Lawn chairs and coolers cluttered the plaza by eight that night, the concertgoers tapping their feet to the bluegrass music. I listened awhile, people-watched, and thought about how different things were now than they had been when I was young. Oh, the plaza had been here forever, with Matanzas Bay on the east, and the Government House on the west. Townspeople gathered to visit the market, hear the latest proclamations, and exchange gossip. The women gossiped here, anyway. The men crowded into taverns to hear the news sailors brought from ports around the world. At eight thirty, I left the plaza to meet my tour group. I wandered up Cathedral Place, past the bank building where I’d lived with Maggie in her condo penthouse on the sixth floor. We had good times there, but I was happy we lived in separate homes now. Much as I missed our late-night talks, having men in both our lives called for more privacy. As I strode north on St. George Street, it occurred to me that I’d never had private space in my old life. My parents’ household and those of our neighbors had bustled with activity. Home had echoed with my mother’s scolding, with the noise of my boisterous brothers, and later, with the voices of their wives and children. A comfortable sort of chaos, but confining. The only times I’d known quiet were those when I’d snagged one of my father’s boats and headed to the island. Sometimes I’d play in the waves, other times I’d sit on the beach and stargaze. I made getaways with or without Triton, but more often with him. Those were carefree times, and, though I was ticked at Triton right now, I had loved him then. Maggie said a woman never forgot her first love, and she was right. But Saber was my first in more important ways than Triton could be. I didn’t agree with Saber on every topic under the Florida sun, but I could talk with him or share quiet time with him. We certainly had no problems between the sheets.
Well, that thought dispelled my melancholy, and so did seeing Jag Queen Millie waiting for me.
“Cesca!” She grabbed me in a fierce hug. “Thank God you’re in one piece! Kay heard from her hairdresser that there was a shooting at your place last night. What in the world happened?”
“Someone took potshots at us from a tree and got away.”
Millie tut-tutted. “I’ll bet it was that nasty Gorman character giving you trouble again. But, my dear, should you be out in the open with this armed nut running around?”
“I’m sure the tour patrons will be safe, Millie. I refused to hide from Gorman the last time, and I won’t hide from him or anyone else this time.”
“That’s the spirit. Now, Cesca,” she said with a jerk of her head, “who is that strange skinny man with all the cameras and gadgets?”
I didn’t have to look to know Millie was talking about Kevin Miller, but I glanced at him anyway. He held one of his precious meters and wove his way through the fifteen other tourists waiting for me to start.
“He’s a post-graduate-school ghostbuster,” I told her as I bent to retrieve the lantern from the substation cabinet.
“Well, he certainly is odd. He’s been telling all and sundry that he’s about to crack your code for connecting with ghosts and make a killing. What is that supposed to mean?”
I straightened fast enough to make myself dizzy. Make a killing? Could Saber’s intel be wrong? Could Kevin be the shooter? He was young, wiry, and had to be strong to carry that equipment like a pack mule. Maybe those high-tech gadgets fit together to make a .22 rifle, just like in a James Bond movie.
As I watched, Kevin tripped on a cobblestone, then tiptoe-danced his lanky frame around three couples in the effort not to mow them down.
Okay, if those gadgets fit together to make a rifle, it would be more like Maxwell Smart than James Bond. Still, Pandora had warned me of betrayal and treachery. Despite his earnest eyes and guileless grin, was Kevin a killer in geek clothing?
“Cesca!” Millie said near my ear.
I flinched. “He’s a little odd but harmless. Are you taking the tour tonight, Millie?”
“No, dear, but I didn’t come just to grill you about the shooting either. Fact is,” she said with a faint blush, “I met a new gentleman friend for a drink earlier. Dan was walking me to the parking garage when I heard that Kevin person blabbing.”
“Is your friend still here?”
Millie nodded at a man in his sixties sporting navy cotton slacks, a sky blue shirt, and a head of white hair a movie star would envy. He gazed at Millie with an endearingly besotted expression.
“I’d introduce you to Dan, but I think it’s rather early in our acquaintance for him to meet my friends. I don’t want to pressure him, if you know what I mean.”
I chuckled. “He doesn’t know about the Jag Queens yet?”