by Sam Cameron
Brian said firmly, “I’m making sure of it.”
They grinned at each other. Lovesick fools. Robin couldn’t decide if she pitied or envied them. Then she remembered the feel of Karen Francine’s mouth against hers, and her toes curled inside her sandals.
“Sean came by the house,” Denny said. “He said you two met Liam Norcott.”
“Just for a minute,” Robin agreed warily. “What else did he say?”
Denny shrugged. He was staring at Brian’s mouth. “Are you two fighting?”
Robin opened her car door and slid behind the wheel. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Wait,” Denny said, breaking his attention from Brian. He came to Robin’s car. It was amazing, really, that although Denny and Steven were identical, she’d always been able to tell them apart by the worry lines constantly etched in Denny’s forehead. Those lines deepened as he asked, “Is everything okay? Mom said you asked for tomorrow off, and you never do that.”
Robin was tempted to confide everything. Steven and Denny were very good at solving crimes, after all, and didn’t Juliet deserve the best? But she couldn’t imagine dragging Denny into this when he was supposed to be taking care of himself.
“Everything’s good,” she assured him.
As she drove off, she saw Denny and Brian kissing again.
With any luck at all, soon she and Karen Francine would be doing the exact same perfect thing.
Chapter Seven
The trip to Key West was boring when you did it alone. Robin was tempted to message Sean one last time and make sure he hadn’t changed his mind. But everyone knew that texting while driving was dangerous, and he deserved to live with the consequences of his own surliness.
Still, it would have been nice to have company as she approached the dreaded Seven Mile Bridge. She turned her iPod volume up and sang along with some classic Alanis Morissette, but even at the top of her voice she was aware of the big yawning gap between bridge and ocean, safety and death. The only way to survive it was to keep going, steady and fast, and wait for land to reappear on the other side of the long, long span.
Traffic wasn’t too bad in the Lower Keys, but a broken RV near Boca Chica had stalled traffic there. Several navy jets streaked by overhead as Robin waited for it to clear. By the time she crossed onto Key West, the sun had set. She called her friend Lina, who had graduated from Fisher Key High three years ago and now lived in a condo by the airport.
“Sure, you can crash on the sofa tonight,” Lina said. “I’m working at the Bar Nothing until midnight. Pride Week means tons of overtime. Use the key under the mat, but don’t wake up Tony. Remember Tony Tucket from school? Graduated with me. Turns into a pain in the ass in the absence of enough beauty sleep.”
Only vaguely did Robin remember Tony. He’d been a transfer student from somewhere up north. Scrawny, pale, quiet. Hung around the art room a lot.
“I thought you said no more roommates,” Robin said. “No more drama and headaches.”
Lina snorted. “Then I got the rent bill. See you in the morning, chiquita.”
Robin drove down to Duval Street and circled for twenty minutes, trying to find any parking space at all. Finally, she jammed the car into a quasi-legal spot near a fire hydrant. The larger-than-normal crowd that gathered to watch the sunset at Mallory Square had dispersed to sidewalk tables and bars. Ubiquitous Jimmy Buffet music blasted out of speakers, and giant misting fans worked to disperse the heat. None of the laughing, flirting, alcohol-swilling tourists seemed to care about wasted electricity, vanishing ozone layers, or the rising sea level. Robin wanted to shake them all out of their complacency, to wake them up from their consumer stupors. How could people party and drink and not worry about the world?
Denial, she thought. Not just a river in Egypt.
Farther up Duval Street, past the T-shirt and souvenir shops, the storefronts became more upscale. A few art galleries were still open, but the more expensive jewelry shops had closed. Angelo’s, the restaurant where Liam and Juliet had last dined, was an old Conch house set back amid palm trees and thick ferns. Big golden koi swam around in a pond by the front door. The menu was posted on thick white paper. Far too expensive for Robin’s taste. In fact, she could afford exactly nothing they offered, and she was pretty sure her I CAN’T EVEN THINK STRAIGHT shirt didn’t meet their dress code.
Robin circled around to the alley that ran behind the house. Crates and boxes were piled against a Dumpster there. A large man in chef’s whites was standing in the glow of the kitchen’s screen door, talking on his phone in Spanish. He glanced at her with disinterest, then spun partially away on one foot and continued to talk unabated.
If there was one thing on earth that Robin hated, it was being ignored. She wished she had a tomato or apple to throw at his head. But she needed something from him, so assault by fruit was a bad idea. Instead she pulled out her phone and began taking pictures of the Dumpster.
The guy hung up and scowled at her. “What are you doing there?”
“Documenting health code violations.” Robin shook her head sadly and took pictures of the screen door. Inside, the kitchen was bright with light and smelled heavily of garlic. “Look at the holes in that mesh. Big enough for an army of flies to pass through. And those mouse droppings. Do you know what those mean? An invasion of rats.”
The chef’s gaze narrowed. “Kind of young for the health department, aren’t you?”
“Intern,” Robin replied. “I’m following up on a report of food poisoning from Juliet Francine and Liam Norcott.”
“Who?” he asked.
“They ate here the other night,” she said.
“Never heard of them.”
“What’s your name, sir? I’ll have to put it into my report.”
“You don’t need my name,” he muttered, and swung open the screen door. “Beat it, kid.”
He went inside and closed the solid inner door behind him. Robin pursed her lips. She wished she had some kind of badge or fake I.D. card. Denny and Steven Anderson probably had fake badges. She stood in the darkness, mosquitoes trying to bite her arms, and listened to the distant sounds from Duval Street. This was her only lead, and she had no idea what to do next.
The inside door opened. A kid in a busboy’s uniform slipped out. He was only fifteen or so, with slicked back blond hair and a gold hoop in one ear.
“You the girl with the health department?” he asked.
“Close enough,” Robin said.
“Did Liam Norcott honestly get food poisoning?” he asked. “Serves him right. Lousy tipper.”
“You were here when he and Juliet came?” Robin asked.
The kid pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. She wanted to tell him that smoking would stunt his growth, but he was talking again.
“Never saw her,” he said. “Liam Norcott and his boyfriend, that’s who was here.”
Robin raised her eyebrows. “Boyfriend?”
“It’s no wonder people aren’t dying left and right around here. I could tell you stories about this place that would make you puke. You want pictures? I got pictures. Flies, maggots, mold—everything.”
Robin’s stomach twisted. “How come you never reported it?”
“My dad owns the place,” he said dejectedly. “He’d kill me. I’m waiting for a really good reason.”
Robin tried to steer him back on track. “Liam Norcott brought a boyfriend on Sunday night?”
“The health department cares about that?” the kid asked.
“We want to track down anyone who might be sick,” Robin said. “He didn’t mention a friend.”
“Boyfriend,” the kid said. “Don’t listen to that Hollywood beard stuff. Mr. Boy Band’s not into girls. They tried to hide it, but my eyes see everything.”
He pointed dramatically at his eyes. She didn’t tell him how silly that looked.
“Liam Norcott wasn’t in a boy band,” she said.
“No, the
boyfriend.” The kid shook his head as if Robin were an idiot. “He looked like one of those one-hit wonders. Wore a leather jacket. Who wears a leather jacket in Key West in the summer? But who cares? Are you here about the celebrities or about the rats?”
“Definitely the rats,” Robin said.
For ten more minutes, he regaled her with stories of rodents, moldy cheese trays, thawed shrimp, and meat turning green. Robin escaped only when the head chef came out, grabbed his arm, and started yelling for him to get back to work.
The kid twisted free. “Stop being a slave driver, Dad!”
“I’ll show you slavery, you ungrateful brat!” the chef yelled.
Robin escaped down the alley. In her car she forwarded the pictures anonymously to the Monroe County Health Department. The public deserved to be warned.
*
Lina’s condo complex was a four-story pink monstrosity of cement that had been built on marshland. Robin was sure some developer had paid big bribes for that environmental waiver. Parking was in short supply, as usual, but she found a place on the grass and locked everything tight. A group of men and women were splashing and playing in the outdoor swimming pool. Their bodies gleamed under bright sodium lights. Beer bottles glinted in a row along the pool’s edge, definitely a safety hazard.
Robin paused to watch one tall, tanned woman in a gold bikini. She had big breasts, a big smile, and dark hair that streamed all the way to her waist. Robin could fall in love with a woman like that. But the woman threw herself at one of the men and kissed him deeply, so Robin’s chances seemed low.
Besides, she told herself, she had Karen Francine. Well, not exactly had, because one kiss did not a relationship make.
But one kiss was better than nothing. It held the promise of more, and of Robin not going off to college as the least experienced lesbian in the Florida Keys. Geographic pride demanded it.
And then there was Michelle Boyle, who was pretty in a different way, and who’d probably make an excellent girlfriend, too.
Lina and Tony lived on the fourth floor. No elevator. Their unremarkable white door was wrapped with six-month-old Christmas lights blinking red and green. Lina’s Siamese cat, Millie, was sitting on the doormat patiently. The breeze ruffling Millie’s fur smelled like salt and marsh.
“Hello, Miss Millie.” Robin scratched her behind the ears. “Anyone feed you lately?”
The answer to that was apparently no, because the cat began meowing as soon as Robin let her in. The only light in the condo was the small lamp over the oven. Careful to keep quiet, Robin found a canned tin and plopped the gooey brown cat food on a plate. Millie attacked it happily and Robin dropped her backpack on the long, lumpy sofa.
She had a hard time falling asleep. Part of that was due to Millie, who first wanted to knead Robin’s stomach with her paws and then wanted to curl up and sleep on her chest. Robin moved her around until they reached a peaceful compromise. But mostly Robin wasn’t sleepy, because she was too busy thinking about Liam Norcott and his alleged boyfriend. The busboy didn’t seem to have any reason to lie. Sean certainly always claimed Liam was gay. The press had hinted it now and then. But Robin hadn’t ever given it serious thought.
She typed a query into her phone—Liam Norcott gay?—and spent several minutes reading websites. Plenty of speculation out there, sure, but no hard facts.
She checked Monica Mell’s site, but there were no new updates. Which was unusual, because Monica often posted two or three times a day.
Sean hadn’t called or texted or e-mailed her anything. Jerk.
Robin stared at the ceiling and wondered what Karen Francine was doing right this minute. That didn’t lead to rest, either. She played the premiere episode of Rhoda Dakota on her phone and stared at young Juliet and young Liam, both of them squeaky clean and younger than Ginny.
Eventually, she must have fallen asleep, because there was a long stretch of nothingness and then the sound of Lina on her phone in her room. A thin strip of light shone from under her door. Robin pulled a pillow over her head and rolled away. Millie, disturbed from her spot, climbed on top of Robin’s hip and tried to make herself comfortable. The negotiations over sofa space began again.
More sleep, and then Millie woke her again, and sometime during the fractured night, Robin decided she could get more sleep if she went down and slept in her car. Except that if she slept with the windows rolled up she’d die of heat, and if she slept with the windows down some pervert might come along and molest her. She dozed off again before she could make a decision.
The loud, obnoxious sound of a kitchen appliance woke her next, and Robin opened her eyes to painful sunlight.
“Rise and shine!” a cheerful voice said. “You want some Lean Green Miracle Juice?”
Robin pulled herself up. A woman was standing at the counter that divided the kitchen and living room. She was sticking cucumbers into a large juice machine.
“Sorry to wake you, Robin, but the pest control people are coming at eight. You can use my shower if you need to, because Princess Lina’s still snoozing.”
Robin yawned and knuckled sleep out of her eyes. “Who are you?”
“Tony Tucket,” the woman said. “Remember me? I’ve changed since high school.”
Chapter Eight
Robin tried not to stare. Although she’d read about people transitioning and watched some time-lapse videos on the Internet, she’d never actually known anyone bold enough to go from one gender to another.
“I know. Big change, huh? Now I’m T-o-n-i.”
As a girl, Toni was still slim and mostly flat-chested. But she’d grown her brown hair long and curly, or maybe that was a wig. There were small pads under her bra, and she was wearing women’s shorts and sneakers. Robin wondered what was under the shorts.
“You like?” Toni asked.
It took a moment for Robin to realize Toni was talking about the glass of green juice in her hand.
“What’s in it?” Robin asked.
“Kale, celery, lemon, ginger, and carrots.” Toni brought the glass over. “Try it.”
Robin sipped some juice. It wasn’t bad. She tried not to stare at Toni, who was cleaning up the kitchen while humming along to some country-western song on the radio. Robin never listened to it. Most of it was full of stereotypes and promoted drinking, or cheating, or keying your boyfriend’s car if he cheated on you, or all kinds of misogynistic behavior. Sean said she was simply ignorant of the genre, but he couldn’t be trusted because he was always pining after singers in cowboy hats and boots.
“Shower now or sweat forever,” Toni reminded her, with no indication that she was aware of Robin’s scrutiny.
“Okay, thanks,” Robin said and retreated to Toni’s bathroom.
Standing under the hot water spray, Robin hunted through a rack of soaps, lotions, and scrubs in search of something that wasn’t too girly or floral. Toni certainly took the whole feminine thing seriously. Looking back at high school, Robin couldn’t remember any indications that Tony Tucket was unhappy as a boy. He’d just seemed unhappy about everything. Lina should have warned her about the change. Not that there was anything to be warned about, technically, because boys could be girls and girls could be boys and the whole planet would continue to spin, but still.
It was a little weird.
When Robin emerged from the bathroom, Lina was sitting on the sofa in a fluffy pink bathrobe drinking coffee instead of green juice. Millie was purring in her lap.
“Pest control’s never on time,” she was saying to Toni.
“You said that about the cable company, and you were wrong.” Toni sailed toward her bathroom. “I hate ants.”
Robin poured herself coffee and waited until the sound of Toni’s shower started up again. She said, “I like what you’ve done with the place. New posters, nice plants, and a new roommate.”
Lina grinned. “Surprised?”
“How long has he been a she?”
“I’m not sure. I lost
track of her after graduation. She went up to Miami for a while. Then one day I’m serving drinks at Sloppy Joe’s and ta-da! I couldn’t believe it.” Lina sipped her coffee. “Fisher Key High School’s first transgender graduate. You should make a video. Do an interview.”
Normally, it was exactly the kind of thing Robin would do. Even though the Florida Keys were more liberal than conservative, more accepting than rejecting, the world beyond Key Largo wasn’t as welcoming. Once, on a field trip to Miami for the debate club, Robin and Lina had been called dykes by a guy in a parking lot. Lina had a friend who’d been assaulted while kissing her girlfriend in Manhattan. In some countries, the government actually encouraged violence against lesbians or gays, or overlooked it so that no one ever went to jail. Bringing awareness to the masses was Robin’s mission in life.
Still, she wasn’t sure she wanted to interview Toni. And she couldn’t even say why, which bothered her. Then again, she had bigger priorities at the moment.
“Right now I’m trying to help a friend,” she told Lina. “You know that movie they’re filming at the Truman White House?”
“Oh, sure. Liam Norcott and what’s her face, that little starlet.”
Robin tried not to get annoyed. “Juliet Francine.”
Lina grinned. “Yeah, that one. Still have a huge crush on her?”
“I’m too old for crushes,” Robin said loftily.
“Then I guess you’re too old to care she came into the restaurant the other night,” Lina said. “She and some tough guy boyfriend.”
Robin couldn’t believe how casual Lina could be about it. And she was confused, because who? What tough guy boyfriend?
“What night was this?” Robin asked.
“Um, Sunday?” Lina stretched her legs out on the coffee table and yawned. Millie jumped off her lap and headed for her food bowl. “She came in wearing a big floppy hat, like that’s going to fool anyone. I didn’t wait on her, though. That was Melanie’s table.”
