Eleven —
They Stop at Nothing

It was almost seven o’clock when Blanche cruised into Cappy’s driveway—more like lurched as the Taurus had developed a reluctance to change gears. It was a good thing she mostly walked around the island, but every once in a while she had to get the wheels out to see if they still turned.

The lights were on in Cap’s house hidden in the palms and dune grass. She followed the curving shell path to a parking spot off the deck of his kitchen. She hoped it wasn’t too late to get some dinner out of him, and she knew it wasn’t. She could count on finding him at the stove. He enjoyed the evening for puttering, just like Blanche did. The bonus was that his puttering included cooking. Hers mostly involved wrestling with a stuck window or a stack of short story ideas and cleaning up fronds and weeds around the cabin. Her treat was hanging out in Cap’s kitchen.

The Taurus stuttered, and stopped. The back door popped open, and Cappy yelled: “YOOOOHOOOO.”

“YOOOHOOOOO yourself,” she yelled back. “Whatcha got?” She leaped out of the car and into a hug. She put her hands on his shoulders, startled at how bony and thin he was getting. He seemed to be shrinking, his hair finer and whiter. His eyes cloudier. Even bluer? And sad. Yes, she was sad, too.

They would talk about it. Bury that sadness for now. She wanted to protect him from murder and all the rest of it.

“Stone crab today. Season just opened up.” He squeezed her fingers and guided her toward the door. “Heck of a day.” He shook his head. Bad news was all over this island. Blanche sighed and followed him into the house.

Steam from the huge metal pot lifted into the yellow light from a small lamp. Pungent bay seasoning filled the warm, damp air. She shut her eyes tight to savor the moment. Stone crab season—October to May—was one of their favorites.

He’d trap each crab, remove one claw, and return it to the Gulf to skitter off and grow it back. Her mouth watered, but somewhat guiltily, as the thought struck her that Cap could get more than twenty dollars a pound at the IGA for stone crab this size. This dinner was meant to cover a multitude of woes.

Cap busied himself at the pot, heaping crab claws onto a platter. He poured melted butter into a white cup and arranged lemon wedges in a bowl.

He turned to her, wagged a finger. “You need to eat. Bet you been running around all day.”

“Well, I had that delicious grouper lunch…”

“Oh, that little sliver.”

She smiled at him, cocked her head. “Then, we talk?”

She scooted up to the orange Formica counter that ran the length of the kitchen, one eye on Cap. He set out a plastic bib, utensils, and paper napkins and slid the crab claws, fried potatoes, and coleslaw close to her. The claws were plump, the shells a beautiful cream and rose color with black tips. Blanche cracked one open and dug out the white meat.

He clacked the spoon on the edge of a large pot of simmering soup. Lentils, she guessed, and like a band leader, he used another hand to stir the fried potatoes in the back. Blanche stopped shoveling and dipping and chomping. “Cappy, come on. Have some of these. They’re the best! You’re the best!”

But appreciation for stone crab only went so far.

He clattered over the stove a bit more—Cappy’s way of dispensing with the malingering darkness. Blanche’s stomach tightened. Everybody knew about the murder. Everybody was deeply affected, except Langstrom, it seemed. Standing on that bridge, he had disturbed her with his indifference, an attitude that irritated her, grated on her, urged her to find out what was going on behind that smile.

She moved the broken shells around on her plate. “You thinking about the horrible morning? I am, too.” The spoon clicked emphatically into its porcelain rest on the stove top. “Caps?”

“Oh, Blanche.” He smiled, shaking his head.

She thought of the guy and the white van, and now she wasn’t so sure if that was a good idea to bring it up. Surely not from the look on Cap’s face.

His rounded shoulders slumped in the worn flannel shirt. It had been eighty-four degrees today, but he needed to warm his old bones.

“Cappers, come on over here. Let’s talk about it.”

“You’ve been asking questions, haven’t you?” He blurted it out. “About Bob? There’s not a thing you can do about that. And this plan for the development at the north end?” He spoke softly. “They say it’s going to happen. There’s nothing anyone can do. Things happen. Sometimes, bad things, but we have to move on.”

“Cappy, please. You know what they’re trying to do. I have to ask questions.”

“And what good will that do? They can do whatever they want. They’ve got deep pockets. You mustn’t get involved. Please, stay out of it.”

“Well, they are not going to get away with murder. Literally.” She leaped off the stool and pounded the counter. “I’ll be damned if they’ll get away with killing Bob, if that’s what they did. I have to follow through on this, Cap.”

“Now settle down, Blanche.”

“I can’t. I feel like someone is slowly squeezing me to death.”

“I know, girl.” He touched her hand. “It’s too close to home.”

“Speaking of which. Some guy has been nosing around Tuna Street, looking for property. Mel told me.”

“Tuna? There’s nothing for sale over there.”

“I’ll say.”

“Unless…” He stood perfectly still, and studied her. “Blanche, maybe you should consider it. Now, don’t get het up.” The look on her face sent him back to the stove to clatter away. He was silent while her cheeks grew redder, eyes blazing.

“Cap, we’re not going there, and if that guy shows up again, I’ll….” She pounded her fist again. He jumped.

“Great,” he muttered. He stirred, and she attacked the last bit of crab meat in a black tip. Finally, he turned and smiled, his eyes lit with concern. “I’m thinking. About lemonade. When all you have is a huge pile of lemons. I know you don’t want to hear it, but you should at least think about it. Maybe someday. You could get a nice settlement for the cabin, and you could travel, or take time to write that book. Or do whatever you want to do. Just get away from all this for a while.”

“You want to get rid of me.” She gave him a sly look.

“Now, Blanche…You can stay here whenever you like. You know that.”

He was still smiling, and she didn’t want to argue with him. That would be stupid. He only had her best interests, and had his. She knew this even while her heart was on fire.

The dinner had been delicious, but she was worn down. She looked at Cappy and wondered where the strength came from.