Randy White - Seduced

I didn’t mention the woman until Roberta was in my SUV and had assured me she was okay. According to the doctor, there was no need for an emergency sonogram, her Monday appointment would do.

“Elmer Ogden has the biggest grove south of the Tamiami Trail,” she said. “I wouldn’t worry about it. Did you tell her why we were down there?”

“No, just that we were exploring. But her husband might wonder why you were involved. I didn’t say exactly where, of course.”

“That, I would keep secret-but you don’t think we can keep the rest secret, do you? I’m a plant pathologist, not an expert on rootstock. There are at least half a dozen people I’ll need to ask questions or for advice. They won’t know how to help unless I explain myself. And we need to visit some groves before you start collecting. In fact”-she reached for Abigail’s card, which I’d placed on the console-“Mr. Ogden might be a good place to start. He’s a gentleman, very countrified in a sweet way, but don’t let him fool you. You don’t get rich on a thousand acres of cattle and citrus without being smart. He’s stubborn, too-stubborn enough to not cut down his pioneer citrus just because some bureaucrats ordered him to do it.”

I asked, “Is that true?” I was thinking of another stubborn man, Harney Chatham.

“It’s what I’m hoping. Every grove in Florida has some sign of psyllid infestation. If there’re pioneer trees on Ogden’s property and they show the same resistance as your grandfather’s citrus, that means something. Healthy feral citrus on an island doesn’t. Not for certain anyway. Could be the insects haven’t found those trees yet.”

“In central Florida,” I said, “there are a lot of stubborn men and women who come from old-time families. Particularly between Arcadia and Sebring. There are big stretches of wild country, so we might have to rent the plane again. I’ll make a list of names. Is that what you’re thinking?”

“Interesting,” she said. “It didn’t cross my mind, but I like the idea. Mostly what I’m thinking is, this might be my one chance to make some real money. Enough for a college fund and to pay off the mortgage-maybe even pay off my college loans. I took today as a sick day and I’ve got the weekend off. I want to keep after this thing.”

“You still owe money for school?”

She winced in a way that pained me. “Almost a hundred grand to get my Ph.D.-that’s double what I make in a year. Now with the baby coming? It’s wishful thinking, I know, but how many people claim to have a great idea but don’t follow through? We might be on to something, Hannah. I really think there’s a chance. So, yeah… visit every old-time grove you can find.”

In a determined way that was familiar, she added, “We’re already here. Why not call your new friend, Abigail Ogden?”

I did, but not before saying, “I’ll call everyone I know, but we start tomorrow. First, I need a long shower to get the stink of muck and snakes off me.”

It had been fifteen days since I’d heard from Kermit Bigalow, and a week since Roberta had exited her sonogram appointment with a smile on her face. A lot had happened, most of it good, so my guard was down, and it seemed okay when, on a windy Sunday morning, Kermit’s name flashed on my phone.

“Don’t hang up,” he said the instant I answered. “You have no idea how many times I’ve stopped myself from calling, but this is important. And strictly business, so give me a chance. Okay?”

Rather than start the conversation with a question about him stealing my uncle’s orange tree, I asked, “Did Sarah get her sketchbook?” More than a week ago, I had mailed it, and some other things I thought she might like, to Reggie’s home, with a separate card asking the little chauffeur to pass the package along.

“She’s about worn out that DVD on manatees. Very sweet of you, and she keeps asking when can we visit again. Or live on a boat instead of in a house. Funny, what sticks in a kid’s mind, huh?”

Through the windshield of my cabin cruiser, the glass streaked with salt, the bay was a froth of wind and waves. “The weather we’ve had this week might change her mind,” I said. “What sort of business is it you want to discuss, Kermit?”

“So formal-you’re still mad.” This he said in a gentle way as if hurt.

“You’ve done what I asked, why would I be? What you’re hearing is, I’m a little late for”-it seemed a pious affectation to reveal my destination, which was church, so I said-“an appointment,” and blamed the wind, which was true. Chapel-By-The-Sea, on Captiva, was only a few miles by boat but more than an hour’s drive by car. It would be another day before the water was calm enough for fishing.

“Then I’ll get right to it,” he said. “Have you seen Lonnie Chatham yet? I think she’s on her way there now. Or she’ll call you, I’m not sure. But whatever she does, whatever she says, don’t believe her. Can I stop by tonight?”

“What in the world are you talking about?” I said, opening the cabin door. He’d spoken in such a rush, I wasn’t convinced I’d heard him correctly but checked anyway for an unfamiliar car outside Loretta’s house. In the drive was a white SUV-a Lexus, it looked like-which is something a wealthy woman would buy. I went up the steps to the dock with the phone to my ear.

“Kermit, I can’t talk now. If my mother tangles with Lonnie, she might have another stroke.”

“Hannah, listen! Her attorneys have locked me out of everything-our house, even my office. My wife’s a mess, and Sarah’s upset, too. It’ll be okay. I’ve already got another job lined up, but… Well, I need to tell you about something in person. I’ll see you around sunset, okay? Please. I need your help.” After a long silence, he added, “Hannah… Beautiful? Are you still there?”

That word again.

I couldn’t think clearly, so replied, “I can’t talk now,” and hung up.

Getting out of the Lexus was a man wearing a gray suit, with a gray ponytail that hung between shoulders wide enough to suggest he was a weight lifter or a pro wrestler. Not tall, but thick as a bulldozer. A graying Hemingway beard, and a copper bracelet, added to the effect. He stooped, retrieved a briefcase, and started toward the house. Thank god, Loretta was getting dressed, not lounging on the porch.

“Can I help you?” I called.

“If you’re Hannah Smith, the fishing guide, yes you can.” He sounded Cuban, which is commonplace in Florida; his voice, a resonate baritone.

“My number’s easy enough to find if you’re here to talk about a charter,” I said. “As it is, I was just leaving for, uh… a place I need to be.”

His eyes did a slow pan, up and down, taking in my short herringbone jacket, gray blouse, and black skirt. I was barefoot-heels had to wait until I was in my car-but he was polite enough to pretend not to notice. “Myself, I attend early Mass, but twice in one day might do me good-doesn’t matter which church. May I drive you? We can talk on the way.”

By then, I was close enough to confirm the Lexus did not contain Lonnie Chatham, and took a breath. “I don’t know who you are or why you’re here,” I said. “It’s a silly rule I have about getting into cars with strangers.”

The Hemingway beard matched the face and his wide, wry smile. “Did Harney give you that lecture, too?”

Harney. Aside from Loretta, I didn’t know anyone who’d been on a first-name basis with the late lieutenant governor.

“You were friends?”

“Better. We were confidants.” This was said with the inflection used by those who take the word seriously.

“I didn’t see you at the funeral last week.”