Twenty-One —
Jack Be Very Nimble

“Dammit, Jack. Don’t tell me to be careful, and don’t tell me to stay out of it again. I saw the emails from Brecksall-Lam. And I want to know how, exactly, you’re connected to these people.” Blanche was standing on what was left of her porch and yelling into her land line that for some reason still worked.

“You don’t have to yell. I can hear you perfectly. Unfortunately.”

She was too upset to let him try and calm her down. She felt betrayed by her only living relative, and her house was nearly destroyed as a result of Wilma blowing past the island. There had not been a direct hit, but in her ramble through the Gulf, the hurricane had blown out most of the southwest corner of the cabin. The second floor was cantilevered over the screened-in porch, which was mostly devoid of screen. Bertie had weathered Wilma, and she had gone on a road trip to visit her sister in Homosassa. In fact, most of the Santa Maria beach front had withstood the storm pretty well, except for Blanche’s old cabin.

She looked around at the destruction. Everything was going to hell, but to Blanche hell was not a permanent residence. This could be fixed. Blanche was determined to pull herself out of this one, too.

“Well, if you can hear me perfectly, why don’t you answer me? What is going on, Jack?”

“Look, I’ll be back down there next week. We’ll talk about it when I see you, and by then I’ll know more. I don’t want you to talk to anyone about those emails, and tell Liza not to say anything either. Bob’s dead, and that’s awful, but let’s hope to God that’s the end of it. And, Bang, dammit all, I told you to stay out of it. Let me find out more about Langstrom’s dealings with Brecksall-Lam. I’m not sure how much the business is tied up in the mess, but I’ll see what I can do and let you know.”

“Liza’s already gone to Duncan with some stuff—mostly emails she found in Bob’s computer. You’re going to have some explaining to do. Fair warning.”

“Oh, swell.”

Blanche could practically see him raking through that thick, dark hair.

“Jack, are you OK? This doesn’t sound good. What have you gotten yourself into?”

“I’m fine. But I really have to look into Brecksall and Lam’s history. I should have done more of that before I bought in, but there just wasn’t time. They’ve got it all, Blanche—trucking, legal, food, imports. I let the lawyers handle it because I was so busy. I finally signed the paperwork.”

“You wanted to do that months ago. What happened?”

“I tried. Had a lawyer on it and everything. Kept getting postponements. There was so much paperwork, and then along the way, plenty of screw-ups. I need this trucking line, Blanche, and I was pretty desperate, but transport across state lines involves a lot of bullshit.”

Amos Wiley, construction genius and hurricane doctor, pulled up in his truck next to the cabin. He started whistling and dragging boards out of the back bed.

“Gotta go, Jack. And you better be here next week like you promised. Or else.”

“Or else what, Bang? You’re a trip.”

“No, you’re the one with the trip. Here. Next week.”

“I’ll try. Remember what I told you. Serious….”

“Again. No. It’s too late.”

Blanche threw down the phone and the broom, then kicked a pile of fronds she’d piled neatly and then decided to punish instead. The wind had gone, the water had receded, and she’d swept most of the sand out of the cabin. The condition inside on the first floor was another matter. The floor boards had buckled into small wet hills and seaweed decorated the furniture.

Amos lugged two-by-fours across the sand. He waved and set about propping up the second story so it wouldn’t fall down into the porch. Oddly enough, as in most hurricanes, much of the infrastructure in the cabin was intact. The wiring worked. Sand was mounded around the plumbing in the ground floor bathroom, but the toilet flushed. She had to deal with the goofy-looking wavy boards until they dried out. It wasn’t the first time; she hoped it wouldn’t be the last. Many hurricanes had come and gone and tried to blow it all away. They’d failed so far.