Twenty-Eight —
Piercing Blue Eyes

“How’s your toe?” He didn’t miss a beat.

“My toe is fine. How’s the evil empire?”

“The what?” He feigned ignorance, and Blanche let it go. “Want to have coffee?”

The last thing in the world she’d planned to do today was have coffee with Sergi Langstrom. But, then, she always had it in the back of her head that they would meet up again. She needed to make the most of it.

What a stroke of luck.

“Sure. Why not. I could use a little jitters. There isn’t enough of that going around.”

Sergi laughed.

That’s good. Soften him up. Or is he softening me up?

They fell into step and walked toward Peaches without even discussing where to go. He looked back at the newspaper office. She caught the glance. Her news stories about the impending “devastation” hung in the air between them. It was best she didn’t bring them up.

“Haven’t seen you around lately,” she said. “Where you been?”

“Oh, you know. I’m around. Working on that ‘empire’.” He flashed her a blinding set of whites.

Blanche looked away quickly, inhaled the hefty wake-up call of Peaches Mulligan’s Guatemalan brew, the best coffee on the island. And with it, she regularly served up fresh bread, rolls, croissants, and cranberry muffins that were the rage of western Florida. Blue check curtains made the cafe homey. Oilcloth to match covered the square maple tables and seat cushions on the captain’s chairs.

They settled in the window. This is all business—I have to get down to business and dig.

“Blanche.” It sounded like he was starting a poem.

“Yes?” No blinking. No smiling. She waited. It was something she was taking a long time to learn, but she was learning. Like Gran said: Open your mouth and tell all ye know.

He stared at her, diddling with a muffin.

“You’d have liked my grandmother,” she said, and then wished she hadn’t said that. It seemed too personal to bring Gran into the conversation, but she would have been a big help. Blanche got most of her digging quality from Gran.

“Your grandmother?”

“Yes, she and her mother built and worked and lived in my cabin.”

“Oh, I know the place. Is it yours?”

“Yes, mine and my cousin Jack’s. I’d like to keep it that way.” At the mention of Jack, his eyes flickered. Slightly, but a flicker just the same. She took a sip of coffee and nibbled on a muffin. Blanche didn’t have an appetite, but she needed to do something with her hands, now that she had opened her mouth and put her foot into it. Along with a wad of crumbs.

“Well, I would hope so. It’s a charming place.”

He said “charming” like he was referring to toilet paper. He wanted to flush away all of the charming places on the island and replace them with McMansions. They’d make a fortune. At what cost? To whom? Blanche was getting angry thinking about it, and she was not good at covering it up.

“Really, Blanche, I hope you’re not getting the wrong idea. We want to work with you and everyone who lives here. We don’t want to ruin the island, which is the impression I think you are getting through some huge mistake on our part.” He lowered his eyes. He had surprisingly long eyelashes. “We really want to work together.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table. He’d pushed the coffee aside and looked directly at Blanche. “And those stories you wrote. Come on. Just not true.”

She did not look away. “Not true, huh? I think the only thing around here that is pure fantasy is you and those plans. What you have in mind, given the presentations you made at the last two meetings, doesn’t fit. Especially if the plan is to bulldoze the whole north end for those houses and that awful pink mall.”

He sat back, sipped. Smiled.

Why is that smile so infuriating?

She attacked: “Who do you work for?”

“I work for myself. Don’t we all?”

“Please don’t be coy. This Brecksall and Lam outfit is behind the development plans, aren’t they?”

“Well, yes, and I’m working with them, representing them, doing some of the leg work.”

“How long have you been with them?”

“Why is that important?” Now he was on the defensive. Sergi cocked his head. “I saw you talking to that guy in the newspaper office. Is he a friend of yours?”

“Why?”

He leaned forward, his eyes so deep blue she felt like she was falling into the sky. “We could sure use some good press. About now.”

“That is hardly my intention. I tell the truth. I work at the paper part time, and Clint is a good friend of mine.”

“Sure hope you’ll put in a good word for us.” He looked doubtful.

“Did you know that Bob Blankenship had some dealings with Brecksall and Lam?”

“Really? I’d heard something about that. Lam wanted a local realtor contact down here, and he’d contacted Bob. It’s terrible what happened.”

“And you don’t think your outfit had anything to do with it?”

“What? My God, I hope not.” He looked genuinely shocked at the thought. To her, he didn’t look like a murderer, but then often one didn’t. “Why are you asking these questions? Are you working for the police chief? As well as the newspaper?” He said the last with a smile, dissolving the tense air that had blown up like a cold front between them.

She settled back and concentrated on delivering a level tone. “At the moment, I am a concerned citizen, and property owner. You haven’t told me anything that is front-page. I want to know more about Brecksall and Lam, and you.” She hoped the last didn’t sound like a come-on, but she didn’t care. If she could get him to talk, so much the better. She reminded herself to slow down.

Langstrom put his hand on the table, and he moved it subtly toward her.

What an odd bird. A handsome one, but odd.

“Oh, there isn’t really much to tell. We’re all just a bunch of hard-working Chicago guys who really like it down here in Florida. You know what I mean?”

She crossed her arms tightly against her middle. “No, I don’t know what you mean. You’re working directly against us, and what we are. A quiet, natural, lovely place. Your plans will destroy it.”

“That is not the intention at all. If that’s what you and everyone think, we sure aren’t doing our job.” He looked out the window. He had a striking profile. Half Bradley Cooper, and half David of Florence. Didn’t he say he was half Italian? Looks more northern….Dang! She forced herself to drop it.

“Blanche, I want this to work, for a lot of reasons. I would really like to get to know you better.” Then the smile, the white teeth, the blue eyes, all converged on her, and she knew it was time to get the hell out of there.

“But, why? We are so different…”

“Well, vive la différence.”

Mama mia.

“I hope you will come to see that we have more in common than you think,” he said. “When Jack gets down here Wednesday, we should have dinner.”

Wednesday! How does he know Jack is coming Wednesday?

She didn’t trust herself to say another word. Her face was red hot, her temper on a low boil. Blanche picked up her bag and pushed her chair back. “Thanks for the coffee.”

Langstrom stood up, mouth open to speak, but she was gone.