Randy White - Seduced

“Nor did I see you-or your mother. I suppose that’s because none of us wanted to draw attention. Isn’t that right? Sometimes, it’s better to blend in.”

I couldn’t argue with that. Loretta and I had stood among trees, far from Mr. Chatham’s casket of mahogany, while a hundred people in suits and black dresses kept their backs to us, listening to the minister read their good-byes.

The man said, “I have a business proposition, Captain-that’s what Harney called you, by the way: Captain Hannah. Now I can see why. It’s the way you handle yourself, I think, not just because you’re tall and… by god, attractive, too. I thought he might have been exaggerating about your looks.”

A man who used his age to camouflage flirting as harmless fun. With him, maybe it was.

I remained blank-faced while he handed me his card. I was speaking with Sabin Martinez, of Brickell Avenue, Miami, with a second office on Disney Way, Orlando.

I slipped the card into my jacket. “It doesn’t say what you do.”

“No, it does not,” he replied. His voice had an elegance even while slamming doors. “My offer still stands. You don’t want to be late to church.”

I wasn’t getting in the Lexus no matter who he claimed to know. “Are you here because of Mr. Chatham? Or his wife? A friend just called and said she wanted to contact me, for some reason.”

“Lonnie? I’ll be darned.”

He shunned profanity, I noted-or, at least, was careful about it.

“You weren’t aware?”

“I’ve never met the second Mrs. Chatham. It’s one of the few mistakes Harney made, I think.” He toyed with his copper bracelet, and let me ponder that, before adding, “You’ll like what I have to say. It won’t take long. Harney trusted me with-how should I put it?- delicate matters. Come on… You can even drive, if you like.”

I looked from the house to the Lexus, then at the dock. “I can spare ten minutes,” I said, “but we’ll talk here, not in your car. If that’s not acceptable, it’ll have to wait.”

The man followed me to my boat.

I memorized the plate on the Lexus as it pulled away. Only then did I remember church and that I was late-too late for heavy Sunday traffic. Cars would be backed up for a mile on the causeway to Sanibel.

Truth was, I was a little dazed after thirty minutes of listening to Sabin Martinez. Once again, intuition told me I could trust the man-he was a churchgoer, like me, and we had a respected friend in common. But tragedies that had befallen my three namesake aunts urged caution.

On the other hand, the thick leather satchel Martinez had given me was real. So were the contents.

Call me if you need help with anything, he’d said as he left. Anything. I’m a problem solver from way back.

What I needed was someone to help organize the thoughts spinning through my head. I also needed to make up my mind about church. Driving to Captiva was out of the question. If I was to get there in time, I’d have to cross three miles of rough water by boat. Attendance wasn’t mandatory, of course, but I am happier if my week is grounded by ceremonies attached to my faith. It is a personal matter. I don’t push religion on people, nor do I shy away if derided by the arrogant few who view faith as a childish cliché.

There was another option. Aboard my boat, I jotted down the license number of the Lexus, then carried the satchel across the road, up the hill, to the house. Loretta was getting ready to attend services with her friends at Foursquare Gospel. Every Sunday, she awaited the church bus like a child eager to attend school. When she came out of the bathroom, I said, “How about I call Mrs. Hendry and the girls and drive you, for a change? With this wind, I’d be soaked through by the time I got to Captiva.”

“The girls” is how she often referred to her three widow friends.

My mother and I had been at denominational odds for years, so I didn’t expect a cheery acceptance. “You might be disappointed,” she said, returning to the mirror for a final look. “We don’t play guitars and worship crystals-or whatever it is you do at that hippie church. You’d have to actually bow your head in prayer. And sit with common folks, too, not your rich beach-people clients. I wouldn’t want to put you out.” Her eyes locked onto the leather satchel. “What you got there?”

I wanted to wait until after church. Her friends were all solid and sweet, but, as people age, gossiping becomes a favorite vocation. I tested the water by saying, “Did Mr. Chatham ever mention a man by the name of Sabin Martinez?”

“Why would he introduce me to a Mexican?” she asked. “True, he had a fondness for illegal citizens, and other outlaws, but you know I don’t speak Spanish.”

I said, “Mr. Martinez is Cuban, I believe, but that’s not what I asked. He claimed he was a close friend of Mr. Chatham’s. Do you remember hearing the name?”

She remained fixated on the satchel. “Maybe. Depends on what’s inside there. If you’ve got Mexicans bringing you presents, dear, I should know before allowing contraband into my house. If it’s a new purse, keep it. You might like masculine things, but it’s not pretty enough for me. Now, go wash your hands.”

I gave her the satchel. “What’s in there is confidential-that’s what he told me. You know what that means, Loretta. You can’t tell the girls, or anybody else, until Mr. Martinez says it’s okay. Are you sure you’ve never heard of the man?”

“Who? I told you, I don’t speak Spanish.” She unzipped the bag, looked in, then looked up at me. Her wild blue eyes took on a glow. “My lord… is this all mine?”

I was smiling at her. “Most of it,” I said. “There are two envelopes in there with legal documents-but only copies. It’s complicated. The will Mr. Chatham left when he died has to go through a probate proceeding, and some other stuff. It all has to be done and read to his heirs within thirty days of his death. That’s the law, which means there’re less than two weeks left. But his wife got a look at his will somehow. She’s already hired an attorney to fight for what she thinks is rightfully hers. Mr. Martinez came to warn us in advance.”

My mother’s face colored. “That pom-pom cheerleader harlot. She’s contesting my inheritance?”

“Loretta, don’t tell me you actually expected anything.”

“Why wouldn’t I? I put in a lot more miles than she ever logged. That woman only wanted one thing from Harney, and it wasn’t kept between his legs or his ears, neither. Liked to broke that man’s spirit, she did. Is it any wonder he come crawlin’ back to me for solace? It was that slut who killed him-not his new thingamabob, which is quite an invention, I’ll tell you. Or them blue pills.”

The medical examiner had listed the cause of death as cardiac arrest, perhaps exacerbated by conflicting medications.

“Let’s not get into that,” I said, and carried the satchel to the kitchen counter. Inside were stacks of hundred-dollar bills, some stiffened by saltwater. This suggested they dated back to the pot-hauling years. “Ten thousand dollars. He wanted us to have this up front. He knew there’d be legal fees-if Mr. Martinez told me the truth.”

One by one, Loretta was sliding five stacks her way. “Of course he told the truth. A man like Mr. Martinez wouldn’t lie to us. Sometimes, Hannah, I worry about your suspicious nature. It ain’t fair to judge others, least ye be judged-that’s Scripture, by the way. You’d know that if you attended a real church. As to legal fees, do what you want with your money, but I ain’t givin’ mine to no damn lawyer.”