eaves were rotting. Decorative lattice had been put up to hide the pilings, but this was falling away.
At the foot of the stairs, Gail put a hand on the ball-shaped finial post. A crack ran through it, and a leaf had caught there. She picked it out as she considered what to do next. Bang loudly on the door? Admit defeat and let Anthony handle it?
A muffled ringing reached her ears. Gail took out her cell phone and saw the name on the screen. Irene Strickland. She leaned against the finial post, a foot on the bottom step.
"Hi, Mom…. No, you didn't have to call back…. I'm fine…. Nothing's wrong. In fact, Anthony asked me if I'd like to get married down here…. Yes, before we come back. Isn't that insane?... I told him yes…. I know, I know…. We didn't discuss it, but we'd probably move back into his house, which I don't think Karen would appreciate…. I can't tell him that, Mother, after I've already said yes…. Of course I want to, just not now…. There's no way he's going to admit he made a mistake, and if I try to suggest anything so reasonable as waiting for a couple of months, we'd be on our way to the courthouse within five minutes…. Oh, you don't know. He is so sensitive."
She noticed a movement to her right and jumped, taking a breath. A man in a straw hat was looking back at her. The boat pilot. Arnel Goode. How long had he been standing there?
Cell phone at her mouth, Gail said quietly, "Listen, I can't talk right now. Call you later…. Love you too."
Arnel Goode held his hands up to show he intended no harm. "I-I didn't mean to scare you, but you shouldn't be here. This is Miss Sinclair's property."
"I know, I'm sorry, Arnel." Gail took her foot off the stairs. "I need to speak to her. I've been calling, and she doesn't answer."
The man wore gardening gloves, and rings of perspiration darkened the underarms of his dust-covered, long-sleeved shirt. The weather wasn't cool enough to require so many clothes, but his pale skin appeared fragile, susceptible to sunburn, which explained the hat. "Wh-Why do you want to speak to her?"
"I really can't discuss it. Do you work here too? I thought you worked for the Greenwalds."
"And for Miss Sinclair."
"Is she home?"
"Yes, but... she—she doesn't get up this early. We better go." Arnel started to move away, expecting Gail to follow.
"Could I come back later? Well, it's Anthony Quintana who would see her. Perhaps I would come too, but he's Billy's lawyer." The man's blue eyes stared blankly back at her. "Remember Mr. Quintana?"
"Yes."
With a sigh, Gail came closer. "All right. Billy was watching videos with Miss Sinclair the night Sandra McCoy was killed. The police think he did it. We need for Miss Sinclair to tell them Billy was with her, so they'll leave him alone. That's what we need to see her about."
He nodded, the hat brim moving slowly up and down.
"She saved Billy's life, and I'm sure she'd want to help him again. You would, too, wouldn't you?"
Arnel glanced quickly at the house. "She d-d-doesn't like visitors."
More firmly Gail said, "Whether she likes it or not, we have to see her. We aren't movie fans looking for an autograph."
He noticed a weed and bent down to pull it. His hat was fraying at the crown. "Okay. When she wakes up, I'll ask her to call you."
Gail said, "How will you know when she wakes up?"
"She always calls me. I have a cell phone." Arnel shook dirt off the roots of the weed.
Looking at her watch, Gail said, "It's just after ten. Will she be up by noon?"
"I think so." He took a step toward the corner of the house, arm extended. "You wa-wa-want a ride back to the hotel?"
Seeing she would get nothing else here, Gail said, "Yes, if it's no trouble. Thanks."
They went across the yard, around a thick hedge of oleander, and toward a storage shed made of concrete blocks. Arnel's little electric truck was parked just beyond. Gail hadn't noticed it earlier. A rake leaned against the rear of the truck. Apparently he had
At the foot of the stairs, Gail put a hand on the ball-shaped finial post. A crack ran through it, and a leaf had caught there. She picked it out as she considered what to do next. Bang loudly on the door? Admit defeat and let Anthony handle it?
A muffled ringing reached her ears. Gail took out her cell phone and saw the name on the screen. Irene Strickland. She leaned against the finial post, a foot on the bottom step.
"Hi, Mom…. No, you didn't have to call back…. I'm fine…. Nothing's wrong. In fact, Anthony asked me if I'd like to get married down here…. Yes, before we come back. Isn't that insane?... I told him yes…. I know, I know…. We didn't discuss it, but we'd probably move back into his house, which I don't think Karen would appreciate…. I can't tell him that, Mother, after I've already said yes…. Of course I want to, just not now…. There's no way he's going to admit he made a mistake, and if I try to suggest anything so reasonable as waiting for a couple of months, we'd be on our way to the courthouse within five minutes…. Oh, you don't know. He is so sensitive."
She noticed a movement to her right and jumped, taking a breath. A man in a straw hat was looking back at her. The boat pilot. Arnel Goode. How long had he been standing there?
Cell phone at her mouth, Gail said quietly, "Listen, I can't talk right now. Call you later…. Love you too."
Arnel Goode held his hands up to show he intended no harm. "I-I didn't mean to scare you, but you shouldn't be here. This is Miss Sinclair's property."
"I know, I'm sorry, Arnel." Gail took her foot off the stairs. "I need to speak to her. I've been calling, and she doesn't answer."
The man wore gardening gloves, and rings of perspiration darkened the underarms of his dust-covered, long-sleeved shirt. The weather wasn't cool enough to require so many clothes, but his pale skin appeared fragile, susceptible to sunburn, which explained the hat. "Wh-Why do you want to speak to her?"
"I really can't discuss it. Do you work here too? I thought you worked for the Greenwalds."
"And for Miss Sinclair."
"Is she home?"
"Yes, but... she—she doesn't get up this early. We better go." Arnel started to move away, expecting Gail to follow.
"Could I come back later? Well, it's Anthony Quintana who would see her. Perhaps I would come too, but he's Billy's lawyer." The man's blue eyes stared blankly back at her. "Remember Mr. Quintana?"
"Yes."
With a sigh, Gail came closer. "All right. Billy was watching videos with Miss Sinclair the night Sandra McCoy was killed. The police think he did it. We need for Miss Sinclair to tell them Billy was with her, so they'll leave him alone. That's what we need to see her about."
He nodded, the hat brim moving slowly up and down.
"She saved Billy's life, and I'm sure she'd want to help him again. You would, too, wouldn't you?"
Arnel glanced quickly at the house. "She d-d-doesn't like visitors."
More firmly Gail said, "Whether she likes it or not, we have to see her. We aren't movie fans looking for an autograph."
He noticed a weed and bent down to pull it. His hat was fraying at the crown. "Okay. When she wakes up, I'll ask her to call you."
Gail said, "How will you know when she wakes up?"
"She always calls me. I have a cell phone." Arnel shook dirt off the roots of the weed.
Looking at her watch, Gail said, "It's just after ten. Will she be up by noon?"
"I think so." He took a step toward the corner of the house, arm extended. "You wa-wa-want a ride back to the hotel?"
Seeing she would get nothing else here, Gail said, "Yes, if it's no trouble. Thanks."
They went across the yard, around a thick hedge of oleander, and toward a storage shed made of concrete blocks. Arnel's little electric truck was parked just beyond. Gail hadn't noticed it earlier. A rake leaned against the rear of the truck. Apparently he had
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