P. Parrish - Paint It Black

Louis sighed. “Is there anything I can do?”

“I’ll tell you the same thing I told Dan this morning,” Horton said. “Get some rest. We’ll call.”

Louis hung up. When he turned, Margaret was standing there holding a plate.

“Eat this, damn it,” she said.

He thanked her and took the peanut butter and jelly sandwich out to the patio. Margaret came out a moment later and set a Dr Pepper at his side. She went to the small cassette player and turned her tape over. The song “Luckenbach, Texas” started playing.

Louis wolfed down the sandwich and set the plate aside, wishing Margaret had made two sandwiches. He tried to remember the last time he ate.

He laid his head back, closing his eyes, thinking about the events of the last twenty-four hours. What a night.

He had a sudden picture of Farentino’s tear-streaked face in his mind. She must be a wreck. Alone, in a strange town, scared to death. He wondered if she’d slept, if she’d be up for a visit.

He got up. Margaret looked over. “Where you going?”

“To visit Farentino,” he said.

Margaret wiped her hands on her apron. “I’ve got some fudge you can take her.”

The Sereno Key Inn was a clot of wooden cabins clustered around a marina not far from the town center. It had a funky, fifties air, like time had not quite caught up. He spotted a Fort Myers patrol car in front of one of the cabins and parked next to it. An officer was sitting on a lawn chair on the porch and rose as Louis came forward.

“Louis Kincaid, Sereno Key PD,” he said.

“Some ID, sir?”

Louis took out the card Wainwright had given him. The officer eyed it suspiciously.

“Just a moment, sir.” He keyed his radio. Louis waited patiently while he talked to his office.

“Sorry, sir,” he said, handing the card back. “Go ahead.”

Louis knocked on the door. It took a while for it to open. Farentino stood there, hair wet like she had just gotten out of a shower.

“Hey, Farentino.”

She smiled. “Hey, Kincaid. Come in.”

The cabin was furnished with old rattan and color prints of flamingos that looked like they had been lifted from a Miami Beach hotel, circa Jackie Gleason. The Mr. Coffee machine in the kitchenette was spurting out a fresh pot.

“Want some?” Farentino asked, seeing him eyeing it.

Louis shook his head. “Too much lately. I think my kidneys are shot.”

She smiled. She was wearing a black-and-red kimono that looked like it came from a thrift store. Her face was still pink from her shower. She was squinting at him.

“Oh, almost forgot,” he said. “Got some presents for you.” He pulled a Baggie from his pocket. “Fudge, from Margaret.”

“Nice lady,” Emily said, taking it.

“And from me,” he said, pulling her glasses out of his breast pocket.

Her grin widened. “Thank God,” she said, taking them and slipping them on. She glanced around the room. “Shit, this place is uglier than I remember.”

Louis laughed, then sobered, his eyes going to the gauze wrap on her arm. “So, how you doing?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I’m okay. Six stitches.” She went to the coffeemaker and poured a cup. “You didn’t bring my briefcase,” she said, turning back to him.

“It’s still in evidence.”

“Shit. I need it.”

“You’ll get it back.”

“I mean now. I want to get back to work.”

“Farentino-”

She held up a hand. “Look, Kincaid, I’m okay. The best thing I can do now is get my mind in gear again. I’m going crazy here, just staring at the walls, thinking. . ” Her voice trailed off.

“Thinking about what?” Louis asked.

She sat down at the small table, setting the coffee aside. “Thinking about everything Mayo said. I’ve been turning it over and over in my head, trying to figure out if I’ve missed anything. I know there has to be more than what I told you. If I had the files here, maybe it would trigger something.” She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“You did the best you could, Farentino,” Louis said.

She looked up at him. “But I keep going back to the same question-why me? Why did he take me? And why did he let me go?”

The last words came out shaky. She wasn’t all right. He could hear from her voice that she was really thinking, Why am I still alive?

“He said, ‘Why were you there?’ ” she said quietly.

“You already told us that,” Louis said.

“No, you don’t understand. It was ‘why were you there?’ Like I wasn’t supposed to be.” She shook her head. “It means something.”

Louis hesitated. He thought about telling her what he and Wainwright had discussed, that her abduction and release was some kind of message on Gunther Mayo’s part. But he didn’t want her getting too worked up about it.

“It means you were just in the way,” Louis said. “That’s why he let you go.”

She looked up at him, then nodded slightly. “You haven’t found Heller’s body yet?”

“No. We’re concentrating on the water. Everyone’s out looking-marine patrol, coast guard. I’ll call you the moment we have news.”

“I want to help,” she said.

“It’s too early,” he said.

She was quiet, staring at her coffee cup. He sensed she wanted to say something.

“Farentino, what’s the matter?” he asked.

“Wainwright was right,” she said softly. “I didn’t have a clue what I was doing out there. I could have ridden with the NYPD for two years and still not had a clue.”

“No cop really does until it happens,” Louis said. “Stop beating yourself up.” He paused, realizing she looked tired. He wondered how much she had slept.

“I’ve got to get going,” Louis said. “I’ll check in with you tomorrow, okay?”

“Bring my briefcase,” she said.

By the time he got back to the Dodies’, it was nearly four. Margaret was nowhere to be seen so he grabbed a Dr Pepper and a leg of leftover chicken from the refrigerator and headed out to the patio. Issy followed him, patiently waiting at his feet until he tossed her a sliver of chicken.

A boat was motoring slowly toward the dock. It was Dodie, his burnt face bright beneath the aqua Miami Dolphins cap. Louis went down to the dock.

“Need some help?” he asked.

“Yeah, tie that off,” Dodie said, tossing a line and cutting the engine.

Louis hesitated, then started to wrap the line around a piling. Dodie gave an impatient grunt and stepped onto the dock. He took the line and, in one quick move, knotted it off.

“I’m telling you, Louis, you gotta come fishing with me,” Dodie said, holding out a cooler.

Louis took the cooler while Dodie hauled up his gear and his catch for the day-two puny-looking gray fish.

“Why should I?” Louis said. “Doesn’t strike me as worth the effort.”

“Well, with fishing, it ain’t the destination, it’s the journey,” Dodie said, heading toward the house.

Louis deposited the cooler on the patio. Dodie dropped into his lounge chair and pulled a beer can from the cooler. “Last one. You want it?” he asked, holding it out.

“Got my soda,” Louis said.

“Where’s Margaret?” Dodie whispered.

“I heard the washer go on,” Louis said.

“Good.” He popped the top and took a swig.

Louis sat down in the nearby chair.

“I saw the news this morning,” Dodie said. “You found Miss Farentino. TV said she’s okay.”

“He didn’t hurt her,” Louis said.

“Thank God.”

“I went over to see her earlier. She’s doing as good as can be expected.”

Dodie shook his head. “Seems kinda weird, don’t it?”