Pier Pressure (15 page)

Punt laughed. “To each his own. I offered him a twenty one night if he'd pack up his pipes and go home.”

“Punt! How could you!”

“It was a joke—sort of. Then a guy beside me offered him another twenty and I thought the two twenties tempted him to pocket them and go. But he kept playing. Maybe there aren't any pockets in those kilts.”

We returned to the car, rinsing our sandy feet in the open air shower at the beach entrance. Punt steadied me as I slipped my damp feet into dry leather, pulling me a bit closer to him than necessary, I thought.

We drove slowly back to the Torch Keys, turning right for a short distance and stopping at The Sandbar. The cool trade wind ruffled my hair as we climbed a dozen stairs to the restaurant perched on pilings and overlooking the bay. Darkness had fallen, and a full moon lit the water, glinting against the dock where other diners had moored their boats. The smell of fried shrimp made my mouth water.

Luck smiled on us and we found a table by one of the huge open windows that afforded us a clear view of the scene below. The running lights on a sailboat looked like slow-moving stars. Moonlight etched a couple pausing to enjoy a kiss on the dock, but closer at hand a waitress arrived, presenting us with a wine list and asking for our drink order.

I tensed, waiting to see how Punt would handle that.

“Would you care for a drink?” he asked.

“I'd like club soda with a twist of lime, please.”

“Make mine the same,” Punt told the waitress.

“Do you miss the wine?” I asked after the waitress left.

“Sometimes, but never a lot. It's surprising what a person can get used to—when it's necessary. Don't let my being on the wagon stop you from enjoying a glass of wine. They used to have excellent Chardonnay here.”

“Thanks, but maybe another time, Punt.”

A few minutes later I enjoyed the fizz of sparkling water and lime on my tongue as we studied the dinner menus the waitress placed before us.

“Punt, look. They serve alligator steak. Have you ever tried that? I thought alligators were endangered.”

“I think that's past.” Punt grinned at me. “So let's order alligator and see what happens.”

“What do you think'll happen? Is there something about alligator steak I should know?”

Before Punt could answer, the waitress returned, pencil and pad in hand. “What would you like this evening?”

“We'll try the alligator steak,” Punt said.

She looked up, smiling. “I'm sorry, but we're out of alligator tonight.”

“Give us a bit more time, please.” Punt waited until she walked away, then he grinned. “Restaurants are frequently out of alligator unless area security officers have recently had to dispose of some 'gator that dined on a pet-owner's dog.”

“You're making that up, right? Tell me it's something you read in a book.”

Punt avoided my question and changed the subject. “Do you still like seafood as much as you used to?”

I felt flattered he'd remembered. It'd been a long time since we'd enjoyed a meal together. “Yes, I still love seafood.”

“Then how about ordering the seafood platter for two?” He pointed to the listing on the menu. “Shrimp, oysters, crab, lobster.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“See, this isn't so bad after all.” Punt grinned at me.

“What do you mean, not so bad after all?”

“I've been asking you out now and then for years and you've always said no. Tonight, I feel like I'm gaining ground.”

“We've had our problems, haven't we? We got along great in high school—for a while.”

“Then I played jerk and went for any drug I could get my hands on. That turned you off, and rightfully so, and the next thing I knew you married Jude Cardell. Mrs. Jude Cardell. What on earth did you see in that guy? Do I dare ask you that question?”

I wished he hadn't asked. Why spoil an evening by talking about Jude? My face flushed and I took a drink of fizz water to cool down. No point in letting Punt know he could upset me with his questions or that his mentioning Jude could flood me with the frightening memories I tried hard to hold in check.

“Ask whatever you like. Hindsight's better than foresight. All I can say now is Jude and all his phony sophistication dazzled me. He's several years older than I, you know, and at the time I thought him a debonair man about town. The community respected him. I didn't see his dark side until after we married. Before that, he wined me and dined me and brought me gifts for every occasion and many times for no occasion at all.” I forced myself to stop talking when I heard my words rattling on and on.

“Jass told me Jude's ability to enchant ended once you married.”

“Right. It did. Jude insisted we move to Miami where I had no friends or relatives. Then he became jealous to the extreme. He tried to control everything I did. And I let him. I think now that's why he did it—because he knew he could, because it made him feel big and important. If I even looked at another man, he accused me of having an affair behind his back.”

“That's when the abuse started?”

“Yes. I suppose Jass told you about it. She tried to get me to leave Jude after my first broken jaw, but my stubbornness and my fear held me in place. Finally I had the courage to walk out and, although I've sometimes still been afraid, I've certainly never been sorry. I do regret the fear Jude left with me, a fear of being around men, a fear of even thinking about another relationship.”

“I hope you notice that I've done nothing to scare you to death today.”

“I've noticed, and I appreciate that, Punt. I'm going to have to bury my fears as we face the days ahead, the murder investigation.”

We stopped all serious talk when the seafood platter arrived, and we had playful arguments over who ate the biggest shrimp, the best piece of lobster. We laughed as we debated over whether the scallops were really scallops or just cookie-cutter pieces of breaded gray shark. But what did it matter when everything tasted so delicious? We took our time enjoying the meal and watching the moonlight play on the bay.

After we ate we climbed back down the stairs and walked around the building to a shallow lighted pool where we watched baby barracuda, sharks, and some rays swimming among coral rocks and a bit of floating seaweed. Sea water splashed into the pool through a length of copper tubing, keeping the enclosure fresh and clean. Two children dropped pieces of bread on the water's surface, and we could almost see those meat eaters turning up their noses at such poor fare. When one of the groundskeepers tossed some chum into the pool, the water swirled as the creatures vied for it.

After watching the fish for awhile, we strolled onto the dock. The boards swayed beneath my feet and I clung to the rope railing strung between sturdy uprights.

“Let's go see who's docked here tonight.” I liked reading the names painted on the boat sterns. Punt took my hand to steady me. “Look.
The High Sea
from Big Pine Key.
The Sea Witch
from Little Torch Key.
Janice
from Sugarloaf Key.”

I leaned over to try to read another name, but Punt pulled me up and into his arms. The evening had grown cooler, and his body warmed me. In the next moment his lips pressed against mine in a sweet, lingering kiss that I returned—because I wanted to. I enjoyed the lime scent of his after-shave for several moments before I gently eased from his embrace, determined to keep our relationship platonic.

“Punt, be real.” My voice sounded throaty and shaky. “We're probably putting on a moonlight show for all the diners with window seats.”

“Do you really care?” Punt released me, but kept one arm around my waist as we headed back toward the car.

I didn't answer. I considered his question and I wasn't at all sure of the best reply. The truth? Or something I made up in order to sound glib? Punt didn't repeat the question. Maybe he was as afraid of the answer as I.

We rode back to Key West in a passive silence that belied our concern over Beau's lack of an alibi, over what might happen to all of us the next day. A few cars passed us, but for the most part the drivers held to the speed limit. Shandy says there are a dozen speed limit changes between Key West and Big Pine Key—forty-five to fifty to fifty-five. I didn't count them. I trusted Shandy when it came to counting things.

At first, North Roosevelt was relatively quiet for that time of night, then sirens wailed, demanding right-of way. Punt managed to pull the convertible to the curbing to let two fire trucks whiz by.

“Wonder what's up?” I asked.

“Want to go see?”

Without waiting for my reply, Punt followed the sound of the sirens, and we gasped when both trucks turned onto Georgia Street. At first we couldn't tell where they were going to stop, then all at once we saw they were slowing at my house.

We saw small flames licking from the two windows that opened onto the front porch. Then Punt drove on past the fire trucks and we saw more flames snaking out the side windows and charring the siding. Even brighter flames shot into the air near the back entrance, flaring higher than the roof.

“Stand back, folks! Give the firemen room!”

“More hose. Connect that hose!”

Firefighters shouted orders, pulled a hose from the truck, hooked it to the fire hydrant.

“My things! I've got to save my things!” I released my seatbelt and shouted as I opened the car door and fought to get out, straining against Punt's grip on my arm and hating the way he pulled me back.

“It's too late, Keely,” Punt yelled in my ear, but I continued to struggle.

“Let me go! Let me go!”

“Don't risk your life.” Punt's fingers were like a vise clamping me to the car. “The house's going up like tinder. There's not a chance in hell of saving anything.”

Physically, I stopped struggling, but my thoughts raced with the flames. “What do you suppose caused it?” I hoped Punt would say something like “faulty wiring” or “stove burner left on.” He said nothing. Nor did I. But my mind's eye saw Jude Cardell carrying a match and a can of gasoline.

Fifteen

A POLICE CAR arrived, sirens wailing, warning lights flashing. It stopped in the middle of the street and a cop sprinted to our car.

“Move on! Move on! You're blocking the right-of-way. Let the police cars through. No parking here! Move on.”

Punt pulled the car ahead slowly and we craned our necks, trying to see the extent of the fire. Were flames leaping higher, or was the blaze dying down? We couldn't tell.

“Move on,” the cop ordered again. “Move on or I'll ticket you.”

“Drive around the block, Punt. Please. I've got to get back to the house. I'm responsible for it. The Moores expect me to look after it.” I felt tears wetting my cheeks and my breath snagged in my throat.

“There's nothing either of us can do to help. The firefighters know their business. The best thing we can do is to keep out of their way.”

Punt had to circle two blocks before he found a parking place. He took time to raise the top on the convertible, lock the doors, and although I could barely stand the delay, I waited for him. Nobody leaves an unlocked convertible on the street at night. A smog of smoke filled the air and my throat ached as I choked on it as well as on my tears.

“Fire! Fire!” Somebody behind us shouted, and footsteps pounded the sidewalk passing us by. “House afire! House afire!”

We joined the throng running down the street and heading for the blaze. When we reached Georgia Street, policemen holding restraining ropes and billy clubs struggled to hold the crowd at bay.

“Stand back! Stand back!” an officer shouted through a bullhorn.

Neighbors stood on their porches gawking. A pudgy man in a green plaid nightshirt stood barefoot on his front sidewalk, shouting orders to the firemen.

“Around back! Around back!” he shouted. “I heard an explosion.”

“Henry, shut up,” a woman yelled. Her baby-doll nightgown reached mid-thigh, revealing thin sparrow legs and bare feet thrust into a man's loafers.

I heard gushing water splashing the front porch siding, smelled the pungent odor of smoke, oily, black. Punt tried to hold me back, but I pushed my way forward until I felt the heat from the blaze, tasted gritty ash on my tongue. Something inside the house exploded, and in the flare of the explosion, light glinted on a bald head. I grabbed Punt's hand, but in the next moment the bald head disappeared and I said nothing. Lots of men had bald heads.

“Lady, if you don't get back, we'll have to restrain you in the patrol car.” The policeman pushed on my shoulders, forcing me back a few steps.

“But it's my house,” I shouted. “I live here.” I shrank from his touch, darted behind him, and jogged toward the rear of the house just as the flaming roof over the back porch crashed. Support posts fell like jackstraws and sparks flew in all directions. Only when a bit of burning debris landed in my hair, did I realize I could do nothing to stop the fire. Punt knocked the debris to the ground and stamped on it. The smell of my singed hair sickened me.

“Are you okay?” Punt brushed his fingers through my hair to make sure there were no more live sparks.

“I'm fine. I'm fine.”

Punt slid his arm around my waist and pulled me close, and I sagged against him, exhausted.

“Let's get out of here, Keely. There's nothing either of us can do. Maybe in the morning we can come back, sort through the rubble. You might be able to salvage a few things. Is there a back path we can leave by? No point in antagonizing those cops again if we don't have to.”

“We can follow this chain-link fence to the alley behind the house. The fence surrounds the yard and the pool and there's a back gate. Maybe the firemen could bring their hoses through it and reach the flames at the rear of the house.”