Blake Crouch - Confidence Girl - The Letty Dobesh Chronicles

Throughout his prosecution, Fitch had always maintained that he just wanted the chance to tell his story. But at crunch time on the witness stand, he’d invoked the Fifth Amendment to avoid self-incrimination.

The yacht hummed along at over forty knots, skimming the water like a blade across ice.

Key West was nothing but a blurred line of green on the horizon.

Out here, there was nothing but the sea in all its varying hues of blue and jade. Its surface sparkled. The horizon lay sprinkled with tiny islands. The sky shone a deep, cloudless blue. It was early evening. They cruised straight into a red and watery sun.

Letty could feel the vodka buzz coming on like a soft warmth behind her eyes. A numbness in her legs. For a fleeting second, everything seemed so impossibly surreal.

This yacht.

This thing she was about to do.

This life she lived.

7

The sea in the vicinity of Fitch’s island was shallow. His dock extended seventy-five yards out from the shore into water deep enough to berth a boat.

Letty followed James out of the salon onto the stern.

A tall, thin man stood on the last plank of the dock. He was throwing squid into the sea, his gray hair blowing in the breeze. He wore a white, long-sleeved shirt unbuttoned to his sternum. White Dockers. Leather sandals. Very tan. He finished rinsing off his hands under a faucet mounted to the end of the wharf and dried them with a towel as Letty approached. Reaching down, he gave her a hand up onto the dock. He was even taller than she’d first thought. Six-two. Maybe six-three. He smelled of an exotic cologne—sandalwood, spice, jasmine, lime, money.

The man still hadn’t let go of her hand. His fingers were cool and moist, as soft as silk.

“Welcome to Sunset Key, Selena. Please call me Johnny.”

She could hear Texas in his voice, but it wasn’t overbearing. Houston drawl by way of an Ivy League education. She stared up into his face. Smoothshaven. No glasses. Perfect teeth. He didn’t look sixty-six years old.

“It’s beautiful here, Johnny,” she said.

“I like to think so. But it pales in comparison to you. They broke the mold.”

Letty’s eyes riveted on what he’d been feeding—gray fins slicing through the water.

“Sand sharks,” Fitch said. “Not to worry. Totally harmless. They like the reefs for protection. A mother and her pups.”

He offered his arm. They walked down the long dock. Letty could see the cupola of a house peeking above the scrub oak that covered the island. According to the blueprints and to Javier, that was Fitch’s office.

“How was your ride over?” Johnny asked.

“Wonderful. Your yacht is amazing.”

“Part of my midlife crisis, some would say.”

Letty glanced back over her shoulder.

James and the unnamed driver followed at a respectful distance.

“Don’t give them another thought,” Fitch said. “I know James searched you, and I apologize for that barbarous invasion, but it couldn’t be helped.”

“It was no big deal,” she said.

“Well, you’re my guest now.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Letty said. “You’ve lived here long?”

“Back in my former life, I was primarily based in Houston. I also had a winter place in Aspen. An apartment in Manhattan. Of course, those are gone now. But I bought this key twenty years ago when it was fourteen acres of unspoiled paradise. Designed the house myself. It was always my favorite. There’s a view of the sea from every room.”

They went ashore.

A man of fifty or so stood waiting for them in khaki slacks and a short-sleeved button down.

“Selena, this is Manuel, my caretaker and steward. He’s been with me for…how long, Manuel?”

“Since you buy island. I live here twenty-two years.”

Fitch said, “Before we go to the house, I thought we’d take a walk on the beach.” He kicked off his sandals.

Manuel turned to Letty. “If you give me shoes, I take them up to house for you.”

Letty leaned over and unfastened her pumps. She stepped out and handed them to Manuel.

“And your purse?”

“I think I’ll hang onto this.”

Fitch said, “Thank you, Manuel.”

“Very good, sir.”

“You’re leaving for Key West when Angie goes?”

“Yes, I go with her.”

“Take care, my old friend.”

Letty and Fitch walked barefoot up a manmade beach.

“Manuel came over on a raft. Half of them died. Sends his paychecks back to Havana. He’s an honorable man. Loyal. He’ll never have to work again after tomorrow. He doesn’t know this yet.”

The sand was soft and stark white and still warm from the sun. There was no surf, no waves. No boats within earshot. You could hear the sound of leaves rustling, a bird singing in the interior of the island, and little else. The water was bright green.

Fitch picked up a shell before Letty stepped on it.

He said, “Down on the seashore I found a shell, left by the tide in its noonday swell.

Only a white shell out of the sea, yet it bore sweet memories up to me. Of a shore where brighter shells are strown, where I stood in the breakers, but not alone.”

“That’s lovely,” Letty said.

They moved on up the shore. It seemed that with every passing second, the sun expanded, its pool of light coloring a distant reef of clouds.

“It’s why I chose the Keys, you know,” Fitch said. “Best sunsets in the world. Ah. Here we are.” They had reached the tip of the island. A pair of Adirondack chairs waited in the sand under the shade of a coconut palm. They faced west, an ice bucket and a small, wooden box between them.

Letty and Fitch crossed the sand to the chairs. The sunset spread across the horizon like a range of orange mountains. There was no wind. The water as still as glass.

Letty glanced down at the box. The top had been stamped:

Heidsieck & C° Monopole

Goût Américain

Vintage 1907

N° 1931

Fitch pulled an unlabeled bottle out of the ice water. He held it to the fading light. The glass was green and scuffed. He went to work opening it.

Letty said, “Special. Even has its own box.”

“This bottle was on its way to the Russian royal family when the boat carrying it was torpedoed by Germans. What must have gone through those young sailors’ minds? It took a half hour: They knew, for a half hour, they were going to die and could do nothing to stop it. Nothing but wait and watch the minutes slide.”

“In what year?”

“Nineteen-sixteen. The vintage is nineteen-oh-seven, which makes this—”

“Ninety-eight years old?” He nodded. “Oh my God.”

“It was recovered from the wreck seven years ago. The bottles were perfectly preserved at the bottom of the ocean. Notable not only for the rarity and the history, but as it turns out, the wine itself is quite excellent. I bought one for a special occasion. I’d say tonight qualifies. Would you get the glasses please?”

Letty reached into the box and lifted out two crystal flutes.

“Go ahead and ask,” Fitch said as he struggled with the cork.

“Ask what?”

He worked it out so slowly, there was no pop . Just a short hiss as the pressure released. The cork crumbled in his hand. He held the opening of the bottle to her nose.

It smelled like perfume.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“Gorgeous.”

Fitch took a whiff himself and then began to pour.

“So ask,” he said. “It won’t offend me.”

“What?”

“What I paid.”

“That would be rude.”

“But you want to know.”

With her glass full, Letty smelled it again, the carbonation bubbles misting her nose.