Мэри Эндрюс - The Newcomer

To Letty’s surprise, she thought he looked cute. Hot even.

“I thought you were playing in the tournament.”

“I got skunked,” he said, looking chagrined. “By an eighty-year-old retired gym teacher from Milwaukee.” He shook his fist in mock indignation. “Damn those professional Ping-Pongers at the Michigander!”

Letty cocked her head. “Will you ever get over the disappointment?”

“No. The worst of it is, the SeaBreeze guys didn’t even want me to play. They said I was a ringer because I don’t live here.”

“Then why did you get to play?”

He laughed. “When your mom runs the tournament, your mom makes the rules.”

“So who won?” Letty asked, craning her neck to look inside the door.

“Not us. Merwin’s playing now. We’re doomed. Looks like the coveted golden Ping-Pong paddle will once again be awarded to our archenemies.”

He jerked his head in the direction of the beach. “Come on, let’s blow this pop stand.”

“I can’t,” she said. “I’m on duty.”

“So clock out,” Joe said. “Merwin’s going down and people will be leaving here in droves in five minutes.” He tugged at her hand. “Come on. Ava told me to tell you it’s okay. You’ve been working all day, with hardly a break. The Feldmans are going to help her clean up.”

“I shouldn’t,” Letty said reluctantly. “If Maya wakes up and I’m not there…”

“Isabelle’s there,” he said, pulling her to her feet. “For God’s sake, Letty. It’s not even nine o’clock yet. You haven’t even been here three weeks and you’re already turning into an early bird.”

“Where are we going?” They were walking along the beach, headed south. A silver sliver of a moon splashed its reflection on the Gulf, and the stars looked like pinpricks in the dark sky. Letty stopped momentarily in the ankle-high surf, letting the gentle waves roll over her feet. “Water’s kind of cold,” she said, surprised.

“It cools off fast when the sun goes down,” Joe said, staying where he was at the edge of the waterline. “But you wait ’til July or August. It’s like bathwater. Hurricane season.”

“I’ll skip hurricane season, if it’s all the same to you,” Letty said.

“What? You’re leaving?”

She joined him on the sand. “I’m not sure. I mean, I can’t keep living indefinitely in a motel room with an almost five-year-old child. I’ve got to figure out school for her in the fall.”

“We’ve got schools right here at the beach,” he pointed out. “And they’re pretty good. I mean, look at Isabelle. She’s a product of the public schools here, and she’s headed to Emory on a full scholarship.”

“We’ll see,” Letty said. “You still haven’t told me where we’re going.”

“And you haven’t told me where you’re going,” Joe said.

He pointed north, up the beach, where strings of party lights outlined a sprawling beach bar with an outdoor patio and rows of lounge chairs facing the water. They could hear the strains of a Jimmy Buffett song drifting across the dunes. “Wanna grab a drink at Sharky’s?”

She considered. “Not really. Too crowded. Too noisy. I’ve been around people all day. Can’t we just walk?”

He shrugged. “Sure.”

She spotted a low-slung motel nestled into the dunes. The concrete-block buildings were a faded aqua. “Is that the SeaBreeze? It looks different from the beach.”

“That’s it,” Joe said, with a sigh. “For now.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Eleanor Triplett told Mom tonight that this is probably their last season. A developer has been hounding her to sell for years now. Doug died three years ago, and her kids aren’t interested in running a cheesy motel. I’d be surprised if it doesn’t get bulldozed before Christmas.”

“That’s sad,” Letty said.

“Happens all the time.”

“I’ve been wondering,” Letty said. “What will happen with Harry Bronson? Will he be okay?”

“Maybe. The doctors want to do surgery, but he’s dead set on seeing his doctors at home. Their daughter is going to drive down here this weekend to help Sheila drive them back north.”

“I can’t believe what a sexist pig he was today,” Letty said. “He wouldn’t listen to his own wife—or me—about calling 911, but as soon as you showed up and took over, he was meek as a lamb.”

“He’s a hardheaded old bastard, that’s for sure,” Joe said, chuckling. “You shouldn’t be offended. It’s a generational thing. Guys like him, they’re not used to having to listen to—or obey—a woman. And it didn’t help matters that the cardiologist on call at the hospital today was a woman. Or maybe it’s just the uniform. Guys who’re Harry’s age, they’re used to respecting a uniform.”

“Did you always want to go into law enforcement?”

“Hell no. Growing up at the Surf, hauling trash and raking seaweed and cleaning the pool, I was convinced that wearing a suit and tie and carrying a briefcase would be the life. I had a high school buddy whose dad was in insurance and financial planning. They had a nice house on the water and a pool. I thought that’s what success looked like. Ava didn’t have money for me to go away to school, so I lived at home and worked my way through the University of South Florida and got a business degree. My friend’s dad gave me a job right out of college.

“I sat in a cubicle all day and cold-called clients, trying to sell them whole life policies or annuities. Hated every minute of it. Turns out I’m no good at sales.”

“You went from insurance to being a cop?”

“Not quite. One of our regulars, Bob Wilhite, was a retired FBI agent from Charlotte. He and his wife Shirley stayed at the Surf for probably twenty years. He became sort of a surrogate dad to me. We used to go hit golf balls at the driving range, or go fishing on a charter boat. He bought me my first legal beer at the VFW lodge down the beach here. I had a lot of different jobs back then. Assistant manager at a bank, dispatcher for a trucking company…”

He stopped walking and looked over at Letty. “Why am I boring you with all of this?”

“Because I asked,” she said. “Keep going.”

“Long story short, Bob kept bugging me, telling me I should go into police work. He’d even send me job postings every summer, after he and Shirley went back home to Charlotte. Seven years ago, Shirley called to tell me Bob was gone. He’d played eighteen holes of golf, came home, sat down in his recliner, and just never woke up again.”

“Oh,” Letty said, touching Joe’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too. A couple weeks later, I got a package in the mail from Shirley. It was Bob’s FBI retirement plaque with his badge mounted on it. They never had kids, and she wrote that he wanted me to have it. It was his way of nagging me from the grave. Funny thing is, I’d just quit my job. I was at loose ends, so I thought, What the hell? I’ll go to the police academy.”

“You didn’t think about leaving the area? Maybe going to a bigger city?” Letty asked.

“Not really. I like it here. Close to the beach, and yeah, I’m around if Ava or Isabelle need me. Now it’s your turn.”

“For what?” Letty asked.

“I’ve just told you my whole life story. And you haven’t told me a damn thing about you. All I know is you showed up at the Murmuring Surf out of nowhere, and even though I told you we didn’t have a vacancy, you wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“I’d been driving for hours, and I was exhausted. And Maya needed to pee,” she said.

“There you go again, avoiding answering my questions,” Joe said. He leaned in close, until she could feel his breath in her ear. “Who are you really, Letty?”