Fortunate Harbor (9 page)

“Well, we’ve covered why you’re in Florida. Let’s move on to why you’re sitting at my table.”

“Because I turned down a dinner party at Edward’s so I could come out here.”

“We’re getting closer to the truth.” She plunked cheese on a cracker and ate it in one big bite.

“I don’t remember you eating with such relish,” he said.

“The cooks around here are less interested in presentation than flavor. The food’s too good not to eat.”

“Well, the extra weight agrees with you.”

“What?”

“Ten pounds? Don’t worry about it. What’s ten or fifteen pounds?”

She shoved her plate away and ignored her wine. “I haven’t gained an ounce. I run after kids all day. I jog, I swim, I play tennis whenever I can.”

“You did all those things at home, except for the kids, but you ate like a sparrow. I never thought you liked kids. What’s that about?”

“I’m unaccountably good with them. And I mean it. I haven’t gained weight.”

“It would be hard not to, if you’ve learned to enjoy eating. I might gain some myself. Have you been to the yacht club? The chef is talented.”

“I see prison didn’t interfere with your ability to ignore questions you don’t want to answer.”

“I don’t remember you ever asking any before. I admired that in you.”

“Admire no more. I’m a get-to-the-bottom-of-it kind of gal these days. And I want to know why you’re sitting here.”

He fiddled with the cheese. She figured an untrained
monkey could have managed to plop cheddar on a cracker in half the time. Finally he met her eyes.

“I owe you something.”

“What? A slap in the face for my so-called desertion? At the time, you said I
ought
to divorce you.”

“Did you need my approval?”

Tracy knew better than to attempt to read CJ’s expression. His dark eyes could convey almost anything, an asset nearly as powerful as his smile. Still, the man looked hurt, maybe even genuinely so, as if the speed with which she had divorced him still throbbed.

“Did we have the kind of relationship where loyalty meant something?” she countered. “I was a trophy wife. Maybe I hoped the third time was going to be a charm for you, but I grew up watching marriages fall apart. I really wasn’t expecting ours to last forever.”

“I was hoping it would.”

She sat back. “Well, you didn’t factor prison into that equation, I guess.”

“I’m sorry.”

For a moment she wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. “You’re sorry?”

“That I couldn’t make the charges go away. That I thought I could fix everything. That I waited so long to tell you I couldn’t.”

“I remember that afternoon in the sunroom. You probably showed the same amount of emotion when you told your janitorial staff to dust off their résumés after they finished the baseboards.”

“Somebody else told
them
. I didn’t know any other way to tell you except to lay out the facts. I was dying inside. I wanted to preserve something. I wanted to look strong in the face of disaster.”

She thought about that. “I don’t think a good marriage is about looking strong, CJ. But ours wasn’t a good marriage, and there’s no way you can fix that now. I don’t want anything from you, except maybe an explanation of why you put Happiness Key in my name. That’s a mystery I’d love to solve.”

He didn’t hesitate. “Wasn’t that obvious? To protect you. In case things got completely out of control.”

“Because my happiness was such a high priority?”

“If worse came to worst, I wanted you to have something left.”

“You must have known I really
couldn’t
sell it, not with all the problems inherent in developing such an environmentally fragile property.”

“I took care of that.”

“Sure,” she scoffed. “You got permits, but you had to know they’d be challenged in court. And you’re too smart not to have realized land in Florida was going to plummet in value when the economy faltered. So why this, instead of something more easily converted to cash? Like our art collection? Or the house in Bel-Air?”

Again he had an answer handy. “Happiness Key was farther away and easier to bury in paperwork than our house or anything else. And
I
could have worked around those obstacles you cited. I was sure you’d find a developer who was willing to buy the property and work around them, too. Instead you pissed it away and handed it over to your boyfriend at Wild Florida.”

She crossed her arms. “I see you’ve been doing more than skulking in the shadows. You know about the conservation easement?”

“Edward’s in land development. In fact, we were going to develop Happiness Key together. When I arrived, he told me what you’d done.”

“Funny, I don’t remember Edward’s name on any documents, and I don’t remember him offering to take the property off my hands when I was trying to sell it. I’ve never met the man.”

“A friend doesn’t get rich off another friend’s misery. Edward hoped I’d get out in time to help you develop it myself.”

“Now it can’t be developed. Which brings us back to what you think you owe me.”

This time he hesitated, as if he had to piece the words together. Finally he looked away. “They may retry me. I may go back to prison, although I think it’s unlikely. But after one rigged trial, I could be a candidate for a second. If that happens, I want to know for sure you’re okay, even if it’s my last act as a free man.”

“Brutal,” she said sarcastically. “Do we need to call for the violins?”

He looked back at her. “I’m serious. You’ve been on my mind every single day. The mess I left you was my only real regret. I don’t want that on my conscience anymore. I want you to be financially secure.”

“Don’t trouble yourself. I’ll be okay. Not rich, but okay. And there’s nothing you can do here. The easement’s very specific.”

“There are things
you
can do. The easement’s public record, and I’ve seen it. You can build cottages on the foundations of the buildings that were demolished. Six more, counting the site where the rental office stood. And you can fix up the ones that are here, add wings, garages or carports, any number of serious improvements, so they’re worth at least twice what they are now.”

He turned up his hands. “There’s a lot you can do, Tracy. None of it begins to compare with what we
could
have done, if you hadn’t gotten all misty-eyed about the environment, but it’ll bring you a strong, steady income. Plus, when you’re ready
to sell, improvements will make the property that much more appealing, even with an easement.”

“And what do you get? Peace of mind?”

He got to his feet and went to the sink, and filled a glass from the tap. He stayed there, leaning against the counter, watching her.

“Do you think you’re the only one who’s gone through a transformation? You talk about my ego? Is change your personal territory? I’ve been in prison. Do you have any idea what that’s like? And it’s worse when you know you shouldn’t be there. The only good thing? I had time to reflect, and I didn’t like what I found. I don’t know how long I’ll be free. For that matter, I don’t know how long I’ll be alive. I’d like to do this so I can feel good about something in my life before I lose it again, one way or the other.”

Tracy was surprised at her rush of emotion. She wasn’t falling for everything CJ said. She was no fool. But she couldn’t discount it all, either. Victorville was not Club Fed, and she was sure her ex-husband’s sojourn there had been traumatic. Maybe it
had
been enlightening, as well. Who was she to determine whether he was telling at least some of the truth?

Score one for CJ, then. But how about Marsh? What would he say if he discovered CJ was looking into developing Happiness Key in accordance with the conservation easement? She could just imagine the fireworks.

She had one man, her ex-husband, who swore he wanted to take care of her and one who was busy taking care of his own ex-wife. The irony wasn’t lost on her.

“So you’ve been checking out possibilities?” she said. “That’s what you’ve been doing out here?”

“I wanted to have something on paper to show you. I’ve got enough information now to draw that up. Do you want me
to?” He set his glass on the counter. “I am a developer, or was. And I know this property as well as I knew my childhood backyard. I’m your man for this.”

“You won’t be my man for anything else,” she cautioned. “I’m not interested in a reunion. We weren’t good for each other when we were married. We wouldn’t be good for each other now. And there’s another man in my life….” Or had been until tonight.

“Not one worthy of you.” He held up his hand when she started to protest. “You’re a class act, Tracy, and always were. Sure, you were young when we got married, immature and maybe a little spoiled. But you were special, too special to waste yourself on a man who’s running a nothing little environmental organization because he can’t make the grade anywhere else.”

Despite herself, she rose to Marsh’s defense. “If that’s the way things are going to go here, please don’t come back. My personal life is off-limits.”

“I just don’t want you to make another mistake.”

“Meaning I made one the first time?”

“Undoubtedly. And I made one when I lost you.” He held up his hand again. “But I did lose you. I know that. Just let me see what I can do for you. It’ll help us both, and give me something to do while I wait and see what’s happening in California.”

“Nobody’s going to believe this.”

“Does that mean you’ll let me put something together?”

She tried but failed to see how that could hurt. Besides, CJ’s involvement would annoy Marsh no end, and right now, that seemed a plus—even though it also proved she was not as mature as she’d hoped.

She rose. “We’ll see how it goes.”

“I’d like to poke around in the daylight a bit, if that’s okay. You’ll let the renters know they don’t have to worry if they see me around?”

“They aren’t just renters. They’re my friends. All of them.”

He seemed amused. “I’ll remember that.”

“We take care of each other. I’m warning you.”

He gave a mock half salute. “I’ve been warned.”

Tracy walked him to the door. The wine was untouched on the table, but as far as she was concerned, they were finished for the night.

He paused. “It really is good to see you again.” Then, before she could stop him, he leaned down and kissed her cheek.

He was on his way out to the road before she tried to summon a response. Even then, she wasn’t sure anything could adequately explain the way she felt. She finally just closed the door.

On Monday morning CJ arrived just in time for coffee. Tracy was sleepily fumbling to fill her new single shot coffeemaker when he tapped on her front door, then poked his head inside before she could answer.

“You really ought to keep this locked,” he told her.

From the kitchen doorway she blinked in her ex’s direction, remembering any number of mornings when he had started her day with advice. CJ was a born advisor, always certain he was right, and unfortunately, far too often right about that, as well.

“No duh.” She turned back to the counter and pushed the requisite buttons before she faced him again. “If I’d locked the door, you’d still be on the other side.”

“You always were cutest in the morning.”

She was wearing knit boxers and a tank top, and CJ had seen her in less, of course. Still, she wished she’d pulled on a robe. CJ was too smart to actually stare, but his eyes were definitely
not riveted on her face. Something stirred inside her, and she felt herself flush.

“So you noticed I was cute when?” she asked. “Between phone calls to the office? Or maybe between telling me what I ought to wear and whose friendship I should cultivate?”

“You were a work in progress. I couldn’t resist.”

“I wasn’t
progressing
one bit. It took our divorce to jump-start that.” She leaned against the counter, arms folded protectively across her breasts. “So why are you up so early. I’m assuming not just to stare at my legs.”

“I was hoping for a cup of coffee.”

“I have regular and decaf.” She gestured to the coffeemaker. “I bet you can figure this out. Make your own while I change.”

She grabbed her cup and took it into the bathroom with her. Unfortunately, with the cup came an image of a morning early in their marriage when CJ had followed her into a much more luxurious bathroom, and they’d taken a shower that had tested even the state-of-the-art water heater in their Bel-Air home.

After one cool shower, a minimal amount of primping and a silent reminder that old intimacies were best forgotten, she came back into the kitchen wearing jeans and a blue Palmetto Grove Rec Center polo shirt with her name and Staff embroidered on the pocket. CJ had not only made himself coffee, he’d produced toast with butter and jam for both of them.

He held up her plate. “When do you leave?”

“In a little while. I usually run first, but apparently not today. You still haven’t said why you’re here.”

“To make sure you eat breakfast.”

“One minute you tell me I’ve gained weight, the next you’re fattening me up.” She took the toast and bit into it without
sitting down. “I was married to you, remember? What I eat and when never concerned you one bit.”

“Food becomes important when you lose the freedom to choose
what
you’re eating and
when
.”

She wasn’t sure it was the words or the way he said them that momentarily pushed past her defenses. “I guess prison wasn’t much fun.”

“It was a year-long root canal. Without Novocaine.”

“Why did you let it get to that point? You’re a smart guy. You must have known the good guys were closing in. Why didn’t you just get out of town?”

“I was positive I was going to beat the whole thing. I underestimated how badly they wanted to take me down.”

She was starting to feel sympathy, a bad sign. She set her plate and half-eaten toast on the counter. “Is the chitchat over? I really need to get moving.”

“I’m actually here to give you a list of the problems I found.”

“Did you talk to any of my neighbors while you were sneaking around their houses?”

“You mean did I blacken your name with your friends? No, I was discreet. I waited until people were gone.”

She said a silent thank-you. She had announced CJ’s return to her incredulous friends, who had for the most part been startled into silence. She had taken that rare occurrence as a sign and fled, and avoided them since. She had little stomach for what they might say. She would have to introduce him sooner or later, but later sounded better.

CJ took a small pad from the inside pocket of his sport coat. “You’ve got issues with the cottages that are still standing—”

“Tell me about it. I was on a first name basis with Handy Hubby until they moved out of the area last month. Unfortu
nately for them, people are walking away from their houses, not fixing them up.”

CJ pulled several sheets of paper off the pad and handed them to her. “Well, that’s lucky for you. There’ll be a bunch of unemployed guys dying to do the work. At cheaper rates, too, without a referral service.”

She scanned the pages. Problems with the foundation on Janya’s cottage. Possible roof repair or replacement at Wanda’s. She looked up. “I had a leak patched over Wanda’s bathroom right after I moved in.”

“Stopgap measure. How many buckets does she have?”

She was reading again. “Outside wiring at Alice’s? And you really think there’s a problem with the well and the pump?”

“One of these days you’ll wake up and find it’s as dry as the Mojave at Happiness Key.”

“Man…” She shook her head. “What did you do to me, CJ?”

“What was the point of making long-term repairs when the whole place was going to be smashed flat and hauled away?”

The list was too depressing to contemplate. “I’m assuming you’re not volunteering to take on these projects yourself.”

He smiled, and she had to admit that the way the smile creased his cheeks and warmed his eyes was charm itself. “I don’t get my hands dirty, TK. You know that.”

CJ had called her TK from the moment he’d discovered her middle name was Katherine. They’d been a matched set. If they’d had kids, they could have used up the alphabet. She had never liked the nickname, but for a moment it made her feel like the old Tracy, the one with the sexy, generous husband other women envied. The one whose life had been simpler.

She pulled herself back to reality. Life was
never
simple.

“I bet you got your hands dirty at Victorville,” she said,
folding the pages in half. “Or did you wheedle your way into an office job?”

“There were better wheedlers, so I started out washing pots and pans. Eventually they moved me to record keeping.”

“Because you promised somebody something.”

“What could I promise? I didn’t have anything left.”

She stuffed the pages in her pocket. “I’ve got to get going. Thanks. I suppose now I’ll have to look into all these repairs.”

“I put them in order of importance. Some can wait a good long time. I can supervise and make sure you’re not getting cheated. Edward has a slew of guys who work for him. I’ll get names.”

“No way. I’ll find somebody on my own. The only thing I know about Edward Statler is that you two were going into business together. I’d like to keep him far, far away from Happiness Key.”

He looked amused. “I’ll keep poking around, unless you don’t want me here. I owe you.”

“So you do. But, I’ll warn you, I don’t think that’s all there is to this.”

“I need something to do while I contemplate my navel, okay? You know how much I hate to sit still. So I’m killing two birds with one stone. I’m paying a debt to you, and I’m rethinking my life.”

That she didn’t buy. “You know what? I
do
know you. The moment you had all your limbs and a beating heart, you decided you were going to take over the world. I can’t believe you have anything to rethink, CJ, unless you’re planning how to make good use of this little mess you got yourself into.”

“If I could take over the world, TK, I’d lay it at your feet.”

She snatched the empty coffee cup out of his hand and
plopped it on the counter. “You are such a con artist.” But even to her own ears, she sounded half-hearted.

“You don’t mind having me around? I’d like to work on house plans using the footprint of those old cottages. I can work up a development plan for you. Nobody else is going to bother. There’s nothing in it for them.”

She didn’t buy any of this. Still, while CJ was feeling philanthropic and even, possibly, sentimental, he might actually be of some use to her.

She gave a slight nod. “But you do anything even halfway bogus and you’re out of here.”

“You’re welcome.” He smiled. “Those boxers made my morning.”

She steeled herself. “Don’t count on ogling me again. From now on I’m sleeping in a flannel nightgown.”

“Not in this heat.” Smiling, he left the way he’d come.

Half bait shop, half gourmet grocery, Randall’s was as much a statement about the changing character of Palmetto Grove Key as a local hangout. Tracy liked to stop on the way into work, so she could rub shoulders with bare-chested good old boys snacking on pork rinds, or businessmen with Lincolns idling while they slipped in for a latte from Randall’s brand-new cappuccino machine. The lattes were out of her price range, and the pork rinds were loaded with sodium, but splurging on a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice was a treat she allowed herself twice a week.

Today she bypassed the juice and looked for a paperback thriller. Since she seemed doomed to spend her nights alone, she needed the excitement.

Before checking out, she wandered over to the community
bulletin board to see if any handymen were advertising. There was a similar board at the rec center, which she planned to check, as well. She jotted down two possibilities, then tore off a sheet of paper and scrawled her own ad.

She added her home and cell numbers, and tacked the ad at eye level between a circular for a local Baptist church and photos of a new litter of water spaniels.

As she stepped back, a tall man with broad shoulders came up beside her and gazed at her contribution. “Jack-of-all-trades?”

She took her time examining him. She liked what she saw, but apparently she had a fondness for sociopaths. Take CJ, for instance.

The guy was in his middle forties. Nice enough to look at, but not handsome. Rugged was a better word, more like somebody who sloshed through the Everglades in waders, hunting ducks or alligators. He had short dark hair, a cleft chin and five o’clock shadow at eight o’clock in the morning.

“I own five houses up the road toward the point, and they all need repairs,” she said. “I’m hoping I can find one person to do the work. Simpler that way.”

“You need permits?”

She shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. I won’t be looking over anybody’s shoulder.” CJ might be looking, but she suspected her ex was a no-permit kind of guy.

“How about licenses?”

“I don’t know what Florida requires.” She paused. “Maybe I don’t want to know.”

“I’m from out west, but I’m staying around for at least a
couple of months, and I’m looking for something to do when I’m not fishing.” He grinned, a white splash against tanned skin. “Fishing comes first.”

“How first?”

“I could probably give you twenty hours a week. More to start, if it’s an emergency, especially if there’s someplace to fish near your property.”

“No emergency, and I bet there are places to fish
on
my property. You’re welcome to them. Can you do anything in twenty hours?”

“If I work hard and fast, which I do.”

“You have experience?”

“I built a couple of hunting cabins, just for fun. Wired them, did the plumbing, you name it. The sale of the first one helped me retire sooner than I expected.”

“Retired?”

“Military. I’m taking a sabbatical, if you want to call it that. Traveling around, trying to decide where I’ll hang out in the winter. I like it here, so I’m going to stay awhile to see if I still like it when the new wears off.”

She held out her hand. “I’m Tracy Deloche.”

Without crushing her fingers, he gripped them hard enough to let her know he meant business. “Pete Knight.”

“I was going to check around to figure out what to pay.”

“Fifteen bucks an hour to start, in cash, no paperwork. If we’re happy together, you’ll raise it to keep me. You’ll be happy.”

“There’s a water pump, a leaky roof, some wiring….”

“If I can’t handle something alone, I’ll find the right person to back me up.”

She didn’t know what else she could ask for. Fifteen dollars an hour sounded like a steal. Of course, if Pete Knight worked
at turtle speed, she would be wasting her money, but then she could fire him.

“I’ll think about it,” she said, “but I’m interested. Do you have a number?”

He jotted it on a scrap of paper, and she thanked him. In the checkout line, she looked back to make one more assessment, but Pete Knight was already gone.

Ten minutes later she parked in front of the Henrietta Claiborne Recreation Center and gathered her things for the day ahead. Almost a year ago, against her better judgment, she had taken the job as recreational supervisor. She had a degree in recreation and leisure studies, though only limited experience, but the director had been desperate.

In college the degree had seemed a perfect choice. She was an expert on leisure time, plus she’d always been good at athletics. With a little more effort and a lot more interest, she might even have excelled at some sport and gone professional. But Tracy had been content to spend her hours on golf courses and tennis courts trolling for a husband.

Now she was grateful that laziness had led her in this direction. She had no idea why she was good at managing a complicated agenda, instilling order in the ranks of the young and old, and creating programs to entice people through the rec center doors, but she liked her job, liked the kids—who were her first priority—the seniors, the facility, the rest of the staff.

She was particularly surprised she got along so well with the kids, never having given more than a passing thought to having children someday. Sometimes she thought detachment was the reason she excelled. She had nothing invested in rejection or messes or rebellion. The kids knew she wasn’t easily impressed
by misbehavior, so they gave up quickly. Since she was genuinely pleased when they made her life simpler, they complied.

This morning, as early as she was, people were already streaming in and out of the building. Two weeks before, the center had initiated sunrise exercise classes for residents on their way to work. Plus the indoor pool now opened at seven. Tracy greeted the regulars and smiled at the rest. By the time she made it through the glass doors leading down the dusky rose hallway to the reception desk, she had already made a mental note to see if Woody, the director, might agree to set up a coffee urn. She just had to work out the details first, so she wasn’t the one in charge of keeping it filled.