“We gon’ fish,” Irene said. She got a determined set to her mouth. “Elton is taking the next fish.”
A few minutes later, they had a bite. Irene steered Elton to the port rod. “We have a bite, Elton,” she said. “We are going to reel in your fish. But you have to do exactly what I say.”
“Listen to Miss Irene,” Mrs. Petrushki said.
Irene showed Elton how to spin the reel; meanwhile, she had her hand firmly on the rod. Huck could see the tight clench of her fingers and he was glad. The rod bowed dramatically; this was a big fish.
“Irene,” Huck said.
“We’ve got it, Captain,” she said. “This is Elton’s fish.”
The fish put up a terrific fight, Huck thought, and by terrific, he meant terrible. Irene could maybe have brought the fish up alone but she had Elton squeezed between her legs and her hand over his hand on the reel. Huck was about ready to suggest she pass the kid off to his mother when he saw the flash of green-gold under the surface. He grabbed the gaff and brought up a gorgeous bull mahi that was nearly as big as the one Irene had brought up their first time out.
The other kids were impressed and Elton was beside himself. “My fish! My fish!” As soon as Huck yanked the gaff out and extracted the hook, they all watched the fish flop on the deck while Elton danced alongside it, yelling his head off with joy.
Elton decided he wanted to sit next to Irene going home and it was then, as Huck caught a glimpse of the two of them—Irene with her face raised to the mellow late-afternoon sun, Elton Petrushki tucked under one arm—that he realized he was in serious danger of falling in love with the woman. When Huck looked at Irene, he could see the future. That could be her, fifteen years from now, with Maia’s child.
After their charter on Friday with the Changs (who had wanted to stay inshore and fly-fish), Huck and Irene clean the boat (the boat was never this spick-and-span when Adam did the cleaning), and then Huck hands Irene her first paycheck, which he wrote out that morning at home, and says, “Good job this week, Angler Cupcake.”
She looks at the check, raises one eyebrow, and says, “I had so much fun, I feel bad taking your money.”
“You earned it,” Huck says. He wants to tell her how different work was this week compared to every other week of the past six years since LeeAnn died, but he finds a lump in his throat. “I couldn’t ask for a better mate.”
“Really?” she says.
Huck fears if he gives her any specific compliments, all of his feelings will come tumbling out and he’ll embarrass them both. “Next week, we have driving lessons.”
“I signed up for the online marine-safety class,” she says.
“Good girl,” Huck says. He unties his neckerchief and wipes off his forehead. The sun is starting its descent and Huck can already hear the hooting, hollering, and steel-drum music that characterize Cruz Bay on a Friday night. “So, do you have big plans for the weekend?”
“I’m going to sleep in,” she says. “Go for a swim or two. Read. Spend time with the boys. And check in with my attorney at home.”
“You…haven’t heard any news, have you?” Huck asks.
“No.” She pauses. “Huck, I have to say it. I’m haunted by all that money in Rosie’s dresser.”
“That makes two of us.” Huck is uncomfortable talking about the Russ-and-Rosie mess at all, and he’s glad they’ve avoided it all week.
“Cash said there were FBI agents watching the house when he got here, but I guess they’ve decided we’re harmless because they haven’t been back.”
“I told you, AC, nothing to worry about,” Huck says. “Hey, listen, Maia is with Ayers tonight. Do you want to go to dinner? Say, Morgan’s Mango?”
Irene sighs. “I’m just not ready to go out,” she says. “It’s too soon.”
“I get it,” Huck says. “I have some of that wahoo from yesterday and I hid those cookies. Why don’t you come to my place and I’ll cook for you?”
“I should probably go on home,” Irene says. “But thank you.”
He nearly offers to grab some barbecue from Candi’s—enough for everyone—but then he thinks, She’s telling you no, Sam Powers. And can he blame her? She’s just spent five days straight trapped with him out at sea on a twenty-six-foot boat. Is it any wonder she wants to get away and have some time to herself?
This is what Huck should want as well. After all, the last person he’d wanted to spend his free time with during the past three years was Adam. When he bumped into Adam at Joe’s Rum Hut or the Beach Bar—which happened plenty of times—they would wave and not say a word to each other.
But what Huck wants now…is to see more of Irene. In fact, he feels bereft at the idea of an entire weekend without her. Maia is with Ayers tonight, which means Huck will be home alone. He can, in theory, crack open a cold beer and try to finish his damn book. Or he could wander over to the Rum Hut, then to the Beach Bar, then go up to the Banana Deck—he hasn’t been up to the Banana Deck since the new year. Well, yeah, he thinks. Because Rosie died. Maybe Irene is right; maybe it is too soon to go out to dinner and have a nice time. Maybe they should just stay home and reflect, confer with their attorneys, and wonder what the hell happened.
Then Huck remembers that Maia and her little friend who goes to Antilles, Shane, are planning to see the baobab tree with Cash.
“I heard Maia is planning a hike with Cash,” Huck says.
“That’s nice,” Irene says. “They’re forging a relationship.”
It is nice, Huck agrees. He notices that Irene doesn’t suggest they forge a relationship outside of work, off this boat, and what can Huck conclude but that Irene isn’t interested in him? Somehow, he never considered this. Somehow, he’d let himself believe that her interest in him matched his interest in her.
Was it strange as all get-out that Irene’s husband and Huck’s stepdaughter had been in a secret relationship and had a love child? Hell yes.
Too strange, maybe. Huck should just forget about it. He should be grateful that he and Irene are friends and now coworkers and that they don’t hate each other and aren’t in litigation over God knows what—money or the villa or Maia.
Huck watches Irene as she strolls off the dock carrying her reusable shopping bag filled with snacks.
He scratches his face. Maybe he should shave his beard. Or read some Jane Austen.
The next morning the phone rings, and Huck assumes it’ll be Maia asking to stay with Ayers a little longer. If that’s the case he might see if Irene wants to take a drive out to the East End. He’ll offer to bring Floyd and Baker along if they’re looking for something to do.
He’s making a nuisance of himself; he’s aware of this, but he can’t help it.
It’s not Maia calling, or Ayers. It’s Rupert.
“Huck.”
“Rupert.”
“You been drinking yet today?” Rupert asks.
“No,” Huck says. “Not yet.” His eyes graze his trusty bottle of Flor de Caña up on the shelf. Is he going to need it? Or is Rupert about to invite him to meet for lunch at Miss Lucy’s—an invitation Huck just might take him up on?
“You remember talking the other day about Paulette Vickers?”
“Yes,” Huck says warily. The Flor de Caña, then. He brings the bottle down to the counter.
“She and her husband were arrested over on St. Croix. You know how Doug Vickers has a sister there? FBI, two, three cars, pull into Wilma Vickers’s driveway in Frederiksted and Paulette and Doug get led away in handcuffs.”
“This reliable?” Huck asks.
“Sadie went to school with Wilma,” Rupert says. “Wilma called Sadie herself. She has the little boy. Parents went to jail.”
“Did they say why?” Huck asks. “What were they charged with?”
“Conspiracy to commit fraud, Wilma said. Real estate fraud. Financial fraud.” Rupert pauses. “The guy they were in business with, and the Invisible Man, too, were doing laundry.”
“Laundr
y?” Huck says.
“They were cleaning money,” Rupert says. “Head honcho had a yacht, Bluebeard, and Wilma told Sadie that she knows for certain that boat used to pull into Cruz Bay with a hold full of cash. From guerrilla groups in Nicaragua, Wilma said. And the Marxists in Cuba and Argentinean soccer stars trying to avoid taxes and God knows who else. And Paulette and Douglas Vickers were helping them.”
When Huck hangs up with Rupert, he calls Agent Vasco but is shuttled immediately to her voicemail. It’s Saturday, so maybe she’s off duty—but who is he kidding; she’s probably waist-deep in the Vickers morass.
Huck has known the Vickerses for twenty years—not well, he’s never been invited to their home, never done any direct business with them, but he knows them. Croft must have made them an offer they couldn’t refuse; they must have thought they would never get caught. Huck understands what it’s like to live here as a local person and see the big boats roll in and watch the enormous villas go up and wonder, Why them and not me? Maybe Paulette let herself get into a compromising spot with her family’s business; God knows, real estate is risky everywhere. Huck could call some of LeeAnn’s friends—Dearie and Helen come to mind—and ask what they’ve heard. But it’s possible that what they heard came from Sadie via Wilma as well, and it’s possible that Dearie and Helen haven’t heard a thing but will start jabbering as soon as they realize it’s a topic of interest. The Vickerses got mixed up with Russell Steele and his boss, Todd Croft, and they were helping to launder the money.
Huck’s next instinct is to call Irene. He’s been looking for a reason and now he has one. Paulette and Doug Vickers arrested on St. Croix. That much he could share. The rest of it—the laundering and Bluebeard—that all sounds suspiciously like gossip. Still, Huck feels the seed of fear that has been in his gut since Rosie died start to grow. Russ was involved in illegal and dangerous business dealings. Guerrillas in Nicaragua?
What Huck wants to know is if he or Maia—or Irene—will somehow be implicated in a crime.
We didn’t know anything, Huck thinks. Surely the FBI realizes this. Huck has done nothing wrong, Maia has done nothing wrong, and Irene has done nothing wrong. They’re innocent—but does that mean they’re safe?
Getting Paulette and Doug Vickers can’t possibly be the FBI’s endgame, Huck thinks. They want to find Todd Croft. And Paulette will sing—of this, Huck is certain. She has her child to think about.
From this perspective, maybe Irene would be intrigued by the news, possibly even happy to hear it. They’re tracking down answers. What were Croft and Russell Steele doing? Where was all that money coming from?
No, it will not make Irene happy, Huck decides. It will make her agitated, especially since all they can do until they get official word from Agent Vasco is speculate. And so Huck decides not to tell Irene until he’s had a conversation with Agent Vasco.
Huck sets the Flor de Caña back up on the shelf. He heads out onto the deck to have a cigarette. He imagines Irene lying on the beach in Little Cinnamon, thinking about little Elton Petrushki or about how cold it is back in Iowa City or about what she’s going to make for dinner. But she will not be thinking about Paulette Vickers sitting in an interrogation room and giving the FBI who knows what kind of information about her husband. Huck’s silence is a gift. Irene is sure to find out at some point; hell, maybe she’ll find out tomorrow. But at least she has today in peace. At least she has right now.
Baker
Baker is so excited after their meeting and tour at the Gifft Hill School that he texts Anna from the parking lot.
Found a school for F. They ran assessments, he can start kindergarten now. V. advanced, they said. Happy to have him and he loved it.
“Bye!” Maia calls out. She’s staying at the school to hang out with friends and then someone’s mother is taking them to town.
“Thank you, Maia!” Baker says.
“Thank you, Maia!” Floyd says, waving like a maniac. Then he turns to Baker. “Daddy, how do we know Maia?”
“Oh,” Baker says. Floyd is probably confused because Maia introduced Floyd to the head teacher, Miss Phaedra, as her “sort of nephew,” a phrase that elicited an expression of surprise and suspicion from Miss Phaedra. Apparently, the phrase didn’t get past Floyd either. Baker was glad Maia threw the sort of in there because it could be explained any number of ways; they wouldn’t have to tell Miss Phaedra that Floyd is, in fact, Maia’s actual nephew, the son of Maia’s brother Baker.
Sometimes Baker wishes Floyd weren’t so “advanced.”
“She’s our friend,” Baker says. Not a lie.
“I like her,” Floyd says. “I like the Gifft Hill School. Why are there two Fs?”
“No idea, buddy,” Baker says. He checks that Floyd’s seat belt is fastened, then heads for home.
He doesn’t hear back from Anna until two days later, Wednesday.
K, the text says.
K? Baker thinks. He hadn’t expected a fight, necessarily, or even a debate, but he had anticipated something more than just K. They’re talking about Floyd’s education! Baker was armed with the school brochure and the notes he’d taken in the margins, and he has the website for backup as well as his own impressions, which he’d spent the past two days organizing into a sales pitch. The school is nurturing (but not indulgent), inclusive, tolerant, and forward-thinking. (Anna will love all of this.) The sky is the limit for Floyd! The classes are small and they have an island-as-classroom initiative that gets the kids outside studying nature and history and Caribbean culture.
But…Anna doesn’t care. Anna is relocating to Cleveland, learning the ropes at a new hospital, meeting her colleagues, reviewing protocols, buying furniture, and maybe even getting excited for Louisa to become pregnant.
Baker tries not to feel like he and Floyd have been brushed off, forgotten.
He doesn’t bother telling Anna that he also got good news during the visit to the Gifft Hill School—he’d received a job offer. The upper school, Miss Phaedra said, desperately needed someone to coach basketball and baseball as well as do some administrative work for the athletic department. She mentioned this because Baker was so tall and “fit-seeming” (the “seeming” being key) and she wondered if maybe he had any background in either sport and might want a chance to get involved in the community, seeing as how he was new to the island. It was like she’d read his mind. Baker said that he did indeed have some background in both sports; he’d played basketball and baseball in high school and in college at Northwestern on the intramural level.
“Which means, essentially, that I haven’t used my skills in almost ten years. I’ve been waiting for Floyd to be old enough so I could coach his teams.”
“The job does come with a stipend, and the hours would be after school during the respective seasons,” Miss Phaedra says. “I’d love to be able to pass your name on to the head of school, and she can talk with you more about it.”
It’s exactly what Baker is looking for, and yet he doesn’t commit right away because he still has to go back to Houston for the auction this coming weekend. There’s a quiet but persistent voice in Baker’s head telling him that it’s crazy—and, worse, irresponsible—to move to the Caribbean with Floyd.
He came down here for one reason only and that’s Ayers. But Ayers is with Mick. And Ayers was clear that she wouldn’t even entertain the possibility of a relationship with Baker until he had a job or an opportunity here on St. John.
The whole thing is risky. Baker can leave Houston, take the job at Gifft Hill, and move here, but Ayers might still stay with Mick.
The evening that Anna responds with K, Irene comes home from work with some fresh wahoo steaks from her charter. She grills them for Baker and Floyd, and because Cash is out somewhere, it’s just the three of them eating dinner on the deck. It’s nice. Irene is in a good mood; her frame of mind seems better now that she’s working on Huck’s fishing boat, though she’s not her old self by any means. Baker tells her that Floyd
liked the school but he doesn’t say anything about the job offer yet. He reminds his mother that he and Floyd are headed back to Houston on Friday for the auction.
“Right,” Irene says, though it’s clear she’s forgotten about it. “But you’re coming back, yes?”
“Yes?” Baker says. “I think so. I mean, yes.” He wants to sound definitive but the truth is, he’s not sure. He’s packing everything they brought down, just in case.
“When?” Irene says. “When will you be back?”
“I don’t have return tickets yet,” Baker says. “Though I can get them, of course, at a moment’s notice. I have to figure some stuff out when I get to Houston. What to do about the house, my car, that kind of thing.”
“Of course,” Irene says. “No one expects you to drop everything and move down here. Though that’s what I did.” She laughs—at her own crazy spontaneity, maybe. “And that’s what your brother did.”
“Where is Cash tonight?” Baker asks. He suddenly gets a bad feeling. Cash didn’t come back after Treasure Island. Did he go somewhere with Ayers? Out to dinner? This is what Baker has privately feared about Cash and Ayers working together, that they would become chummy, that Cash would, somehow, manage to charm her.
“He had an incident on the boat today, I guess,” Irene says. “Passenger got drunk and Cash was called on to help get the girl home. Turned out the girl had a friend that Cash knew. From that restaurant you both like so much?”
“La Tapa?” Baker says.
“That must be it,” Irene says. “And I think he went out with the friend. Something like that.”
Baker pushes his chair away from the table. “Was it Ayers, Mom? Is he out with Ayers?”
“It wasn’t Ayers,” Irene says. She throws Baker an exasperated look. “You boys, honestly. No, it was some other name. British, unusual…”
“Tilda?” Baker says.
“Yes!” Irene says. “He went out with Tilda.”
What Happens in Paradise Page 19
