Hurricane Bay

by Heather Graham

  Nate rose from the railing where he’d been sitting. “Hey, Dane, when did you start locking the house?”

  Dane walked to the door, replying with a shrug. “I’m in the business of investigations,” he said. “I supply people with security. I guess in telling people they need to lock up and take precautions I realized that I left my own place open all the time.” He twisted his key in the lock and opened the door. He looked straight at Kelsey then. “Come in. The house is always open to you.”

  Nate walked in, carrying a cooler of groceries. Cindy followed, plucking a grocery bag from the floor of the porch. Larry did likewise, and Kelsey came last, aware that Dane was still staring at her, his hand on the door as he held it open. Her cheeks felt hot as she walked by him. Well, she had basically accused him of…something. At the very least, of keeping information regarding Sheila from them. And she had more or less told him that she was interested in coming here to search his house.

  And here he was, opening the door.

  She slid by.

  “Didn’t you want to get one of the bags?” he inquired politely.

  She turned back, her flush seeping down to her throat. She picked up a bag, and he turned for the last two.

  Cindy was already in the kitchen, emptying the bags. Nate was searching through the supplies for the charcoal. “I’ll go right out and get the grill going, Dane, if that’s all right?”

  “Sounds like a good way to start, since it will take a while for the coals to heat up,” Dane said. He walked over to the cooler Nate had brought in, helping himself to a beer.

  “I hope they heat quickly. I’m starving,” Cindy said.

  “Everyone is starving,” Larry said. “How about you, Dane?”

  “Actually I just had lunch, so I’m fine. I’ll get some bowls so we can break out the chips and dips for you guys while we wait to cook all that meat.”

  “I’ll get the meat ready,” Kelsey said, needing something to do. She delved through the bags until she found the hamburger meat, hot dogs, chicken, sirloins and seasonings. She found a place on the kitchen counter and started to form hamburger patties.

  It felt strange, coming to Dane’s place. Like the Sea Shanty, it seemed a bastion of all that had been good about her childhood. She had come here so often as a little kid. There was a lot of dockage, but not so much beach area in Key Largo as people tended to think. Hurricane Bay had both dockage and a spit of beach. Man-made, like a lot of the island itself, but it was beachfront, and over the years so much sand had been brought in that it was surprisingly clean and nice. The dock looked straight out on the Atlantic, ocean as far as the eye could see, while the beachfront area was protected by a curve in the property. Mangroves still surrounded the area. In fact, on the beach side of the house, lying on the sand, it was possible to feel as if you were marooned on a private subtropical isle in the middle of nowhere, with total privacy and a distance from the entire world. Many years ago, they had played pirates here. Dane’s folks had never minded having kids around, whether they were actually with Dane or not.

  Things had changed a little bit when his mother had died, but though his father had become something of a recluse, he had still welcomed the kids. Maybe he had done it in her memory, and maybe he had just liked kids himself. But there had always been something special here. Lemonade or iced tea and home-baked cookies when Dane’s Mom was here, and canned soda and bags of Oreos once she was gone. The welcome always remained.

  And the house was wonderful. A veritable museum.

  “Watch the chicken,” Cindy said.

  “What?” Kelsey said, startled from her memories.

  “The chicken. Wash it well, and don’t let it get near anything else. Germs, bacteria…you know.”

  “I’ll watch it like a hawk,” Kelsey assured her dryly. Cindy gave her a grave nod. “Are these pieces ready? I’ll take them on out.”

  They were alone in the kitchen. Kelsey could hear the guys talking out back around the barbecue.

  “Cindy, actually, I know you’ll do a much better job with the chicken than I will,” Kelsey said. “You get to work here. I’ll take this stuff out and let them get it going on the grill.”

  Kelsey didn’t give Cindy a chance to protest. She picked up the plate of raw meat and headed out of the kitchen.

  In the dining room, she paused. There, on the table, was Dane’s work station. His computer. Mail. Stacks of paper. Sheets of information he had apparently downloaded and printed out. She held still for a minute, listening to Cindy talk to herself about the dangers of salmonella. She moved forward a few feet and looked out the window to the deck, assuring herself that the men were still talking around the grill.

  She balanced the plate of meat in her left hand and moved to the printer, where she saw that he had been downloading newspaper articles. She sifted through the sheets and saw that the columns all referred to the murders of two women. She placed the plate of meat on the table and picked up the top sheet. “Second Stripper Found in Canal.” She scanned the article, but it wasn’t really necessary. She remembered reading it when it had come out about three months ago. Cherie Madsen, twenty-three. A business major at a local university by day, a stripper by night. Her friends had said that she’d found it the best way to make the money for her tuition. She didn’t intend to get old dancing and taking her clothes off, but she had always said that she was good at what she did and that it beat the hell out of selling clothing at a department store or working in a coffee bar. Cherie was her real name. She’d been reported missing about a week before her body had been discovered.

  “Excuse me. We need the meat.”

  Kelsey was so startled that she dropped the paper. It wafted from the table to the floor, landing at Dane’s feet.

  She just looked at him wide-eyed. He betrayed nothing with his expression.

  “Do me a favor. Don’t get grease all over my papers.”

  “I—I wasn’t. I just saw this headline. I remember when the murder was the top story in the news. Sad, huh? I didn’t mean to get anything on your papers. The headline is kind of gripping, you know.”

  “It jumped right out and bit you, right? From the far end of the table.”

  She stood still, staring at him. He shrugged. “You told me you wanted to search the place. I don’t know why I should be surprised. But I do have business that’s confidential and that has nothing to do with Sheila. So…do you mind? And we do need the meat.”

  She shook her head. She moved forward to pick up the errant paper just as Dane reached down to get it himself. Their heads butted, and they both backed away. “Kelsey, take the meat out. I’ll get my papers,” he told her.

  She nodded, picked up the plate and fled from the house. When she returned, having given the food to Larry to throw on the grill, she found Dane putting his piles of papers into the filing cabinets against the walls. She was about to go into the kitchen for more meat, but she hesitated, staring at his back. She knew he was aware that she was watching him.

  “Why are you following the cases of the murdered strippers?” she asked him.

  “None of your business, Kelsey.”

  “Do you think those stories have something to do with Sheila?”

  He turned to her. “Do you think Sheila was stripping?”

  “No.”

  “Then why do you think my interest has something to do with her?”

  “Because you’re supposed to be trying to find Sheila.”

  “I am.”

  “Then why—”

  “You guys showed up over here for a barbecue,” he reminded her.

  “Kelsey?” Nate popped his head through the door. “You’re supposed to be getting the rest of the meat.”

  “It’s coming,” she said.

  Nate went back out. Kelsey stared at Dane. “I think you know something about Sheila that you’re not telling me.”

  “Kelsey!” Nate said again, popping his head back in from the porch. “The meat. We need the meat.”<
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  “Okay,” Kelsey said.

  Again Nate’s head retreated.

  “Kelsey, I’ll just get the meat,” Dane said. He shoved his file drawer shut and walked past her to the kitchen. She followed him, picking up packages of buns and rolls.

  “Make sure the chicken is cooked, really cooked,” Cindy said, scrubbing her hands at the sink.

  “Will do,” Dane assured her.

  Once they were outside, Kelsey started setting up the tables. The guys were talking about their favorite spots for fishing. Cindy came out carrying one of the coolers. Dane went to help her. Nate snorted, “She may be little, but she can bench press her own weight,” he told Dane.

  “That doesn’t mean I don’t like it when you all pitch in to help,” Cindy told him.

  “Dane can probably bench press his own weight, too,” Larry told Nate.

  “I think P.I.s are supposed to be in shape, aren’t they?” Nate said.

  “Either that or they’re fat as houses and take up all the space behind their desks,” Larry said.

  “I think they come in all sizes,” Dane said. He set the cooler down and stared out at the corner of the house. “Who else is coming?” he asked.

  “Maybe it’s Jorge Marti,” Cindy said. “We asked him.”

  Kelsey set down a napkin and stared around the corner as well. She was suddenly aware of a horrible and overpowering odor.

  “It sure as hell isn’t Jorge,” Dane said, starting down the porch steps and around the house. Kelsey found herself hurrying after him. She was right behind him when he came face-to-face with Andy Latham.

  Latham was shirtless, in cutoff denims. He seemed to gleam with oil and sweat, and he was bearing a big bucket. The odor was coming from the bucket.

  “You take your fish back! You take your rotten fish, and from now on, you keep the hell off my property, do you understand?”

  Latham was shaking as he spoke. Whether it was with fear or fury, or a combination of both, Kelsey couldn’t be certain.

  “What are you talking about?” Dane demanded.

  Latham turned the bucket over. Bloated, rotting fish spewed forth. They’d been dead a long time, and they’d been left in the sun. Some had exploded from the heat.

  Dane stared from the fish on the ground to Latham, who took a step backward. “Oh, yeah, that’s right, you’re such a big man now. They taught you how to kill in the military, so what the hell, I just ought to be afraid and sit here and take everything you’re dishing out on me,” Latham said. He was still shaking, and still keeping a distance from Dane. “But you remember this, Mr. Tough Guy. A bullet goes through any man. You come on my property again and I’ll put a bullet through your head.” Latham backed up again.

  “You ass!” Dane said. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  “The fish. The fucking fish! You came and dumped these right in front of the doorway.”

  “The hell I did!” Dane said.

  “Who else?” Latham charged back. By then Larry had come to stand on one side of Dane and Nate on the other.

  “I don’t know who else. God knows, Latham, you’d never win a popularity contest around here,” Dane told him.

  Latham pointed a finger. At first Kelsey thought he was pointing at Dane, then realized he was pointing past Dane, at her.

  “You! You little trouble-maker. You probably did this. Or you put the half-breed up to it. You…you’ll get yours!” He was so angry, he was foaming at the mouth like a dog. Spitting as he spoke.

  But just the same, he kept his distance.

  Dane seemed to snap, taking a step forward. “You’re as crazy as a loon, Latham. None of us dumped fish at your door. And if you threaten me or Kelsey again—”

  Dane didn’t finish speaking, because Latham broke in, shouting, “You heard him! You heard him. He’s the one threatening me. You stay away from me. Stay away from me, and stay off my property, all of you!”

  With that, he turned and ran.

  “Whew!” Larry said.

  “We’re never going to be able to eat our barbecue with this stench in the yard,” Cindy moaned. “What in God’s name was all that about?”

  “We’ll eat in the house,” Dane said. “Why don’t you guys go get the food and bring it in? I’ll get the fish picked up.”

  “Man, this is disgusting,” Larry said.

  “Get in the house. I’ll get some bags and get it out of here before it permeates my whole place.”

  “I think he’s gone crazy,” Cindy said as they followed Dane. “Andy Latham never seemed really sane. Now I think he really has gone crazy.”

  As Dane went into the house, Kelsey started collecting the plates, plastic ware and cups she had been setting out on the porch tables.

  “Cindy, hold that plate so that I can heap this food on it,” Larry said. “Hey, who do you think really dumped these dead fish in his yard?”

  Dane had already been in and out of the kitchen. He had two black plastic garbage bags in his hands and a roll of paper towels. “Who the hell knows?” he muttered. “Anyone could have done it.” He walked away, followed by Nate. Cindy coughed and gagged. “I can’t stand this. I’ve got to get into the house.”

  “We can’t use the dining room,” Larry said. “Dane’s got it set up as an office.”

  “Head to the kitchen,” Cindy said, leading the way.

  A few minutes later Dane came in, followed by Nate and Jorge Marti.

  “Jorge,” Larry said, lifting his beer to greet the newcomer.

  “Good to see you, Larry,” Jorge said, walking over to shake Larry’s hand.

  “You made it,” Cindy said with pleasure, walking over to kiss him on the cheek.

  “Yeah, I got here just in time to be cleanup crew.” He wrinkled his nose and lifted his hands. “I hear old man Latham paid a visit and brought food. Maybe he thought he was invited and that it was supposed to be a potluck occasion. Hey, gorgeous,” he said, stopping by Kelsey. He kissed her cheek, as well. She kissed his back.

  “That was one bad smell out there. How weird. Latham just came by and dumped a pile of rotting fish?”

  “He thinks Dane dumped them on his property,” Kelsey told him.

  “Why would he think that?”

  “Because I went out there last night to ask if he’d seen Sheila, and Dane followed me out at Cindy’s insistence,” Kelsey explained.

  “Apparently he’s crazy as a loon,” Jorge said, shrugging. “I’ve heard the guy isn’t making the catches he used to get anymore.”

  “Did you wash your hands?” Cindy demanded.

  “With antibacterial soap,” Dane said, walking into the kitchen. “We’re safe, Cindy.” He smiled at her, amused. “I swear it.”

  “He made us all scrub,” Nate assured her, coming in behind Dane.

  “Well, God knows what might be on those disgusting little fish corpses,” Cindy said, making a face.

  Nate went for a beer. “It was a real waste of good fresh fish,” he said.

  “The man is crazy, and that’s all there is to it,” Cindy said. “So, Jorge, how’s the charter business going? The snowbirds are mostly gone now, with summer coming in full blast.”

  “Business is good,” Jorge said, sitting on a bar stool and accepting a beer from Cindy and a plate of food from Larry. He lifted his drink to Larry. “Thanks to you Miami businessmen trying to shake the ties and white collars during the weekends. Lobster season is coming, too. I guess Latham hadn’t heard from Sheila and none of you has, either?”

  “No sign of Sheila,” Larry agreed.

  Jorge looked at Kelsey and smiled. “She’ll show up.”

  “Sure,” Kelsey said. She realized Dane was watching her. “She will show up, right, Dane?”

  “Oh, yeah. I’m positive she will. Eventually,” he said quietly.

  Kelsey didn’t like the way he said it. Not flippantly. And not with reassurance. He spoke with somber certainty. He knew something.

  And i
t had to do with the murders of the two strippers, Kelsey thought. Putting it all together scared her to death, but she knew he wasn’t going to share whatever it was that he knew with her. Whatever he was onto…

  She had a computer, too.

  Dane thanked God for the placement of his property and house. The stench had been enough to choke a dung beetle, but with the breezes going through, it didn’t last long. In fact, with the fish double-tied in trash bags and set back for disposal, the afternoon and evening became so nice that they were able to head outside after they had eaten. He set up the volleyball net, and they played a few games. They switched teammates and sides, but somehow, Kelsey always wound up on the other side of the net from him.

  The exertion of playing sent them all into the water, but again, though there was a lot of dunking and fooling around, Kelsey kept her distance. Later, they all rinsed the saltwater off with the hose he had rigged up as a shower by the porch, then dried off and ate dessert—packaged brownies—outside. The brownies were so-so. The coffee Kelsey ground and brewed was great. He hadn’t figured out yet if she was simply keeping her distance from him because she was never going to forgive him for the night that followed Joe’s funeral, or if she was actually afraid of him. He damned himself for not filing away his downloads before leaving the house that morning, but then, he hadn’t expected company.

  Now she knew he was interested in the murders. All the better, once the reason for his interest was known.

  Dane finished his coffee and lit a cigarette. Cindy and Jorge were sitting on the porch swing, talking about gym equipment. Larry had begun passionately explaining the value of top-notch advertising to Nate.

  Kelsey had headed out on the dock and was sitting there with her cup of coffee, watching the sun begin to set.

  He rose, determined to join her. He knew that she heard him coming over the wooden decking, but she didn’t look up. At first he thought that she was staring at his boats, both of which she had seen before, the snappy little Donzi for zipping around on quick trips, and his larger boat, the thirty-eight-foot Chris-Craft. The Chris-Craft was probably the one material object that meant a lot to him. He and his father had chosen the boat, refurbished it together, and spent countless hours on her out at sea. She could sleep six but still offered an enormous captain’s cabin along with private guest quarters, a huge galley and salon, and large deck spaces. She was an old girl now, built in the early eighties, but he had tended her lovingly over the years.