nope.” I throw my napkin on top of the basket. “I don’t need an aphrodisiac to help me catch this guy,” I say, no smile.
Eve raises an eyebrow. The sun is low, hot and lethal on the horizon and I’m ready to go.
Val follows me out to his car, and bleeps the door unlocked. I climb in the back, ignoring Eve’s protests.
Val slides into the front seat. “I love a good stakeout.” He looks at Eve and winks.
She laughs.
Oh, this is going to be fun.