Randy White - Gone

The woman sensed my uneasiness but confused her own guilty feelings with what was bothering me. “This isn’t your last job, kiddo, not if Larry and I have any influence.” She said it with forced confidence that is something confident women do only when they’re nervous. Then she proved it by adding, “If you’re worried about what happened in Larry’s pool last night-or didn’t happen-forget it, for Christ’s sake! It’s all so fuzzy, I can’t remember the details anyway. And I’m sure you can’t either.” After a tick of silence, she asked the question again: “ Can you?”

Her lie was so obvious and purposeful, my line of thought was successfully derailed for the moment. Instead of staying strong, I responded, “It happens sometimes when people’re drinking,” and was instantly irked by my eagerness to please a woman who had manipulated me so easily.

“In the money world,” Martha lectured, “the higher you climb, the smaller the net. You reach a certain level, all we want to do is let our hair down and relax when we get the chance. I’m telling you because this isn’t your last case. You’ll be dealing with Lawrence’s problems again, or the problems of people who are on the same financial level. And there are some things you need to by God understand about our crowd.”

I said, “I’m starting to,” careful not to give it an edge.

“ Good. I had too much to drink last night. Maybe you did, too. Who cares? Business is business, fun is fun. Never confuse the two-or apologize for what you do when you’re off the clock. Money doesn’t give a damn about morality, success can’t afford a conscience, so it’s not something I judge people by. What I don’t have time for is the passive-aggressive types who think being polite is more important than speaking plainly. You with me so far?”

“I think so,” I replied. By exonerating herself, Martha was letting me off the hook with a slap on the wrist, but in a way that was troubling. Unprincipled behavior was preferable to narrow-mindedness, that was her point.

“Far as I’m concerned,” she continued, “there’s nothing wrong with experimenting with personal… pleasures . It’s nobody else’s goddamn business! Or helping someone else enjoy themselves, it’s the same thing. Work hard enough, people earn the freedom to do whatever the hell they want when they’re not doing business. Does that help?”

No. But it did help me turn my question into a statement. “I was worried it wasn’t fair of me to accept the deal we worked out, the bonus Lawrence offered. After only a few days’ work, I mean, if we find Olivia on Monday like I expect-”

“She hasn’t signed the papers yet,” Martha reminded me, sounding like herself. “Until it happens, spend more time concentrating on your job and less thinking about how you’ll fix up that damn moldy boat Larry promised. Just keep on doing what you’re doing.”

“I planned to anyway,” I replied, again fighting the habit of looking at my shoes when being scolded.

“Tomorrow’s Sunday, a whole day to gather more information in case Meeks doesn’t show on Monday. You do work Sundays, don’t you?”

Without mentioning I would have to first take Loretta to church, a weekly ritual, I said, “Of course.”

“Then go to that party in Port Royal. I think it’s a good idea-just don’t say anything obvious that’ll tip off the guests… or embarrass Larry’s family more than that idiot girl’s already put them through.”

I felt my face beginning to warm but said nothing.

“Olivia mailed the check from Caxambas less than two weeks ago, remember? You have time to work the phones or interview your sources in person. You have already figured out why that’s important, I hope?”

I had, but let Martha cement her authority by explaining, “Somebody had to see Olivia get on or off that asshole’s boat. One of your fishing guide buddies, or some distant uncle’s cousin who married a niece. One of your good ol’ boy pals maybe. Someone saw her.”

My face was red, I could feel it, but the woman’s tone suddenly changed while I fought the temptation to stiff-arm her with a sharp response. “Hannah?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied, settling on sarcasm.

“Oh, come on, now, grow up. Don’t get pissed off at me, dear. This is business. Remember what I just told you? Maybe you’re the one who should’ve been making notes.”

That did it. I couldn’t hold myself back any longer. “Ms. Calder-Shaun,” I replied, “I stopped taking tests when I left school. I didn’t grow up in a double-wide-although I know some fine people who did. And I don’t happen to find it businesslike to lecture the woman who you said yourself accomplished more in two days than a high-paid attorney and a Miami investigator managed in two weeks. Now, if you have something to say, sayit-that’s my definition of acting grown up. Otherwise, I’ve got important calls to return.”

The woman’s laughter was so genuine, my anger was instantly replaced by the embarrassment of having stepped into a trap I’d been expecting all along. “I wondered how far you’d let me push,” she said between breaths. “See how much time you waste being polite? Had to do it because I knew you’d missed my point.”

Teeth clenched, I said, “Martha, games are for playgrounds. Don’t ever do that to me again.”

“I know, I know”-the woman was still laughing-“but I like you, kiddo. You’ve got a temper and you’re tough as nails when you need to be. You’d make a hell of an attorney-the pasty-faced Wall Street types would dribble down their legs when you walked into a room.”

That was a compliment, I realized, but I still had to say, “Talking mean about a person’s family isn’t funny. Keep your mouth off my friends and family ’cause I won’t tolerate it.”

A smile still in her voice, the woman became serious. “That’s all the more reason to be friends, kiddo. I don’t have many who’d stand up to me like you just did. Two…? Hell… maybe none.” She sighed. “It’s living in that damn city. Money has no conscience-I wasn’t being dramatic. It’s true. Not that it’s always a bad thing in the real world. Just keep it in mind.”

I cleared my throat, not sure what to say, which is when my phone chimed again, this time the caller unexpected: Dr. Marion Ford . It was the biologist I’d bought my skiff from-maybe Cordial Pallet had told him to telephone for some reason.

“I need to take this one,” I said. It was a good excuse to end a conversation that was making me uncomfortable.

“Of course, dear. But just one more thing. Truce, right? We’ve got all our little misunderstandings cleared up?”

“I appreciate what you and Mr. Seasons have done for me,” I replied, my tone formal. “I’ll call tomorrow, okay?”

The hint wasn’t strong enough. Martha kept talking. “You sound restless for some reason. Why don’t you stop by tonight for a drink? The guest cottage is still yours, and the pool’s still warm as soup. We can discuss the case with Larry. Let him hear your story firsthand.”

I listened, feeling rushed, although I expected my phone to chime several more times before it went to voice mail. Wrong. Three rings was all the biologist waited before hanging up. An impatient man, apparently. In my mind, I whispered, “Shit.”

“I’ve got calls to return,” I reminded the attorney. “But later… around sunset, maybe we’ll get together.” I was eager to ask Lawrence Seasons about the pistol, but I now had a private agenda, too. Captiva Island is connected by bridge to Sanibel, where the biologist lived. I’d only spoken with him a few times, but he was an interesting man. Solid-looking, all muscle and sharp eyes, a man to be trusted or avoided depending on a person’s intentions.