by Blake Crouch
Letty sipped her drink. The vodka was nearly flavorless in her mouth, with a slight peppery burn going down.
“That’s very good.” She set her glass on the coffee table.
“We need to have a conversation,” James said.
“Okay.”
“You’re aware of who your client is?”
“Mr. Estrada explained everything to me.”
“This is a very important night for Mr. Fitch.”
“I understand that.”
“And you’re here for one reason, Ms. Kitt. To make it as special and as memorable as it can possibly be.” Letty was nodding and trying to find a window to break eye contact. But James’s stare held her. She couldn’t help feeling they were the eyes of a cop. Hopefully an ex-cop. “There are a few topics of conversation that are off-limits,” he continued. “You are not to bring up the case against Mr. Fitch, his trial or his conviction in any way. You are not to discuss his sentence or anything relating to the prison term he’s facing.”
“Okay.”
“You will not discuss anything you’ve read in the papers or on the Internet. You will not discuss your view of his guilt or innocence.”
“I have no views. No opinions whatsoever.”
“Now I need you to stand up for a minute.”
“Why?”
“Just do it, please.”
Letty uncrossed her legs and stood.
James got up as well and faced her.
“Hold your arms out.”
“Are you frisking me?”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing. Mr. Fitch has received numerous death threats since the case against him was filed.”
“And you think I’m hiding something in this itty-bitty dress?”
“Hold your arms out horizontal to the floor.”
Letty did as she was told and stared out the window while James patted her down, his hands roving over every nook and cranny.
“Jesus, at least buy me dinner first.”
“All right, you can sit, but I will need to search your purse.”
Letty handed over the Louis Vuitton.
The yacht exited the marina. The engines roared to life as they throttled out into open water. She could feel the tension in her gut ratcheting up a notch. Having never learned to swim, being surrounded by water always made her uneasy.
She tried not to watch too intently as James opened the handbag. He removed the contents, one at a time, and lined them up on the coffee table.
Lipstick.
Mascara.
Package of Kleenex.
Hotel keycard.
He paused as he lifted out the mini spray bottle.
“What’s this?” he asked.
Letty’s heart stomped in her chest.
“Just what it says. Breath freshener.”
James held it up to the light and read the label. “Watermelon?”
“Try it, if you like.”
James let slip a tight smile and set the bottle on the table. Then he dumped out the remaining items—a condom, a mirror, brush, gum and two hair bands.
“You left your cell phone. Good.”
James held the interior of the handbag up to the window so the sunlight could strike the black textile lining.
After a moment of close inspection, he handed her the bag and said, “I apologize for the intrusion. We should be arriving in less than twenty minutes.”
James walked out of the salon. She heard him talking quietly into his cell phone.
Letty returned everything to her purse and settled back into the sofa with her glass. She sipped her drink and turned her thoughts to this man she would be spending the coming hours with. From everything she’d read, including the verdict forms, Fitch was a monster. His conspiracy and fraud had resulted in the bankruptcy of PowerTech. Fifteen thousand employees had lost their jobs. Many had lost their life savings. Investors in PowerTech had lost billions.
Throughout his prosecution, Fitch had maintained that he just wanted the chance to tell his story. But at crunch time on the witness stand, he’d invoked the Fifth Amendment to avoid self-incrimination.
The yacht hummed along at forty knots, skimming the water like a blade across ice.
Key West was nothing but a blurred line of green on the horizon.
Out here, there was nothing but the sea, in all its varying hues of blue and jade. Its surface sparkled. The horizon was sprinkled with tiny islands. The sky shone a deep, cloudless blue. It was early evening. They cruised straight into a red and watery sun.
Letty could feel the vodka buzz coming on like a soft warmth behind her eyes. A numbness in her legs. For a fleeting second, everything seemed so impossibly surreal.
This yacht.
This thing she was about to do.
This life she lived.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The sea in the vicinity of Fitch’s island was shallow. His dock extended seventy-five yards out from the shore into water deep enough to berth a boat.
Letty followed James out of the salon onto the stern.
A tall thin man stood on the last plank of the dock. He was throwing squid into the sea, his gray hair blowing in the breeze. He wore a white, long-sleeved shirt unbuttoned to his sternum. White Dockers. Leather sandals. He was darkly tanned. He finished rinsing off his hands under a faucet mounted to the end of the wharf and dried them with a towel as Letty approached. Reaching down, he gave her a hand up onto the dock. He was even taller than she’d first thought. Six-two. Maybe six-three. He smelled of an exotic cologne—sandalwood, spice, jasmine, lime, money.
The man still hadn’t let go of her hand. His fingers were cool and moist, as soft as silk.
“Welcome to Sunset Key, Selena. Please call me Johnny.”
She could hear Texas in his voice, but it wasn’t overbearing. Houston drawl by way of an Ivy League education. She stared up into his face. Smooth-shaven. No glasses. Perfect teeth. He didn’t look sixty-six years old.
“It’s beautiful here, Johnny,” she said.
“I like to think so. But it pales in comparison to you. They broke the mold.”
Letty’s eyes riveted on what he’d been feeding—gray fins slicing through the water.
“Sand sharks,” Fitch said. “Not to worry. Totally harmless. They like the reefs for protection. A mother and her pups.”
He offered his arm. They walked down the long dock. Letty could see the cupola of a house peeking above the scrub oak that covered the island. According to the blueprints and to Javier, that was Fitch’s office.
“How was your ride over?” Fitch asked.
“Wonderful. Your yacht is amazing.”
“Part of my midlife crisis, some would say.”
Letty glanced back over her shoulder.
James and the unnamed driver followed at a respectful distance.
“Don’t give them another thought,” Fitch said. “I know James searched you, and I apologize for that barbarous invasion, but it couldn’t be helped.”
“It was no big deal,” she said.
“Well, you’re my guest now.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Letty said. “You’ve lived here long?”
“Back in my former life, I was primarily based in Houston. I also had a winter place in Aspen. An apartment in Manhattan. Of course, those are gone now. But I bought this key twenty-two years ago when it was fourteen acres of unspoiled paradise. Designed the house myself. It was always my favorite. There’s a view of the sea from every room.”
They went ashore.
A man of fifty or so stood waiting for them in khaki slacks and a short-sleeved button-down.
“Selena, this is Manuel, my caretaker and steward. He’s been with me
for…how long, Manuel?”
“Since you buy island. I live here almost twenty-two years.”
Fitch said, “Before we go to the house, I thought we’d take a walk on the beach.” He kicked off his sandals.
Manuel turned to Letty. “If you give me shoes, I take them up to house for you.”
Letty leaned over and unfastened her pumps. She stepped out and handed them to Manuel.
“And your purse?”
“I think I’ll hang on to this.”
Fitch said, “Thank you, Manuel.”
“Very good, sir.”
“You’re leaving for Key West when Angie goes?”
“Yes, I go with her.”
“Take care, my old friend.”
Letty and Fitch walked barefoot up a man-made beach.
“Manuel came over on a raft. Half of them died. Sends his paychecks back to Havana. He’s an honorable man. Loyal. He’ll never have to work again after tomorrow. He doesn’t know this yet.”
The sand was soft and stark white and still warm from the sun. There was no surf, no waves. No boats within earshot. Letty could hear the sound of leaves rustling, a bird singing in the interior of the island, and little else. The water was bright green.
Fitch picked up a shell before Letty stepped on it.
He said, “Down on the seashore I found a shell,/Left by the tide in its noonday swell/Only a white shell out of the sea,/Yet it bore sweet memories up to me/Of a shore where brighter shells are strown,/Where I stood in the breakers, but not alone.”
“That’s lovely,” Letty said.
They moved on up the shore. It seemed that with every passing second, the sun expanded, its pool of light coloring a distant reef of clouds.
“It’s why I chose the Keys, you know,” Fitch said. “Best sunsets in the world. Ah. Here we are.” They had reached the tip of the island. A pair of adirondack chairs waited in the sand under the shade of a coconut palm. They faced west, an ice bucket and a small, wooden box between them.
Letty and Fitch crossed the sand to the chairs. The sunset spread across the horizon like a range of orange mountains. There was no wind. The water was as still as glass.
Letty glanced down at the box. The top had been stamped:
HEIDSIECK & CO. MONOPOLE
GOÛT AMÉRICAIN
VINTAGE 1907
NO. 1931
Fitch pulled an unlabeled bottle out of the ice water. He held it to the fading light. The glass was green and scuffed. He went to work opening it.
Letty said, “Special. Even has its own box.”
“This bottle was on its way to the Russian royal family when the boat carrying it was torpedoed by Germans. What must have gone through those young sailors’ minds? It took a half hour. They knew, for a half hour, they were going to die and could do nothing to stop it. Nothing but wait and watch the minutes slide.”
“In what year?”
“Nineteen-sixteen. The vintage is nineteen-oh-seven, which makes this—”
“Ninety-eight years old?”
He nodded.
“Oh my god.”
“It was recovered from the wreck seven years ago. The bottles were perfectly preserved at the bottom of the ocean. Notable not only for the rarity and the history—as it turns out, the wine itself is quite excellent. I bought one for a special occasion. I’d say tonight qualifies. Would you get the glasses, please?”
Letty reached into the box and lifted out two crystal flutes.
“Go ahead and ask,” Fitch said as he struggled with the cork.
“Ask what?”
He worked it out so slowly, there was no pop. Just a short hiss as the pressure released. The cork crumbled in his hand. He held the opening of the bottle to her nose.
It smelled like perfume.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“Gorgeous.”
Fitch took a whiff himself and then began to pour.
“So ask,” he said. “It won’t offend me.”
“What?”
“What I paid.”
“That would be rude.”
“But you want to know.”
With her glass full, Letty smelled it again, the carbonation bubbles misting her nose.
“All right. What’d you pay, Johnny?”
“Two hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars. Here’s to you,” he said.
She didn’t even know how to comprehend such a figure…for a single bottle of wine!
“To you, Johnny.”
They clinked glasses.
The champagne was amazing.
“I want to know your passion, Selena.”
“My passion?”
“What is it that most excites you in this life? What is your prime mover? Your reason for being here?”
“Prada.”
This got a huge laugh.
“Money can’t buy you happiness, darling. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
“But it affords your own brand of misery.”
“You’re a lively one, Selena. That’s good. Real good. Let’s sit back and enjoy, shall we?” Fitch said. “This is going to be a night for the senses.”
Letty leaned back in her chair. “That’s the prettiest sunset I’ve ever seen,” she said.
“I’m just glad it didn’t rain.” Fitch laughed, but there was a sadness in it.
All the color went out of the sky.
“Where are you from, Selena?” Fitch asked.
Letty had only had two glasses, but she felt good. Too good. “A little bit of everywhere. I guess I don’t really think of any one place as home.”
Fitch looked over at her. He patted her hand.
“I know this must be a strange deal for you,” he said.
“It’s not.”
“You’re kind to say that, but…” He stared out across the sea. With the sun gone, there were only shades of blue. “I’m just really glad you’re here tonight.”
* * *
They walked toward the house on a sandy path that cut through the heart of the island.
Letty held Fitch’s hand.
“You have a real sweetness about you, Selena,” he said. “Reminds me of my wife.”
“You miss her? No, I’m sorry. That’s not my business.”
“It’s all right. I brought her up. Yeah, I miss her. She left me a year and a half ago.”
“Before your trial.”
“Go through something like this, you find out real quick who your friends are. It’s not always your kin. Only real loyalty I’ve seen is from Manuel and my lawyers. Both of whom I pay. So what does that tell you? Two of my sons won’t speak to me. My youngest only communicates by email. I understand to a point, I guess. I’ve put them through a lot. Do you have children, Selena?”
“I have a son,” Letty said before it even crossed her mind to lie.
“Is he in your life?”
“He’s not.”
Through the underbrush, Letty caught a glimpse of house lights in the distance.
Fitch said, “But is there anything he could do that would make you stop loving him?”
“No.”
“Anything that would make you willingly abandon him?”
“Absolutely not.”
“I suppose our kids don’t love us quite like we love them.”
“I hope that’s not true.”
“I’ve had my fair share of company over to the island. You’re different, Selena.”
“I hope you mean that in a good way.”
Fitch stopped. He turned and faced her and pulled her body into his.
“I mean it in the best way.”
It took her by surpris
e when he leaned down for a kiss.
Not the kiss itself, but the pang of guilt that ripped through her like a razor-tipped arrow.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The house was a large gray box set on foundation piers. It had long eaves and wraparound decks on the first and second levels. Extensive latticework enclosed the space under the stairs. Letty spotted rafts and plastic sand-castle molds. Snorkeling gear. Life jackets. Beach toys that she imagined hadn’t been touched in years.
She and Fitch rinsed the sand off their feet at the bottom of the stairs.
Halfway up, Letty could already smell supper cooking.
As they walked through the door, Fitch called out, “Smells wonderful, Angie!”
Letty followed him into an open living space. Hardwood floors. Exposed timber beams high above. The walls covered in art deco. A giant marlin had been mounted over the fireplace. A live jazz album whispered in the background. There were candles everywhere. The bulbs in the track lighting shone down softer than starlight.
“You have a lovely home, Johnny.”
Letty spotted James and another man walking down a corridor. She and Fitch passed a spiral staircase. They arrived at a granite bar that ran the length of the gourmet kitchen. A stocky woman in a chef coat slid something into a double oven. She wiped her brow on her sleeve and came over.
“Selena, meet Angie,” Fitch said.
“Hello,” Letty said.
“Angie is head chef at a Michelin-starred restaurant in Paris. I flew her over to prepare something special for tonight. How’s it coming, Angie?”
“I can bring out starters whenever you’re ready.”
Fitch glanced at Letty. “Hungry?”
“Starving.”
“We’re ready,” he said.
“How about wine?”
“Yes, I think we’d like to have some wine. You decanted everything I showed you?”
“They’re in the cellar, ready to go. What would you like to start with?”
“Bring out the nineteen-ninety Petrus, the ’eighty-two Château Lafite Rothschild and the ’forty-seven Latour a Pomerol.”
“Quite a lineup,” Angie said.
