Chapter 18

Conley and Kendricks left the condo and drove along the beach road, past high, undulating stands of sea oats. The sand was wet and dark, with patches of smoky snow that matched the gray crests of winter waves.

Conley knew his marriage was over. Problem was his heart thought otherwise and kept rationalizing, explaining, holding hope. Hearts weren’t very smart. Every part of him ached and the roar in his head had turned into a debilitating migraine.

Kendricks headed downtown and ran leads on Victor Rodriguez’s murder. Conley waited silently in the car and listened as Kendricks filled him in on interviews with Rodriguez’s barber, dentist, brother-in-law. Victor was well-coiffed for his murder, had nary a cavity in that whitened smile, and by the way, when’s the reading of the will?

Late in the morning Kendricks turned the sedan toward Ocean Park Highlands. Its big engine chewed the hill easily, and made the car bank around corners like an Olympic sprinter. They passed houses Conley had known since childhood, but today they seemed different, as if holding secrets. Were his eyes liars or were those colonials watching him? A-frame roofs formed furrowed brows, matching pairs of windows stared like eyes, front porches smirked as if the slanted boards were a mocking row of teeth. Catching your wife with her lover had a lot of weird effects—like making sticks and bricks look suspicious.

They climbed a steep hill, entered an older section of well-kept colonials and bungalows, and parked in front of a small green house, plain and neat. Two kids tottered through snow banks in the front yard, tiny Michelin men in fat down jackets. They heaved snowballs at icicles hanging from house gutters, leaning back so far to throw they looked like shot putters.

“Where are we?” Conley asked.

“My house.”

“Why?”

“Lunch time, that’s why.”

Kendricks called to the kids and they waddled over to meet their dad’s new partner.

Leshawn was tall and skinny, the bill of a baseball cap sticking out from his tight hood, shading shy eyes that looked mostly down. Kit, the younger one, stared at Conley as if trying to hypnotize him.

A tall, attractive woman in paint-splattered jeans and sweatshirt stood at the front door.

“My wife Madie,” Kendricks said as he kissed her cheek. “Works like the devil around the house, but not like you’d think. She’s all hammers and paint brushes, that girl.”

“And Lloyd’s all laundry baskets and baking recipes. We call it role reversal.”

Lloyd held the door open and rolled his eyes.

“Now don’t go tellin’ my secrets, woman.”

They walked through a tidy hallway, past a formal living room, and into a kitchen with a big table. A bay window overlooked a small yard and a deck with a grill covered in a black tarp, a round cap of snow on top. The yard was desolate. Bare, snow-frosted trees were the only sign life had ever existed there.

Kendricks retrieved an armful of food from the refrigerator, headed for the back porch, and uncovered the grill. Madie set flowered placemats and napkins on the table as the boys climbed into seats. Conley pointed at Leshawn’s blank baseball cap.

“We need to get you a Red Sox hat.”

“Leshawn don’t want no letters or nothing on his hat,” Kit said. “Makes people want to talk to him—askin’ about the team and all. He hates that.”

Leshawn frowned at his brother.

“Kit, quiet down,” Madie said. “Leshawn can speak for himself to Mister Conley.”

“Blank hat’s not a bad idea,” Conley said. “Keeps everyone guessing who you like.”

“Leshawn don’t like talking to no one,” Kit said. “Teacher says he’s ant-social.”

“Shut up,” Leshawn said in a strained whisper, stretching the “up” to a multi-syllable word with many octaves.

“I’m the same way,” Conley said. “Too many people talk when they got nothing to say. Wastes all the oxygen.”

“You ant-social too?”

Madie leaned forward. “Kit Kendricks, why don’t you and your brother do something useful and help your daddy?”

The kids slid off their seats and Leshawn gave his little brother a knuckle on the back of the head that sounded as loud as a hammer on wood.

“Leshawn’s still adjusting,” she said when they left. “He’s quiet. We moved here last summer. He hasn’t made a lot of friends.”

“Where’d you live?”

“Jacksonville. South as the South gets.ˮ

“Why’d you move?”

“Captain Stefanos met Lloyd on a case and offered him a job. Best thing ever happened to that man. I can’t say much for the cold and snow, but Lloyd’s a lot happier and we feel safe here.”

“Jacksonville that bad?”

“North part is, where we lived. Murder capital of Florida most years. Dangerous place. And when you go to the west side, rebel flags on pickup trucks let you know where those boys stand.”

Kendricks and his sons came in with a plate of hamburgers. They sat around the table, waiting for everyone to be served.

“Ketchup, please,” Kit said.

Conley passed the squeeze bottle.

“That’s mighty white of you,” Kit said.

Madie dropped her hamburger. “Kittredge Quentin Kendricks. Apologize right now.”

“For what? He is white.”

“You’re not supposed to say that,” Leshawn whispered. Kit frowned as he bit into his hamburger.

The Kendricks family ate in silence and traded threatening stares.

“Tastes like summer,” Conley said suddenly.

“How can a hamburger taste like summer?” Kit asked.

Conley pointed out the window at bony, bare branches on a maple tree.

“Tastes like a warm breeze on a hot day when the wind blows through those big fat leaves hanging off that tree.ˮ

Kit put an elbow on the table, turned, and peered outside.

“Rolls taste warm too, like they’ve been sitting in that July sun outside. And the tomatoes are juicy and sweet. Probably just got picked out of the garden back there. They kinda smell like that honeysuckle blooming on the fence.”

Kit turned to his mother and cupped a hand to his mouth. He used the index finger on his other hand to make circles next to his head. “He’s nuts.”

“Kit, apologize.”

“I’m sorry he’s nuts.”

“I’m just trying to fool Mother Nature, that’s all,” Conley said. “Maybe I can get her to bring summer faster so you can go out on your daddy’s new boat.”

Kendricks raised an eyebrow.

Kit’s eyes widened. “Hey, if we went out on the boat, maybe Granny Nature would think summer was here and make the principal end school early for the year.”

“Mother Nature,” Leshawn said. “Not Granny.”

“Granny’s a mother too.”

“I’m sure stranger things have happened,” Conley said.

“All right. We’re going out on Dad’s boat.” Kit pointed a ketchup-covered finger at Conley. “He said so.”

“Too cold to go on the boat,” Madie said. She squinted at her husband. “Besides, we don’t even know if it runs.”

“It runs,” Kendricks says. “Engine starts and the propeller turns, woman. That’s all she needs to do.”

“Sounds like you need a shakedown cruise,” Conley said.

“What’s that?” Kit asked.

“Trial run. Make sure everything works well. Steering, bilge pump, lights.”

“In the winter?”

“Sure. Better, actually. No other boats around to get in the way.”

“Can we do a shakedown?” Kit asked his mother.

Madie shook her head. “Seems awful cold to be out on a boatˮ—she eyed her husband—“a very suspect boat.”

“We’ll just be on the river,” Conley said. “Hard to get in much trouble there.”

“Might be fun,” Lloyd told her.

Madie turned her neck as if working a crick. “That kind of fun sounds like the worst kind—cheap, easy, and dangerous.”

Kendricks frowned.

Kit stared at her wide-eyed as he stuffed the last piece of hamburger into his mouth. Leshawn waited for her answer too. He adjusted his cap with both hands, trying to curve the bill.

She smiled at her husband.

“Well, all right. I always was a sucker for cheap and easy.”