Randy White - Seduced

Under the circumstances, it was wrong to laugh, yet my nerves were on overload. Tears threatened. Then it dawned on me. “She knows.”

“I just said that.”

“No, that’s not what I mean. I’m talking about the third glass of whiskey. She would’ve checked the cabin before bringing a man into that boathouse, don’t you think?”

“Of course she did.” There was a pause, while he stared at me. “I did, too.”

It took a moment for the meaning to dawn on me.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not going to say anything.”

Now I was confused. Had he or hadn’t he seen us unload the body? I said, “If there’s something you want to ask me, ask. Let’s clear the air right here and now.”

“It’s none of my business. Besides, it doesn’t matter. Who’s Lonnie gonna tell? Or the guy she was with? They can’t say a word without giving themselves away. That’s what I meant, you’d see the situation differently.”

I did but was still unsure. “Because she was having an affair on the day her husband died. I understand that much, but I suppose it depends on how much she cares about her reputation. Hers and the man’s. Is he local?”

“I recognized him, but it’s safer you don’t know. Lonnie has a mean streak. Worse than mean.”

“You think she’d actually do one of us harm if she knew what you just told me?”

“She’s a woman who finds ways to get what she wants,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to put you in her crosshairs.”

The grove manager did it then-put his hand on my shoulder to move me along. “We need to get going. I always meet Sarah at the bus stop at four.”

Intuition told me the man was trustworthy, yet I knew better than to count on such thin reasoning. My aunts were strong, tough-minded, independent women, but as Loretta has said too often, “They all tarried in the Lust Line when God was handing out brains.”

It wasn’t lust I felt when we bounced down the lane in his truck. Instead, I felt oddly comfortable… and safe.

In February, sunset comes early, so it was dark by the time Reggie took me home, but, once again, I was at the wheel of the Lincoln Town Car. The little man had hardly said a word since I’d shushed his protests about riding in the passenger seat. When I continued west rather than take the south ramp onto I-75, however, he stirred.
“I hate them damn interstates, too,” he said. “One day, the whole state of Florida’s gonna be nothin’ but asphalt, assholes, and graveyards.” He’d been huddled inside himself, sniffing, trying to hide his bouts of despair, so it was good to have an opportunity to converse. There were questions I wanted to ask, and I might never have another chance. If nothing else, today I had learned that sad truth.

“Not all change is bad,” I said gently. “You’ll feel better after a while. Why don’t you stay the night with Loretta and me? You can sleep on my boat. I’ve got a charter in the morning, but you could fish off the dock. The snook hang there thick in a little drop-off. I’ll show you.”

“I’d rather have a mess of mullet,” he replied. “Soapfish, that’s what we used to call them snook. That hussy the governor married, she’d probably love to tie into one and have her picture took for a magazine wearing a bikini. Not me. Lonnie and the tourists, they can have them snook.”

Snewk -he pronounced the word in a way typical of folks from Carolina who, long ago, had ventured south and settled on the Florida peninsula.

“You never approved of Mrs. Chatham, did you?” I said. “I got the impression Kermit Bigalow doesn’t care for her, either. He showed me around a section of citrus he’s trying to save. Experimenting with different chemicals and techniques-that disease is near impossible to kill. But I think he was just trying to spare me from dealing with her.”

All that got was a snort of derision. I couldn’t be sure regarding whom.

I didn’t press. We’d turned south on U.S. 41, the Tamiami Trail, where traffic wasn’t too bad near Punta Gorda, before Reggie stirred again.

“That woman’s not smart as she thinks, but she’ll see. You just wait ’til the governor’s lawyer tells her what’s what.”

“Are you talking about his will?”

“Some folks are in for a surprise, Miz Hannah. That’s all I’m at liberty to say. Did you hear the way she spoke to me?”

I dodged the truth by mentioning Axel, the Thoroughbred horse, and reminding Reggie I’d toured the groves. “Figured you both had a lot to discuss,” I said. “You were Mr. Chatham’s closest friend, after all, then you had the police to deal with. They didn’t ask me much, Reggie. All I did was confirm what you’d told them. I hope that’s what you wanted.”

It was a veiled question that failed to produce results.

“Spoke to me like I was trash,” he continued. “She said even worse with the po -lice around. Me, having to stand there and listen with poor ol’ Harney on a gurney with a sheet over his face, barely dead and not yet in the ground.”

When I tried to soothe the little man, he only got madder. “Excuse my language, Miz Hannah, but that woman is a bitch. That’s the word for her, and she is riding for a fall. She has kicked the wrong stump this time, by god. Know what she did? The lil’ tramp fired me in front of everyone there.”

“Them listening?”

“Oh yes, she did.”

“I don’t know what to say. That was cruel, Reggie. When she calms down, maybe she’ll see it was wrong.”

“Hell she will! And after near forty years of service, too. Yelled at me in front of the po -lice; told me to get my shit out of my own house-her exact words-and be gone within the week. Well, we will see whose shit gets packed first.” He sat back, chortling, “Tee-hee-hee,” but in a broken way, then buried his face in his hands.

I didn’t know Reggie well, wasn’t even sure of his last name until a detective had referred to him as “Mr. Hutley.” But we had shared rides with Mr. Chatham together, and private moments when Chatham had stopped to visit Loretta. Never had I heard him issue an impolite word, let alone speak with such bitterness. I didn’t fault the man, was furious on his behalf, but needed more information before I could decide what to do. I hadn’t asked Kermit if I could share the boathouse story with Reggie, but he hadn’t told me not to, either.

I asked, “Do you want some water? There’s a Burger King up ahead. Their sweet tea’s not too bad.”

The former chauffeur had to gather himself; he sat up, rubbed his eyes, and adjusted his cap. “No, ma’am, thanks just the same. But another scotch would hit the spot. I just stocked up for the governor; got a bottle of eighteen-year-old Dewar’s in the cabinet. Mind if I crawl in the back and have me a taste?”

“As long as you buckle up,” I said.

“I’ll pour a short one for you, too, if you like.”

“Don’t you dare,” I said. “Stay put until I find a place to stop so you can get out.”

Reggie preferred to climb over the seat. This put his knees near my face momentarily, then his size-eight shoes, which I helped along with a push. I heard the laminated door open, the clink of glass on glass, followed by a long, savoring silence. Half a mile, I drove, before I spoke.

“Firing you like that in front of strangers-no matter how upset she was, it was just downright mean.”

“Two po -lice-men and an ambulance woman standing right there. Then Lonnie much as accused you of being a paid sporting girl ’cause of the extra scotch I poured to settle your nerves. Glad you didn’t touch that glass now?”

“You told them it was for me?”