Bonefish Blues (6 page)

Chapter 7

The sun appeared over the window sill and smacked Will in the face. He rolled over in an attempt to ignore it, but the pounding in his head and the need for a bathroom forced him out of bed. A quick glance through fuzzy eyes revealed that it was almost ten a.m. Back from the bathroom and a handful of ibuprofen later, he squinted out the window. At least the wind was blowing, he thought. No charters, and no way he was going out on his board in these conditions. Relieved of responsibility, he went back to bed and tried to reconstruct the past twenty four hours. The last thing he remembered was an awkward kiss at his door. He ran it over and over in his head, more detail emerging each time, but she still left every time and he couldn’t remember why. Confused he drifted off. 

Voices in the yard woke him. He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs and listened. They were clearly coming from his property, and he strained to hear what they were saying, but couldn’t make anything out. One foot at a time hit the floor, and he was out of bed. And then he sat back down, hoping the room would stop spinning. But the conversation continued, moving closer to the bedroom window. With an effort, he made it to the window and looked at the yard. Two men were standing outside, looking at the house. One was clearly a city inspector, uniform shirt and hat - making notes on a clipboard. The other man came around the corner, and Will was relieved to see it was Roc. 

“Gimme a minute!” he yelled, his breath ragged, mouth bone dry. He tried to count the number of beers he had yesterday but lost count at around ten - way out of his comfort zone. As he brushed his teeth he tried to remember the last time he had a hangover. 

“Sure thing. We’ll come up when we’re done,” Roc called back.

The cold water felt good on his head as he submerged it under the faucet of the laundry sink, temporarily standing in for a bathroom vanity. He would have taken a cold shower, except that the only working shower was outside. The mirror told the tale of the night before, the bottle of Tequila sitting empty on the floor by the bed visible in the reflection. It took another minute to brush out the bed head and put some clothes on. 

He was nearly dressed when Roc came in the front door without knocking, the inspector following behind. Will walked out of the bedroom. 

“Man, you look like crap,” Roc said.

“Yeah, well yesterday wasn’t one of my better days.” He rubbed his sore jaw.

“This is Bill McLean. He’s the building inspector. I talked to him about your permit, and he agreed to take a look with me. See if we could bail you out of this mess.”

Will tried to say something, but his mouth was too dry. Instead, he nodded, and the inspector chimed in, saving him the trouble. “We try and take care of the full timers here. It’s not like you’re some developer from up North.”

Will squeaked out a thank you, and the inspector handed him the clipboard, which held pretty much the same information Roc had told him yesterday. The list wasn’t long, but it looked expensive.

“Let me have a look around inside and I’ll finish it up. Roc assured me you could have this ready for a final in thirty days. I talked to my boss, and he said we’d give you that. But you’ve got to get and extension and finish the work on the list.”

Relief swept over Will as he handed the clipboard back. Thirty days was better than he had expected. The way Roc had talked he had figured the extensions were over and the house would be condemned or something. Any way you looked at it this was the best case scenario. As soon as the inspector was out of earshot he turned to Roc, “What about the septic thing?”

“That’s all? I pulled some big strings to get this done. I’m working on it, but it’s environmental health, not the building department that has to sign off on that.”

“Sorry, I’m not thinking straight here. Thanks for doing this.” 

“You can say that again. Look, get some rest and we’ll figure out a plan tomorrow. I still owe you a bunch of work for all the fishing trips.”

“Rest is going to be hard to come by. I’ve got to figure out how to raise the money to do all this.” 

***

Braken had just gone to lunch, leaving Nicole alone in the office. There were almost twenty employees on the roster, mostly part-time Realtors. It was well known in the real estate community that Braken would take in the strays, without looking too closely at whatever they were being investigated for. As long as they still had a license, they were usually welcome. Since it was pre-season now it was slow; most of the Realtors just checked in once a week. A few came into the office, and those that did, had coffee, read the newspaper, and left well before lunch. Which meant she had the place to herself, for now. Her thoughts went to Will and how maybe she had found a nice guy. A little timid maybe, but he was nice to her. Cody would be a problem. Although she hadn’t wanted to, he was the reason that she had cut it short at the front door last night. Wouldn’t hurt her in the long run though. Usually confident with men, after years working bars, she was unsure about Will; whether he was just shy or not that interested. There was a way to put things in her favor though.

She locked the door to Braken’s office behind her as she entered. As the office manager, she had a general overview of what happened in the firm, but Braken was notoriously close-mouthed until his deals were done. Then he would bring her in to handle the paperwork. So if he had something going on, he wouldn’t have told her about it. But there had to be a record of it somewhere. She moved over to his desk. Quickly, she checked the drawers, finding nothing but a bottle of bourbon and a few porno magazines. Behind the desk was a credenza, its surface also bare. A search of those drawers revealed nothing. 

Her last chance was his computer. She hit the power switch, thinking it was probably in vain as he password protected his files, and waited while the computer booted up. An idea hit her as she scrolled the file directory with most files showing the symbol of a padlock next to them. She opened the internet browser, went to the history and scanned through the results. The screen was cluttered with sites, but none of them told her anything important. 

She was running out of time before Braken returned, she knew, and pulled out her phone and snapped a picture of the screen. Quickly she turned off the computer and left the office as she had found it. 

Back at her desk, she composed herself, breathing deeply to control her racing heart. A few beads of perspiration on her forehead were the only signs that anything out of the usual had occurred. The office was empty and not expecting anyone, she pulled out her phone and stared at the screen. Using two fingers, she zoomed in on the sites in the browser history. She ignored the porn sites and entered the address of what looked like an advertisement on her computer. 

She laughed to herself as the site loaded:
Sustainable living in the Florida Keys. 

That was a joke to anyone that knew this area. There was nothing sustainable in the Keys. Food, water, and power were all sent via truck, pipeline, or cable from Miami and points to the north. So what was he doing researching something like that?

She lifted her head as the door opened, then quickly looked down and minimized the screen just as Braken and Pagliano entered. 

“Any calls, sweetheart?” 

She cringed as he said it. “No, it’s been quiet.”

“Nicole, too bad Joey’s got to go back to Miami tonight. You two could maybe hit it off.” He winked at the man, then at Nicole. “Maybe next trip.” She put on her best fake smile.

The man stared at her as he made his way to Braken’s office. On his way out he stopped at her desk and leered, “Yeah, Nicole, maybe next time.” He turned to Braken, scowling, “Follow up on that guy’s house permit.”

“Sure thing, Joey. Nicole, you’re on your own, I gotta go to the building department.”

The screen reopened the minute they were out the door. Trying to erase Pagliano’s leering look, she scanned through the sales page, her eyes, experienced at searching real estate listings quickly guided her to the fine print. The site was built by a pro. Slide shows for pictures and search engine terms embedded everywhere, the keywords and meta data geared toward the green movement. It showed a picture of an island with white sand beaches and turquoise water. Next to the picture was an artist rendering of the same island with a cluster of bungalow-style houses sporting solar panels and windmills. A few paragraphs down revealed the cost of investing in the first sustainable community in paradise. A mere $1,000,000 investment got you a share in the golden future. Instantly she knew what they were up to. Flamingo Key had been for sale before and had just been re-listed at a rockbottom price - with the market in the dumps it was cheap. It had infrastructure which made it look attractive on the surface, but anyone knowing Monroe county knew the chances of getting a permit to build were close to nil. If they could buy it cheap and sell without disclosing the problems there were millions to be made.

Anxious to get the information to Will, and hopefully gain some points, but with no idea how to find him except Matt or Ned, she grabbed her purse and headed out the door. Matt would be getting out of school in a few minutes. She could pick him up and see if he knew how to find Will. Otherwise, Ned at the docks was sure to have a number. A quick text to Matt that she was on her way to pick him up and she pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward the school. 

Matt was waiting on the sidewalk when she pulled up below the painted dolphin fish, mascot of the Marathon High Dolphins.

“What’s up, Mom? You never pick me up.”

“You know how to find Will?” 

“Jeez, mom aren’t you being a little, you know, aggressive?”

“No, it’s not like that. I promised I would look something up for him.”

“I got his number. You could have just texted me for it.” He went to the contacts in his phone and sent her Will’s number.

Her phone chimed. “Okay, smart ass. You can walk for that.” 

“How about a ride to the dock? I got there late yesterday and Dad had a fit.”

The Corolla pulled onto Sombrero Beach Road and wound through the neighborhood. Pretty fine real estate for a school, she thought as she passed the houses, boats visible in the canals in their back yards. She followed the road to US1 and turned toward Ned’s marina, where she dropped Matt off. Once out of sight, she pulled over and hit the number Matt had sent. 

“Hello?” The raspy voice was hard to hear.

“Will, is that you? It’s Nicole.”

“Hey.” There was life on the other end, now.

“I’ve got something you need to look at. You know, what you asked me to do.” She took a chance, and barged on. “Why don’t you come by for dinner later. About six?” She hoped he would take the bait.

“I thought you said you couldn’t,” he said.

She had doubted he would remember how the conversation had gone. “Well, you seemed so upset it was the least I could do.” Hoping she dodged a bullet she waited.

“Cool. I’ll be there.”

Chapter 8

Will woke as the sun was about to set, disoriented when he noticed the light was on the wrong side of the house. It took a few minutes to realize that it was setting and not rising. A whole day wasted, he remembered the meeting with Roc and the building inspector earlier, and then the call from Nicole. Panicked, he reached for his phone and saw that it was 6:15. Already fifteen minutes late, he jumped out of bed and showered quickly. A calculated decision that it was worth not being any later than he already was, he waived shaving, looked in the mirror, and brushed his hair. Dressed and out the door, all within ten minutes of waking, he started the truck, opened the gate, and accelerated down the road. 

The truck pulled into Nicole’s driveway, and Matt ran out the door to meet him. “Will, you made it. We were starting to worry about you after yesterday and —”

“Sorry, I got stuck doing something. Where’s your mom?”

Matt led the way up the path to the house. The yard was mostly gravel with a few small plants randomly scattered, Nicole was obviously not into landscaping or maintenance. The house needed work, paint was peeling from the railings, and the weather showed it’s presence on the old siding. Although showing signs of wear the metal roof seemed to be in serviceable condition.

He rubbed the stubble on his face subconsciously as he waited for Nicole to come to the door. Head down, he felt guilty and empty handed. After a lingering look, it was obvious that she had spent quite a bit more time on grooming than the ten minutes he had. He was startled as she came toward him with a quick embrace.

“Sorry, I’m late, and …” he said holding out his hands.

“It’s okay. Come on in.”

He could tell from her body language that she was a little tipsy. “Nice place,” he said as he entered the living room and walked toward the bar separating the kitchen, where two wine glasses, one a quarter full and a half empty bottle of red waited.

“Go ahead. Help yourself?”

He looked at the bottle, not sure if it would help or hurt him. Deciding the chances were good that it would help, and not wanting to be rude, he topped off her glass and filled his. “I’m sorry I didn’t think to bring anything,” he said trying to avert his increasing guilt as she opened the lid of the pot.