From Beer to Eternity

by Sherry Harris

  As I started my car, I again pictured high-rises lining the beach where I ran. That would ruin Emerald Cove. I sure hoped Ivy was wrong. But if she wasn’t, that seemed like a motive for murder. It made me wonder about the councilman who was pushing for change. It seemed like he or she would be in danger too if that was the reason Elwell was killed.

  * * *

  I hadn’t gone very far when I realized a big pickup truck was following me. The lights glared in my rearview and side mirrors. It had turned out of the bar not long after I did. It was a straight shot from the bar to the light at 98. There I’d taken a left to head back across Okaloosa Island to Destin, and so had the truck. Of course, anyone wanting to go to Destin would have to go the exact same way, so maybe I was being paranoid. You didn’t grow up in a city like Chicago with two older brothers and concerned parents without multiple lectures about safety. So I was usually aware of who was around me in my car or on public transportation.

  After we passed bars, restaurants, the Gulfarium—billed as a marine adventure park—and hit the more-deserted stretch, the pickup sped up. I hoped it was going to pass on the left, but instead, it almost crawled up my bumper. My Beetle had never seemed smaller. Well, maybe the night I’d slept in it. What the heck was this guy doing? I hated tailgaters.

  I knew I couldn’t outrun such a big vehicle, so I slowed down a bit at a time, hoping they’d get bored enough that they’d find someone their own size to pick on. Instead of going around, they stuck with me. Backing off a little. Just enough that I thought I saw two cowboy hats silhouetted in the cab of the truck.

  Was that the guys from the bar? Why would those two follow me? Had Ivy sent them after me? Maybe one of them was the boyfriend Leah had mentioned. Or was it my big mouth telling them their pickup line was weird? I wiped a damp palm on my shorts and tried to relax my grip on the steering wheel.

  When we hit the bridge on the East Pass, they came up beside me. Their truck was so high and my car so low that I couldn’t see who was in the passenger seat. As I lifted my foot to hit the brakes, they swung over toward me. Oh no. I swerved right, coming perilously close to the guardrail. Glimpsed the deep water below. The truck edged closer.

  CHAPTER 21

  Back off. What was wrong with these guys? I was either going to be squished or forced off the bridge. Or both. I scanned my rearview mirror. No one was directly behind me, although I could see lights in the distance. I slammed on my brakes. The pickup shot forward, grazing the rails of the bridge before swinging back into the left lane and accelerating off.

  I sat for a moment almost hyperventilating, working my fingers loose from the grip I’d had on the steering wheel. I could see cars approaching in my rearview mirror. I wanted to stay here for a while, getting up my nerve to drive. But I was an accident waiting to happen.

  I slowly sped up as the cars behind me drew closer. Ivy. If she thought Vivi killed her dad, she had no reason to send someone after me. But she had told me about the plans for developing Emerald Cove. Maybe no one was supposed to know, and she realized her mistake. Even as the thought chilled me, it also made me more determined to find out what was going on.

  A few minutes later, I passed the parking lots at McGuire’s Irish Pub on the left and the Emerald Grande on the right. They were packed. Now 98 was full of traffic. It made me feel better. Safer. Though each time I saw a pickup—and there were lots of them—panic started to creep through me. But pickups were popular in this area. If the South ever rose again, they’d do it in monster trucks.

  Through this part of Destin, 98 was a four-lane road, but not divided like it was to the east and west. Businesses, from glass companies to souvenir shops to restaurants, lined the roads. The harbor, with its famed fishing fleet, was to my right. Lights twinkled off the water, and groups of people roamed around. I leaned back against the seat. I hadn’t even realized I’d scooted up during the chase. If it was one. Maybe it was just a couple of jerks who liked scaring other drivers and nothing to do with me. My car had out-of-state plates. Some natives didn’t like all the tourists who invaded this time of year. I relaxed a little but kept a watchful eye out as I drove by AJ’s.

  After passing Big Kahuna’s, a popular water park, I noticed a truck behind me again. My heart pounded harder than the bass of the rock music at the Crow’s Nest. My grip tightened on the steering wheel again. At least there was plenty of traffic here. And that traffic gave me an opportunity for some evasive maneuvers. I wanted to see if this was just some random truck, or if my “friends” from the bar were back. They could have easily parked in a lot in Destin and waited for me to pass. The bad part of having a vintage Beetle was, it stood out.

  If I’d learned anything driving in Chicago, it was how to cut someone off and how to weave in and out of traffic lanes. I didn’t know Destin well enough yet to go off on side roads. Which ones dead ended or led to quiet, dark street was a mystery to me. Sticking to 98, with its businesses and traffic seemed smartest. A light in front of me changed to yellow. I accelerated through it, as did the truck behind me. Sugar.

  I cut over in front of the minivan in the left lane, silently apologizing as I did. The truck sucked in behind the minivan. I dodged back over to the right lane in front of a sedan and back again two cars farther up. Screw whoever was on the bridge. I wasn’t going to let them scare me. I’d use the skills I had to keep me safe.

  Amazingly, not one person honked at me. I hoped they weren’t all on their phones, reporting an erratic driver with Illinois plates. Or maybe I did hope a sheriff’s deputy would show up, because I was more than a little freaked out. I didn’t remember seeing a sheriff station or fire department around here. Stopping at any other business seemed risky. My companions could just lie in wait for me to come out.

  Eventually, I lost them, or thought I lost them, or they weren’t after me in the first place. The truck on the bridge could just have been someone texting. Distracted drivers were the worst. I drove around the circle in Emerald Cove, catching my breath. The shop windows were dark. Even the diner was closed. No trucks. No anyone. No kids hanging out in the town circle, although why hang there when there were miles of beaches to spend time on?

  A few minutes later, I pulled into Boone’s house. So dark. So quiet, except for bugs and frogs and the whoo of an owl. So strange for a city girl like me. Once inside, I poured a glass of wine and went out on the screened porch. After settling on the porch swing, I took a few deep breaths. The salt air was calming. As was the wine. Had I really poked a bear, so to speak? When?

  I’d asked a lot of questions the last few days. Tried to overhear a lot of conversations in the bar. I’d been too obvious. My trips to the three heritage businesses—the trolley, the grocery store, and the boat—seemed casual enough, at least to me. Maybe not so much if you were a murderer and thought someone was nosing around. Someone killed Elwell and maybe just tried to kill me. I should pack up and head home.

  But with Vivi going off with Deputy Biffle again today and Ivy’s promise to see her fry, I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t leave Vivi to fend for herself. Especially not when I was living in Boone’s house. I may not have been in love with Boone, but I loved him, and he’d been counting on me. I couldn’t let him down after what I’d heard tonight.

  The beach was deserted. The moon covered by clouds. Off in the distance, far out over the ocean, lightning streaked cloud to Gulf. I was too far away to hear any rumbles of thunder, but the light show was spectacular. It reinforced the situation I found myself in. Something was going on, but it wasn’t close enough for me to figure out. I finished my wine. There was nothing further I could do tonight. But I didn’t leave the slider open to listen to the Gulf. I made sure it, and everything else, was locked up tight.

  * * *

  Friday morning brought a pouring rain. The beachgoers would be unhappy, but the shop owners would be delighted, as their stores would fill with restless tourists. I showed up at the Sea Glass early, antsy because I hadn’t done an eveni
ng run last night or one this morning. Joaquín was already there.

  “Where’s Vivi?” I asked.

  “She said she’d be in later.” Joaquín looked a little worried again.

  “Is that unusual for her?” I was still too new to know. At least she wasn’t in jail.

  “Yes. Until you found Elwell murdered, she always opened. She knew with the marine warnings out this morning that I wouldn’t be out fishing, so she could come in late.”

  “Someone followed me last night.” I blurted it out. I hadn’t meant to, but it obviously scared me more than I wanted to admit. “They tried to run me off the road on the Destin Bridge.”

  “What?” Joaquín raised his eyebrows at me. “Does this have anything to do with your errand last night? I pictured you picking up milk or getting gas. What were you up to?”

  Can. Worms. Opened. “I went to the Crow’s Nest to check out Ivy.”

  “The Crow’s Nest?” If Joaquín’s voice went any higher, he could audition for soprano at the Lyric Opera of Chicago. “The Ivy who used to work here?” He muttered something in Spanish that sounded like ay, chihuahua. Maybe I needed to learn more Spanish.

  “Girl, have you lost your ever-lovin’ mind?”

  “I don’t think so.” I stood a little straighter. “Vivi’s in trouble. She’s been questioned by the sheriff’s department. I can either sit around waiting for things to fall apart or I can try to help.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Joaquín asked.

  “Because of Boone. Before he left for Afghanistan, he made me promise to come help out here if anything ever happened to him.” I did some rapid blinking to fight back tears. “In my family, we don’t renege on promises. No matter what, I can’t let Boone down.”

  Joaquín came over and rubbed my left arm. “Chloe. Honey. You don’t have to keep a promise to a dead man.”

  I threw myself against Joaquín’s chest, and he wrapped his strong arms around me. “Yes. I. Do. And if part of that is making sure Vivi stays out of jail, I’ll do it.”

  “You can’t put aside your personal safety,” Joaquín said.

  I stepped back away from him and ran a hand through my short brown hair. “I’ll be careful. But obviously, I’ve done something. Struck a nerve, hit a chord, stirred up a wasp’s nest. Pick your cliché.”

  “I don’t like the thought of you staying at Boone’s house. It’s too isolated. Why don’t you come stay with Michael and me for a few nights? The boat isn’t huge, but the dining table collapses to make a bed.”

  “Or you could come stay in the big house with me.”

  Joaquín and I jumped at the sound of Vivi’s voice. Vivi stood by the kitchen door. Keys dangling from one hand and a red designer purse from the other. When did she come in, and how much had she overheard? Her expression was different from usual as she looked at me. Part concern, part her usual imperious look, and part anger. Anger at me or the situation—I wasn’t sure.

  Vivi’s offer was a shocker. I couldn’t imagine taking her up on it, no matter how scared I was. “No, thank you. I’m fine at Boone’s. I like being there. It makes me feel close to him.” I fought back tears again. I missed him. “Besides, Ann fixed the back door and put on a better lock.”

  “Ann Williams?” Vivi asked.

  “Yes. Joaquín told me she’s a handyman/woman, or whatever you call someone.”

  “Joaquín?” I heard a hint of mirth in Vivi’s voice.

  Joaquín looked mystified.

  “I told her to send the bill to me,” I added.

  “I told you she fixes things,” Joaquín said.

  “Exactly,” I answered. “And very efficiently too. The toilet was running the other day, and she fixed that too.”

  “You asked her to fix the toilet?” Joaquín said.

  “She was in here reading, and it was running, so yes.” I paused. “Oh, she might have been on a break and wouldn’t want to be interrupted. I should have thought of that. Does she have a card, so I can call in the future when something’s broken?”

  “I’ll give it to you,” Joaquín said, looking at Vivi.

  Vivi made a bit of a choking sound. “I’ll add the toilet repair to her bill.”

  Vivi must have Ann on some kind of retainer to fix things when they broke. I looked out front. The rain had stopped, and some bikini-clad girls were peering in the still-locked doors. “I’ll let them in,” I said.

  “Wait, just a second. Let’s sit down tonight after we close and see if we can figure out what you said or did that got you in trouble,” Vivi said.

  Joaquín and I agreed. Vivi must have overheard most of my conversation with Joaquín about why I was really here. She offered to let me stay with her. Maybe Vivi didn’t hate me after all.

  CHAPTER 22

  Joaquín took a break at two. A well-deserved one, considering how busy we’d been. But Joaquín’s breaks made me nervous. I still had no idea how to make most drinks.

  A college-age/surfer-dude/frat-boy type swaggered up to the bar. Please, let him want a beer.

  “I’d like a mojito.” Oh no. That was one of those drinks that might seem simple to a customer but seemed complicated to me.

  “I need to see your ID.” I pointed to a sign that said everyone under forty would be carded.

  The guy gave me an exaggerated sigh and dug out his ID. He just made it. He’d been legal for a whole month. Little did this guy know that sheriff’s deputies posing as underaged drinkers came in on occasion, according to Joaquín, to see if we were carding people. Joaquín had once seen a bartender in New York City handcuffed and paraded down a street. I didn’t want to risk it and carded almost everyone.

  I went to the corner of the bar and turned my back to the frat boy so I could look up the recipe. I read through a few and chose the one that sounded the easiest. A mojito only had five ingredients: fresh lime juice, superfine sugar, fresh mint, white rum, and club soda. I found a Collins glass and added the sugar and the lime juice, stirring until it dissolved. Next, I ran the mint around the rim of the glass. Ack. The next step was muddling. What was it with drinks and muddling? I found the stainless-steel muddler I’d seen Joaquín use. He said it was more sanitary than wood ones, although bartenders argued over which was better. The recipe called for twelve mint leaves. Why twelve? What would happen if I only put in eleven, or if I accidently put in thirteen? Would the world end? Would the drink be ruined?

  I muddled the mint with the lime juice/sugar mixture. After that, I added the ice, rum, and club soda. This recipe suggested a stirring time of fifteen seconds. Again with the specifics. I couldn’t quite see how exactly fifteen seconds would impact the flavor, but I counted one Mississippi, two Mississippi as I stirred. Vivi had insisted we add a piece of sugarcane as garnish along with mint. All of it left my hands sticky, but the mojito looked perfect.

  I finally finished and took the drink over to my surfer dude. He took a sip.

  “It doesn’t taste like the one I had on my last cruise,” he said.

  I shrugged. Making two cocktails taste exactly the same was almost impossible. From the recipes I’d read, some used simple syrup instead of dissolving sugar in lime juice. Some used Rose’s lime instead of real lime juice. There were hundreds of kinds of rum from cheap to rare. It seemed like it was almost impossible to duplicate drinks from another bar. It’s why complaints like this drove bartenders crazy, or so I’d recently learned.

  The guy picked up the drink, paid, and walked off without leaving a tip. But I didn’t have time to worry about it because a line of impatient, couldn’t-wait-for-me-to-get-to-their-table drinkers had formed. Fortunately, I had a lot of beer, wine, and rum and Coke drinkers. All of those I could handle myself without problems. By the time Joaquín returned, the line was taken care of and I was feeling pretty good about myself.

  * * *

  I took a break and went for a walk along the waterline. The rain had cleared and left the air heavy and damp. Sunburned kids were building sandcastles
while tired-looking parents were eyeing the people lying on lounge chairs under umbrellas with envy. I’d never been one for lying out in the sun. Heck, my skin was so pale, I could probably lay on the sand and blend right in. I liked being by the water or on the water but not just sitting or lying there. I walked along the water to the inlet and then headed up to walk back along the marina.

  As I did, I spotted Rhett walking toward me. He was walking with his head down and obviously had something on his mind by the way he was frowning. I stuck to the far side of the walkway, not wanting to bother him, wondering if he could hear my heartbeat rattling harder than the “L” rattled windows in Chicago. Down, girl.

  “Chloe,” he said, looking up as he neared.

  “Hey.” Odd. I didn’t use “hey” as a greeting in Chicago. I’d always been a “hi” or “hello” kind of gal. But people down here said “hey” a lot.

  “I see you haven’t drowned yourself.”

  If he only knew. I smiled. “No yet.” We looked at each other—awkwardly, in my opinion.

  “Chloe—”

  “I’ve got to get back to work.”

  “How’s Vivi?” he called as I set off.

  I whirled around. Had he heard something? “Fine as far as I know. Have you heard anything?” He’d been pretty chummy with the dispatcher Delores the day I found Elwell. He might have information that was helpful. I did a wide-eyed thing that had always been effective on men.

  “Why don’t you have dinner with me and I can fill you in?”

  The wide eyes worked every time. “I have to work.”

  “No dinner break?”

  I hadn’t really been taking one. I’d been bringing something to eat on the fly. The place was busy. “Tourist season.” Plus, there was the whole feud thing between the Slidells and the Barnetts. It seemed like Vivi had just warmed up to me a bit and I didn’t want to lose momentum.