Randy White: Gone

I nodded, aware he didn’t expect an answer.

“Tell me, Hannah, have you done much fishing in the Ten Thousand Islands area?”

He was asking about a wilderness region forty miles south, a jigsaw puzzle of uninhabited islands, black water, and swamp that abutted the Everglades. I could picture the mangrove shadows and smell the brackish air as he continued, “I’ve fished there twice. Liked it, but found it a little spooky, too. For an outsider, I mean. All that unmarked water… all those little backcountry towns where people’re still suspicious of strangers. Everglades City, Caxambas, Goodland, Chokoloskee-do you know the waters down there at all?”

For some reason, I got the strong impression the question had more to do with his missing niece than fishing. I said, “Vacations, Jake would take me camping on Panther Key, just off the channel into Everglades. There’s a little strand of beach, and we’d fish the whole area. Refuel and sometimes eat at Chokoloskee, there’s a couple of nice places. You knew Mary, before they split up?”

“Jake’s wife, of course. A, uhh… a lovely lady.”

There was nothing lovely or nice about my uncle’s poisonous ex-wife, but I said, “She didn’t care much for being outdoors, so I filled in.”

Mr. Seasons liked something about the way I said it. It caused him to grin, and remember, “Jake always told me his niece was the son he’d never had. And he was the-”

The father you never had, is what the man meant to say but caught himself in time. Instead, without fumbling too badly, he finished, “-he was the best uncle he could be to his favorite niece.”

In that instant, I liked Mr. Seasons better than I had during the five or six times he’d chartered my boat. Thought it was sweet of him to worry about hurting my feelings as I watched his smile turn inward, aware he was thinking about the days he’d spent on the water with my uncle. Mr. Seasons had a nice face, tan and smooth with angles. Still handsome for a man in his fifties, which may seem strange for a woman my age to notice, but Loretta is right when she accuses me of liking older men. Particularly the strong ones, and Mr. Seasons certainly qualified. His was the sort of regal face you see at charity functions, framed neatly by a starched tuxedo collar, or at tennis clubs where people dress in white and talk about the heat.

Because of mother’s gossiping, it was a battle not to imagine this fit-looking rich man when he was fifteen years younger, trying to seduce my aunt who was wild in her ways and who loved men-something I knew for a fact because I’ve read Hannah Three’s journals many times. But then the man saved me by launching into a story about landing a hundred-pound bull shark, which required that I pretend to be interested.

Mr. Season went on for several minutes about catching that shark, which clients tend to do when they’ve enjoyed themselves. My tea was gone when he finally changed the subject, saying, “Over the years, a man’s fishing guide becomes an extended member of the family. That’s how close Jake and I were.” His eyes focused tight on my face. “He did some other work for me, too.”

Now we were coming to it. He said, “It was my understanding you worked for Jake at the little investigation agency we started. Office work, but you also took the state test and got your license-what, about three or four years ago?”

Part of what he’d said surprised me. “I knew my uncle had a financial backer, but I didn’t know it was you, Mr. Seasons. You’re the one put up the money for the office?” Now I was worried, thinking maybe Jake had died owing the man money.

Seasons didn’t respond. Instead, he sipped his drink, eyes still on me, waiting for the rest of my answer.

I said, “Well… I worked part-time at the agency while I was going to community college. I was after an associate degree in criminal law, so it was a good fit. And Jake needed the help. But we were never that busy, you know-Jake mostly fished. Four, maybe five years, I worked a few afternoons a week, or at night, at the agency. Depending on how much free time I had from my studies. Sometimes, I even got class credit for what I did.”

Because it was true, I had to add, “Jake never took the business that seriously, in my opinion. It was just something to bring in a little extra money. And because I think he sometimes missed being a police officer after he got hurt and was put on disability.”

I didn’t like the way Mr. Seasons was staring at me now. It made me uncomfortable, and gave the impression this wealthy man in the creased slacks and white Ralph Lauren shirt knew things about my own uncle that I didn’t know myself.

Turned out, he did.

–

LAWRENCE SEASONS looked down, seeming to be perturbed that the ice had melted in his drink.

“I forget,” he began, which told me I was being tested, “when was your uncle shot? Was it when he was working undercover in Tampa? Or when he was in South America, working for that federal agency?”

Sometimes I dislike myself for not being able to hide my reactions better, particularly when I’m embarrassed, or-in this case-blindsided. My uncle had worked for a federal agency? It was news to me.

I replied, “Mr. Seasons, we agreed your family’s business is personal and private. Just because my family lives across the bay doesn’t mean I don’t expect the same courtesy. If you want to discuss your niece, I’ll listen. If not, I’ve got work that needs doing.”

Instead of being offended, the man nodded his approval. “Made you mad, didn’t I?”

I shrugged, the way people do when they’re lying.

He set his glass on the table as if he’d just made a decision. “You’ve got backbone, Hannah. And you don’t rattle easily. I like that. I’ve always suspected it, but you proved it yesterday, the way you took charge when that storm chased us. Other times, too-remember last year when I told you to gaff that tarpon? A seven-foot fish, had to weigh close to two hundred pounds. Biggest I’ve ever landed. Wanted to have it mounted, but you refused. There was nothing I could say to change your mind. You are one stubborn lady.”

What the man had wanted was to hang a dead fish for his friends to admire and to snap pictures. By refusing him, I’d made him so angry he’d only tipped me five bucks, then booked two different guides later in the week before deciding he had better luck on my boat.

Even so, I reminded him, “Fish mounts are made from Styrofoam and plastic. All the taxidermist needs is the measurements. There was no reason to kill that fish, Mr. Seasons, or I would have done what you told me. I’m not stubborn when it comes to taking orders-unless I know I’m right.”

The man laughed as if I’d said something funny, then turned serious. “You still haven’t answered my question. The reason I fronted money to your uncle is because I needed someone I could trust to do certain jobs for me. Background checks, mostly, on staff I hired to take care of our properties in Florida, or people who came to me with business proposals. Your uncle had an incredible amount of local knowledge when it came to fishing-but also about people, too. In an area like this, where almost everyone’s from somewhere else, that’s more valuable than you probably realize. Local knowledge and integrity-that’s a rare combination these days. What I’m getting at is-” The man paused, then changed his approach. “There’s a legal term-‘due diligence.’ Do you know what it means?”

I did, but I let him talk.

“It has to do with taking responsible steps to gather information in an accountable way. If for some reason I had to go to court or to my insurance agency, I couldn’t just tell them, ‘Well, I hired my old buddy Captain Jake to do the background check because he’s an ex-cop and a great guy.’ It would be meaningless. But if I hired a licensed, bonded professional by the name of Jake Smith, I would have fulfilled my responsibilities regarding due diligence. Same person, same talents, but entirely different in a legal sense. We could then pursue the matter through whatever legal avenues available. Opening that little agency was my idea, not your uncle’s. I suspect you didn’t know that either. Understand now why I’m asking personal questions?”