Chapter SEVENTEEN
“When did you get in?” I asked Logan.
“Just now,” he said. “Why do we have a federal prosecutor and the local fuzz here? You guys get caught running drugs?”
“Hello, Logan,” said David. “I wondered when you’d turn up.”
“Just got back on the island,” Logan said. “A little down time in Key West with my woman.”
“You look a little ragged,” said Jock. “Too much partying?”
“There ain’t no such thing as too much partying,” said Logan. He looked at J.D. “How’re you, dollface?”
“That’s it,” she said. “I’m going to shoot him.”
Logan laughed. “Tell me what you all are up to.”
David stood. “They can fill you in, Logan. I’ve got to be getting back to Tampa. Good to see you guys. You too, J.D.”
“I’ll see you out,” I said, and followed him to the street.
“David,” I said, as we reached his car, “if you get any hint of anything that might have something to do with this mess, let me know. J.D.’s tough, but somebody’s after her. Maybe if we use Jock’s resources and yours we can figure out how to stop this.”
“Count on it. It’ll be off the record, but you’ll know everything I know.”
We shook hands, and he drove away.
When I got back to the house, Jock and J.D. were bringing Logan up to date on the last few days. He sat quietly, taking it all in. When they finished, he said, “Matt, it’s time for a little Scotch.”
“Anybody else?” I asked.
J.D. looked at her watch and shook her head. “It’s almost four. I’ve got to get back to the station and catch up on some paperwork. Why don’t I meet you guys at Tiny’s about five thirty?”
And that’s what we did. Logan called his girlfriend, Marie Phillips, and she got to Tiny’s just as J.D. pulled into the lot. A quiet evening on the island, a few drinks with friends at Tiny’s, a few more at Pattigeorge’s, and a finale at the Haye Loft with pizza and beer. Jock ordered the coconut cream pie for dessert, the one he always said was almost as good as sex, and which therefore made it the world’s second-best treat.
As I drifted off to sleep, I hoped that the rhythms of the island were re-asserting themselves, that maybe we were wrong and the deaths and turmoil of the last few days were over, that the sun would come up on Tuesday morning and our key would resume its lethargic existence, lulling those of us lucky enough to live on its shores into the near somnolence that defined our existence. I would not have slept so well had I known that the sunrise would bring death to an innocent and peril to my friends and change perceptibly the placid view we had of our island sanctuary.