The Dark of Day (9 page)

She stayed just close enough not to lose them. Her gray Camry was as invisible a car as existed, but it had a six-cylinder, turbocharged engine and racing shocks. A couple of miles farther on, the Shelbys' car slowed at a light, then turned north on Riviera Drive. Here in Coral Gables, banyan trees met over the narrow streets and traffic thinned out. Riviera curved right, but the Cadillac went straight on to Biltmore. Judy slowed as its brake lights flared. The Caddy paused at a low, vine-covered wall on the left, waiting for a gate to slide back.

Judy cruised by the house, a sprawling, two-story mansion with a red tile roof and a fountain. She caught a glimpse of the older couple getting out and quickly did a U-turn at the end of the block and parked in someone's driveway with her lights off. When the Cadillac reappeared, she followed it back to South Dixie.

Through the usual heavy Friday-night traffic she kept her eyes on the Caddy's taillights. The driver maintained a steady pace, going the speed limit, signaling before changing lanes, a real Eagle Scout. He cruised past the University of Miami and took a left on Red Road, due south, into narrower streets and heavier foliage. Judy fell back.

They went over a bridge and toward a landscaped traffic circle. As she'd expected, the Cadillac went around, heading toward the low illuminated sign that marked the waterfront subdivision of Cocoplum, where the Shelbys lived. At the guard shack a gate arm went up. Judy kept going around
to the small parking area near the bridge, which overlooked a canal. She turned off her lights, slid down in her seat, and adjusted the rearview.

Ten minutes later headlights approached the exit lane, and the gate went up. A dark blue Audi appeared. The side windows were tinted, but the light from the guard shack shone through the windshield. When the Audi had gone around the circle and over the bridge, Judy put her car into gear.

Heading north on Dixie Highway he picked up speed to fifteen miles over the limit, like everyone else. At Twenty-Seventh, he slowed as the light turned yellow, then whipped around another car and blew through the red light.

Caught by the car ahead of her, Judy watched the taillights on the Audi getting smaller. When the light turned green, she gunned the engine and zigzagged through traffic, but he was gone.

She hit the steering wheel and laughed out loud. “Damn. You're good.”

after two tries on the doorbell, Kylie stepped off the front porch and walked around to the side of the house. The only car under the portico was a twenty-year-old Buick sedan. She had come all this way for nothing. She hadn't called first because it would have been too easy for C.J. to say no on the phone.

She heard a noise from behind the house. It sounded like an electric saw. Kylie followed a mossy brick path to a gate, looked through the bars, and saw shade trees, an arbor with hanging baskets of orchids, and, beyond that, a stucco cottage painted the same white as the main house. A power cord came out the screen door of the cottage, down the steps, and over to the back wall, which Kylie couldn't see from where she stood.

The saw started up again. She tried the latch. It opened.

A long ladder reached the second floor, and a skinny man in a straw hat stood near the top holding a jigsaw against a PVC pipe coming out of the wall. Bits of white plastic flew everywhere. He turned off the saw, hung it on an S-hook, and brushed off the end of the pipe.

Kylie stepped closer. “Excuse me? Sir?”

The straw hat turned. Under the brim she could make out a pair of thick glasses, a small gray mustache, and a face lined with wrinkles. “We're not buying anything.”

“I'm looking for C.J. Dunn. This is her house, isn't it?”

“Yep.”

“Is she home?”

“Not right now. And who might you be?”

“Kylie Willis. My mother is a friend of hers.”

He nodded slowly. “Seems I've heard the name.”

“Will Ms. Dunn be back?”

“I expect so. She lives here.” He reached into a bucket hanging off another hook and took out a short piece of pipe with a ninety-degree angle. “Said she'd be here about nine o'clock. You're free to wait.”

With a sigh, Kylie sat on the bench under the tree. She checked her watch: ten minutes past. A breeze came through, cooling her bare arms and legs. She took off her glasses and cleaned them on the hem of her T-SHIRT. Five minutes ago, getting out of her borrowed car, she had seen how the street came to a dead end at the water, with a little park at the turnaround, the kind of street she'd live on if she had the money.

“Dad-drat it!” The old man stared down at the grass. “Girl! Get that for me, will you? That little can of PVC cement.”

Kylie put her glasses back on, found the can, and went up the ladder. “What are you doing?”

“Diverting water from the shower drain to that barrel there.” He unscrewed the cap and painted glue around the end of the pipe coming out of the wall, then daubed the brush into the angled connector. “We're in a drought, in case you hadn't noticed. We used to have dry spells, but not like this.”

“Global warming,” she said, going down the ladder again.

“No! It's too many idiots moving down here. Greed. Stupidity. We're paying the price now, boy-oh-boy, are we. When I was your age, Miami was a paradise. Pure spring water bubbled right up through the aquifer into Biscayne Bay. There were rapids in the Miami River, till they blew it up with dynamite and dredged it. Bet you didn't know that, did you?”

He pressed the connector onto the end of the pipe, grunting, then reached into the bucket again and came out with a red-handled valve on a threaded piece. He screwed the piece into the connector. “Now give me the hose. It's over there, by the barrel.”

He pointed toward a blue plastic barrel lying on its side under a window. She couldn't see into the house; the blinds were closed. She picked up the coil of two-inch-diameter black hose lying in the grass and carried it up the ladder. The man slid it over the pipe, off and on. The uncoiled hose reached nearly to the ground.

She said, “An O-ring might work.”

He reached into the bucket and came out with a shiny metal ring. “Like this?” He found a screwdriver and went to work.

“Why do you have a valve on it?”

“If it rains, we don't need the water, do we?”

“But if you close the valve, won't the shower overflow?”

“You're pretty smart for your age.”

She put a hand on her hip. “I'm seventeen.”

“No kidding.” He finished with the clamp, let go, and tossed his screwdriver into the bucket. “It won't overflow. I installed a float and a shutoff valve in there. When the water rises too far, it goes back into the main pipe. I've got it all worked out.”

“Sounds good,” Kylie said.

“I'm glad it meets with your approval.” He put the saw into the bucket and lowered it by a rope. “Hold the ladder, I'm coming down.” He took one step at a time as she steadied the ladder. Flecks of paint dotted his scuffed work boots and his loose khaki pants. He wiped his face with a bandanna, which he folded neatly and stuffed into his pocket.

Stooping down to see her through his glasses, he said, “My name's Edgar Dunn.” He reached out a big, veiny hand, and she shook it.

“Are you Ms. Dunn's father?”

“No, her husband's uncle. We're not blood kin. She was married to my nephew, Elliott. He passed away. His heart, only forty years old. Damn shame. Are you thirsty? Want some cold apple juice?”

“All right. Thank you.”

He picked up the bucket, and she followed him up the steps of the cottage. He opened the screen door for her. Kylie said, “I'll just wait out here.”

“Sure, have a seat,” he said.

“Holy shit!” A huge green reptile with curved claws on its feet lay on the other end of the porch. Spikes stuck up from its skull and ran down its scaly back and tail. Its eye socket rotated toward her. It opened its mouth and hissed. Kylie backed up a few steps.

“Sorry for cussing.” She glanced at the old man. “What is that thing?”

“An iguana. Name's Iggy. They're not native. I reckon somebody let him go when he got too big. He showed up one day with a bite out of him. The vet wanted to put him down, but C.J. wouldn't hear of it. She has a soft spot for strays. Iggy's only got three legs. We feed him good. He won't hurt you.”

The old man went inside, and the iguana closed its eyes.

Looking through the screen door, Kylie could see wood floors, an old sofa and armchair. A fan whirred in an open window, lifting the curtains. She sat on the top step and looked across the yard to the main house. Blue-and-white-striped awnings shaded the windows on the second floor, and the back porch had been screened in. A cat lay on a chair looking at her. French doors led into the house, but the lights were off.

The old man—Mr. Dunn—came out with a glass of juice. “I'd join you, but I stink and I need a bath. I can't do much with the water in my place, need to rig a pump. C.J.'s bathroom has gravity going for it.” He gestured toward the car port. “Speak of the devil.”

The hood of a BMW was visible through the fence. Kylie quickly finished the juice and gave him the glass. “Thanks.”

She picked up her bag and headed toward the gate, intending to go around and ring the bell again. She stopped when the back door swung open. C.J. Dunn stood on the top step. “Kylie?”

Designer sunglasses were pushed into her long blond hair. She wore a pink sleeveless blouse, a short gray skirt, and black high heels with ankle straps. Kylie had only seen her once before, when she'd dumped Kylie off at the apartment she'd found for her.

The old man waved from the cottage porch. “The girl's been helping me with the irrigation project.”

“Hello, Ms. Dunn!” Kylie walked across the terrace with a bright smile. “I hope it's not a bother, me coming over. I wanted to talk to you personally.”

C.J. put a hand on her hip. “Would this have anything to do with the fact that your parents want you home, and you don't want to go?”

“Not exactly. Do you have a few minutes?”

“Barely. I'm expecting a call from a client. All right, come in.” When she turned, she saw the ladder, then the hole in the back of the house. “Edgar? What is this?”

“I'm diverting waste water for the yard plants. I told you about it.”

“You were
thinking
about it.”

“Well, you take two showers a day,” her uncle said. “That's a lot of water. Don't worry about the hole. I'll seal it up this afternoon. In the rainy season I can disconnect the hose and leave a little plate up there for future access.”

“You went up that ladder? You could have fallen! You could have killed yourself!”

“Well, I didn't, did I?”

“Promise me you'll stay off the ladder. Tomorrow I'll have a plumber come over.”

“And do what, exactly?”

She took his hand. “Edgar, we can't run sewage into the yard.”

“Sewage? No, it's just the bathtub. I didn't tap into the toilet. Stop talking to me like I was a child. We've got to do something. If this drought keeps up, we'll run out of water.”

She remembered Kylie was standing there. “We'll talk about it later. Kylie, would you come with me, please?”

Kylie wasn't sure what she had expected, but as they went inside she saw dishes in the sink, a dining table strewn with papers, and mismatched furniture in the living room. High heels, bedroom slippers, and empty mugs had been left by the rattan sofa, under the coffee table, and next to a toppling stack of magazines. There was a fireplace and a painted stucco chimney that rose to a high ceiling where two fans hung from extension poles, lazily twirling.

“This is a lovely home,” Kylie said.

“It's a freaking disaster. I've been in one trial after another for six months.” C.J. didn't offer a seat. She took the sunglasses off and tossed them toward her tote bag on the sofa. “Did your mother call you? I told her I'd fly you back to Pensacola on Monday.”

“Yes, she called me.”

“Did she mention that I will give you five hundred dollars toward your school expenses if you enroll this fall?”

“That's sort of what I wanted to discuss with you.”

“Five hundred dollars is very generous, don't you think?”

“It is, and I really appreciate it.” A knock came at the front door, but C.J. didn't notice. Kylie spoke quickly. “I've decided that what I really want to do is attend college at Miami-Dade.”

“College? You haven't graduated from high school. You can't stay in Miami. You can't support yourself, your parents haven't got the money, and if you think—”