by Sam Cameron
“Sure I’ll miss it,” he said. “You?”
“Miami’s right next door. I’ll be home every weekend.”
He offered her another onion ring. It didn’t make him feel less guilty. He wanted to say, “Hey, sorry about what happened today with me and your best friend,” but telling her wouldn’t do anything good, right? Besides, she looked great and was in a good mood and he didn’t want to ruin anything
“But you’re going to be all over the world,” Kelsey continued. “You’ll probably hardly ever get back here.”
“I will when I can.” That was part of the charade, that he’d get to leave like everyone else. That he wasn’t digging a hole deeper for himself with every lie.
Kelsey tilted her head. “You’re not eating much. Not hungry?”
“Guess not.”
A pretty woman in jeans and a green shirt came up to their booth and started talking to Steven as if she knew him.
“So! Fish expert, iguana owner, and you know what keelhauling is, but you didn’t tell me you nearly got killed when The Tempest blew up.”
“What?” Steven asked.
Kelsey straightened on her seat. “Who’s this?”
“I’m Lucy,” she said. “And I’m pleased to meet you formally, Dennis Anderson.”
“I’m Steven,” he said.
Lucy’s eyes widened. “Oh! The twin. Sorry. They said you were identical. Can I sit down?”
“No,” Kelsey said. “We’re having a private conversation.”
He’d never seen her jealous like that. It was kind of nice.
“It’ll only take a minute, promise.” Lucy dragged a chair over and sat. She barely glanced at Kelsey. “I’m doing an article. Did you know the yacht was stolen in France a few years ago? No one’s seen it since. But if you’re going to steal a famous, million-dollar yacht, why sail it to Fisher Key and blow it up?”
“How famous?”
“As famous as Noah’s Ark, if you run in certain circles.” Lucy eyed Steven’s onion rings as if contemplating stealing one. “Usually, if you burn something down or blow it up, you’re trying to cover up a crime. But I talked to the local cops—that includes your dad—and no one found a corpse or anything interesting on what’s left of the boat.”
“Maybe it was revenge,” Kelsey said.
Lucy finally noticed her. “Yes! But against who? The last owners were some private couple in Denmark. They only had it a year or two after buying it from some corporate bigwig.”
Steven asked, “How many articles have you written?”
“I’m trying to break in,” Lucy confided. “I’ll write anything that’ll put money in the bank. Last month I was in the Orlando Times. Just the op-ed pages. Okay, letters to the editor. Under a pseudonym. But I graduated two years ago with a degree in journalism and you know what that gets you? Not a lot.”
She talked too fast, Steven decided. He didn’t trust people who talked that fast.
“Good luck with it,” he said and pulled out his wallet.
“You can’t leave! I need to ask you about what you saw that night.”
“Ask Denny. He’s not hard to find. Looks just like me.”
Out in the truck, Kelsey said, “You were kind of rude.”
“Reporters make me nervous.”
She leaned across the bench seat and snuggled into his side. She smelled like some kind of floral perfume, light and airy. “If it’ll make you feel any better, I have the keys to my dad’s boat.”
And because it was expected of him, because he couldn’t really see any way out of it, and because he was eighteen years old, he said, “Okay.”
When they were below decks, clothes off, the boat rocking beneath them, he made his very best effort to slow down and pay attention. But his stupid brain wouldn’t stop comparing Kelsey and Jennifer. How Jennifer’s body was smoother, and her waist smaller, and the noise she’d made when he sucked behind her ear—
“Ow,” Kelsey said.
Steven lifted himself up. “What?”
“You’re going to give me a hickey.”
“That’s the idea,” he said.
“Don’t.” She kissed his fingers. “My dad will see it.”
After they were done she wanted to cuddle in the small bunk. He ended up with his arm jammed against the bulkhead. She was heavy and warm against him, not saying much. He was sure she had more criticisms and was waiting to tell him every one.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Hungry like you wouldn’t believe.”
She laughed. “There’s still food in the fridge.”
He was scooping peanut butter out of a jar with a spoon when Eddie sent him a message: Come on by, tequila party. When he went back to the cabin, Kelsey was pulling on her blouse.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing. My dad and I are supposed to go to Miami in the morning. I better get home.” Kelsey pulled back her hair and then leaned forward to give him a long, wet kiss. “But that was a lot better than last time.”
She said it like a teacher giving him a star on his book report.
Steven said, “I aim to please, ma’am.”
“Maybe next time you don’t have to be so loud,” she suggested.
The funny thing about that? Jennifer hadn’t complained one bit.
Chapter Twenty-one
“How did the FBI do today?” Denny asked Dad, passing over a container of egg foo yong. Mom was at a Chamber of Commerce banquet. Steven had gone straight from work to having dinner with Kelsey. Afterward, Steven and Kelsey were probably going to have sex. Not that Denny was jealous.
“Six interviews, and I don’t think they found out anything useful,” Dad said. “The only break they’re going to get is if forensics turns up something off that boat, or if they find the mystery swimmer.”
“What are the chances?” Denny asked.
“Not so good.” Dad shuffled some cartons of rice and spare ribs on the table. “Why didn’t you mention that other FBI agent before? The one in Key West?”
“Oh,” Denny said. “I guess I forgot.”
Dad gave him a patient look.
Denny flushed. “You always say don’t volunteer everything when it comes to dealing with the feds.”
“What about volunteering everything when it comes to dear old dad?”
Trust me, Dad, Denny almost said. You don’t want to know everything that goes through my head. Like how blue Brian’s eyes were behind a swim mask, or how Nathan Carter’s muscles moved when he took a pool shot, or any of the eleven dirty fantasies Denny regularly enjoyed in the shower.
“I appreciate that you boys like to solve mysteries on your own,” Dad continued. “But I expect to be told everything. You understand?”
“Yes, Dad.”
“Any other secrets you need to get off your chest?”
That was it—his opening. His chance to come clean. “Dad, I’m gay” was all he had to say, and Dad would be surprised but cool about it, and they’d never talk about it again.
“Nope,” Denny said. “No other secrets.”
“Good. Pass the wontons.”
They ate Chinese food until they were stuffed. Denny was cleaning up the kitchen when Brian texted him: Want 2 come over hang out?
He hesitated over his response. Sure he wanted to. But what if he went over and did something stupid that he couldn’t take back? Or that Brian misinterpreted friendship for romance? This whole burgeoning friendship thing could be over in an instant.
“Who’s that?” Dad asked.
“Just someone from school,” Denny said.
“A girl someone?”
“Dad.”
Dad grinned. “Just asking.”
He rode his bike over with the sun low in the west and insects droning in the mangroves. The Vandermarks lived in the second-most expensive home on the island, with its Spanish tile roof and circular driveway and separate two-car garage. The windows reflected the Atlantic waters. Though there
was a private dock, no boat was moored at it. Brian answered the front door wearing a Key West T-shirt, loose and clean.
“Christopher’s still around,” he warned. “We were about to leave for the Miami airport when the FBI showed up. He missed his flight and he’s in a bad mood.”
“Got it,” Denny said.
The inside of the house had high ceilings, immaculate tile floors, and an open floor plan. The furniture in the enormous living room/dining room was all white or glass or metal. The kitchen area was full of stainless steel. Eddie Ibarra’s mom, Caroline, was finishing up some dishes in the sink. He knew that she cooked and cleaned for some families on the island, but not that she worked for the Vandermarks.
“Hello, Steven,” she said.
“Hi, Mrs. Ibarra. I’m Denny.”
“Of course you are.” She was thin and gray-haired, always somber. “Sorry.”
A younger, much prettier woman emerged from a hallway. She was wearing white yoga pants and a bright yellow top. Sort of the hippie granola type, Denny decided, even if the rest of the house looked like it belonged to the rich and famous.
“I’m Hannah,” she said. “I didn’t get to meet you the other night, with all that confusion, but Brian speaks very well of you.”
“Mom,” Brian groaned.
“I’m only repeating you,” Mrs. Vandermark said. “Would you boys like any organic strawberries?”
“Thanks, but I just ate,” Denny said.
Mrs. Ibarra folded up her dish towel. “I’ve got to be going. Tomorrow’s okay?”
“Yes, thank you,” Mrs. Vandermark said. “Here, take some of this fruit home. I bought too much.”
Mrs. Ibarra looked faintly embarrassed, but she took the fruit. As Denny trailed Brian toward the other side of the house he said, “Did you know that’s Eddie’s mom?”
“No.” Brian sounded surprised. “I never made the connection.”
Brian’s room was about three times the size of Denny’s, with dark furniture, a padded leather headboard on the bed, and bookcases that took up one entire wall. The cherry desk and computer near the windows probably cost more than Denny made all summer working for his mother.
“Make yourself at home,” Brian said, switching on a wall-mounted flat-screen TV. “I’ve got six or seven games from Christmas that I never opened, if you’re interested.”
Denny was busy inspecting Brian’s bookcases. At least a hundred different hardcovers filled the shelves, and not the cheap ones either. Hawthorne, Twain, Hemingway, Grisham. Male authors, every one of them.
“Did you read all these or are they just for show?” Denny asked.
“Who would I show?” Brian said. “I read every one.”
“Who’s your favorite?”
Brian inspected the books alongside Denny. “Twain, I guess.
You can’t beat a boy and runaway slave on a raft down the Mississippi.”
“I like Tom Sawyer better. The cave, the gang, the robbers—good stuff.”
Brian smiled fondly at him. “I should have known. Tom Sawyer solved mysteries, too.”
That smile made Denny nervous. He moved away quickly and plopped into the leather swivel chair in front of the computer. “How’d the FBI thing go?”
“They asked a lot of questions about the agent at the Casa Marina,” he said. “What he asked, what he said. I wasn’t sure about whether to tell them about our room being robbed, but Christopher sure told them.”
“How’d your parents take it?”
“They’re freaking out in their own unique ways. Henrik’s locked himself in his study and Mom’s been doing yoga for hours.” Brian gazed blankly at the TV screen, where a commercial for beer was playing. “I guess I’m kind of weirded out, too. I’m glad you came over.”
“Any time,” Denny said. “Where are those games?”
He wasn’t much into first-person shooter games, but one of the titles, Secrets of Organon, was some kind of adventure about minotaurs kidnapping Aristotle in ancient Greece. Historical accuracy was not its strong point. They plugged it in, picked avatars, and poked around Athens a few minutes before Mrs. Vandermark poked her head in.
“How about some ice cream, boys? We have hot fudge sundae, caramel sauce, imported nuts—”
“Mom,” Brian complained. “We can find the refrigerator if we need to.”
She smiled uncertainly. When she was gone, Brian confessed, “She has the wrong idea about you.”
“What idea is that?”
Brian blushed a little. “That I’m only interested in your body.”
Denny’s stomach flipped.
“I told her it’s not that way,” Brian said hastily. “Promise.”
Denny concentrated on the screen. “How long have they known about you?”
“My mom figured it out in fifth grade. I had a big goofy crush on my soccer coach. All season I’d follow him up and down the field. Must have driven him nuts. From then on she started buying books about gay daddies and lesbian mommies and, well, I could always talk to her after that.”
“And your dad?”
“My birth dad disappeared when I was a kid.” Brian turned his remote control in time to avoid being pummeled by a minotaur. “Henrik’s okay about it. He’s pretty okay about everything, usually. Except lately. Since The Tempest blew up. The FBI agents made him even more jumpy.”
“Does he have anything to hide?”
“What, like a white-collar criminal?” Brian shook his head. “He made his fortune in jewelry. Since coming to America it’s all been investments. He’s a day trader, all sorts of stocks.”
“Hey, Brian, I need to borrow—” Christopher said, walking into the room without knocking. He was damp from the shower, wearing only a fluffy white towel around his hips. He looked at Denny and Brian sitting on the end of the bed and said, snidely, “Am I interrupting?”
Denny turned back to the TV without comment. Brian said, “No, you’re not interrupting. What do you need to borrow?”
“A clean shirt. Your mom’s washing all of mine.”
Brian flipped on the lights to a walk-in closet. Christopher followed him into it. Denny tried not to watch. Christopher was ridiculously handsome, with well-defined muscles and acres of smooth skin.
“You’re not going out all night, are you?” Brian asked, picking out some shirts on hangars. “We have to leave at seven tomorrow morning to make your new flight.”
“I’ll be home early, Mom,” Christopher said sarcastically. “I’m just going to that girl Lisa’s house to have some fun. You know, fun? Not a four-letter word.”
“Smoking pot’s not my idea of fun,” Brian said.
But this is, Denny thought victoriously. Staying here with me.
“There’s a clinical diagnosis for what you have,” Christopher said. “It’s called stick-in-the-mud. When you come back to Boston, we’re going to have to cure it for you.”
Oh, yeah. Denny understood that dig.
“Remember,” Brian said. “We leave at seven.”
After Christopher left, Brian sat on the bed and looked glum. “I guess I’m not a very good host.”
Denny said, “I know what could make you a better one.”
“What’s that?”
“Ice cream. With hot fudge sauce and maybe some caramel and what else did your mom say? Imported nuts.”
Brian smiled. “We can do that.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Steven took Kelsey home, kissed her good night, and drove over to Eddie’s. The Ibarras lived in a concrete block house with a carport full of junk. Eddie’s Hyundai was parked in the weedy grass, but his mom’s old Civic was gone. Other cars were parked along a fence that was falling off its posts.
The front door was open, spilling light and movie noise through a torn screen door. Steven knocked.
“Yeah, come in,” Eddie called out.
Eddie was on his sofa next to two guys from school—Paul Leroy and Joshua Garrity, Sean’s younger brother. Tw
o bottles of tequila sat opened on the coffee table beside some beer cans and red plastic cups. Paul and Joshua were smoking cigarettes.
Paul raised a hand.
“Hey,” Joshua said.
“It’s a drinking game,” Eddie said as some mindless action movie blazed across what looked like a new TV. “Sit down.”
The house was hot and smelled like bad laundry. Steven said, “Can I talk to you outside?”
“What? You mad at me?” Eddie asked.
“It’s about the FBI.”
Eddie grimaced. “Okay, whatever.”
Steven led him out into the yard. Before everything went bad with the booze, Eddie’s father had put up a homemade swing set. The metal had long since rusted, but the seats were mostly intact. You could swing without worrying too much that the whole thing would fall over.
“Where’d you get the new TV?” Steven asked.
“Graduation gift,” Eddie said, sitting on one of the seats. He wouldn’t look Steven in the eye. “What’s it to you?”
“You go to Key West and stay at the Pier House,” Steven said steadily. “Now you’ve got a new TV and surround stereo sound. No one’s giving you that stuff as a graduation gift.”
“They could,” Eddie protested. “You don’t know.”
“You partied all weekend and wouldn’t answer your phone—”
“I told you that I lost it.”
“You must have found it again,” Steven said. “You called me from your regular number.”
“Why are you treating me like a criminal?” Eddie asked angrily. “I didn’t do anything wrong but find the money.”
From the house came the sounds of explosions and screams. Paul laughed. Or maybe that was Joshua.
“What money?” Steven asked.
Eddie grabbed the chains of his swing and leaned back, his gaze toward the sky. Cloudy night, no sign of the crescent moon. Steven couldn’t hear the ocean over the sound of the TV.
“There was some money in the bag,” he said, sounding tired. “Finders keepers, right? There was no wallet or ID.”
Steven wanted to knock him flat in the scrub grass and shake some sense into him.
