Southern Comfort

by Fern Michaels

Kate looked around. Home sweet home. There was no sofa, but she did have a love seat and two deep comfortable chairs.

  The love seat was a gorgeous pumpkin color and covered in a nubby hopsacking material. The two chairs were lemon-lime, in the same fabric. A beautiful, lush ficus tree reached almost to the ceiling. She should ask Miss Dorothy if she should consider cutting it back. Thank God she hadn’t been gone long enough to really miss the place.

  Kate’s shoes flew here and there as she shrugged out of her jacket, which also went flying to land half in the ficus and half on the floor. She continued to peel off her clothes as she headed for the bathroom.

  When she was pink and puckered from the steamy shower and smelling like fresh strawberries, Kate stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in her favorite robe, which felt like an old friend. Glancing at her reflection in the mirror—brownish blond shoulder-length hair and clear blue eyes—she decided she wasn’t a complete dud in the looks department if you didn’t look too closely. She padded barefoot out to the kitchen, where she looked at the clock. She decided to break her own rule of never drinking until the sun was over the yardarm. It was five o’clock somewhere in the world. She poured a generous amount of white wine into one of her two fancy wineglasses and carried it out to the balcony. She loved sitting out there at that time of the day even though the opportunities to do so were few and far between. Since the sun was on the other side of the building, it was more comfortable than it was in the mornings. It was hot, but that was okay; the heat was dry, unlike Miami, where the humidity was almost a hundred percent.

  Even though she’d closed the sliding glass doors, Kate could hear her landline ringing. Like she was really going to get up and go inside and answer it. Now that she’d resigned, she could do whatever she damn well pleased, and it pleased her not to answer her phone. She thought then about the messages on her cell phone. Those were for another day.

  Kate leaned back and closed her eyes. She needed to think about her finances and how quickly she would have to seek employment. Her condo and car were paid for, thanks to a generous inheritance from her maternal grandparents. As she was the only grandchild, her grandfather had seen to her future. She had a healthy portfolio that could sustain her, according to Mitch, her broker, for ten years. She had an equally healthy 401(k) plan. She had close to thirty-six thousand dollars in her CMA account she could draw on for everyday living expenses until she decided what she was going to do. On top of that, she had a whole dresser drawer full of United States savings bonds that her father had left her, bonds she’d never cashed and were still drawing interest. Emergency money. She hadn’t touched the money she’d gotten from her parents’ life insurance policies because she couldn’t bear to spend it. Despite her low government pay, she had four thousand eight hundred dollars in her personal checking account. Her life insurance, car insurance, and condo insurance, along with maintenance fees, were all paid up for the year. Ooops, she’d forgotten about the taxes on the Harbor Island beach house that had come to her from her paternal grandparents. That bill should be coming in soon. Maybe she should think about renting it out since she never went there. She could hire a management company to handle the details, including the credit check on prospective tenants.

  A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth when she thought about the little two-bedroom Cape Cod house Grandpa Rush had built right on the beach during the last years of her grandmother’s life. She remembered hearing her parents talk about how everyone laughed at the little house with the front porch. Some called it an eyesore, with all the fancy condominiums being built, but her grandfather didn’t care. All he wanted was to make his wife happy during her last ailing years because she missed the home she’d lived in up North all her life until they retired to Miami. Kate clearly remembered her mother remarking that it had only cost thirty thousand dollars to build with him doing half the work. The land that little Cape Cod sat on was now worth more than a million dollars. She’d had offers over the years to sell it so it could be demolished so that some steel and glass edifice could be built. Like she would ever sell that little house. It didn’t even bear thinking about it. She loved the little house, with the window boxes and the diamond-shaped panes of glass. She had many memories from childhood in that house.

  At least once a year, sometimes twice, she’d try to make it to Miami to check on it and just laze about and walk the beach. Sometimes, when a storm blew in, the water would come almost to the front porch. No, that house was her sanctuary, and she would never give it up. She thanked God now for her own wisdom in never selling it. She could go home and try to return to a normal life. It made more sense to sell the condo. She nodded to herself that she thought it was a good idea.

  Satisfied that she was in good financial shape, Kate finished her wine and wished she’d brought the bottle outside. Then again, it wasn’t wise to drink on an empty stomach. She fought the sleep that was threatening to overcome her, knowing full well that if she fell asleep, she would be up all night long.

  The phone inside rang again. She ignored it as she wondered how long it would take someone to come knocking on her door. She couldn’t help but wonder what Lawrence Tyler had told the Arizona office. She could almost hear it. “Rush got spooked because she was alone in a hurricane. She flipped out, took me on, and stormed out.” She knew, just knew, he wasn’t going to mention her resignation letter. He’d say she attacked him while still a DEA agent. It wouldn’t matter that her resignation letter was dated. Or, would it? Would he be stupid enough to press charges? Of course he would because he was beyond stupid.

  “Shit!”

  Kate jumped to her feet and ran into the apartment, where she fired up her computer. She waited for it to boot up, then sent her resignation letter to her boss, Arnold Jellard, the agent in charge of the Phoenix office. She typed in a brief message that said she’d tendered her resignation to Lawrence Tyler in Miami at 7:18 that morning. She added another line that said a hard copy would be delivered in person tomorrow. She read through the e-mail one more time and hit the SEND key. The relief she felt left her drained.

  The wine bottle beckoned her. She grabbed it and headed back to her little balcony. The phone rang, then her cell phone chirped at the same time just as she slammed the slider shut. She was grinning from ear to ear when she settled herself and poured generously for the second time.

  A long while later, when the wine bottle stood empty like a forlorn soldier, Kate tottered into the condo and went to bed. The clock on her nightstand read 5:45. She woke up twelve hours later to the sound of the ringing phone. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and laughed like a lunatic. She just knew her voice mail box was full, and her cell phone had probably exploded from all the calls coming in.

  Like she cared.

  Two hours later, dressed in jeans, running shoes, and a bright yellow T-shirt, Kate left her condo. In her car, she jammed a battered baseball cap that proclaimed her a fan of the Miami Dolphins on her ponytailed hair. She drove straight to a Starbucks drive-thru, got her order, and pulled out into traffic again.

  With still enough coffee left in her cup for another five minutes, Kate drove steadily until she saw the turnoff for the field office, where she sat in the parking lot to finish her drink. She rolled down the windows to enjoy the bright sunny day Arizona was known for. In another hour, she would need the air-conditioning in the car. The big question was, where would she be in another hour?

  Kate finished her coffee, crushed the paper cup, then dropped it into the trash bag she kept on the door handle. As much as she dreaded what was about to happen, she knew she had to get on with it. Sitting there contemplating her belly button wasn’t going to get her anywhere. She reached over for her canvas bag and rooted around until she found her ID on a chain. She looped it around her neck, grabbed the bag, and got out of the car.

  Kate looked at her watch. It wasn’t nine o’clock yet, but the parking lot was deserted, and there was no one walking about. Normally th
at quadrant was a beehive of activity no matter the time of day or night. She couldn’t help but wonder if it was some kind of omen.

  The hum of traffic on the main road was steady, so people were out and about, going God only knew where. A formation of birds flew overhead in a V. Where were they going?

  Kate licked at her lips, drew a deep breath, then yanked at the heavy plate-glass door. She marched across the lobby to the security desk, flipped her ID, and signed in. The guard nodded as she headed to the security checkpoint, breezed through, grabbed her bag—which had been duly noted as containing her Sig Sauer—off the belt, and headed for the elevator that would take her to the fourth floor, where she’d worked for so long. After today, she would never come back.

  She was alone in the elevator, something that rarely happened. More often than not there was a gaggle of people inside. When the doors slid open, she stepped out into a hall that was blindingly bright from all the overhead fluorescent lights. She looked around as she shifted her bag to a more comfortable position on her shoulder. She headed straight down the hall to Arnold Jellard’s office.

  Kate frowned as she looked around. There was no sight of Josh Levinson or Roy Jacobson. Were they out in the field? She’d seen Sandra Martin’s neat-but-empty cubicle, so obviously the third member of her team still hadn’t been replaced. With Kate’s departure, the team would be down to just Josh and Roy. The frown stayed put when she rapped on the glass door. The blinds were closed, which could mean one of two things: Jellard was with someone, or he was taking a break with his feet up on the desk, coffee cup in hand. When the knock wasn’t acknowledged, she walked down the hall to the kitchen, where she knew there would be coffee and donuts. The only problem was, there was no coffee and no pink box of donuts.

  Kate was so used to making the coffee that she fell into her old routine and scooped out coffee into the clean pot. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something she knew nothing about was going on. She asked herself why she should even care? It was going to take a good five minutes for the coffee to drip into the pot. She might as well use the time to clean out her cubicle, not that there was that much to clean out. She’d never brought clutter to the office. For the most part, she could chuck everything if she wanted to. Tissues, an extra pair of reading glasses, a bottle of nail polish, some breath mints, and two stale power bars. She dumped them all into her bag, then looked at the corkboard, with all its Post-it notes. She ripped them down, then tossed them in the trash can. She covered her computer and used one of the tissues to wipe a few cookie crumbs off her little desk. Now her cubicle was as neat as Sandra Martin’s.

  Special Agent Kate Rush no longer inhabited this small space. Special Agent Kate Rush was now plain old Kate Rush.

  Back in the kitchen, Kate looked around for her mug but couldn’t see it. She opened one of the cabinets and reached for one of the complimentary cups the agency handed out from time to time. She rinsed it out, dried it with a paper towel, then poured herself a cup of coffee. Carrying her coffee, she walked back down the hall to Jellard’s office. The door was still closed, the blinds drawn. She sat down on one of the two chairs next to the door and waited, but not before giving a loud, sharp knock to the door.

  Kate told herself she would wait until she finished her coffee. If the door was still closed, she would slide the manila envelope under the door and leave. She was only there out of courtesy to Jellard.

  “Screw it,” Kate muttered to herself as she was about to take her cup back to the kitchen and leave. She was standing, her back to the door, when it opened. She whirled around. Arnold Jellard, a tall, barrel-chested man who looked like he could take on a grizzly bear and live to talk about it, stood in the doorway. Standing next to him was Lawrence Tyler.

  Well, this isn’t exactly what I expected.

  Tyler offered up one of his truly evil smiles as he swept past her. Jellard’s voice was as big and deep-timbered as he was. “You waiting for a bus, Rush?”

  “No, sir,” Kate said as she stepped past him. She looked at the two chairs facing the desk. Which one had Tyler been sitting in? She opted for the one on the right. She immediately started to rummage in her bag for her credentials, her gun, and the envelope with her resignation. She slid them all across the desk and stood up. “I guess that’s it,” she said.

  Jellard stroked his snow white well-trimmed beard. His blue eyes, the color of washed-out denim, sparked angrily behind his wire-rim glasses. His words cut her to the quick when he said, “I never thought you were a quitter, Rush.”

  Kate stood up, walked around to the back of the desk, and leaned over to kiss Jellard on the cheek. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. See ya. Tell Josh and Roy I said good-bye.”

  The big man lumbered to his feet when he saw that his words had no effect on his former agent. “Where are you going? What are you going to do?”

  Kate smiled. “I’m going back to Miami. Something about going home makes me feel good. I’ll work on my thesis, and I’ve been tinkering with the idea of writing a cookbook. My grandmother’s recipes. I’ve been wanting to do it for a long time. Now seems like it might be a good time. Just out of curiosity, what was Tyler doing here?”

  Jellard stepped in front of Kate and closed the door. “His daddy found a way to give him my job. I’m being put out to pasture in two weeks. He was here to gloat. I wanted to kick his ass all the way to the Canadian border, but I didn’t want to hurt my foot. I didn’t know you knew how to cook.”

  Kate was speechless. She finally got her tongue to work. “I don’t know how to cook, but I can learn. I learned how to be a damn fine DEA agent, didn’t I? Are you being transferred, or are you retiring?”

  “Got two more years to go. No way is that little shit going to force me out. I have two choices, Miami or New Jersey. I’m taking Miami. Josh and Roy already put in for transfers. I’m kind of hoping they follow me, but with those two, you never know. Maybe I’ll drop by for a cup of coffee.” Affection rang in his voice when he said, “I was jerking your chain a few minutes ago. I know you’re no quitter. If it’s any consolation to you, Kate, I would have done exactly what you did.”

  Kate nodded. “My door is always open, Jelly.” The nickname Jelly was allowed only in private when they were just people, not agent and boss.

  Her eyes burning, Kate left the office and took the elevator to the ground floor. She stood a moment and looked around. She didn’t love this small field office. It was just a place where she checked in from time to time. She was a field agent. She corrected the thought: She used to be a field agent. She wasn’t crazy about Arizona either. She hated the high temperatures and dry heat. No, she wasn’t going to miss the place at all. What she would miss was the people she’d worked with, the few friends she’d made. She took one last look around, then waltzed through the door a man was holding open for her. She walked to her car, her cell phone in her hand. She scrolled down the numbers and hit Sandra Martin’s. The least she could do was take her old colleague to lunch before she left Arizona. Plus, she wanted to tell her about her encounter with Lawrence Tyler.

  Minutes and a few squeals of pure pleasure later, the two women agreed to meet for lunch at noon. Just in time for her to go back to the condo, pack her things, load up her car, and place a call to a Realtor. She wasn’t exactly sure at what moment she’d come to the decision to sell the condo. Not that it mattered. She was glad now she didn’t have a lot of junk to pack up. She made a mental note to ask the Realtor if she could sell the condo furnished. If not, she’d throw in the furniture or donate it to Goodwill.

  Kate parked the car in the small lot behind Sassy Susie’s, a small café that served homemade food and had the best coffee in the whole state. Sassy Susie, an aging spinster, made her own bread and desserts and, while the place was feminine-looking, the menu catered to men with huge appetites. It was said by those same men with the robust appetites that a person could get drunk on the aromas that wafted about the café.

  Sa
ndra was waiting by the door. The women hugged, laughed, then hugged again as they entered the café and were shown to their usual small round table. In other words, Sassy Susie considered the two of them regulars and treated them as such, which meant they were immediately served coffee and the homemade bread with fresh butter.

  Kate looked across the table at her dear friend. Sandra, or Sandy as her friends called her, looked unbelievably happy. “There must be a man in your life.”

  Sandra giggled. “Yes and no. Let’s just say I’m seeing someone. I actually have free time where I can make plans and carry through with them. He’s a nice guy, but he’s not the one for me. If he were, I think I’d know. So, how come you’re dressed like you are in the middle of the day?”

  Kate eyed her friend. She was so pretty—petite, dark hair, incredible blue eyes, huge dimples, and a killer smile with flashing white teeth. She was also a martial arts brown belt. Cuban by nationality, she’d done her time in Miami before being transferred to Arizona. Like Kate, she hated Arizona, yet here she was.

  Kate licked at her lips. “I quit. I’m moving back to Miami. I packed up my car this morning, and I’m leaving for Harbor Island right after lunch. I’ve had enough of this place to last me a lifetime. But the best part is, I got even with Tyler for you. I broke his nose for you. I kneed him in the groin for Levinson and kidney-punched him for Jacobson. It’s a long story. He’s replacing Jelly, thanks to his daddy. Jelly is taking his job in Miami. Guess Tyler whined enough about Miami that his daddy had to do something. Jelly seems to be okay with it all. He only has two more years, and he’s not about to give it up. He can weather it. He promised to stop by for coffee.”

  “Oh my God! Tell me you’re not kidding! You really decked that weasel? There is a God!” Sandy announced dramatically. “What about Josh and Roy? Did you tell them? They call once in a while. Damn, we were such a good team until Tyler ruined it.”