Bluegrass and Crimson

by Jeff Siebold

  “We saved a lot of people,” Clive said. “And the FBI is closing down the other terror groups that Roger Taylor identified. It seems like his program was pretty well spot on accurate, in most cases.”

  “Good thing,” said Zeke. “His program is what really led us through the progression.”

  “Indeed,” said Clive, glancing in the mirror, checking the room automatically.

  “I’m available long-distance to help clean up the paperwork, but I’m heading south, back to the island,” said Zeke.

  “For some well deserved down time,” said Clive. “Any plans?”

  “Swim, sun, volleyball, judo, the usual,” said Zeke. “It’s almost summer. How about you?”

  “Unfortunately, I believe that I’ll be stuck here for a while longer. I’ll need to coordinate with the FBI and help debrief the Dulles staff. And I have to spend some time with the feds, going through Roger Taylor’s lists. No rest for the weary,” said Clive.

  “And perhaps there’s some recruiting planned, while you’re there at FBI headquarters,” said Zeke.

  “Perhaps,” said Clive. He took another small sip from his glass.

  Clive’s brown corduroy jacket had leather elbow patches and leather lapels, giving him an academic appearance. The round rimless glasses he wore complimented the look.

  Zeke finished his beer and stood. “I’ve got an appointment tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll be leaving in the morning.”

  “A date, you mean,” said Clive. “That girl Tracy, the Secret Service agent who stopped by the office to meet with you. She seemed particularly happy when she arrived, humming and smiling around the offices. I figured it could be credited to you...”

  “Good to know,” said Zeke.

  “Having a bit of the old ‘how’s your father’?” Clive teased.

  Zeke ignored him. He put a couple of bills on the bar and walked out into the clear spring weather. The rain had stopped and he could smell the cherry blossoms as he stepped to the sidewalk and joined the harried pedestrians. Zeke smiled to himself.

  Chapter 51

  They were sitting on the front porch of the small Florida cottage, enjoying the warm morning breeze and salt air. Tracy and Zeke were sipping coffee with cream from heavy porcelain mugs, and breakfasting on wild blueberry Brie scones. The scones were from a nearby bakery Zeke had discovered after he’d moved in. And the blueberries are antioxidants, he thought, idly, high in anthocyanin. That’s good.

  “The ocean makes all the difference,” said Tracy, dreamily. She bit the corner off a scone and sipped some coffee.

  Tracy thought for a moment. “Is this a trade wind?” she asked.

  Zeke smiled. “Nope.”

  “I thought trade winds were the winds that pushed the sailing ships across the oceans, to islands like this one,” said Tracy.

  “They were, but technically a trade wind blows from the northeast toward the equator. At least in the northern hemisphere.”

  “Really? You know this?” Tracy smiled.

  “Sure.” Zeke sipped his coffee. “The wind blows from the tropical high pressure belts further north to the low pressure zone at the equator. South of the equator it’s just the opposite, they blow from southeast to the west. And there are two sets of trade winds that circle the world.”

  “But not on the west coast of Florida?” she asked.

  “Nope. Mostly the trade winds are at sea,” said Zeke. “Not so much across the land. And generally further south.”

  “Hmm,” said Tracy.

  Tracy was wearing a light blue long-sleeved pinpoint oxford shirt with button down collars that she’d found hanging in Zeke’s closet. The sleeves were rolled up her forearms and the shirttails were protecting her modesty. She was curled on the white cushion in the rattan chair like a languid cat.

  Zeke thought, She’s content.

  He said, “What would you like to do today?”

  “I’m good. Are you kidding? Being away from the Atlanta traffic is vacation enough.”

  “I know, it’s like you get an extra couple or three hours in your day,” he said. “Every day.”

  “And low stress.”

  “Exactly why I live here,” said Zeke. Truthfully, he didn’t know much different. He’d grown up in a marina in the Florida Keys, living much of his early life on a motorsailer named the West Wind.

  He thought for a moment. “How do you want to use all that extra time?” he asked.

  Tracy smiled a spectacular smile. “I’m here to relax and enjoy…us,” she said. “It’s Memorial Day weekend. So, I’d say we should start with some more of that aggressive cuddling. And then we can wander down to the beach to rest up.”

  “Actually,” said Zeke, “that sounds like an excellent way to spend a vacation. How long can you stay?”

  “I’ll stay as long as I feel safe and loved,” she said.

  About the Author

  Jeff Siebold loves a good mystery. A life long reader, he has embarked on a personal journey in creativity designed to contribute to the delight of mystery readers everywhere.

  Jeff and his wife Karin live on a barrier island in North Carolina, not far from the Cape Fear River (made famous by one of his favorite authors, John D. MacDonald). They have three college-aged children and two unruly dogs.