Fallen Palm (Jesse McDermitt Series) by Wayne Stinnett Page A

he laughed.
    “I’ll get the skiff hooked up to the truck, dad,” Julie said. “Give me a hand, Alex?”
    The two women headed around the side of the bar, where the skiff had been secured the night before. Rusty turned to me and asked, “What’s your take on those three men?”
    I knew exactly what he really wanted to know. Julie had never shown much interest in men and he was worried. Yeah, I had some experience at being the guy that was always away and he didn’t want Julie to be hurt.
    “I could be totally wrong, Rusty,” I said. “But I think Deuce is a straight up guy. I haven’t seen either of my daughters in years. If I could choose a man for them, I’d pick someone cut from Deuce’s cloth.” My daughters from my first marriage lived in North Carolina, with their mom. She’d filled their heads from childhood on what a terrible person I was and other than sending them a card on their birthdays with a check inside, I hadn’t really had any contact with them in fifteen years. The checks were never cashed. Guess that said something, in and of itself. “Truth is,” I said to my old friend, “I look at Julie like she was my own kid. I don’t think we have anything to worry about. Besides, how much of a romance can bloom in just two days?”
    The pickup pulled up on the side of the bar just then and Alex said, “Let’s get a move on, Captain Carpenter. I want to see that house.”
    “We’ll be back tomorrow,” I told Rusty.
    “Yeah, right,” he said. “I won’t hold my breath.”
    I climbed in next to Alex and Julie drove down the long shell driveway and turned left on A-1-A, then left on Sombrero, toward Dockside. “So, what do you think of Russell?” Julie asked.
    “Who?”
    “Russell, I’m not crazy about a nickname like Deuce.”
    “Um, Julie, Rusty is your dad’s nickname. You don’t have a problem with everyone calling him that, do you?” I asked. “Deuce, I mean Russell, is a good enough guy. What do you think, Alex?”
    “He sort of reminds me of what you must have been like a lifetime ago. Very serious,” she replied.
    “Look, Jules,” I said, “I can see you like the guy and he’s a decent person, that’s for sure. But you’re not likely to see a lot of him.”
    “I wouldn’t be too sure,” she said, smiling.
    I just left it at that, hoping she was right and wouldn’t get hurt. We pulled into Dockside and it was a mess. Several of the boats that lay at anchor in the harbor had broken loose and were crashed against the shoreline all around the bay.
    “Oh my,” Alex said, pointing to where the Revenge had been docked yesterday. A thirty-foot catamaran had crashed into the docks and the left side of the dock was now halfway through the cabin. “I’m so glad you moved your boat,” she added. We idled on down to the launch ramp, which was thankfully cleared. Dozens of people were busy everywhere, cleaning up what they could. That’s the thing about a storm like that. It brought out the best in people.

12
    Monday afternoon, October 24, 2005
     
    We backed the skiff down the ramp into the water and told Julie we’d be back tomorrow with the skiff, then boarded the little boat. I noticed that Alex’s overnight bag, a suitcase and two rod cases were already aboard. I started the big Johnson outboard and it settled quickly into a low burbling. Backing away from the ramp, Alex said, “I sure hope nothing’s sunk in the channel.”
    “Yeah, me too.”
    We idled along, following the channel along the docks, amazed at all the damage that had been done here. “You think your house is alright?” she asked.
    “That’s something I’m certain of. The island might be a mess, but the house will be fine.”
    I passed Sister Creek and turned right toward the bridge and open water. Once we were clear of the old bridge, I could see that the water outside was nearly as calm as usual and opened the big motor up as we crossed under the Seven Mile Bridge. I was anxious to show