chapter SEVEN
after two tries on the doorbell, Kylie stepped off the front porch and walked around to the side of the house. The only car under the portico was a twenty-year-old Buick sedan. She had come all this way for nothing. She hadn’t called first because it would have been too easy for C.J. to say no on the phone.
She heard a noise from behind the house. It sounded like an electric saw. Kylie followed a mossy brick path to a gate, looked through the bars, and saw shade trees, an arbor with hanging baskets of orchids, and, beyond that, a stucco cottage painted the same white as the main house. A power cord came out the screen door of the cottage, down the steps, and over to the back wall, which Kylie couldn’t see from where she stood.
The saw started up again. She tried the latch. It opened.
A long ladder reached the second floor, and a skinny man in a straw hat stood near the top holding a jigsaw against a PVC pipe coming out of the wall. Bits of white plastic flew everywhere. He turned off the saw, hung it on an S-hook, and brushed off the end of the pipe.
Kylie stepped closer. “Excuse me? Sir?”
The straw hat turned. Under the brim she could make out a pair of thick glasses, a small gray mustache, and a face lined with wrinkles. “We’re not buying anything.”
“I’m looking for C.J. Dunn. This is her house, isn’t it?”
“Yep.”
“Is she home?”
“Not right now. And who might you be?”
“Kylie Willis. My mother is a friend of hers.”
He nodded slowly. “Seems I’ve heard the name.”
“Will Ms. Dunn be back?”
“I expect so. She lives here.” He reached into a bucket hanging off another hook and took out a short piece of pipe with a ninety-degree angle. “Said she’d be here about nine o’clock. You’re free to wait.”
With a sigh, Kylie sat on the bench under the tree. She checked her watch: ten minutes past. A breeze came through, cooling her bare arms and legs. She took off her glasses and cleaned them on the hem of her T-SHIRT. Five minutes ago, getting out of her borrowed car, she had seen how the street came to a dead end at the water, with a little park at the turnaround, the kind of street she’d live on if she had the money.
“Dad-drat it!” The old man stared down at the grass. “Girl! Get that for me, will you? That little can of PVC cement.”
Kylie put her glasses back on, found the can, and went up the ladder. “What are you doing?”
“Diverting water from the shower drain to that barrel there.” He unscrewed the cap and painted glue around the end of the pipe coming out of the wall, then daubed the brush into the angled connector. “We’re in a drought, in case you hadn’t noticed. We used to have dry spells, but not like this.”
“Global warming,” she said, going down the ladder again.
“No! It’s too many idiots moving down here. Greed. Stupidity. We’re paying the price now, boy-oh-boy, are we. When I was your age, Miami was a paradise. Pure spring water bubbled right up through the aquifer into Biscayne Bay. There were rapids in the Miami River, till they blew it up with dynamite and dredged it. Bet you didn’t know that, did you?”
He pressed the connector onto the end of the pipe, grunting, then reached into the bucket again and came out with a red-handled valve on a threaded piece. He screwed the piece into the connector. “Now give me the hose. It’s over there, by the barrel.”
He pointed toward a blue plastic barrel lying on its side under a window. She couldn’t see into the house; the blinds were closed. She picked up the coil of two-inch-diameter black hose lying in the grass and carried it up the ladder. The man slid it over the pipe, off and on. The uncoiled hose reached nearly to the ground.
She said, “An O-ring might work.”
He reached into the bucket and came out with a shiny metal ring. “Like this?” He found a screwdriver and went to work.
“Why do you have a valve on it?”
“If it rains, we don’t need the water, do we?”
“But if you close the valve, won’t the shower overflow?”
“You’re pretty smart for your age.”
She put a hand on her hip. “I’m seventeen.”
“No kidding.” He finished with the clamp, let go, and tossed his screwdriver into the bucket. “It won’t overflow. I installed a float and a shutoff valve in there. When the water rises too far, it goes back into the main pipe. I’ve got it all worked out.”
“Sounds good,” Kylie said.
“I’m glad it meets with your approval.” He put the saw into the bucket and lowered it by a rope. “Hold the ladder, I’m coming down.” He took one step at a time as she steadied the ladder. Flecks of paint dotted his scuffed work boots and his loose khaki pants. He wiped his face with a bandanna, which he folded neatly and stuffed into his pocket.
Stooping down to see her through his glasses, he said, “My name’s Edgar Dunn.” He reached out a big, veiny hand, and she shook it.
“Are you Ms. Dunn’s father?”
“No, her husband’s uncle. We’re not blood kin. She was married to my nephew, Elliott. He passed away. His heart, only forty years old. Damn shame. Are you thirsty? Want some cold apple juice?”
“All right. Thank you.”
He picked up the bucket, and she followed him up the steps of the cottage. He opened the screen door for her. Kylie said, “I’ll just wait out here.”
“Sure, have a seat,” he said.
“Holy shit!” A huge green reptile with curved claws on its feet lay on the other end of the porch. Spikes stuck up from its skull and ran down its scaly back and tail. Its eye socket rotated toward her. It opened its mouth and hissed. Kylie backed up a few steps.
“Sorry for cussing.” She glanced at the old man. “What is that thing?”
“An iguana. Name’s Iggy. They’re not native. I reckon somebody let him go when he got too big. He showed up one day with a bite out of him. The vet wanted to put him down, but C.J. wouldn’t hear of it. She has a soft spot for strays. Iggy’s only got three legs. We feed him good. He won’t hurt you.”
The old man went inside, and the iguana closed its eyes.
Looking through the screen door, Kylie could see wood floors, an old sofa and armchair. A fan whirred in an open window, lifting the curtains. She sat on the top step and looked across the yard to the main house. Blue-and-white-striped awnings shaded the windows on the second floor, and the back porch had been screened in. A cat lay on a chair looking at her. French doors led into the house, but the lights were off.
The old man—Mr. Dunn—came out with a glass of juice. “I’d join you, but I stink and I need a bath. I can’t do much with the water in my place, need to rig a pump. C.J.’s bathroom has gravity going for it.” He gestured toward the car port. “Speak of the devil.”
The hood of a BMW was visible through the fence. Kylie quickly finished the juice and gave him the glass. “Thanks.”
She picked up her bag and headed toward the gate, intending to go around and ring the bell again. She stopped when the back door swung open. C.J. Dunn stood on the top step. “Kylie?”
Designer sunglasses were pushed into her long blond hair. She wore a pink sleeveless blouse, a short gray skirt, and black high heels with ankle straps. Kylie had only seen her once before, when she’d dumped Kylie off at the apartment she’d found for her.
The old man waved from the cottage porch. “The girl’s been helping me with the irrigation project.”
“Hello, Ms. Dunn!” Kylie walked across the terrace with a bright smile. “I hope it’s not a bother, me coming over. I wanted to talk to you personally.”
C.J. put a hand on her hip. “Would this have anything to do with the fact that your parents want you home, and you don’t want to go?”
“Not exactly. Do you have a few minutes?”
“Barely. I’m expecting a call from a client. All right, come in.” When she turned, she saw the ladder, then the hole in the back of the house. “Edgar? What is this?”
“I’m diverting waste water for the yard plants. I told you about it.”
“You were thinking about it.”
“Well, you take two showers a day,” her uncle said. “That’s a lot of water. Don’t worry about the hole. I’ll seal it up this afternoon. In the rainy season I can disconnect the hose and leave a little plate up there for future access.”
“You went up that ladder? You could have fallen! You could have killed yourself!”
“Well, I didn’t, did I?”
“Promise me you’ll stay off the ladder. Tomorrow I’ll have a plumber come over.”
“And do what, exactly?”
She took his hand. “Edgar, we can’t run sewage into the yard.”
“Sewage? No, it’s just the bathtub. I didn’t tap into the toilet. Stop talking to me like I was a child. We’ve got to do something. If this drought keeps up, we’ll run out of water.”
She remembered Kylie was standing there. “We’ll talk about it later. Kylie, would you come with me, please?”
Kylie wasn’t sure what she had expected, but as they went inside she saw dishes in the sink, a dining table strewn with papers, and mismatched furniture in the living room. High heels, bedroom slippers, and empty mugs had been left by the rattan sofa, under the coffee table, and next to a toppling stack of magazines. There was a fireplace and a painted stucco chimney that rose to a high ceiling where two fans hung from extension poles, lazily twirling.
“This is a lovely home,” Kylie said.
“It’s a freaking disaster. I’ve been in one trial after another for six months.” C.J. didn’t offer a seat. She took the sunglasses off and tossed them toward her tote bag on the sofa. “Did your mother call you? I told her I’d fly you back to Pensacola on Monday.”
“Yes, she called me.”
“Did she mention that I will give you five hundred dollars toward your school expenses if you enroll this fall?”
“That’s sort of what I wanted to discuss with you.”
“Five hundred dollars is very generous, don’t you think?”
“It is, and I really appreciate it.” A knock came at the front door, but C.J. didn’t notice. Kylie spoke quickly. “I’ve decided that what I really want to do is attend college at Miami-Dade.”
“College? You haven’t graduated from high school. You can’t stay in Miami. You can’t support yourself, your parents haven’t got the money, and if you think—”
The doorbell rang. C.J. went over to the window. She glanced through, then walked into the foyer, high heels clicking on tile. The door opened. A woman’s voice said, “Sorry I’m late. Did Shelby call yet?”
“No, not yet. I just got home.”
“So how was it over at Billy’s last night?”
C.J. made some hushing noises as they came around the corner. The other woman was taller and about ten years older, with black hair piled on top of her head and shiny pink lipstick.
“This is Kylie Willis,” C.J. said.
The woman seemed to think that was amusing. “Well, hi there, Kylie. I’m Judy Mazzio, a friend of C.J.’s.”
“Hello,” Kylie said. She was about to ask C.J. if they could finish their conversation when the phone on the end table rang.
C.J. looked at the caller-ID screen. “Why don’t you take Kylie over to Edgar’s for a while? I have to get this.”
“Sure thing. Come on, Kylie.”
Kylie looked up at her companion as they crossed the yard. She wore a tight purple top and black crop pants. High-heeled sandals showed off her red nail polish. There was a rose tattoo on her ankle.
“So. You’re the girl from Pensacola.” A smile crinkled the corners of her brown eyes.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Call me Judy.”
“Are you a lawyer too?”
“No, I’m a private investigator. C.J.’s one of my clients.” She rapped on the screen door. “Edgar? It’s me.”
“He might be in the shower.” Kylie added, “I met him before Ms. Dunn got home.”
“Edgar, you have company!” Judy opened the door and motioned for Kylie to follow. “You want something to drink, honey?”
“No, thanks.”
Judy dropped her bag on the dining table and walked into the tiny kitchen as if she owned the place. Kylie glanced around the room, everything neat and tidy, like a dollhouse. She noticed a box sitting open on the floor and looked into it. Photographs. She straightened her glasses and knelt for a closer look. She saw old cars with running boards, a dirt street, a seaplane, men in suits and hats, a woman in a white dress to her ankles.
A door opened, and she stood up. The old man had put on fresh khaki pants and a clean shirt. His gray hair was still damp. “All that stuff’s going to the Historical Museum, soon as I finish organizing it, if I live that long.” He looked through the bottom of his glasses to see the photograph she held. “My kid brother took that one with a Brownie. He died in Korea. Our dad was the real photo nut. He photographed everything that didn’t jump out of his way. Here. Look at this one.”
Kylie saw an alligator tied up in ropes. Indians stood alongside, dressed in patchwork clothes.
“Are they Seminoles?”
“Miccosukees. They caught that gator for their tourist camp. That picture was taken on the other side of the river from where we lived. My brothers and I used to row over there and watch them wrestle gators. Not much of a show. Cost a dime.” He turned the photograph over. “Go there now, you find a gas station and a Cuban strip mall. Why oh why don’t people write down names and dates? That littlest Indian, the boy, his name was Sam Osceola. Pal of mine. I can’t remember the others. You think you’ll remember forever, but you don’t.”
Judy came back from the kitchen stirring a glass of iced tea with a straw. “Edgar, are you boring that girl with your old photos?”
“They’re interesting,” Kylie said. “You were friends with the Indians?”
“Sure. We used to throw rocks across the river at each other. They didn’t go to school. I think we were jealous. When was this? Nineteen-thirty? I need to write it all down before it’s too late.”
Judy sat in a chair and crossed her legs, swinging her foot. “Edgar thinks he’s about to croak. He’s been saying that for twenty years.”
“Here I am in my army uniform, W-W-Two, the Stone Age. I used to be a good-looking fella.”
“He still is,” Judy said, and winked at him.
Edgar showed Kylie a photograph of the Orange Bowl Parade. The colors had turned brown, and the faces were fuzzy. “My nephew Elliott was the drum major for the Miami Edison High School marching band. He’s dead now. But I told you already. My brain is going.”
Judy laughed. “Ask him how much he took off his poker buddies last night. I’m surprised they didn’t shoot you.”
“They were too drunk to hit the side of a house.”
Kylie put the photograph back into the box. “These are really good. You ought to scan the color ones before they’re totally gone.”
“How’s that?”
“You could make digital images and correct the color, not perfectly but a lot better. There are programs for that. But you’d need a computer,” she said.
“I have a computer.” He pointed at a desk across the room. “I use email and go online. I’m not your typical old fart.”
Kylie went over to look. The boxy beige monitor had a twelve-inch screen, and the computer was a kind she’d never heard of. “It’s kind of old. If you had a new one, you could make a DVD slide show for your family and friends. You could put your photos online.”
He sucked on his upper lip, biting his mustache. “I don’t know. Seems like a lot of trouble for something I won’t be around to enjoy.”
“Why not do it?” said Judy. “It sounds like fun. I’d look at your damned pictures.”
The old man looked at Kylie. “How much?”
She shrugged. “Computer, scanner, DVD burner, a printer . . . two thousand?”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.”
A cell phone chimed, and Judy pulled hers from a pocket and put it to her ear. She listened, then said, “Kylie, I’m going to hang with this old fart a little longer. C.J. wants you to go on back to her place.”
Kylie hadn’t slept at all last night after her mother called. She had sat on her bed staring through the tenth-floor window at the dark water of Biscayne Bay. She had seen the streetlights go out and the sky turn pink, then silver blue as the sun rose over the hotels and condos on Miami Beach. She had pictured herself back in Pensacola, wearing a red smock at that part-time job at the Dollar Store, or dating some asshole whose idea of fun was smoking a joint and getting laid, or hearing her father, who was a good man basically, say he wouldn’t go to France if you paid him. These thoughts had pulled like weights on her heart, and she wanted to scream and grab her stuff and run somewhere, anywhere. And then what?
She had to admit she’d been stupid. Skipping work, drinking till she puked, borrowing money from Alana because hers always ran out so fast. Last night Kylie’s mother had said no sane person would want to live in Miami, but it wasn’t Miami that was so bad; people in general were fucked up. If it was bad everywhere, you might as well pick a place that didn’t make you want to shoot yourself. There were times when you had to take a chance, and if you didn’t, it would be too late. You wouldn’t even have a box of fading memories, because you never did anything worth remembering.
“What I have decided to do,” she told C.J. Dunn, “is get my GED this fall, then register at Miami-Dade College in January. If I get good grades my first two years, and I will, then I can apply for a scholarship or a loan and transfer to the University of Miami. They have a program in journalism, and I could intern at The Miami Herald. My goal is to work at a newspaper or magazine where they cover political issues. I plan to learn Spanish, of course, which is extremely useful in Miami, and I also want to study Mandarin Chinese. In fact, I’ve already bought some tapes at a used book store. China will surpass the United States in fifty years, and that’s not just my opinion.”
They sat at the dining room table. C.J. had shoved aside some of her files and papers to make room. She had her forehead in the palm of her hand. Her eyes shifted to Kylie, and she stared at her a long time before she said, “A journalist. Have you ever written anything?”
“Not for a newspaper. I’m still in high school.”
“What kind of grades do you get in English?”
“I know I can do it. I have a plan.” Sliding forward on her chair, Kylie said, “First thing, you need a budget. Miami’s expensive, but if you rent a room instead of an apartment, and you don’t eat out, and you shop at thrift stores, you can survive. A lot of people are so into, like, buying things and having the perfect shoes or an expensive car . . . I don’t mean you, of course, but some people. I’m just not into that.”
C.J. kept staring at her. Kylie heard the grandfather clock ticking in the corner of the dining room and felt the moment slipping away.
“Okay. My budget. I can work part-time and go to school, but there’s a shortfall of five hundred dollars a month. Tuition and books are about four thousand dollars for one semester. If you could lend me enough for my first year, I think I could get a school loan after that. I’ll pay you back when I graduate, with interest, of course, more than you would earn from your savings account.”
“Kylie.” Now C.J. was making little squares in the dust on the table. “You go home, you finish high school, and you attend a local college like other girls your age. It’s going to take commitment and patience, which I think you’re lacking. There are no shortcuts. I wouldn’t be doing you a favor to—”
“It’s an investment. You’ve given money to my mother, and she never paid you back. I will.”
“I can’t go against what your parents want. They love you. They miss you.”
“I know that, but—”
“I’m sorry. This is not open for discussion.” She held up her hands. “I promised Fran I would send you home. You have to go.”
As the words went on, Kylie felt the weight in her chest again, worse than before. She said, “I will kill myself if I have to live in Pensacola. You don’t know how it is up there.”
Blue eyes fixed on her. “Yes, Kylie, I do. I was born in Mayo, one traffic light and a water tower. My father couldn’t keep a job, and my mother didn’t even graduate from high school. Nobody gave me a damned thing. I worked my way through college. I got scholarships. I did it alone.” She let out a breath. “All right, I’ll make a deal with you. When you have your high school diploma, I will pay your first two years at . . . whatever college they have in Pensacola. Then, if you do well, we can talk about the University of Florida. It’s a wonderful school.”
Kylie said, “But if you’re going to help me, why can’t I stay here?”
“It’s not up to me. It isn’t my decision!”
“What if my parents say it’s all right?”
“They won’t.”
“They would if you talked to them.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Well, I’m not going back to Pensacola.”
“Don’t be such a whiny brat. What made you so entitled?”
“That is so hateful!” Kylie stood up so fast her chair nearly tipped. “And you call yourself our friend.”
C.J. followed her out of the dining room. “I know the publisher of the magazine where you work. You will be out of a job on Monday.”
“Too late. They already fired me.” She slung her bag over her shoulder. “Goodbye. Thank you for caring whether I live or die. I guess I’ll just hitch a ride back downtown.”
“Wait.” Heels tapped on the wood floor and went silent on the carpet in the living room. “I’ll have Judy take you.”
“No, don’t worry about me. It’s easy to get rides, especially from men. They think I’m cute.”
“Kylie, stop.”
“Why? I have to start looking for another job, don’t I?”
“Go ahead, do what you want, but I’m not letting you leave this house and accept a ride from a stranger!”
Kylie went into the foyer and stopped at the door, staring at the dark, heavy wood. It was curved at the top, with a crystal hanging in the fan-shaped window, catching the sun. Kylie bowed her head. Her hair fell around her face like a curtain. “Actually, I drove here.”
“Drove what?”
“A friend’s car.” She stared at the floor. “I’m sorry I said you were hateful. I didn’t mean it.”
“We were both upset,” C.J. said.
“Can’t I stay another week? It won’t make any difference.”
“What about Wednesday? That gives you time to say good-bye to your friends. It’s not the end of the world, you know. You can always come back. Miami will still be here.” C.J. had a smile so phony that Kylie wanted to shove her. “Well. Is there anything you need? Do you have enough cash to last until then?”
“Actually, no.” Kylie put on her own smile. “I need some gas for the car. It’s running on empty. And I have to drop it off on South Beach. Could you lend me enough for a taxi?”
“Of course. I’ll just get my purse.” She went over to the sofa. “You do have a valid driver’s license, don’t you?” When Kylie said she did, C.J. nodded. She took a twenty-dollar bill out of her wallet, then another one, then all of them, including a fifty. She tossed the wallet back into her bag. “Be careful, borrowing somebody else’s car. If you get into an accident, and you’re under eighteen, the owner could sue your parents for the damage.”
“I doubt it. The owner’s been gone for a week, and I don’t think she’s coming back.”
Blue eyes opened wide, and the hand with the money froze as Kylie reached for it.
Kylie tugged it away. “Thank you very much, Ms. Dunn. I really appreciate this.”
“What are you talking about, the owner is gone?”
She slid the money into her shorts pocket. “The car belongs to Alana Martin. Nobody can find her. It’s been on TV. She and I were friends, and I think . . . well, I’m pretty sure she went to Hollywood. She told me she had a friend out there or something.”
C.J. tilted her head as though she hadn’t heard correctly. “You knew Alana Martin? What are you doing with her car? Kylie?”
“I borrowed it.” Kylie wished she hadn’t said anything.
“From Alana? When?”
“Somebody was fixing the transmission, and they dropped it off at her apartment a couple of days ago. When I went by there yesterday to ask her roommate if she’d heard anything, I saw Alana’s car, and then . . . I needed some way to get here, so I took a bus over to the Beach early this morning and borrowed it. She kept a spare key under the rear bumper.” Kylie added, “I’m going to take it right back.”
“You knew her. You knew Alana Martin. How do you know her?”
“From the magazine. Alana was working for the advertising director. She quit just after I started there, but we would go out together. Parties. Dancing. Alana got me a fake ID. She knew most of the bouncers, so we didn’t have any trouble.”
“A fake ID. Oh, God.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“No? Tell me that when you get arrested. When did you last see Alana?”
“The night of the party. There was a party on Star Island. We went there together. She said she had to talk to someone, and to wait, but she never came back. I waited and waited and finally hitched a ride home.”
“You hitchhiked?”
“It was somebody from the party. He was all right.”
“What is the matter with you? My God, Kylie, anything could have happened!”
“I couldn’t find Alana, and I didn’t have any money. What the fu—What was I supposed to do?”
C.J. took her arm and put her on the sofa while she sat on the edge of the coffee table, facing her. “We need to take that car back before someone reports it stolen. I’ll ask Judy. She can do it. You and I are going to talk. I need to know everything about Alana Martin.”
After some seconds went by, Kylie said, “Why?”
She shook her head. “It’s related to a case I’m doing. I can’t discuss that with you, but it’s extremely important that I know what happened that night. Why did she go to the party? Who was she going to meet? She must have said something to you. What can you tell me about her friends and the men she knew? Don’t move. I’m going to call Judy.” Crossing the room, C.J. picked up the phone. “You need to give her Alana’s address and the key to the car.”
The key was in the pocket of Kylie’s shorts. She could almost feel it vibrating against her hip. A feeling of lightness was rushing through her, and everything suddenly seemed so clear, so perfectly obvious. Sliding her bag over her shoulder, she went around the coffee table, past an armchair, then toward the foyer. “This is so interesting. You have this big important legal thing you can’t talk about, and I have information you want. I might know a lot about Alana. It depends.”
C.J. turned around with the phone in her hand. “What do you mean, it depends? Depends on what?”
Kylie sent her a little smile. “I can’t talk to you if I’m not here, can I?” As C.J.’s mouth dropped open, Kylie ran for the door. “Stop! Where are you going? Wait!”
She slammed the door on her way out, leaped off the porch, and sped across the yard. She skidded to a stop at the end of the brick walkway and dug the key out of her pocket as the front door swung open.
“Kylie! Stop!” C.J. almost tripped in her high heels. “Come back!”
Kylie spun around. “I am not going to Pensacola! If you want something from me, you can pay for it!”
She sprinted to where she had parked the car, unlocked it, and got in, slamming down the lock. The tires screeched when she stepped on the gas. Before she turned onto Bayshore, she looked in the rearview and saw C.J. Dunn standing in the middle of the street fifty yards back with her hands in her hair.
