Second Chance at Hope

by Joanna Campbell Slan

  “Could use a tune-up.”

  “Bring it by my house. I’ll get it humming like a sewing machine,” said Poppy, reaching into the pocket of his jeans for a business card. He’d added his home address in an untidy scrawl. “Of course, that’s only a temporary address. You heard about that new Fill Up and Go? I’m going to be in charge of the garage there. Have a whole crew of mechanics working for me.” Poppy puffed up with pride.

  “Why’re you here?” I whispered to my grandfather. “Can’t be to drum up business.”

  “I phoned him when I pulled up,” Lou said, leaning close to us. “Figured you might need somebody to hang around after I check the house for you.”

  “Check my house?” I repeated slowly. “I locked the door behind me when we took off for our walk. I should be fine.”

  Little known fact: Jupiter Island has the largest ratio of cops to citizens of any municipality in the U.S. Not only do they have To Serve and Protect painted on their cars, but I’d bet you a hundred bucks it’s tattooed prominently somewhere on their hot little bodies. When we dial 911, they come double-quick.

  In the distance, more sirens wailed, but they sounded like they were headed away from us.

  Lou and Poppy exchanged knowing looks.

  Then it hit me. “Lucas said there was someone else. At Blowing Rocks. Two people in one morning? Who goes out into the ocean at night in a small boat? No one. And it can’t have been a big boat or they would have sent out a distress call. But the Coast Guard doesn’t seem to be involved. So, there’s something else happening here, right? Something more…involved.”

  “Let’s get you home, Granddaughter.” Poppy took my elbow. “You make a statement, yet?”

  “Nope.”

  “I’ll ask that young pup over there if he’s ready to take it.” Lou stalked off in the direction of a cop who looked barely old enough to shave.

  “There’s something going on, isn’t there? More than…this poor half-drowned woman.” I scowled at my grandfather. “Poppy? Are you listening?”

  “Yup.”

  Lucas had edged his way toward the older of the two Jupiter Island policemen. After a brief confab, he hopped back on his ATV, while Lou talked to the young cop. In short order, the officer came over, introduced himself, and took my statement. I didn’t have much to say, except that I’d been walking my dog and stumbled over a mermaid.

  While we were finishing up, Lucas turned over the engine and drove past.

  Lou and the JI cop exchanged business cards.

  “This is like an ad hoc Chamber of Commerce event,” I said. “Everyone passing around business cards. Everyone except me.”

  “Cara?” Lou ambled toward me. “Meet you at your place.” He pointed his chin at his police cruiser.

  Poppy slung his arm around my shoulders and twirled me so I was pointed at his Toyota truck. He whispered in my ear, “Hold your tongue, Granddaughter.”

  We were walking through the parking lot when more of the pieces clicked into place. “This isn’t the first time, is it? There was that group that washed up two weeks ago. That family. All dead. From the Bahamas, right? There’s a pattern here.”

  Poppy’s eyes turned flinty. “We can talk at your house.”

  CHAPTER 4

  After Poppy keyed the engine, I said, “Someone is bringing people to this island, isn’t he? Or she? Or them? Because we keep it dark for the turtles.”

  “That can wait for Lou. We got other things to discuss. You and me.”

  “But—”

  The glare he sent me shut me up. Fast. My grandfather could be as stubborn as a barnacle. While I mustered up the energy to complain, he snarled, “Before Lou gets to your place, you and me need to have a little powwow of our own. What in the blue blazes were you doing on that beach?”

  “Taking a walk. What else would I be doing at this hour?”

  “Have you lost your pea-picking mind? You got no business being all alone out there. Did you have your cell phone on you?”

  “No. What good would that do me? Coverage is spotty on the island. I certainly wouldn’t have called you.”

  “Why not? You know I’m up at crack of dawn. I’m here, ain’t I?” He jerked the steering wheel as he made the right turn into my driveway. “I expected you to use your brain, Granddaughter. This house is your’n, and I won’t go back on my word, but I never expected you to act like a witless fool. Running around in the dark? By yourself?”

  “A witless fool?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “I had my dog with me.”

  He threw his hands up. “Dog? You could walk a hamster and be better protected.”

  “Are you kidding me? Can you hear yourself? Poppy, I couldn’t be any safer! This is Jupiter Island. There are security cameras following on every vehicle that comes over the bridges.”

  “Fat lot of good that’ll do you if someone rolls up in a boat. Did you even think about that, smarty? What if they dragged you to a house and held you captive? Or stuffed you into the trunk of a car? No, missy, you didn’t think about that, did ya? I thought not! You got no business walking on the beach in the dark, especially without your cell phone. I thought you were smarter than that. I guess I thought wrong!”

  Before I could spit back a response, he had already hopped out of the truck. Although Poppy is nearly eighty and suffers from diabetes, he’s as nimble as a teenager. Probably because he’s stayed active. If he isn’t working on motors, he’s fishing or kayaking or hiking or puttering around in my store, The Treasure Chest, a shop featuring recycled, upcycled, and repurposed products with a beachy theme. We’ve developed our own funky coastal style, a unique look that’s all ours.

  I unlocked the front door. Poppy pushed past me and into the house. Soundlessly, he walked from room to room, before announcing, “Okay. Glad to see that at least you’re locking the front door.”

  “It’s not like anyone is liable to break in. I don’t have anything worth stealing.”

  “It ain’t your possessions I’m worried about.” He crossed his arms over his chest and waited at the kitchen window until Lou pulled up. “What you really need is a bigger dog. A Dobie or a Shepherd.”

  A rap on the door cut our conversation short. I ducked into the kitchen while Poppy let Lou in. From the half-wall that divided my dining area from my living room, I watched as the men took seats on opposite ends of my sofa.

  “Kinda Spartan, isn’t this? You slumming it here on Jupiter Island?” Lou looked pleased with himself.

  “How come you ain’t dragged any of that there furniture from your store over here?” Poppy scratched his head.

  “I only make money when I sell it. Not when I sit on it. Until you two came along, no one complained,” I said. That wasn’t strictly true. Skye and MJ (my ace full-time employee) had also made fun of my meager belongings.

  “When are you going to tell me more about Sid?”

  “When I know more. I picked him up from the hospital yesterday, and he’s been sleeping most of the time. He and I ain’t had much chance to visit. Iff’n he’s up to it, I plan to bring him into your store later today. Matter of fact, I was on my way to buy him an Egg McMuffin for breakfast when Lou called.”

  “I’ll put the kettle on and make us all coffee. There’s fresh banana bread. I can send you home with half a loaf of it, Poppy.” Thinking of Sid’s accident, and how he’d been hit by a car, caused me to shiver. While I puttered around in the kitchen, the men were quiet. They perked up when I handed Lou and Poppy each a plate. “What’s so hush-hush that you wouldn’t talk about it back at the beach?”

  “When you fly over Florida, there’s a dark patch along our coast.” Poppy spat out the words. He put a lot of violence behind what seemed like a simple statement of fact.

  “Okay. Got it. That patch is Jupiter Island. We keep it dark for the sea turtles, right? To encourage their nesting.” I parked my backside on a Styrofoam cooler that I brought home to turn into an ottoman. Styrofoam is a modern scourge.
It doesn’t break down. It’s deadly to sea creatures, but useful for packaging items that must remain cool, like Poppy’s insulin. I was determined to find a way to reuse these coolers, although I knew it would be tricky. A lot of glue eats right through Styrofoam, melting it. Covering up this ugly white box might prove a challenge.

  Lou swallowed a big chunk of his banana bread. “Imagine you’re piloting a boat full of illegal immigrants. You got your choice. Steer toward the bright lights of Miami or Palm Beach. Point your bow toward the Jupiter lighthouse. Or go toward a dark patch. Totally black. Where would you put into shore?”

  “Jupiter Island.” I hopped up before the kettle whistled its way to an ear-splitting decibel. As I poured water into the French press, I asked, “But why come to this side of the island? There’s the Intracoastal on the other side, and it’s got all those docks. Wouldn’t that make disembarkation easier? Did my mermaid fall overboard? Or did a tender tip over?”

  Poppy chortled. “Not likely.”

  “Are you suggesting that she jumped? In these waters? With sharks and jellyfish and coral reefs? I wouldn’t have. I’d have waited until we docked.”

  “Not if someone held a gun to your head,” said Lou.

  “You’re kidding!”

  “Nope. The trafficker gets his money on the front end. He doesn’t care about delivery. In fact, he probably gets a bonus if he makes it home with the boat in one piece.” Lou brushed the crumbs from his hands and watched Jack eagerly lick them up off my tile floor. “The people who make it to shore want to get away as fast as possible and blend into the population. Often there’s a person waiting to pick them up and drive them away. In fact, they’re keeping an eye out for that person right now. Needless to say, JI’s public safety department has its hands busy. Have you given any thought to getting your concealed carry license? Keeping a gun on the premises?”

  That was the longest speech I’d ever heard from Lou. In response, I laughed. “Why? So I could shoot myself in the foot?”

  “How about getting a bigger dog?” Lou raised a thick eyebrow.

  “That’s what I told her.” Poppy sighed. “This mutt’s a yapper. Good dog, but not bigger than a minute. Granddaughter, you need a dog that’ll make an intruder think twice.”

  “Right. I’m already supporting Jack and Luna, my cat. Two rescues. Why not add another mouth to feed?”

  I scooted my ersatz ottoman closer to Poppy and Lou so they could rest their coffee cups on the Styrofoam before picking up their empty plates and walking back into the kitchen to refill them.

  “Ah,” said Lou, slurping his coffee. “You make a good brew, Cara. I like the banana bread, too. I was hoping there was more.”

  More.

  That word struck a chord. This wasn’t the first time undocumented immigrants had washed up on the shores of Jupiter Island. A handful had been found last week, wandering up and down Bridge Road. Poor people had nothing but the clothes on their backs.

  Lucas had spoken about another body at Blowing Rocks. At least, that was what I thought he was saying. Had I gotten it wrong?

  And…MJ! She had mentioned a home visit she’d made, here on the island. When was it? A week ago? A resident had called asking if we wanted to buy a few vintage Florida pieces. The woman had shown MJ her furnishings and a raft made of small trees, little more than saplings, all lashed together with twine. The sort of twisted hemp you’d use to tie up packages. According to the resident, her gardener had discovered it, hidden under a stand of sea oats at the edge of her lawn. The property owner thought it hilarious. MJ reported how the woman had laughed and offered to sell us the raft for fifty bucks. She thought we could use it in our display window.

  “Gross.” MJ had shaken her head in disgust. “Think of it. Clinging onto those toothpicks for dear life. The desperation. But Mrs. Norland thought it a hoot. A real chuckle. Ugh.”

  Three separate sightings. Four, if you counted my mermaid. People were washing up on a regular basis. But how did they know to point their boats toward Jupiter Island? Sure, if you had the money to hire a plane and fly over, you’d notice we were dark, but we were talking about illegal immigrants. If they had access to airfare, they wouldn’t be clinging to homemade rafts or paying dodgy captains. They’d be working with immigration attorneys.

  Instead, they were tumbling along in our surf. Rolling up on our sand. Heading for an alleged dark spot some three hours north of Miami.

  Why here?

  Suddenly, the answer came to me. “You two are thinking that someone on this island is behind all this, right? Someone is pointing the traffickers here? Maybe even involved in human trafficking? Offering the boat captains a place to dock? Financing the whole shebang?”

  Lou became intensely interested in his shoes.

  But Poppy stared straight ahead. For a long, long time, he said nothing.

  And then finally, “Yup.”

  CHAPTER 5

  ~Lou~

  Since Cara hadn’t been living on the island more than a couple of weeks, George Fernandez, Director of Public Safety for Jupiter Island, needed to know that she was “good people.” As a courtesy, Lou dropped by at George’s office to speak on her behalf.

  Lou and Fernandez had known each other for years; Fernandez had worked for the Stuart police before getting the job on Jupiter Island.

  But there was another reason that Lou stopped by the white clapboard building that housed the Jupiter Island law enforcement officials. He, too, was curious. Did Fernandez think a resident was welcoming the illegals? If so, what was he planning to do? Every time a boat spewed out more undocumented immigrants, the entire area had cause to worry. The illegals coming ashore could be mentally unstable, could be violent, or have terrorist links. Since they hadn’t been vetted, no one knew what the tides were turning up.

  And that made Lou concerned, both for Cara and for the city of Stuart, his turf.

  Fernandez seemed to have expected Lou. He stood, greeted his old colleague, and nodded toward the vacant chair across from his desk. The other chair was occupied by Brandon Mashler, the young first responder who had taken Cara’s statement out on the beach.

  “Glad you dropped by,” said Fernandez. “Had things turned out differently we might have needed your help. As it stands, the town’s cameras and license identification system helped us identify the pick-up vehicle. A suspect has been apprehended.”

  “That’s good. Thought you might be wondering about Cara Mia Delgatto. She’s a solid citizen, even if she does have a habit of showing up at the wrong place and the wrong time. She’s Dick Potter’s granddaughter. One of them, at least.”

  “I’d heard rumors that she’s all right, but confirmation is nice to have. If she’s A-OK in your book, that’s something.”

  “She is. But I am concerned about her on another front. She’s living in Dick’s cottage all alone. Her dog’s a little yappy thing. Not sure if anyone filled you in on her situation.”

  “Noted. I’ll tell our crew to keep an eye out for her. As you know,” Fernandez said, as he leaned forward to steeple his fingers, “we’ve had a rash of these undocumented immigrant landings. We’re working with state and federal agencies to figure out what gives. They’ve increased the number of patrol boats along our coast. The boats’ presence has encouraged a lot of the smugglers to turn back. But not all of them. A few are, well, ruthless. Ms. Delgatto got lucky this morning. If she had happened upon the captain of the boat that brought this group in or if she’d seen the pick-up vehicle, things could have gotten…”

  Lou didn’t need Fernandez to finish his sentence. He knew full well that a coyote would not have hesitated to shoot Cara. Human traffickers were brutal, driven only by the promise of rich rewards. A young woman and her dog were unwanted complications, easily disposed of.

  Fernandez let the implications hang in the air. Officer Mashler shuffled his feet.

  “Maybe you can speak to her, Lou. Suggest she confine her walks to areas where we have lifeguar
ds.”

  “I’m not sure that Cara will listen to me. She’s very strong-willed.”

  Fernandez gave Lou a crooked smile. “I should have guessed as much. Especially after you confirmed that she’s Dick Potter’s granddaughter. Does she have any idea about Dick’s past?”

  “No. At least, none that I know of. I doubt that he’s told her…all of it.”

  Brandon had been sitting as quietly as a lizard watching for gnats, but now he sprang to life. “What past?”

  “Later,” said Fernandez with a wave of his hand. “Brandon, you’re new here, so right now, what I want you to understand is that this stretch offers an ideal spot to bring criminals, drugs, and undocumented immigrants to our country. Or human cargo. Even foreign nationals. And Lou? That’s what we think we have here. Someone who is bringing warm bodies to our shores. Sure, it’s possible these are random landings. But I doubt it. We’ve had more than our fair share lately.”

  “Why?” Brandon leaned forward in his seat. His eyes snapped with interest. “I mean, isn’t it possible these are random groups of desperate people? They don’t act like anyone among them is in charge. Why don’t you think their landings are accidental?”

  “Your average undocumented immigrant can’t afford a 25-foot boat,” Lou said. “No way. Someone is behind this operation. Think about it. As a rule of thumb, people pay $1,000 per foot for a boat. That doesn’t include a trailer, maintenance, insurance, gas, or the captain. In fact, a captain is often paid $1,000 per foot. Of course, that’s a captain with experience who plans on bringing the souls on board and the boat back in one piece.”

  Fernandez nodded. “The Coast Guard stopped a 32-foot Chris-Craft speeding away from Peanut Island last week. They weren’t out for a midnight cruise. No, these boats are too big, too fast, and too well navigated. This smacks of organization.”