Maxi’s dinner was every bit as good as promised. The light, savory rice sopped up the rich, spicy stew—which brought out the sweetness of the fried plantains. Everyone at the table had at least two helpings. Kate noticed that both Michael and Zach went back for thirds.
“Esperanza, your fricasé is muy delicioso,” Peter told his mother-in-law, refilling her wineglass. “Fantástico!”
“Gracias,” she said, smiling shyly.
Kate was amazed at their outdoor “dining room.” It looked like pictures she’d seen in Tuscan cookbooks. A big farm table under the trees, with a lush carpet of green and blooming flowers everywhere. The tree itself—herself?—sported a healthy profusion of shiny leaves. And if the verdant cloud was any indication of this year’s crop, the Más-Buchanan kids might actually need those helmets.
But Maxi was right. The cool, salt-air breeze—laced with the scent of tropical flowers—was better than any air-conditioning.
Was it just a few weeks ago she was braving exhaust fumes and killer work hours in the city? She smiled. Coral Cay was definitely a move in the right direction.
With the kids gone from the table, followed by Esperanza (who went inside to watch her “stories”), the three of them had lingered. Enjoying the cool of the evening.
“Maxi says you have a bit of a problem,” Peter said quietly. “A stalker.”
“I don’t know what he is. Or who he is. I only know I started seeing him a day or so after I arrived in Coral Cay. Regularly. The afternoon of the break-in, I saw him more than usual. And that break-in? It wasn’t teenagers.”
“OK,” Peter said encouragingly. “And you know this because?”
“Because no teenager I’ve ever met wears hard shoes. I heard the footsteps across the kitchen floor. It was a man. One heavy-footed man.”
“This guy you saw. When you spotted him that day, what was he wearing?” Peter asked.
“Tan ball cap, khaki shorts. Some kind of a Hawaiian shirt. Medium blue, I think. And sunglasses. Always big sunglasses.”
“So probably no hard shoes.”
“You’re right,” Kate said. “Unless he went home to change. And you wouldn’t put on dress shoes for a break-in. Just the opposite.”
“So your stalker probably isn’t your robber,” Peter concluded.
“Wait, you believe me? About the stalker? You don’t think I’m crazy?”
“The man lives with me, my mom, and three kids,” Maxi said, leaning forward. “He’s seen crazy up close and personal. No offense, but you don’t qualify.”
Peter smiled and sipped his coffee.
“Look, in my experience, women have pretty good radar,” he said finally. “And this guy’s tripped yours, for some reason. The animal part of your brain—the part that senses danger—is trying to tell you something. My advice is ‘listen to it.’ Take some precautions. Don’t go off by yourself. And I’ll talk to Ben. That way, if you see the guy again you can phone the station. Ben doesn’t have to pick him up or arrest him to have a chat and find out who he is.”
“What about the burglar?” Maxi interjected.
“Unfortunately, that was Kyle’s case. And he bungled it. Didn’t even take fingerprints.”
“Bobo,” Maxi concluded.
“Grade A prime bobo,” Peter agreed.
Now Kate was smiling. Seeing these two together, she couldn’t help herself. Peter was calm and unflappable. Maxi was a hummingbird—constant motion and energy. Yin and yang.
“The bakery is closed for now,” Peter said. “And I hear they’re gonna be patrolling that block pretty heavily, too. Regular crawl cars. So if your burglar wants to try it again, let him.”
“What about Sam?” Maxi said. “Can we get him released? At least before the trial?”
“You know I can’t talk about that.”
Maxi gave him a look.
“I’m just glad it’s not my case. I’d have to recuse myself.”
“Only if you wanted a wife to come home to,” Maxi said with a smile “He didn’t do it. You know he didn’t.”
“I can’t picture the Sam I know doing that. He’s family. He’s sat right here at this table more times than I can count. And Stewart Lord was a sadistic bully. It wasn’t enough for him to get what he wanted, he liked to break people. He’d been after Sam—and the bakery—for a while. Maybe Sam just snapped. I mean, in this case, I almost wouldn’t blame him.”
“Temporary insanity?” Kate asked.
“More like temporary sanity,” Peter said. “Lord was what his own countrymen call ‘a nasty piece of goods.’ Did you ever meet him?”
“Once. I was working the counter when he came in that morning. He started leering, and suddenly Sam was there shooing me out of the room.”
Peter nodded. “That’s both of them in a nutshell.”
Kate wrapped both hands around her coffee cup as a birdcall pierced the night air. If she hadn’t left—if she’d waited on Stewart Lord—would Sam be safe at home right now?
“So if the burglar is after the bakery and not you, why don’t you stay here until the bakery reopens?” Maxi asked. “Trust me, no one in his right mind is gonna break into this place.”
“Only if I can help out around the house,” Kate said. “How about I start by baking up a batch of cookies? I mean, if you don’t mind someone else in your kitchen.”
“Are you kidding?” said Maxi. “Anyone who wants to cook in my kitchen is welcome to it.”