TWENTY-THREE

She didn’t know how many times the phone had rung before she reached to answer it, sleep clogging both her mind and her voice, but as she squinted at her bedside clock, she saw it was past eight. A rage of wind carried the cries of screaming gulls, and she knew the much-touted cold front still held the island and its inhabitants in its grip.

“Good morning.” Rex’s voice flowed low and soft across the wire. “I’ve missed you. Do you realize it’s been seven hours and thirty-six minutes since I’ve seen you?”

“You’ve been counting?”

“Every minute. I slept very poorly.”

“So did I.” Her voice caught in her throat. “You were in my thoughts, shredding any hope of sleep—until early morning. Now I’ve overslept.”

“And it’s all my fault?”

“I would be unfair to say that.”

“A guy who has been rejected would like to hear that. It would be a deft and healing stroke to his ego.”

“Then believe it.” She threw the blanket back and sat on the edge of the bed, easing her feet into slippers and tucking her hair behind her ears.

“I’ll believe it if you’ll go out with me tonight. May I stop for you after work? I have a surprise in mind.”

“What sort of a surprise?”

“If I told you, it would spoil it. Trust me.”

“I do.”

“Then I’ll be at your office a little after five.”

“I’ll be ready. It’s so good to hear from you.”

“See you, Katie.”

She held the phone for a few moments after their conversation ended, then she considered what she should wear that would see her through the mundane chores of the day yet look festive enough to please her on her five o’clock date. It had been good to hear from Rex—so good it made her wary of their meeting.

Please yourself or you’ll please nobody.

She showered, added a cardigan to her usual khaki skirt and shirt, then ate breakfast, resisting a second piece of toast, a second cup of coffee.

Once at her office, she picked a fresh hibiscus blossom for her desk, but she didn’t open all the windows and doors. Too cold. She forgot the stale smoke smell as she consulted the phone book, then dialed an unfamiliar number. She counted eight rings.

“Air Sunshine. May I help you?”

“Katie Hassworth calling. May I speak to Mel Loring, please?”

“One moment. I’ll see if he’s here.”

She listened to the line hum, hoping Mr. Loring worked a morning shift.

“Mel speaking.”

“This is Katie Hassworth, Mr. Loring. I’m Mac McCartel’s associate and I’m calling to ask a favor.”

“Shoot. I owe Mac a couple.”

“I need to know if Elizabeth Wright boarded an early morning flight to Naples a week ago last Monday—that would be January seven, returning on Tuesday afternoon January eight.”

“One minute, please. I’ll have to do some checking. That’s Elizabeth Wright of Community Affairs notoriety.”

“The same.”

“Want to hold, or want me to return your call?”

“Will holding tie up your line too long?”

“No problem.”

“Then I’ll hold, thanks.”

The line hummed for over three minutes before Mel returned. “Still there?”

“Of course. I appreciate your taking the time to check on this for me. Any luck?”

“Yes. Miss Wright left Key West International on the early morning flight, January seven. Seven o’clock. She returned on a mid-afternoon flight the following day, arriving at three thirty-five on January eight. Does that help?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“You and Mac investigating the Cayo Hueso project?”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not free to say right now.”

“Well, if you’re taking votes, mark me against it. The island’s about to sink under the weight of tourists as it is. We need more people down here like the sea needs more sharks.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. And I’ll tell Mac you helped me out. I appreciate it.”

Now what? She had hoped to find a hole in Elizabeth Wright’s alibi. Wishful thinking. She started to cross Wright’s name off the list, then stopped. She couldn’t have been in two places at the same time, yet something about her pat alibi rang false. Katie closed her eyes, recalling the woman’s cavalier manner, her smirky tone as she reeled off her alibi. Had she memorized it for the occasion?

She called information, jotted down a number in Tallahassee, then dialed.

“State Department of Community Affairs, Miss Hall speaking.”

Katie identified herself. “I need to see the blueprints and any contracts or records concerning the Cayo Hueso housing project here in Key West. Those are public records, are they not?”

“Yes, Ma’am. They are. I have copies of the papers here in this office, but the original documents are in the Key West office. Miss Elizabeth Wright is in charge there. If you contact her, I’m sure she’ll be glad to provide the information you need.”

“Thank you.” Katie replaced the receiver and stared at the telephone, thinking. So Wright had lied about the whereabouts of the papers. Reason enough to keep her name on the suspect list. Why was she keeping public documents from the public? Katie grabbed her shoulder bag and set out on foot for the Office of Community Affairs.

“Do you have an appointment with Miss Wright?” the secretary asked.

“No, I haven’t. But I need to speak briefly with her.”

“One moment, please. You’re Miss Hassworth, right?”

Katie nodded.

The secretary thumbed a button on the intercom.

“Miss Hassworth to see you.” The secretary listened a moment, then turned to Katie. “Would you please state the nature of your business?”

“I’ve come to see the Cayo Hueso documents.”

Suddenly the door to the inner office opened and Elizabeth Wright stood framed in the doorway. “Miss Hassworth, I’ve told you that the project documents are not here at this time. If it’s important that you see them, you’ll be welcome at the Tallahassee office.”

“I’ve just telephoned that office, and Miss Hall informed me that copies of those papers are available at both offices. I would like to see your copy, please. It would save me the trip to Tallahassee.”

Elizabeth Wright inhaled deeply as her face flushed and her eyes narrowed. “Will you please get the documents for Miss Hassworth, Claire?”

The secretary rose and approached the steel file cabinets behind her desk. After several moments of searching, she looked up. “The file is gone, Miss Wright. I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what has…”

“That’s all right, Claire.” Elizabeth looked at Katie. “Now do you believe me? The documents are not here. If you’ll excuse me now, I have work to do.”

Katie left, wondering why Elizabeth Wright was lying. Or was the state department lying? Or perhaps the file was in Rex’s office. Maybe some city council members had checked it out for perusal. When she returned to her office, she dialed Rex.

“Sorry, Katie. The papers aren’t here and I have no idea why Elizabeth would object to your studying them.”

“Thanks. See you later.”

So much for that flawed theory. After lunch she spent the afternoon reviewing and typing the notes she had taken concerning the Chitting case. Sometimes reworking old material gave her new insights. But that didn’t happen today. She felt her brain threatening to congeal into apathy by the time Rex arrived.

“Hard day?”

“Not too bad. My conscious mind has decided to put the case on hold and let my subconscious work on it overnight.”

“Good idea. I hate sharing you with a murderer.”

“What’s our mysterious destination?” She settled into the Corvette as they headed north.

“We’re driving to Big Pine Key to see the miniature Key deer. I’ll bet you’ve lived in the area for two years without eyeballing those creatures.”

“You’re right. I have.” She squelched a sigh. She didn’t know what she had expected, but certainly not a wildlife tour. “What’s so special about these critters?”

“Their size. Some of them are no bigger than a large dog and they’re an endangered species. If we arrive around dusk, we may see a few feeding along the roadside.”

“Have we brought anything for them?”

“Lots of people do bring tidbits, but that’s taboo. When motorists feed them, it tends to coax them to the highway. Many are killed by vehicles every year.”

“And nobody’s doing anything about it?”

“Conservationists are trying. They’ve set aside land as a Key deer refuge. They’ve placed a thirty-mile-an-hour speed limit on the road cutting through the refuge.”

“And it hasn’t helped?”

“Who can say for sure? They’ve also posted a sign near the Winn Dixie tallying the number of deer killed. Motorists can hardly help noticing it, but there’s still a lot of speeding on that road.”

“That’s sad.”

“That sign tends to be misleading, though,” Rex said.

“In what way?”

“It leads people to think that people today are killing off deer that have run in the wild for ages and that’s not true. When explorers first discovered these deer, there were only a few dozen of them present.”

“So it’s due to humans that they have increased in number, right?”

“Right. It is, and it’s something to think about. I drive up to see the deer every now and then and I thought you might enjoy them, too.”

“I’m glad you thought of it.” She grinned at him. “The facets of your personality seem endless. Bat towers. Abandoned piers. Key deer. Salt ponds. Abused trees.”

“You’re poking fun.”

“No. Not at all.” Again she puzzled over Rex as they drove along in bumper-to-bumper traffic. Last night she had seen the hedonist who liked people, but who thought nothing of denying two families yard space so he could have a larger tropical garden and a pool. Now she was seeing a man who’d drive miles for a “maybe” chance to see some wild deer.

Once they crossed the bridge to Big Pine Key, Rex slowed the car, turning left when they reached Key Deer Boulevard. They had just passed the Winn Dixie supermarket on their right and several churches on their left, when he pulled the car to the shoulder.

“There. See him? Behind that palm on your right.”

Katie peered in the direction Rex was pointing until she saw the tiny deer whose coat blended with the brown ground cover and tree trunks until it was almost invisible.

Its head was down as it grazed, then suddenly it froze, stared directly at them and bounded away, its white tail like a retreating flag.

She leaned back into the car seat. “They’d make cute pets, wouldn’t they? I’ve seen bigger dogs.”

“Look to your far right. I see another one half hidden behind that Sabal palm.”

Leaning forward, she looked, but only in time to see the creature bound into the thicket. Rex drove slowly along the road, but they saw no more deer. On their return to the highway, they stopped at an abandoned gravel pit the conservationists had named the Blue Hole, but even the resident alligators were hiding from the chill air.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“Yes. Tonight could be my turn to cook. I have some grouper fillets in my freezer. We could thaw them quickly in the microwave.”

“I’ll take a rain check on the grouper. There’s an open-air café near here. Very rustic, but the lobster’s great.”

“Open air? We’ll freeze.”

“Not so. Trust me.”

“Okay.”

On Summerland Key Rex parked at Monty’s and they crossed a roofed porch to sit at a pine table that tilted when touched until Rex folded a napkin and slipped it under one leg. Roll-down plastic sheets blocked the north wind, but the waitresses wore sweaters as they took orders and served steaming cups of coffee. In spite of the cold front, tourists and locals crowded the place.

“I think the locals have a secret affection for bad weather,” Rex said. “In small doses, of course.”

“Maybe it’s fun to talk about later—how rotten it was, and all. We used to do that a lot in Iowa after a big snow.”

“Yeah, we did that in New York, too, lying about whose car was stuck the longest and who had the deepest drifts in his driveway. Seems like a long time ago.”

As the place grew more crowded, they shared their table with a couple from Illinois who regaled them with information about that state’s drought and poor corn crop. Rex shared facts concerning fishing bans on king mackerel. Katie tried to look interested, but she wished she and Rex were alone. Corn crops. Weather. Fish. Those were topics discussed by people who really had no common interests. The small talk made the lack of interests more palatable. She ate lobster and coleslaw until she was sure she had gained at least five pounds, then after the meal, she relaxed as they drove back to Key West and stopped in front of Rex’s house.

“Forget where I live?” she asked.

“Thought we’d stop for a drink. I have some delicious after-dinner liqueur.”

“Sounds good.” She followed Rex inside, sitting in the warmth of the kitchen as wind howled across the patio. He poured their drinks then turned the hi-fi to soft music and joined her at the snack bar.

“It’s lovely here, Rex. I feel sorry for anyone who lives north of the Boca Chica Bridge.”

“Agreed.” He rose and shoved a small dining table to one side. “Care to dance?”

She slipped into his arms easily and willingly, and unmindful of stove and sink, they danced slowly to golden oldies—“Stardust,” “Begin the Beguine,” “Night and Day”—as if they were discovering the magic of music for the first time.

“Stay here tonight,” Rex said when the music died. He molded his hands around her hips, holding her to him as he blew his warm breath into her ear. “Don’t leave me, Katie.”

He took her hand and she followed him upstairs to the bedroom where they discovered a different kind of magic. And she stayed the night because he wanted her to and because she wanted to.