“There’s no one.” The words stuck in her throat. Maybe because that was true of her life. Her grandfather Pete also lived in Tallahassee. He was the reason she’d moved there when she’d left Cypress. As far as she knew, he and Elva hadn’t spoke since he’d moved there in 1976. Even so, when she’d called him that morning, he’d sounded deeply affected by her death.
Simon set his silverware across his plate. “I’m sorry about your grandmother.” His brown eyes reflected sincerity, if not depth. He’d probably never loved someone so much that it ripped your guts out when they left. She’d loved only two people with that intensity: Elva and her father.
His cell phone went off, and like always, he answered it immediately, no matter what they were doing. Yes, even then. She waited until he wrapped up his conversation about data security and apologized to her. “What were we talking about?”
She got to her feet. “I was saying goodbye. I’ll call you when I get to Cypress.”
CHAPTER 2
Night cloaked the earth as Kim drove through the Big Cypress Swamp. A sheen of moisture covered the asphalt, evidence of a late afternoon storm. Highway 20 led from US41 south to Cypress, flanked by mangroves that visually blocked miles of marsh and swampland. As soon as she pulled onto 20, she felt an odd commingling of homecoming and dread. Wharton was right; she had no friends or family here.
Who might still hold the past against her? The Macgregors, of course. They more than anyone, and not only because Macgregors held grudges. Their pasts and families had intertwined a long time ago.
Cypress and the Macgregors went back to the beginnings of Cypress itself. The Seminoles had first claim on the land that was only a few feet above sea level and surrounded by either bay or swamp. The Macgregors were among the first white people to settle there, drawn by the abundant wildlife and promise of a fresh start. Stories of why the Macgregors left their native Scotland included feuding clans, unrest, and escape from murder and mayhem.
They, the Waddells, and a handful of other hardy families had homesteaded here five generations ago. The Macgregors owned land from the bay to US41 on the west side of 20. The Waddells owned a tract of land east of town where they’d set up the Gun and Rod Club, their hunting and fishing lodge.
Kim passed the fancy entrance to the Macgregors’ estate. Two stone columns with a carved plaque of a heron and the words Heron’s Glen adorned a paved road that wound through a break in the mangroves. She knew that straight out was the alligator farm Winnerow Macgregor’s father created in the eighties. South of that, overlooking the bay and mangrove islands, was the home she had lived in for a while.
If she continued on, she’d end up in town. Cypress consisted of two marinas, the fish houses that processed incoming seafood, and tourist attractions like airboat tours of the national parks. The southern part of town held homes scattered throughout a grid of streets. That’s where she had lived with her southern belle wannabe mom and a dad who lived a life that often led him to trouble, though he never hurt anybody.
Not like Winnerow Macgregor, who also lived life with passionate abandon and had the money and family name to get away with it. He’d not only hurt someone; he’d killed her father.
Kim slowed down so she wouldn’t miss her turn. Elva’s entrance was much less ostentatious. No columns for her, just a cut through the mangroves and a shell road built high enough to withstand the seasonal rising of the water. Elva had never recovered from her son’s murder either, and yet, as feisty as she was, she’d never pursued justice for Donnie.
Winnerow claimed it was an accident. Supposedly when Winnerow had mentioned he was hunting two gators that had escaped from the farm, Donnie asked to go along. While they were out in the swamp, Winnerow’s gun had gone off and shot Donnie in the chest.
Sure, it had been investigated, but Winnerow had no motive, and folks attested that they’d heard about Donnie going out that night. That Donnie didn’t much go in for hunting and wasn’t even friends with Winnerow hadn’t bothered anyone. That Deputy Kinsey, who was a good friend of Winnerow’s, had been first on the scene didn’t bother anyone either. The shooting had been deemed accidental, and that was that. But it wasn’t that. Kim knew there was more to the story.
As much as she disliked Winnerow, she had to admit that he had always been a man to pay for his mistakes. When Dewey, one of the farm’s employees, fell off the roof and suffered a brain injury, the Macgregors took him in and appointed him estate caretaker. So, while Kim pressed her mother to seek some kind of recompense, Winnerow made a surprising offer: he’d marry Kitty Lyons and take care of her and Kim.
It was unthinkable, but her mother did think about it—for about fifteen minutes before accepting. While she claimed she was doing it for Kim, she had a gleam in her eyes when they drove up to Heron’s Glen that first time. Kitty hadn’t cared that Kim detested the thought of living with Winnerow and his two teenagers, Zell and Charlotte. She hadn’t cared that it was the ultimate betrayal to Kim and Donnie.
Zell and Charlotte had made it clear that they saw the intruders as another mistake they had to contend with. It was well known that since the death of Winnerow’s first wife, his children, and Zell in particular, had become parent to their father. Zell had come into Southern Comfort numerous times to retrieve his father. He’d spent two days searching the Ten Thousand Islands when Winnerow had gone off without a radio.
Kitty was too distracted by the large home and prominent name she’d found herself with to worry much about her stepchildren’s resentment or Kim’s trouble fitting in. She lectured Kim about her attitude and told her to be grateful. Never mind that Zell and Charlotte put a baby alligator in her bed, tricked her into lying in poison ivy, and played other pranks on her.
While she was back in town, Kim would do whatever she could to avoid the Macgregors.
She almost missed the break in the road. The brown mailbox blended into the background and the drive itself was grown over with clover. Elva didn’t like guests, evident more so by the sign advising trespassers to keep out. She was happy enough to serve just about anybody at the bar, but never enter her domain without an invitation. She’d say, “I talk to people all the livelong day; I don’t want to talk to them in my home.”
Kim’s throat thickened as she drove down the rutted shell road that took a left turn. Elva and Pete had chosen a dense hammock in which to build their small house. Now the hardwoods and palms formed a tunnel, and Kim had the sensation of driving into another world. The vegetation had grown a lot in the eight years since her mother’s funeral, the last time she’d been here. Her headlights illuminated dewy ferns that clambered onto the road and the red reflection of a coon’s eyes before it turned away from the intruder.
She was an intruder who didn’t deserve all this, but it was hers nonetheless. All she wanted was to gather her thoughts and courage and get a good night’s sleep. She’d need all of that for tomorrow when she faced Cypress.
Mosquitoes clung to the windshield and dive-bombed her window. She hadn’t thought to bring repellent. Surely Elva would have a can or a dozen; folks here bought them in quantity, even though they became immune to the painful blood thinner mosquitoes inject after the first five hundred bites. Kim would have to make a quick dash to the front porch.
The house came into view in the distance, a specter from her past. Wetlands surrounded the house and patch of land it sat on. Two huge oaks and assorted hardwoods protected the house in a branchy cocoon. The yellow bug light on the front porch was burning, no doubt on an automatic timer. Still, it was a welcome sight.
The truck parked in the clearing was not. The lump in her stomach quickly turned to fear. In the dim light, she could tell it was a new, black Ford with extra suspension and lots of chrome. That wasn’t Elva’s old truck; hers was parked off to the right. Someone was there, and she was pretty sure it wasn’t a welcoming committee.
“It’s Sam Wharton,” he said when the other party picked up the phone. “She’s back, or
at least I think it’s her. Billy Bob and Clem spotted a white Toyota sports-car-looking-thing turning onto 20 and said it looked like her driving. She’s meeting with me tomorrow at one. How do you want me to handle her?”
“She doesn’t know it’s me who wants to buy the bar?”
“Nope. Just said a nameless client.”
“Good. I don’t know how she feels about the likes of me, and she might refuse to sell it to me out of spite. If she accepts the offer, I’ll have you handle everything and then sign it over to me. By then she’ll be long gone with no reason to ever come back.”
Wharton propped his feet on the corner of his desk. He didn’t usually work late, but he’d had an appointment with a particular lady who was seeking a divorce. If they conducted their business behind closed blinds late in the evening, well, it wasn’t anybody’s business but theirs.
“What if she stays?” Sam said.
“Huh? Is that what she said, she was coming back to stay?”
“Calm down, that’s not what she said. But we have to be prepared for the possibility. She’s stubborn enough to do it, too. If she thinks you’re low-balling the offer, and with no one I know willing to manage that bar for her, it’s kinda like cornering a wild hog. She might attack.”
His client seemed to consider that. “Well, you’re the one who said to make that offer. I can up it.”
“You probably should. The bar is on that nice corner lot with the river on two sides. I’d up it to sixty grand.”
The man on the other end let out a spew of cuss words. “I ain’t got that kind of money, Sam, you know that.” He stewed for a few seconds. “All right, offer her forty-five and go up to sixty, but only if you have to. I’ll talk to the bank tomorrow morning and see if I can wrangle that much.”
“Let me know.” There was a glob of cum on his calendar desk pad, and he smeared it with his finger. He’d have a reminder of their fun for the rest of the month. “What if she does stay?”
“That can’t happen. I want that bar. Elva told me she’d sell it to me. She was thinking about retiring next year. That bar is mine. Kim ain’t gonna stay. She’s got nothing here.”
“And if she does stay?” It wouldn’t hurt to keep him riled up. Sam didn’t want her to stay either.
“I’m going to get that bar one way or the other,” he said in a confident voice.
Tullie Kendall’s bare feet padded down the circular staircase at Heron’s Glen and took her into the leisure room where her mama and grandpa Winn were playing backgammon. Daddy was out fishing, and the big house was so quiet she’d thought everyone had left her alone. Mama was dressed in a silky blue gown and matching robe fringed with white fur. She was so beautiful, the most beautiful woman ever. She dyed her hair auburn—Mama hated when Tullie called it red—and kept it short. Having a pretty mama was better than having one that played in the park and tickled her, wasn’t it?
“Hey, frog, what’cha doing up so late?” her grandpa asked, swiveling his wheelchair around to face her.
He’d called her frog ever since she was little and liked catching the green frogs that lived around the house. She climbed up in his lap. “Mama, I’m nine. Shouldn’t I be allowed to stay up later now?”
Charlotte Macgregor Kendall tamped out her cigarette. “It’s almost ten o’clock. Why are you up?”
She knew her mama didn’t like when she talked about her feelings, but she couldn’t ignore them, especially not after Miss Elva died. She couldn’t help but wonder if it was her fault somehow. “I got one of my feelings, Mama. I saw Uncle Zell and some lady I don’t know. Something bad was gonna happen.” She turned to Grandpa when her mama wrinkled her nose. “I was right about Miss Elva. I had a bad feeling about her, and she died. Now I saw uncle Zell and…I’m scared.”
Grandpa Winn hugged her close. “Not every bad feeling comes true.”
“I know, but this one came with pictures.” Most of the time she only got a feeling. The pictures scared her most. “Where’s Uncle Zell?”
“Who knows where that boy is?” Grandpa said with a laugh. “But he’s been taking care of himself for a long time, frog. I wouldn’t worry none about him.”
She shifted on his lap. “What about the lady? I didn’t know her.” She turned to Mama. “She was as old as you, with short blond hair, almost as short as yours.”
Mama dropped one of the game pieces loudly on top of another. She gave Grandpa a funny look. “When is Kim Lyons due back in town?”
“Anytime now.”
“Who’s that?” Tullie asked. “I never heard of her.”
Her mama crossed her legs in that quick way she did when she was irritated. “Wish we hadn’t either.”
Tullie turned to her grandpa for the answer, since her mama was now taking a long drink from her wine glass. “She…well, she lived here at Heron’s Glen for about two years. I married her mama. You were too young to remember Kitty before she died. Kim is Kitty’s daughter and Elva’s granddaughter—”
Mama leaned forward, slamming her glass down on the table. “We don’t talk about her. She betrayed us.”
“Betrayed?” Tullie asked.
Mama said, “Remember that baby raccoon we found. We nursed it back to health, took care of it, and then it bit you. For no reason, just turned on you.”
Tullie looked at the faint scar on her finger. She remembered all the shots she’d had to get.
“Well, that’s what Kim did to us. She bit us. That’s why we don’t talk about her.”
Even Grandpa had a hard, mean look on his face. He softened it when he saw her looking at him. “Forget about her. She’ll be here and gone before you ever meet up with her.”
Mama lit up another of those nasty cigarettes. Tullie particularly hated them because sometimes when Mama got to gesturing, she lost track of where that hot tip was. She’d burned both Tullie and her daddy a few times. Boy, did he get mad. “Honey, give your mama a kiss goodnight and get on up to bed.”
Tullie kissed her grandpa’s soft cheek and slid down to the floor. Her mama’s lips were always cool as they brushed her own. She started to leave the room, but paused. “What about my bad feeling? What if that Kim is the lady I’m seeing and something bad happens to her?”
Her mama smirked. “Well, that’d be the best thing to happen in a good long time.”
That wasn’t nice, but Tullie didn’t say that. Her mama could be mean sometimes. Tullie walked out of the room, but stayed in the kitchen for a minute.
Her heart tightened when Grandpa said, “You ought not to dismiss the girl’s feelings. She had a feeling about me right before my stroke, remember? And before the fire broke out in the shed.”
Mama made a sound of frustration. “Why must my only child be so strange? I know it was because I smoked weed before I knew I was preggers.”
“Charlotte…”
“There’s a reason why animals eat their young, you know.”
“Charlotte!”
“Well, Daddy, it’s true. All right, all right. Is Kim in town yet?”
“Don’t know, but she’s got an appointment with Sam Wharton tomorrow. He’s going to make her an offer for the bar. If she’s smart, she’ll take it and run. Can’t imagine her staying in town much longer than a few days.”
Her mama’s voice sounded as sharp as ice cubes dropping in a glass. “I hope so, for her sake.”
Tullie ducked out of the shadows and ran up to her room. She was strange; all the kids in school told her so. It wasn’t right, her own mama thinking that, was it? It wasn’t right at all.
Her pink nightgown puddled on the carpet when she pushed the straps off her shoulders. She kicked it away and changed into long pants and a shirt. Without making a sound, she crept out the front door and climbed on her bike.
CHAPTER 3
Kim pulled her small canister of police-issue tear gas from the glove compartment. How long ago had she bought it, anyway? Years ago, from a hairdresser who was selling them illegally. Maybe to
o long, but it was all she had. She waited for a minute or two, hoping the owner of the truck would come out. Of course, that’d be too easy. No, he or she was going to make her come to them.
She’d expected some trouble, but mostly in the form of bad attitudes and being snubbed. She hadn’t thought about anything worse than that. Who knew she was going to be in town? Well, everybody, if Cypress was as close-knit as it used to be. The two thousand residents kept tabs on everyone and enjoyed every minute of it.
She pushed the car door open and couldn’t breathe. Warm, moist air poured down her throat and made her lungs feel tight. Wearable air, Elva used to say, so thick it felt like a coat. Before Kim could get used to it and draw a deep breath, she was assaulted by what made the air even thicker—mosquitoes. She made a quick and quiet dash to the front porch door, avoiding the gaping hole where a board on the steps was missing. The porch ran the length of the house and was screened in. A hundred mosquitoes followed her in.
She slapped as quietly as she could as miniature needles pricked her skin. The light illuminated a can of Bug Off right outside the door. She closed her eyes and doused herself with the cool spray. One problem down, one bigger problem to go.
The keys to the house and bar were beneath the mat as Wharton promised. She grabbed the can and held it out as she unlocked the door. The house was dark inside. As her eyes adjusted, she searched for movement or a flash of light. There was nothing. In the movies, people always called out Hello? Is anyone there? thus giving away their location and presence. She remained quiet.
The smell of old wood reminded her of days spent here with Elva, fixing a big pan of buttery eggs and greasy bacon, laughing at Elva’s dirty jokes, and thinking it would last forever. Kim moved away from the door and listened to the dark silence. She remembered the layout of the house: kitchen to the right, living room to the left, Elva’s bedroom in the rear left and the extra room to the right.
I'll Be Watching You Page 2
