Low Tide (7 page)

Finally, she lifted her face, kissed the side of Coco’s head and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. It had been a long time since she’d had the nightmares and the flashbacks, but she knew there would be no more sleep tonight.

She looked over at her .45 on the nightstand, the glow from her alarm clock casting an orange light on the grip. It was 3:22 a.m. She picked up the gun and her cell phone, and walked into the living room with Coco at her heels.

First Maggie checked to make sure that Kyle was still sleeping safely on the couch. He was, one forearm thrown over his face. Then she got a glass of water from the kitchen tap and drank it down, one thread of the cool liquid running down her chin and neck.

Maggie walked back into the living room, lifted Kyle’s head and sat down, putting his head in her lap. Coco jumped back onto the couch and sat on Kyle’s feet.

Then Maggie put her weapon down on the end table and waited for morning.

I
t was Monday. Maggie had spent the last two days interviewing Gregory Boudreaux’s associates, taking the statement of the man who’d found his body, and talking to Gregory’s psychiatrist in Tallahassee, who was distractedly saddened to hear of Gregory’s death, but not especially surprised. He’d treated Gregory off and on for several years.

Maggie was hanging up the phone when Wyatt walked into the office she shared with Lt. Terry Coyle, the only other investigator in the Franklin County Sherriff’s Department.

Wyatt was drinking a Mountain Dew and had a bulky manila envelope in his free hand.

“Whatcha doin’?” he asked.

Maggie rolled her head to loosen up her neck and put her pen down.

“I just finished checking all those flight numbers,” she said. “It looks like Boudreaux was trying to decide between Costa Rica and Brazil. Either way, he was looking at flights for last Saturday.”

“Huh. Well, looks like he decided to go another way. Larry just sent over the autopsy report and Boudreaux’s effects. Official decision for suicide.”

“Okay then,” Maggie said.

Wyatt sat down in the metal folding chair she and Terry used for company, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He tossed the manila envelope onto her desk.

“Thought maybe you could run this over to Uncle Bennett when you’re done.”

Maggie looked up at the wall clock, which said it was almost four-thirty. Her shift typically ran from 7 a.m. to 5 p.m., unless something important happened. The deputies and Apalachicola PD handled most of the crimes in the area, which were generally fights and burglaries and violations of parole.

She looked at the envelope.

“I don’t suppose you could take it. You live like five blocks from Boudreaux.”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Because one day you’ll probably be the Sheriff, but today you are not,” Wyatt said. “And besides, I have a dentist appointment.”

“I’ll bet you’re a lot of fun in the dentist’s chair.”

“I’m told I am,” Wyatt said. “The cute little hygienist is named Heather and she thinks I’m a riot. She also admires my gums.”

“Your gums are okay,” Maggie told him.

“I work out.”

“Alright, so I’ll do the paperwork on Boudreaux and then I’ll take this stuff over to his uncle. Anything else you need from me?”

Wyatt looked at her for a moment that was just long enough to make her a little nervous, and to remind her that he really was extremely handsome.

“No, that’s it for now,” he said, then broke into a big, dimpled smile as he stood.

“I have to go brush my teeth. Heather disapproves of Mountain Dew.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want you to disappoint little Heather,” Maggie said.

He stopped in the doorway and looked at her.

“Oh, I think I probably will anyway.”

He winked at her, then walked out of her office. Maggie watched where he’d been for a moment, willing the slight tingling in her stomach to postpone itself for another time.

Then she looked down at the envelope on her desk and sighed.

“Mr. Boudreaux?”

“Yes?”

Maggie held the cell phone with her shoulder as she backed out of her parking space.

“This is Maggie Redmond. The medical examiner has released your nephew’s personal effects. I thought I would drop them off to you on my way home, if it’s convenient.”

“Where are you?” Boudreaux asked. He sounded like he was outdoors.

“I’m just leaving my office in Eastpoint.”

“Well, I just tied in at Boss Oyster,” Boudreaux said. “Can you meet me here?”

Boss Oyster was a raw bar just a few blocks north of Battery Park. It was right on the river, on the channel that ran past Big Towhead Island and out to the bay. It was one of Maggie’s favorite places to eat.

“Maggie? Lt. Redmond?”

“Yes sir, that’ll be fine. I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll see you when you get here then.”

Maggie heard him disconnect, but she tapped on the phone with her fingernail a few times before she closed it and pulled out of the parking lot.

Boss Oyster was housed in a bright green building that looked like a little cottage, guarded by two fan palms, and dwarfed by the warehouses on either side. The warehouses, one of them belonging to Boss, had a derelict appearance that Maggie thought enhanced the place’s appeal.

Maggie pulled into the oyster shell parking lot and grabbed the manila envelope before stepping out of the car.

Thunder rumbled overhead and close by, and the air had acquired a quality that Maggie had never experienced outside Florida. It was at once cool and hot, damp and perceptibly electric. This wasn’t going to be the usual 3:15 summer rain.

In front of the warehouse next door, a metal sign swung back and forth on its metal rod, sounding like a child’s first attempt at the violin.

Maggie walked in and paused in the doorway for a minute to let her eyes adjust to the dimness. She spotted Bennett Boudreaux on the deck in back as one of the servers approached her.

“Hey, Maggie,” she said.

“Hey, Delores, good to see you”

“You, too,” Delores answered, waving at a table that was flagging her down. “Mr. Boudreaux said you’re meeting with him? He’s out on the porch.”

“Yeah, I see him,” Maggie answered. “Can I have a sweet tea when you get a minute?”

“Sure, hon, I’ll be right out.”

Maggie nodded or waved at a few people she knew as she crossed the room, then pushed open the screen door to the mostly covered deck. The wind gave a little resistance, but the screen door scraped open just as a blue bolt of lightning struck out on Big Towhead Island.

A young tourist couple squeezed past Maggie as they carried their beers and baskets to safety indoors, leaving just Maggie and Boudreaux on the deck. Wearing loose cargo pants and a blue chambray shirt that matched his eyes, he stood up as Maggie walked to his table.

“Maggie,” he said.

“Mr. Boudreaux,” she answered.

He waited for her to be seated, then sat back down in his chair. A bottle of beer from one of the local micro-breweries sat in front of him, sweating drops of condensation into a small ring on the wooden table.

Maggie put the envelope down on the chair beside her and pulled her own chair in.

“If you like, we can move inside,” Boudreaux said.

“Not on my account, please. I like being outside during a storm.”

Boudreaux’s eyes glinted with a hint of approval.

“So do I. It’s invigorating and, at the same time, humbling.”

He looked out at the docks, where the boats were getting agitated. One of them was his restored 1947 Chris Craft Express Cruiser, which Maggie would have eloped with given the chance.

“Caught some nice redfish this afternoon, but the swells were getting a little aggressive for the
Parish Princess.
”

The screen door squeaked open and slapped shut, and Delores appeared with Maggie’s tea.

“Thanks, Delores,” Maggie said.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like a cocktail or a beer or something?” Boudreaux asked her.

“No, thanks. I’m still on duty.”

“Oh, yes, sorry.”

“Are y’all ready to order?” Delores asked them.

Boudreaux looked at Maggie.

“Oh, nothing for me,” Maggie said.

“Please. I wouldn’t be able to eat in front of you and I really want some oysters.”

Maggie hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. “Okay.”

“How do you like ‘em?” Boudreaux asked.

“Straight up.”

“Good girl,” he said with the hint of a smile. “We’ll take two dozen raw then, thank you.”

“Alrighty, we’ll have those out in just a minute,” Delores said, and hurried back inside.

“I think whoever invented Oysters Rockefeller should have been hung by the neck until dead,” Boudreaux said, taking a swallow of beer. “If you need cheese on an Apalach oyster you don’t deserve to eat one.”

Maggie didn’t really want to smile at the town gangster, so she suppressed it by looking at the envelope and picking it up.

“Here are your nephew’s effects,” she said, handing the envelope across the table.

“Thank you,” Boudreaux said, but while he took the envelope, his eyes never left hers.

He opened the envelope and glanced inside, then closed it again. He looked her in the eye as he tapped the envelope on the edge of the table for a moment.

“Ugly business, this,” he finally said.

Maggie nodded. “Yes.”

“All of it,” he said, still staring.

The addendum made her uncomfortable and she wondered for the first time if he knew what had happened twenty-two years ago. The idea unsettled her, but she didn’t look away.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she lied.

He nodded, then looked at the envelope again as though he’d realized he was staring, though Maggie knew it was intentional. She just didn’t know why.

Delores arrived then with two round, stainless steel platters of oysters, lemons and crackers. Maggie slowly let out a breath as she set them on the table.

“Can I get you guys anything else?”