1 Margarita Nights (4 page)

I rooted around under the couch for my runners.

The lid slammed on the trash container. “If you are so over Jimmy, how come you’ve been sleeping alone this past year? You’re beautiful and single, yet there’s no man in your life,” he said, coming into the living room.

“Men are like going to the dentist. I want to know how much pain and trouble it’s going to be before I get involved.” I threw myself down on a wicker chair and pushed my feet into the runners. “Besides, a tattoo on your butt that says ‘Jimmy’s’ puts you a bit off your stride.”

“Oh, I’m sure you could get past that.” He sat down on the couch across from me. “And anyone can afford a divorce. Is it so hard to admit you still cared for the guy?”

I made a face. “Jimmy and I had our moments.” I planted a foot on the coffee table and yanked hard at my shoelaces. “It wasn’t all bad. Just mostly bad.” The laces were probably going to cut off my circulation. I’d go lame and be crippled for life. “Jimmy did teach me to play golf. I’m grateful for that. Well . . . ,” I gave him a broad wink, “. . . that and the other fun thing he taught me on the
Suncoaster
the summer I turned fifteen.” I slumped back against the cushions. “She was thirty-two feet of ivory fiberglass and mahogany trim. Her name was on the prow in elegant black script.” I sketched the name in the air.

“And as Katherine Hepburn said about another boat, ‘She was yar.’ What the hell do you suppose yar means anyway? But that’s what she was. Yar. And watching the
Suncoaster
fly before the wind out on the gulf was pure joy.” I sat up straight. “Now the boat is gone and so is Jimmy. I’m really going to miss that boat. But hey, look on the bright side, I still play scratch golf.”

Evan had his disapproving-grandma look on and couldn’t stop himself from saying, “You don’t mean that.”

“You didn’t know Jimmy.”

There was a flicker of something in his eyes before he looked away. “I did actually,” he said lightly. He picked at the rim of his cardboard coffee cup.

I sat perfectly still. “Where did you meet him?”

With a soft lift of his shoulders, he said, “He was popular guy and was invited to every party in town. I met him several times. I didn’t like to tell you.”

“Why?”

Again the soft lift of his shoulders. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“What happened, Evan?”

He started to deny it, and then he rubbed his hand across his mouth and gave a huge sigh. “Ab out a month ago Noble and I were out sailing. We anchored in the lea of Little Jose Island and were swimming in the nude when Jimmy sailed in. Jimmy knew Noble, of course, and understood the situation immediately.” Evan looked up at me. His jaw was set like granite. “He just got this big grin on his face like it was the best joke he’d ever heard. Noble has been terrified ever since, waiting for Jimmy to out us.” “Sooner or later it has to come out.”

“Yes, but not yet. Noble needs time. I don’t want him pushed into it.”

We had this discussion about a million times a day. I popped to my feet. “I’ve got a tee time.” I went to get my sunglasses off the counter.

“You’re going to play golf?” His voice went up an octave and his eyes grew round at this latest example of my poor social graces. Evan was my arbitrator of good taste and he’d been working hard to take off my rough edges, but even with all his hard work the Junior League wasn’t coming to call anytime soon.

“Today?”

“Why not?”

“It’s not a good idea.”

He looked so serious, I laughed. “You mean people will talk ’cause in polite society you don’t play golf the day after your husband is blown to Kingdom Come.”

“Not usually, at least not anywhere I’ve ever been.” He followed me to the door, still fussing over me. “You can be your own worst enemy sometimes. Stay home and we’ll hang out.”

I opened the front door and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “I wish I had a mamma just like you.”

I ran down the stairs, opened the car door, and slung my bag onto the passenger’s seat.

I looked back up at Evan leaning over the railing. “Oh, by the way, Cordelia came into the Sunset last night.” Spread the joy, I always say. “She thinks I’m having an affair with Noble.” Well, that should take his mind off my troubles.

I swung out on Airport Road and drove the two blocks to Main. Jeff had changed the radio from my normal Tampa Bay rock station to a golden oldies one, but I was too preoccupied to care. At Main the light changed just as I got there and I was making the left when some stupid song about a guy named Jimmy Mac coming back started playing on the radio. Then it hit me. Jimmy wasn’t coming back. The angry conviction that this was all a scam fled and I bumped up onto the center median and stopped with the ass end of my puke green Dodge hanging out in traffic. I couldn’t breathe.

A rush of traffic caught up to me. Cars with out-of-state license plates dodged around me, blasting their horns while I bawled and cursed them, not knowing who I hated more at that moment, the tourists or Jimmy. Hell, I wasn’t even sure if I was crying for Jimmy or myself, I only knew my life was never going to be the same again. Lost dreams, Styles had said. I sure as hell had a few.

When the light changed again, I eased carefully back out into traffic without killing anyone. By the time I hit Jacaranda Boulevard I was back to believing that the fraud artist I married was at it again. Call me Ms. Inconsistency if you like— you just had to know Jimmy to understand.

When I hit Raintree Avenue, I turned south without thinking, instead of north towards the golf course and pulled into Harry’s Diner. I saw Clay’s white Lexus parked out front before I realized why I was there. I left my sunglasses on and headed for the door.

Harry’s is a tiny place, one long counter with a dozen stools and about five tables pushed up against the outside wall. Left over from the fifties, the diner’s chrome shines from all its edges and a large glass pie shelf sits in the place of honor on the center of the counter.

I stepped inside and waited a moment while my eyes adjusted to the light. The buzz of conversation dropped and finally ceased. Clay Adams, always tuned to the world around him, glanced over his right shoulder to see what had caused the sudden silence. His eyes lit up when he saw me and a grin pulled at his lips. I crossed the black-and-white-tiled floor to the counter where he was having breakfast with Brian Spears.

“Bacon and eggs a re bad for you,” I told Clay as I slipped onto the red leatherette stool next to him.

He looked hard at me. Those sharp obsidian eyes always see more than you want them to. “Not doing so good, are you?”

“Says who?”

“Tough girl. If you were all right, you’d be on the golf course instead of here.”

“Damn. Can I use your cell phone? I need to cancel my tee time.” He reached into his suit jacket for his phone and handed it to me.

Clay went back to his breakfast while Brian studied me anxiously over Clay’s back as I made the call. Brian’s gray eyes are set deep in a fair-skinned face covered in sunspots from years of sailing. He shows up regularly with tape over the latest blemish he’s had removed. Even this early in the day Brian’s suit was rumpled and his tie was undone.

Clay is the exact opposite of Brian; with dark hair and skin, he is always meticulous about his person and perfectly presented no matter what hour of the day or night. Lean to the point of gaunt, there’s a hungry look about Clay that no food could ever satisfy, and his restless eyes always seem to be searching for something they can’t quite find.

Clay has never married, likely because he gets a bigger thrill seeing someone sign on the dotted line for one of his overpriced properties than he ever gets from seeing a woman in his bed. He lives to make deals. Seven days a week he’s buying and selling properties up and down the west coast of Florida, making his real estate company the biggest in the county.

Val arrived with a cup of coffee for me. “Sorry for your loss, honey,” she said, her plump brown face full of concern. She reached out and rubbed the back of my hand. “Sorry.”

“Thanks.” I had a hard time meeting her eye, uncomfortable and wanting to tell her that there was really nothing for her to be sorry about—it was just Jimmy being an ass again.

The silence around us was palpable now. Jacaranda is mostly a small town where everyone knows everyone else, except for the tourists, and they don’t count. Like one big family: acrimonious, battling and often nasty, but still family, so everyone had heard about the explosion on the
Suncoaster
and was feeling real sorry for me.

Only Clay seemed comfortable. He just went on neatly eating his artery-clogging breakfast without worrying if I was falling to pieces beside him.

“Can we go outside, guys?” I whispered. I wanted to get out of there before everyone in the diner started coming up to me one by one to express their condolences. “I need to talk.”

Clay pushed his plate away and threw some money on the counter. “See you tomorrow, Valentine,” he said and led the way to the door. Brian took my hand as we followed him out. Hand-holding wasn’t normally the kind of relationship Brian and I had. Our bond was more like insult and injury, so a big lump came up in my throat.

“What can I do?” Brian asked as the door closed behind us.

“Let’s sit in my car,” Clay suggested, leading the way.

I started by telling them about Styles. “The thing is . . . well, you know Jimmy.” I ran my index finger under my nose.

Clay pulled some tissues from a box in the glove compartment and held them out to me.

“You know all the things he’s done in the past. Get-rich projects with other peoples’ money. Selling things he didn’t own. This is just one more scheme, but I don’t know why.”

“Sherri,” Clay said, “denial is a normal part of grieving. I know it’s hard to believe he’s dead, but you have to know the police wouldn’t tell you this lightly.” Clay turned in his seat to look at Brian. “They must know Travis is dead, right Brian? They wouldn’t just say someone was dead if they didn’t have a body.”

Brian adjusted his glasses, thinking it over. “I wouldn’t think so, but from what I read in the paper there was an explosion and then a fire. How much would be left of him? Sorry, Sherri.” He patted my shoulder with his sausage-sized fingers.

“Do you think you can find out how certain they a re Travis was on board?” Clay asked.

“I know a few people. I’ll make some calls.” Clay turned back to me. “You just have to sit tight, Sherri, and wait ’til we know more.”

“If there was someone on the boat and it wasn’t Jimmy, who was it?” Saying my fears out loud made them real.

“We have to know that there was a body, before you start worrying about that,” Clay told me.

But I couldn’t wait. “Someone had to start the engine. I’m worried it might be Andy Crown. He’s Jimmy’s best friend. Jimmy takes him out on the Suncoaster a lot.” “Is he that paranoid guy?” Brian asked.

“Yeah.” Of all the other ways of describing Andy, like funny and clever, it had come down to this.

“I know the Crowns,” Brian said. “Nice people. Shame they got a kid like that.”

I swung violently around to face him. “Well, schizophrenia was no great present for Andy, either.” The look on his face stopped me. I slid down into the white leather. “Sorry, Brian.”

“It’s okay, kid.” He patted my shoulder again. “Only natural to be upset.”

All of this went right by Clay. He handed me his phone and said, “Call him.”

Clay switched on the ignition to roll down the windows while we waited. Andy didn’t answer. I slapped the phone shut. “No answer.”