The Way We Die Now (19 page)

A tall black man came swiftly through the swinging door, and he crossed the room, dodging the chairs and wine tables, swiveling his hips like a broken-field runner. He wore a wide white smile and a black linen suit with a white shirt and a pearl gray necktie. There was a hand-painted picture of a dog's head on the tie, either a collie or a wolfhound. Hoke wasn't sure. The man held out his hand, so Hoke shook it.

"Welcome to our guesthouse, sir."

"You must be Mr. Noseworthy."

"At your service, sir." The smile didn't leave his dark face, but his eyes took in Hoke's drooping shirttails and baggage--a small brown paper sack from Myrtle's discount drugstore.

"Can anyone overhear us?" Hoke pointed toward the kitchen door.

"Mrs. Noseworthy's out back, but she's ironing on the back porch."

"Any other guests?"

"Do I have a room, d'you mean? I have rooms, yes, but you must pay in advance. Usually reservations are requested well ahead of arrival, and I always require the first day's rent in advance on mail reservations--"

"Are there any other guests?" Hoke repeated.

"Yes. A Mrs. Peterson. But she's not here at present. She was going to visit the Corkscrew Swamp Sanctuary today, she said. Where did you park your car, Mr.--?"

"Let's cut the shit, Noseworthy. Mel Peoples told me to contact you. My name's Adam Jinks. Or did Mel give you a different name?"

"Jinks is correct, yes, sir, but I didn't expect you so soon. What happened to your chin?"

"A shaving nick. Can you contact Mel for me?"

Noseworthy shook his head. "Not right away. Mr. Peoples called me from the airport--Fort Myers--yesterday. He had to fly up to a conference in Tallahassee for three days. Of course, if he calls from Tallahassee, I can put you on the phone, but I don't know his number up there or where he's staying. I'll just have to give you a room, and you'll have to wait till he gets back or phones."

"Terrific. Give me a room with a tub bath, if you've got one."

"Our rates are sixty dollars a day, and that's with breakfast, of course. We have wine and cheese in the living room every evening between five and six--"

"I don't care what it costs. It all goes on Mel Peoples's tab, so give me the best room you've got."

"He didn't say anything about that." Noseworthy licked his lips.

"He didn't tell me he was going to Tallahassee either. What part of the Bahamas are you from?"

"Abaco. You may not know where that is--"

"But I do. We have something in common. That's the island my ancestors came from. They sat out the Revolutionary War in Abaco and moved back to Florida when the war was over. They were Loyalists, you see."

"Have you ever been there? To Abaco?"

"No, I plan to fly over sometime, just to see it, but I've been busy. I also need a bath. Perhaps you can show me my room now, and we can talk about the islands later."

"Sign in, please." Noseworthy went behind the table, and handed Hoke a ballpoint. Hoke signed the register, "Adam Jinks, Abaco, Bahamas," and returned the pen to the innkeeper.

"I'm sorry you had to sign in." Noseworthy shrugged. "But they check on me sometimes, because of the tax, you know."

"I understand. You aren't doing too well, are you?"

"Not yet, but word is getting around. I really don't understand it. There are many interesting places to sight-see, all within easy driving distance of Immokalee, as I was telling Mrs. Peterson this morning."

"Maybe you ought to put in a pool. It's ninety degrees out there, and eighty degrees in here."

"We don't cater to that kind of clientele. Tourists who want a pool can stay at the Day's Inn or a Howard Johnson's. A guesthouse is for people who want a quiet atmosphere with homelike surroundings."

"Yeah. Most people have stuffed squirrels and owls in their living rooms, so they'll feel right at home here."

"It's upstairs. Follow me."

Hoke's room was in the front of the house upstairs, and it had a large bathroom. The Bahama blinds shielded the window to the street, so there was no view, but there was nothing he wanted to see in Immokalee anyway. Noseworthy handed him the key. There was a brass tag on it with the name LeRoy Collins intaglioed onto the tag.

"The downstairs door is locked at ten,but your room key fits the front door as well, in case you go out."

"Did Governor Collins ever stay in this room?"

"No, sir, but all the rooms are named for former Florida governors. Mrs. Peterson is down the hall, in Governor Kirk's room."

"A good idea, Mr. Noseworthy. And educational, too. If Mel phones, come and get me right away--even if I'm still in the tub."

"Don't worry, Mr. Jinks, I will." He closed the door behind him as he left.

There was a full-length mirror on a wooden wardrobe next to the double bed, and Hoke caught a glimpse of himself. No wonder Noseworthy had given him such a cool greeting. His serge suit pants, rolled up at the cuffs, were dusty, and the sport shirt was far too big for him. Hoke had rolled up the sleeves and had left the long square tails out to cover the pistol stuffed behind his waistband. Hoke turned on the hot water in the tub and undressed. A bruise the size of an orange was on his stomach, where Chico had hit him with his fist. It looked very dark against his white hairy stomach. The tub had claws for feet, and each claw clutched a large round marble ball. There was a framed sepia-toned photo of Queen Victoria on the wall, which was hardly appropriate for LeRoy Collins's room, Florida's former liberal and best governor ever. Hoke turned off the hot water and then ran enough cold to cool it so he could barely stand it. He eased his aching body into the steaming water. He soaked for about an hour, running the hot water again as the tub cooled, before he soaped himself and rinsed off.

He removed the wet tape and almost fell asleep before he decided to get out. He washed his white socks in the tub before he pulled the plug. He dried off and put fresh tape around his cracked ribs. He dressed again, putting his shoes on without socks. He felt refreshed, but his neck was still sore and tender to the touch. He was also hungry.

Hoke put the pistol under his pillow and went downstairs, leaving his room key in the door. Noseworthy wasn't in the living room, so Hoke pushed through the door and went into the kitchen. A woman, about thirty-eight or forty, with curly lion-colored hair, was sitting on a stool at the worktable, snapping pole beans into a green bowl. She was a handsome woman, even without makeup, and she looked at Hoke with cool blue eyes.

"May I help you? Mr. Noseworthy went to the post office."

"Are you Mrs. Noseworthy?"

"I'm Mrs. Noseworthy, yes," she said, lifting her chin.

"Yes, ma'am. I'd like to get something to eat."

She shook her head. "We don't serve meals except for breakfast, and that's from seven-thirty till ten. Eleven is checkout time, you see. But we serve wine and cheese from five to six."

Hoke nodded. "Mr. Noseworthy told me, but I missed breakfast."

"I can give you a half-off coupon for the Cafeteria downtown."

"I guess your husband hasn't told you anything about me. You'd better talk to him. I'm also expecting an important call."

"He told me."

"So I can't leave the house. If I have to wait till five for a piece of cheese, I'll starve."

"I guess I could scramble you an egg."

"If you're too busy, I can do it myself."

"I'll bring a tray up to your room." She bent over her bowl again, dismissing him.

"Thanks. By the way, Mrs. Noseworthy, there's no Gideon Bible in my room. I checked."

She lifted her head and stared for a moment. "There's a bookcase in the living room for guests. But I don't think you'll find one there either."

Hoke grinned as he climbed the stairs to his room. Mrs. Noseworthy, whether she was actually married to the innkeeper or not, explained a few things that had bothered him. Here in Immokalee, on an unpaved side street, was the worst location possible for a guesthouse. The room, without a phone, radio, or television, was way overpriced, and there wasn't even a pool. But it was a safe place for a white woman married to a black man. No one would bother the couple here, and the social stigma, in a backwater like Immokalee, would be minimal at best. There would always be some guests for their seven rooms. Even one guest at sixty bucks a day would provide a living for two people. The guest-house would also serve as a safe house, a secure hideout for someone who wanted to cool off for a couple of weeks. Because of the recent drug wars in the Bahamas, particularly in Nassau, on New Providence, there was a real need for a quiet hideout like this one. And for his hot guests, Noseworthy would charge a lot more than sixty a day. Hoke looked forward to meeting Mrs. Peterson, wondering how she happened to be staying here. He shook his head. He still had his own problems to solve. Instead of being curious about the Noseworthys and Mrs. Peterson, he should be making up some kind of story to tell Mel Peoples.

On the long walk from the farm to town he had decided to tell Peoples the truth about what had happened. But after reflection, now that he had relaxed a little and was feeling better, he suspected that the truth would terrify a bureaucrat like Mel Peoples. If he told Peoples and Major Brownley the truth, he could get into a little trouble, perhaps a lot of trouble-- There was a knock at the door.

Hoke got up from the bed, where he had been lying and staring at the photograph of Booker T. Washington on the wall. It hurt to move, and he groaned when he got to his feet. He crossed the room and opened the door. Mrs. Noseworthy had put the tray on the floor outside the door and gone back downstairs.

There was a one-egg omelet on the large white plate, and a piece of white bread, skimpily spread with margarine. A small dish contained three prunes, and there was a six-ounce glass of skimmed milk--the kind his father called "blue john." As he put the tray on the bedside table, he regretted making the comment about the Gideon Bible. Hoke ate slowly, taking his time to make the meager meal last. Except for wine and cheese later, this would be the last meal he would get until breakfast. He would have to stay put in the house until he heard from Peoples.

There was a battery-powered digital alarm clock on the bedside table, but no phone. He could call Brownley in Miami on the downstairs phone and ask Brownley to come and get him, but that wasn't a good idea. 'When the fire at the farm was discovered, if it hadn't been already, there would be a sheriff's investigation, and Brownley should avoid this area altogether. He would just have to wait.

At five Hoke took his tray downstairs to the kitchen and put it on the counter by the sink before going into the living room. There were wrapped singles of Velveeta cheese food on a large platter arranged in an overlapping pattern. The center of the plate held an unwrapped waxed-paper square of unsalted soda crackers. There was also an opened half gallon jug of burgundy on the buffet table. Hoke poured a plastic glass with wine but skipped the cheese and crackers.

He was on his third glass of wine when Mrs. Peterson came downstairs. She introduced herself, and told him she was a retired history teacher from Rome, Georgia. She was driving around the state by herself, sight-seeing, and staying at guesthouses. She loved out-of-the-way places, she said, and met very interesting people at the guesthouses. At first, she said, when she left Rome, she had stayed at motels. But they all were alike, and she hadn't met anyone. Then she got a list of Florida guesthouses from a travel agent in St. Augustine, and it became a different trip altogether. She was in her early sixties, Hoke figured, wearing khaki culottes and a short-sleeved blouse, and she seemed to be a nice, pleasant woman. \Vhen she left Immokalee, she said, she was going to skip Miami and drive directly to Key West, where she had reservations for a week at the Cabin Boy Inn. Hoke knew that the Cabin Boy Inn catered primarily to gay couples on vacation from New York and New Jersey.

"You'll meet some interesting people there, I'm sure," he told her.

She didn't ask Hoke a single question but rambled on about her afternoon at the Corkscrew Swamp Sanctuary. Mr. Noseworthy had poked his head through the swinging door a couple of times, but neither he nor his wife joined them in the parlor. Mrs. Peterson told him in some detail about the birds she had seen and ate a half dozen slices of cheese. Hoke finally excused himself, poured another glass of wine, and took it upstairs to his room to get away from her.

Hoke undressed and went to bed and was asleep by seventhirty. The house was quiet, and he didn't awaken until seven the next morning. He was still stiff and sore. He took a short tub bath before going downstairs for breakfast. He drank two cups of coffee from the Mr. Coffee machine and ate a bowl of Cheerios, pouring them from the opened box on the buffet table. There was milk in a glass pitcher. There were only two slices of cantaloupe on a plate, so Hoke only ate one slice, figuring that the second slice was Mrs. Peterson's. Mrs. Peterson, on her retirement vacation, was still asleep.

After his frugal breakfast Hoke looked in the bookcase. Most of the books were paperbacks or -Reader's Digest- condensed books in hard cover, but there were a few interesting hardbacks, with dust jackets missing. Hoke took a copy of Sabatini's -Scaramouche- out of the bookcase and opened it to the first page. "He was born with the gift of laughter, and the knowledge that the world was mad."

Hooked, Hoke took the book back upstairs to his room and read until noon.

CHAPTER 13

The following day at 1:00 P.M. Noseworthy came up to Hoke's room and got him. Mel Peoples was on the line from Tallahassee. Noseworthy went into the kitchen, and Hoke picked up the phone.

"Moseley, here."

"What in the hell happened out there, Sergeant?" Peoples began, and his voice was higher than Hoke had remembered. "I just talked to Sheriff Boggis awhile ago on the phone, and he said the house and barn were burnt down."

"I imagine they are, because they were burning when I saw them. I spent my first night here in town and hitchhiked out to the farm the next morning. An old couple driving to Miami picked me up and dropped me by the gate. It was almost a mile out to the farm itself, but I didn't go all the way. As soon as I saw that the house and the barn were on fire, I walked back here to Immokalee. And I had to walk all the way, too. You should've left a number here for me to call you. I wasn't about to call Boggis or anyone else about the fire."