Sunset Bridge (7 page)

The message had been timed to coincide with Bay’s morning trip to school, and Tracy had carefully called Marsh’s home number, not his cell. Transparent, maybe, but all she’d been able to come up with to avoid him.

“Got it,” he acknowledged. “What, two days ago?”

She joined him on the stoop, resting her hip against his and her head against his shoulder. “Where does the time go?”

“What’s really going on, Trace? Are you still pissed about the camping trip? Locked in worry about all the work you need done here? Busy thinking about all the money you could make if you sell this place?”

“Busy, and still not feeling a hundred percent like myself.”

“Have you seen a doctor?”

Her heart sped up even more. “No need to,” she said truthfully. “I know what’s wrong, and it’s not the kind of thing they can plop a bandage on. Besides, I just ate a good dinner at Alice’s, and here I am, sitting on my steps talking to you instead of moaning over bad oysters.”

“I was worried.”

She turned a little so she could see his face. “That’s sweet.”

She was hoping for more, some undying pledge of love that would ease some of her anxieties, but he brushed a light kiss across her lips instead. “So what’s been up, besides dinner with your neighbors?”

“Nothing on the property, if that’s what you mean. Just the usual craziness at the rec center. Oh, and get this, there’s a film crew coming to town, and Wanda’s probably going to be baking pies for them. You’ve heard of Derek Forbes?”

He lifted a brow. “Aw, shucks, ma’am, I never did get myself to one of them talking pictures.”

She poked him with her elbow. “I’ve actually met the guy. The last time I witnessed him in action, he was standing on a grand piano leading a group of awed partygoers in the chorus from the theme song of his latest blockbuster. He sang the verses, although not quite the sound-track version.”

That was all Tracy remembered. Not where the party had been held or by whom. Why she’d been there, of course, was easier to put together. Undoubtedly CJ had promised to make the host or hostess richer than his or her wildest fantasies, and the poor sap had believed him.

“Ah, that fancy other life of yours,” Marsh said. “The one I can’t compete with.”

She ignored the dig. “We were on the same guest lists at least half a dozen times. He has an impressive amount of energy and a wicked sense of humor. In an industry where people throw tantrums just because they can, he’s one of a kind, even-tempered and friendly.”

“Why is Wanda making pies for him?”

“Because it turns out he’s a big fan of pie and everyone wants him to be happy. He’s going to be filming here on our very own bridge. He’s famous for doing his own stunts, so when the studios started screaming about insurance and liability, he started his own production company. The guy must be in his sixties by now, but nothing ever stops him. A friend of mine in the biz thinks he’ll die in an explosion and be thrilled that he’s gone out with a bang. Anyway, Wanda’s
beside herself trying to figure out what she can make that’s good enough.”

“Well, the guy may be larger than life, but so’s Wanda Gray. If those two actually meet, I’d like to be there to watch the room light up.”

“Commutes are going to be a lot longer. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I already heard about the film. You know the bridge that’s going up beside the old one? One of the guys who won that contract is the brother of a law school buddy. Wild Florida was watching the whole business pretty closely, just to be sure the construction company that won the bid had the environment’s best interests in mind.”

“Did they?”

“Me, I’d rather see a passenger ferry, but yeah, Cardrake Brothers has a worldwide reputation for being environmentally aware. The plans they submitted are amazing. Even better, they did the repairs on the old bridge and brought them in under estimate. That convinced everybody they were the only ones to build the new one.”

There’d been talk of a toll to pay for the new bridge, and the thought of having to fork over money each day to go back and forth to work had sent Tracy into a tailspin. With all her other financial worries, that had sounded like the credits rolling on a film of her life at Happiness Key. Luckily the city fathers had managed to find federal money to cover most of the costs, and the idea of a toll had been dropped.

“If I know Derek Forbes,” she said, “expect to see him dangling over the water or dodging cars. Wanda says they’re calling the movie
Sunset Bridge
.”

“You do know the best people.”

“Do I?” She slipped her arm under his. “I always thought so.”

“Officially the real bridge is named after some egomaniac who was mayor when it was built, but the locals really did call it Sunset Bridge, or at least they did when I was a kid.” Marsh tugged her a little closer. “I haven’t walked you out there when the sun’s going down?”

“You probably thought you did. Maybe you had me mixed up with one of your other dates.”

“We ought to do it before the movie crew arrives. Why don’t you come over tomorrow night. I’ll cook you dinner, then we’ll take the pedestrian walkway out to the middle of the bay and watch the sun going down.”

“You are such a romantic.” She pulled her arm from his and slid away before she was tempted to say yes. She didn’t want to eat with Marsh, not until her “all day” sickness was under control. And right now, in a moment of weakness, she was too apt to blurt out the truth about the baby.

“But I can’t,” she said, before he interpreted her silence as yes. “I have monthly reports, and I’m too busy to get them finished at the center next week. Plus, I’m trying to take things easy until I’m a hundred percent back on my feet. So I’d better take a rain check until I’m in better shape.”

“I make a mean redfish Creole, and you could put your feet up and forget the bridge.”

Alice’s macaroni was beginning to writhe inside her. Tracy pictured hollow elbow-shaped serpents twisting and slithering up the walls of her stomach. Out of nowhere she felt icy cold, and her palms began to perspire.

“Another time,” she said, getting to her feet.

“You’re not in the mood for company, are you?”

She shook her head sadly. At least she hoped she looked sad and not eager to get rid of him. “Everyone says this virus lasts ten days to two weeks. I sure hope you don’t catch it.”

“You’re sure it’s a virus?”

For a moment she froze, then she forced a smile. “Oysters or virus, I just need more rest than usual. You understand?”

He didn’t reply immediately. He rose and put his hands on her shoulders, and searched her face in the dim light. “Better get to it, then,” he said at last. “We’ll do the bridge another time.”

“Give Bay a hug for me.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, then backed away. “I’ll let you know when I’m over this.”

“You do that.” He nodded, then he lifted a hand in farewell, turned and started toward his truck.

She didn’t watch him leave. She unlocked her front door and closed it with a bang behind her before she sprinted toward the bathroom.

W
anda wasn’t satisfied with her Citrus Sunrise recipe. She wanted a pie that was both tall and airy, a pie that looked like the sun rising over a sandy graham cracker beach, growing lighter and brighter as it rose. She had based her idea on a tequila sunrise cocktail, then tried grenadine syrup, followed by cranberry juice, for the bottom layer, but so far hadn’t produced a pie special enough to be on Phillip Callander’s menu.

“All my pies have to be good,” she told Janya, “but this has to be good enough that people come right over after eating a slice at the Shrimp and buy a whole pie to take home for the rest of the week. It’s gotta be an intro-
duc
-tion.”

Janya was helping but not tasting, since today’s experiment included gelatin, something she, as a strict vegetarian, avoided. She pressed Wanda’s graham cracker mixture into a pie pan as Wanda tried a little of this and a little of that to get the chiffon filling to reflect the blend of colors that she wanted.

“This is your Christian day of rest,” Janya said. “You bake
pie all week, and tomorrow, even if Wanda’s is closed, you will be there preparing for Tuesday.”

Wanda stared out the narrow rusty window with its view of scrub and one screeching blackbird. “Wanda’s Wonderful Pies? That’s work. But creating a new pie in my own kitchen, even this scrawny, good-for-nothing excuse for a real kitchen? Well, that’s magic, pure and simple. You see the difference?”

“Like painting a mural,” Janya said. “A wall is blank, then it is covered by colors and shapes and becomes a different thing entirely.”

“It’s the way Alice feels after she crochets an afghan or a scarf, or that tablecloth she gave Olivia.” Wanda turned from the view to her eye-popping aqua walls and the friend in a gauzy white blouse framed against them. “I expect she’ll be crocheting something for Tracy now. For the baby, I mean.”

“She already showed me the yarn. She has been saving it for something special.” Janya paused. “She said she has put enough aside for my baby, as well.”

Wanda wasn’t sure what to say to that. She knew she often said too much, and that this was not the time to experiment with anything except the pie in progress.

“It’s odd the way these things work out,” she said, treading as carefully as she was able. “Tracy getting pregnant when she didn’t plan it. Those friends of yours with two little ones and an unhappy marriage. But I feel deep down in my heart that things will work out for you and Rishi. You’ll need whatever Alice crochets for you.”

“There are ways. Things we can still try to make a baby more possible.” Janya looked up. “We are young, and there is time.”

“Let me tell you. Whatever patience you learn now will help a whole lot once the babies start to come. You’ll need it
forever after. Trust me, you’ll need gallons…acres. Even when they’re grown.”

“You need patience with Maggie?”

“Especially with Maggie. She keeps everything inside. And when’d you ever know me to do that?”

Janya smiled, and Wanda thought it was probably because they were talking about someone else now. “Is she happy to be here?” Janya asked. “Or is this something you don’t know? Something she hasn’t said?”

Wanda considered. “She’s as happy to be here as anywhere, except home. And she locked
that
door behind her and threw away the key. Maybe she’s happier to be here than, say, Hoboken or Boise, but not as happy as I want her to be. Your kids hurt, you hurt and there’s not a lot to be done about it, either.”

“What can we do to help?”

“Just let her know you’d like to be friends when she’s ready. But it might be kind of hard to tell. She’s not what you’d call transparent.”

“Tracy said she and Maggie hit it off right away.”

Wanda looked up. “Did she? That’s news to me.”

“They both have trouble with the men in their lives.”

“I wouldn’t say Felo’s
in
Maggie’s life anymore. Although he’ll track her down soon enough, they’ll have it out and maybe it’ll finally be over.”

“Sometimes that is best, isn’t it? Putting a dream aside for good, then finding another to take its place?”

Wanda wondered if Janya was thinking about Maggie or about her own dream of becoming a mother. She was glad when somebody knocked on her front door. She waited a second or two for one of the neighbors to open it and call inside, but when a louder knock sounded, she wiped her
hands on her apron and wound her way through the narrow kitchen.

“I’ll see who it is, then we’ll pour this new pie into that crust you worked so hard on.” She called the last few words over her shoulder. The house was small, and it didn’t take more than seconds to get from one end to the other.

She flung open the door and stared at a familiar face: Felo Estrada, who was clearly not happy to be standing on her doorstep.

When Maggie tried to remind herself of the good parts about living on the key and working in her mother’s shop, having a normal work schedule was first on her conspicuously short list. In police work, regular hours were rare. Schedules shifted and emergencies took precedence. Now, with Sunday and Monday off, she could make plans without fear of disruption. Except, of course, what plans could she make now that had any appeal? She didn’t quilt, knit or garden.

She did like the outdoors, notably swimming and kayaking, but her kayak was back in Miami, and the cost of renting one for even a day was prohibitive. She had spent the morning hiking a boardwalk trail through a swamp an hour’s drive away, but now, freshly showered and rested, the remainder of Sunday and Monday stretched in front of her. Tracy had invited her to tour the rec center, and she supposed checking out the pool would be tomorrow’s activity, but the promise of too many hollow, empty hours tugged at her.

Luckily she had come home to a message from her mother. Wanda and Janya were experimenting with pie, and if Maggie wanted to try a slice, she was welcome to come. She looked at her watch and did the math. She didn’t want to stay for dinner, so if she went too late, she would have to argue the
point. Going now would break up the afternoon; then maybe she would drive into town in the evening, buy a sandwich or burger and visit the beach. People watching was something of a hobby, although from a cop’s/ex-cop’s point of view, that often included guessing what crimes those who were passing by might commit or had already. Still, maybe eventually she would get over that. She could start today.

At a roadside fruit stand she had bought a trio of shiny Florida avocados fresh from the grove. Now she put two in a basket, along with several ripe tomatoes from the same stand, and started toward her parents’ house. Outside, the harsh afternoon sun dried her damp hair. Even protected by sunscreen, her arms felt the sting.

On her mother’s doorstep she opened the screen door, then, without knocking, opened the front door and stuck her head inside. “Mom?”

Her eyes took only seconds to adjust to the lower light level inside, but in that time, a figure stepped into view—and it wasn’t her mother.

She stepped back, not to run, but from surprise. Then she stared at the man she had lived with for too many years. “Felo.”

Wanda came out of the kitchen, and her expression said it all.
I couldn’t warn you. I couldn’t get rid of him.

“Felo just arrived,” Wanda said. “I was offering him iced tea. Would you like some, too?”

Maggie gave a short shake of her head. “I’ll pass.”

She examined her ex-lover. He was tall and lean, and now, dressed as he was in khaki shorts and a silk shirt covered with palm trees and parrots, he seemed more of both. She remembered when the shirt had come home with him after a discount store shopping trip. She’d asked if he was serious, but
even then she’d had to admit the shirt looked perfect against his olive skin. His black hair had been recently cut, short on the sides, as always, just long enough on top to show a hint of wave. His eyes were hazel and heavily, darkly lashed, and when he smiled—which, she could tell, was not in the immediate forecast—his teeth seemed impossibly white.

The word that had come to mind when she’d first met Rafael Estrada was
charming.
Now, years later, it was still the word best suited for him. Because Felo was more charming than handsome, a potent combination of hawkish features and genuine warmth that canceled out the ordinary things about him and added up to a charisma that rarely failed.

She, of course, was that rare exception.

“I didn’t see your car,” she said.

“If I’d parked it where you could, you probably would have disappeared again.”

Felo’s voice was one of the most seductive things about him, a musical rumble that suggested he could sing, although in reality he couldn’t carry a tune. Even now, she felt his words amble along her skin in the same way they had from the beginning, as if each ordinary syllable was meant to seduce. He spoke Cuban Spanish like a native, but there was no hint of anything but generic Florida when English was called for.

“Wouldn’t you know,” she said lightly. “Tricky, like a cop.”

Wanda stepped forward. “Janya and me were making pie. Why don’t you stay a while and sample what we’re putting together.”

“I think I’ll pass.” Maggie held out the little straw basket. “I bought these today. I couldn’t resist.”

Wanda came forward to take the basket from her hand. “I think maybe you ought to stay here with
us
.”

Maggie smiled a little and gave a slight shake of her head. “Felo hasn’t seen my house, and Rumba will be glad to see him. We’ll leave you to your experiment. Save me some for later, okay?”

Wanda looked worried. She turned to Felo. “No funny business, you understand me?”

Maggie almost laughed. Two cops facing off, and Wanda, who was on her way toward sixty, was the one to be most afraid of.

“I would never lift a hand to your daughter,” Felo said. “You
know
that.”

“I don’t know
what
I know. You two just remember you used to love each other, when you settle whatever it is you’re settling today.”

“Come on,” Maggie told him. “Before she goes after you with her rolling pin.”

“And a handy weapon it is,” Wanda said menacingly.

“Good to see you again, Wanda,” Felo said. “Tell Ken I said hello.”

Maggie didn’t wait. She turned and started toward her cottage, knowing Felo would catch up with her quickly. His legs were inches longer than hers, and he’d been a long-distance runner since high school. It wasn’t unusual for him to do eight miles on a Saturday morning, then come home and make brunch for their friends. She’d given up running beside him early in their relationship and gone back to serious swimming, because Felo’s most relaxed stride still quickly outdistanced her shorter, more determined one. She’d gotten tired of watching him jog in place while she struggled to keep up.

He did catch up, but he didn’t speak. He just walked beside her, accommodating his stride to hers. She had known this day would come. Felo was too good a cop not to track
her down the moment she settled into Happiness Key. The fact that he had waited this long surprised her. She had also known it would be emotionally upsetting when he did, and that the longer she avoided him, the more upsetting it would be. Gauging from the extra breaths she seemed to be taking and the slight tremor of her hands, she had waited too long.

She led him up the path to her cottage and opened the door, preceding him. “I imagine Rumba already knows you’re here.”

A thump from the cat’s favorite chair proved her right, followed by a streak of white heading toward the doorway. Felo scooped Rumba into the air and held her away from him, arms extended. A soft flood of Spanish followed, along with a feline purr Maggie could hear all the way across the room.

“She’s missed you,” Maggie said. “If you believe cats miss people.”

“They can and do.” Felo held the cat against his chest. “She’s thin.”

“She quit eating for a while after I left her with—” She broke off.

“You didn’t keep her with you?”

Maggie saw no point in secrets. “I went camping for a while. Cats aren’t the best companions in a tent. She was well taken care of, trust me. But she didn’t like the change in routine.”

“No, it wasn’t routine she missed. She missed you. She missed
me.
She’s not an inanimate object.”

“If she were, I wouldn’t have to change her litter box.”

“You always denied how much you love this cat. Some things don’t change.”

“Some things do.” She faced him. “You didn’t get iced tea at Mom’s. Want some?”

“How about something stronger?”

“Beer?”

He nodded. She strolled into the kitchen, deceptively calm, and rooted through the refrigerator. She rarely drank beer, yet she’d bought some to keep on hand. Now she wondered why. Had she bought it for Felo, knowing that one day he would show up on her doorstep? Was she still catering to a man she had walked out on? And what did that say about her?

“No Hatuey,” she said, naming his favorite South Florida brand, “but I have Corona.”

“Fine.” He spoke from the doorway, Rumba still purring in his arms.

She took her time opening the bottle, finding a glass, pouring carefully so the beer didn’t overflow. She didn’t bother adding a slice of lime, since that seemed too much like something she would do for a lover. She handed the finished product to him. “Did you eat lunch?”

He stowed the cat under one arm and took the glass. “I didn’t come to be entertained, Mags.”

She shrugged. “How did you find me? Or were you just hoping if you showed up on Mom’s doorstep, she would cave and tell you where I was?”

“Your mother doesn’t cave.”

“Then you must have known I was here.”

“Yeah, thanks to you.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, then realized what he’d said and dropped them to her sides. “What are you talking about?”

“The GPS messenger I gave you? Well, I got an email message this morning with your location pinpointed on Google Maps.”

For a moment she stared at him. “I didn’t—” Then she remembered.