Randy White - Seduced

“That’s what I do for a living, Kermit, drive a boat, usually by myself. You don’t know anything about me to say such a thing.”

“I know there’s a race going on, Hannah. That’s what you don’t understand. Big ideas travel fast, once they’re loose. Not just in Florida. All along the South American coast, the Spaniards planted seeds; Mexico, too, and into California. Somewhere, the original rootstock exists. The Brazilian citrus people have more money than God; the Chinese, all the major producers, will get in the hunt just on the chance your idea has merit. Trust me, if a clone of those original trees exists, someone will find it.”

“More power to them,” I said, “as long as they leave me alone.”

He removed his hand. “Why are you so damn stubborn? That’s what I’m worried about. Some of those people are ruthless. They might see you as an easy target. That tailing you, or conning you, is the fastest way to jump to the front of the parade. You need to be careful.”

I replied, “I’m not naïve. It’s possible I have more reasons to be careful than you realize.”

The man wasn’t sure what to make of that. “Then you know about the GPS?” In response to my blank look, he added, “I’m talking about the GPS on the plane you and Roberta rented. I heard someone stole it or got inside and copied the numbers. You didn’t know?”

“How long ago?” I’d forgotten that Roberta had saved the location.

“Yesterday, supposedly.”

I almost did it again, asked a question that was unfair to ask: Why didn’t you tell me? A distant siren stopped me before I could.

Kermit’s head panned toward the door, then to me. “Damn it. I’m not leaving without my plants. Will it be okay if you talk to the cops?”

I said, “That’s not what you’re hearing. There was a reason I asked when you last saw Reggie. He’s dead, Kermit. Lonnie told me. That’s an ambulance. Or the police.”

“ Him? Oh no…” The man turned, hands on his hips, and took a few steps. “This is bad, Hannah, worse than you think. How’d he die? In his own house?”

I was startled by the stricken reaction. The two men hadn’t been close. “You didn’t notice the lights when you drove in. I know because I saw you. I was in my SUV, just leaving. Lonnie said it was suicide, but I don’t know for sure. The emergency people have been there a while. I couldn’t bring myself to look.”

“Suicide… Geezus, that’s awful. How’d she say he did it?”

“That he hung himself. One of the workers found him. It had to be within the last hour or so.”

He stood as if he hadn’t heard, then came toward me. “Suicide, my ass. Hung himself from what? You ever been inside that little trailer of his? I had to duck to get in, that’s how low the ceiling is.” He began pacing. “No… no way it was suicide. Lonnie had him killed. I’d bet on it. Come on. I’ll get the wheelbarrow, you hold the door.”

As he hurried past, I tried to grab his arm. “Tell me what this is about.”

“When we’re someplace safe to talk.” He placed the young tree among the pots and rushed around, gathering more things. “She’ll have us killed, too. It’s possible. I think it’s because of what happened the day we met. Of what you might have seen. Her screwing that guy in the boathouse.”

“I didn’t see anything. Reggie didn’t see anything, either, you know that. If she’d wanted to kill me, I was just with her at the ranch.”

Kermit, pushing the wheelbarrow, said, “Tell that to Reggie. I didn’t believe she was crazy enough, my god. Or that damn vicious.”

“You don’t know that it’s true.”

“Nope, but I’ll find out. Goddamn right, I will. Open the door.”

I followed him out, where he dropped the Chevy’s tailgate, then reconsidered. “Where are you parked? I’ll finish loading this stuff once I’m sure you’re off the property and safe.”

The bed of the truck was empty but for the detritus of hay, straw, and tools typically seen in the vehicle of a working man. I’d already started placing gardening pots in a row. “This won’t take long.”

“What if Lonnie is up there, waiting, and locks us in?”

“Tell me why you’re so sure about her? I don’t want to believe it either, but Reggie had been depressed. Working for Mr. Chatham was that man’s whole world.”

Kermit took me by the shoulders in way that was gentle enough to seem caring, yet my guard remained in place. “Stubborn,” he said again. “It’s dangerous, me even telling you about it.”

“You’d better. If the police show up, you’ll need help explaining why you’re stealing a truckload of plants.”

“Geezus,” he said. “Okay. Lonnie and Mr. Chatham, they had an infidelity clause in their prenup. I don’t remember all the details, but he told me one eyewitness, that’s all it would take, and she’s out of his will. I’d bet anything that’s what this is about. Firing me was a way to get me off the property. One suicide could be explained. Not two. So she must have something else in mind.”

“Mr. Chatham told you that himself?”

Kermit, looking into my eyes, confirmed it was true. “Text me when you get home. I’ll stop by tonight and we’ll talk. Around eight, but it could be later. I’m helping some local growers get their smudge pots ready in case of a freeze. Is that okay?”

“Call first,” I replied, which came out kinder than intended, but it’s what I felt. I was tired of fighting. I couldn’t fault a man who was a good father and cared about saving his plants.

At my car, I gave him the barbecued ribs as a peace offering, and even acquiesced to his arms; a brief hug that might have lingered, had I allowed it.

I did not.

Halfway home, though, I was quick to answer when Kermit’s name flashed on my phone.

“Something just crossed my mind,” he said.

“Are you still at the greenhouse?”

“You’ll think I’m an idiot. I went off and left those damn seeds. The late bloomers in the growing box. Guess I got flustered, seeing you, and everything else going on. Now the gate’s locked, so I’ll have to sneak in through the pasture. If Lonnie notices those pots missing, she’ll padlock me out of the greenhouse, too.”

It was nearly sunset. Clouds were glaciers of charcoal and rust on this, the eve of a cold front.

“I can try and talk to her,” I said.

“Don’t you dare. Stay away from that woman. But that’s not why I called. I have an idea, if you’re willing to listen.”

I was willing.

We were still discussing the subject when I pulled into the shell drive, relieved to see that Loretta was not on the porch. Sit there with a phone too long, my mother’s witching powers might divine the marital status of my caller.

What Kermit wanted to discuss was the python that bit me-and the weather. It was an odd combination until he connected the two, saying, “When the temperature drops near freezing, reptiles hole up. Dormant might be the wrong term, but this cold front could give you a one-day window. Possibly, two, according to my weather service. If you’re worried about snakes, why not go tomorrow? I’m not asking where, but I am offering to help. No strings attached, and whatever we find belongs to you. Think it over. No matter how cold it gets, you shouldn’t go alone.”

The idea had merit. Gators, as I knew from experience, become lethargic when the temperature falls below fifty. The same might be true of pythons.

Or was it?

I had two hours before Kermit arrived. I used the laptop on my boat and did research. A few years back, after a cold snap, “experts” predicted that more than half the exotic reptiles in the Everglades had been killed. Field surveys proved them wrong. Two years later, similar experts estimated the python population had grown to more than three hundred thousand. Some theorized that gradual exposure to cold weather might have created a stouter, more weather-tolerant hybrid.