Daiquiri Dock Murder (26 page)

“Okay, Kane. I regret this part of my past. The foolish things I did still embarrass me and I hate talking about them—hate the memory of them. If you can’t forgive and forget, I’ll understand. Please remember that all this happened long before I met you and that it has nothing to do with our present relationship.”

Kane squeezed my hand. “I’m ready to forgive and forget. Been ready for months.”

I grabbed a deep breath, almost tasting the salt in the sea air as I stared at the horizon. Sometimes focusing on the place where sky meets water helps settle my mind as well as my stomach.

“I ran away from home when I was thirteen.” My throat ached, and for a few moments I couldn’t continue my story.

“Lots of kids run away from home, Rafa, or at least they think about running away. It’s no big deal as long as they return to their parents with nobody getting hurt. You appear unscathed to me.”

“Physically, perhaps. But not mentally. I’ll never be the same, never forget my foolishness.”

“Maybe you need to forgive yourself before you can accept forgiveness from others.”

I stared at the horizon for so long, Kane spoke up again. “If the subject pains you so, I’m sorry I asked you about it. Maybe I should ask your forgiveness for prying.”

I began the story again. “I ran away from home at age thirteen. I’d bottled lots of hurts inside me—some real, some imaginary, I’m sure. I felt convinced my parents loved Cherie much more than they loved me.”

“They tell you that?”

“Only by their actions, never their words. I once overheard Mother tell Gram that kids were like waffles—the first one seldom met expectations. I never forgot those words. I arrived two years before Cherie. Even at that young age, I resented all the attention she received as the new baby. Gifts arrived—for Cherie, none for me. People came to see the new baby. Nobody came to see me.”

“Sometimes adults are thoughtless.” Kane nodded and waited for me to continue my poor-little-me story.

“As we grew older, I began to understand why Mother and Dad preferred Cherie to me. Cherie was petite and beautiful. I stood tall, awkward, and homely, towering over Cherie by several inches although we were only two years apart in age.

‘Be proud of your height,’ Dad would say. ‘Shoulders back. Head up. You’ll never see stars looking down.’

‘Stop slumping and slouching,’ Mother would say. ‘You’ll never be beautiful if you act ugly. Stand up straight.’

How I hated standing up straight. I towered over everyone in my class—even my teacher, even Roger Wiltis, the junior high school basketball star. Kids teased me by secretly adding my name to the first-of-the-year basketball sign-up sheet for boys. Everyone laughed at that, but I never saw the joke.”

“School years can be tough,” Kane said. “Nobody could understand why a boy like me, born and raised in the corn country of Iowa, wanted to be a commercial fisherman and live on a houseboat.”

“You always wanted that?”

“Yes. I did. As a special treat, my grandfather enrolled me at age ten in a six-week session at Sea Camp—right on Big Pine Key. I fell in love with the ocean and its creatures. And today I’m living my dream. I graduated from Iowa State, but some day I may go back to college here in Florida and study to be a marine biologist.” He nodded toward the tow boat and gave a pretend laugh. “But forget my dream for now. This’s your story.”

I grabbed another breath and continued. “I couldn’t take the put-downs, both from my parents as well as from Cherie. Mother always compared my grades to Cherie’s higher ones. Cherie always laughed at my jeans and tees and tried to get me to dress like she did—stuff straight from the pages of
Glamour.
And the kids at school tormented me, too. I won’t say my friends at school, because I felt I had no friends. Everyone called me a loner. I never wanted to be a loner. I wanted everyone to like me. But few of my peer group did. Peer group. That’s who my counselor said I didn’t fit in with—my peer group.

So one day I’d had enough of home, school, and Key West. I packed a small bag of jeans and tees, swiped one of Cherie’s sleek dresses in case I
had
to dress up. Taking two hundred bucks that I’d been hiding in my underwear drawer, I boarded a bus for Miami. I knew nobody would notice that. Our family traveled in Lincoln Town cars and Dad’s private plane. Don’t think Cherie even knew the location of the bus station. I didn’t leave a note. In my mind, I dreamed my family might think I’d been kidnapped. I dreamed they might care that I was gone.”

“Miami!” Kane exclaimed. “A big city for a thirteen-year-old. Where did you go? What did you do? You’re lucky to be alive.”

“I walked the streets for a while. The bus station area looked dirty and seedy. I walked a long ways and stopped at a nice-looking hotel. The room rate was $75 a night for a single. I knew then my two hundred wouldn’t last long. I found a less expensive hotel, The Pla-Mor, not nearly as good looking as the first one, and I booked two nights. I could pay and have a little eating money left over.

“The hotel had a bar and lounge, and after I unpacked, I took the elevator to the lounge to eat dinner. The only item on the menu I thought I could afford was the deep- fried shrimp appetizer. I didn’t want to run out of money, so sitting at the bar, I ordered a margarita, price two dollars, because I thought that a sophisticated thing to do and a thing I could afford.”

“Nobody questioned a kid ordering a margarita?”

“I didn’t look like a kid. I coiled my hair on top of my head, used lots of eyeliner and lip gloss, and wore Cherie’s black slinky shift—sleeveless and barely touching my knees. And even at age thirteen, I towered over lots of men. Cherie would have been proud to know her lessons in grooming and wearing the ‘right’ clothes were paying off. Before long a guy joined me, sat beside me on the next bar stool, smiled.

‘You look hungry,’ he said.

When I didn’t reply or return his smile, he ordered two shrimp dinners. I ignored him. When the shrimp dinners arrived, he motioned for the waiter to set one of them in front of me. I wanted to get up and leave, but my stomach growled reminding me I hadn’t eaten since breakfast—hours ago. And this guy looked nice enough. I began by tasting one shrimp. I didn’t stop until no shrimp or anything else remained on the plate. I still remember that shrimp dinner as the best meal I ever ate. I haven’t eaten shrimp since. After the meal, one thing led to another. We spent an hour or two drinking more margaritas and dancing, until he invited me up to his room.”

“Were you used to dinking?”

“Of course not. Nor dancing. That night I stumbled a lot, trying to follow his lead. At home, sometimes Cheri and I would sneak some booze from our parents’ liquor cabinet. Not enough to make us drunk. But that night at the Pla-Mor Hotel, I began to feel sick. I tried to excuse myself to go to the ladies’ room, but Mike—his name was Mike Wilson—Mike took my hand and said, ‘come along with me.’ And I did.

“All I wanted to do was to lie down and sleep. And I did that, too. I knew I shouldn’t, but how could a guy so nice and generous and caring be bad? No way, I told myself. When I woke up in the morning Mike was gone. Oddly enough, my suitcase was on the luggage rack beside the bed. I dressed quickly and opened the hotel room door. Mike had been thoughtful. He had placed a DO NOT DISTURB sign on the doorknob to the room. I dressed in jeans and tee, hurried to the lobby, bought a Key West
Citizen
and carried it back to the room. Our room? I wasn’t sure whose room it was. It didn’t matter. I was alone. I read the
Citizen
carefully, expecting to see headlines about my disappearance. Nothing. Nothing on the front page or any other page. I sat there crying until someone knocked on the door and called out ‘room service.’

I peeked through the peephole at a uniformed employee carrying a tray covered with a white napkin. I opened the door and accepted the tray. Even with a still queasy stomach, I downed the omelet, toast, orange juice. I stretched out on the bed again and didn’t wake up until I saw Mike standing over me smiling and offering me a bouquet of daisies.”

“And one thing led to another,” Kane prompted.

“Right. You can guess the rest of the story. I fell in love with Mike Wilson. He told me he loved me. He told me this room was his hideaway and he asked me to share it with him. And I did. Since my folks didn’t even care enough about me to put a ‘missing girl’ notice in the local paper, why should I even consider returning to Key West?”

“You stayed with this guy?” Kane sounded unbelieving. “How long did you live with him in that hotel room?”

“Too long. But not as long as you might think.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Even one night was too long. Did he rape you?”

“No. The sex we had was consensual. I fell in love with him. Can you forgive that?”

Kane didn’t answer. His face grew red. His hands balled into fists. Then he spoke through lips that barely moved.

“Forgive who? You, in spite of your height and sophistication were still a kid—a juvenile. He led you astray. This guy used your innocence to lure you to him. In olden days people would say you fell in with evil companions. There are laws against men like Mike Wilson, Rafa. They’re called pedophiles.”

“I know that, now. But the story gets worse and since you insisted on hearing it, I expect you to listen to all of it.”

Kane didn’t try to stop me.

“I didn’t leave that hotel room for 3 days. When I looked through the peephole at the next person who knocked on the door, I saw a woman carrying a baby. I thought she was lost and had knocked on the wrong door. I opened the door to help her. She called me a slut, a whore, and several other names before she told me she was Mrs. Mike Wilson—Mike’s wife.

“Kane, you can’t imagine how I felt. I had been sleeping with another man’s wife. I was the ‘other woman’ breaking up a family. Maybe Mrs. Mike Wilson spoke the truth. Maybe I was a slut and a whore. Ever since meeting Mrs. Wilson I’ve wondered if I am corrupt. But how could anything that felt so good be so bad?

“She called me a few more names before she left me standing alone. It took me only a few minutes to pack my bag and leave. Mike had left me money and I had no compunction against using it. I took a taxi to the bus station and caught a bus to the Keys, getting off at Big Pine Key where Gram lived. She welcomed me with open arms, not having known I’d gone missing since my folks had hushed it up.

“Once Gram called Mother, she and Dad came running to Big Pine, pretending forgiveness, eager to sweep the whole episode under the rug before anyone else heard about it. Dad had hired a private detective to try to find me, but they had told nobody I had gone missing. Since I’d left no message and since they’d heard nothing from a kidnapper, Dad said they figured I’d run away and would return home as soon as my money was gone. Dad confessed that he’d run away as a boy, as if that would make me feel better.

“Gram agreed to keep me for a few weeks, until the gossip blew over. Mom said I’d always be punished for my sins. Gram argued with her. She said that sometimes people aren’t punished for their sins. They’re punished
by their sins
and that she wasn’t going to stand by and let that to happen to me.

“Dad invited me back home. Mom said No Way—at least until they learned for sure I wasn’t pregnant. I had no real desire to return home. So that’s how I happened to spend two years with Gram who thought lots of things were more important than going to school. Mom fabricated a story about me studying abroad and Dad finally insisted that I return home.”

“Then what? At fifteen, you could hardly pick up where you left off in junior high. Nor could you join your former classmates in high school.”

“Right. But I managed to earn a high school diploma—GED. Then I really did go abroad to study. Switzerland. France. England. I loved Europe and I studied languages as well as English literature and composition. The family, mostly my dad, of course, persuaded me to return home. I had missed the freedom of the Keys. As a young adult, I saw Big Pine Key and Key West from a different angle, and I thought I’d prepared myself to write a book. That was my dream. So far a column in the
Citizen
is as far as I’ve come in achieving that dream. But I haven’t given up on it. I’ve mentioned it to you before, and it’s still a major goal that I try to work on daily.”

“Some story. Some life you’ve had.”

“And having heard it all, you can still bear associating with me?”

Chapter 33

For a new moments Kane didn’t reply. Then he stood. Although the guys on the salvage boat no longer watched us, Kane pulled me to my feet and along behind him into the wheel house. He responded to my sordid tale with kisses instead of words. And I responded in kind. I felt a freedom and a cleansing I hadn’t known since I was 13.

“If I ever meet the guy who took advantage of you in that Miami hotel, he’ll be sorry,” Kane said.

“What about forgive and forget?” I smiled as I met his eyes on a level. “Haven’t I just proved it’s a good plan?”

Kane didn’t have time to answer. Our rescuers were maneuvering
The Buccaneer
to his dock. He walked aft to greet them, to thank them—to pay them, and sign some papers. He secured the boat, and I took that as my cue to gather my clothes and fishing gear. I stepped over the gunwale with a minimum of assistance and jogged toward my car.