“A pleasure. We were supposed to meet at noon.”
“My apologies. Had a bit of boat trouble.” He nodded down the pier to a large powerboat moored at the end of the dock. It wasn’t the longest boat in the harbor at that moment, but it was close. “Can we talk there?” he asked.
“On the boat?”
“Sure. It’s much more private.”
Crawling onto a boat with a complete stranger struck her as a bad idea and she hesitated. Before she could answer, Mix asked, “Who’s the black guy?” He was looking in the direction of King Street. Lacy turned and saw Hugo casually following a pack of tourists nearing the marina.
“He’s my colleague,” she said.
“Sort of a bodyguard?”
“I don’t need a bodyguard, Mr. Mix. We’re not armed, but my friend there could pitch you into the water in about two seconds.”
“Let’s hope that won’t be necessary. I come in peace.”
“That’s good to hear. I’ll get on the boat only if it stays where it is. If the engines start, then our meeting is over.”
“Fair enough.”
She followed him along the pier, past a row of sailboats that looked as though they had not seen the open sea in months, and to his boat, cleverly named Conspirator. He stepped on board and offered a hand to help her. On the deck, under a canvas awning, there was a small wooden table with four folding chairs. He waved at it and said, “Welcome aboard. Have a seat.”
Lacy took quick stock of her surroundings. Without sitting, she said, “Are we alone?”
“Well, not entirely. I have a friend who enjoys boating with me. Name is Carlita. Would you like to meet her?”
“Only if she’s important to your story.”
“She is not.” Mix was looking at the marina, where Hugo was leaning on a rail. Hugo waved, as if to say, “I’m watching everything.” Mix waved back and said, “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” Lacy said.
“Is it safe to assume that whatever I’m about to tell you will be rehashed with Mr. Hatch in short order?”
“He’s my colleague. We work together on some cases, maybe this one. How do you know his name?”
“I happen to own a computer. Checked out the website. BJC really should update it.”
“I know. Budget cuts.”
“His name vaguely rings a bell.”
“He had a brief career as a football player at Florida State.”
“Maybe that’s it. I’m a Gator fan myself.”
Lacy refused to respond to this. It was so typical of the South, where folks attached themselves to college football teams with a fanaticism she’d always found irksome.
Mix said, “So he’ll know everything?”
“Yes.”
“Call him over. I’ll get us something to drink.”
2
Carlita served drinks from a wooden tray—diet sodas for Lacy and Hugo, a bottle of beer for Mix. She was a pretty Hispanic lady, at least twenty years his junior, and she seemed pleased to have guests, especially another woman.
Lacy made a note on her legal pad and said, “A quick question. The phone you used fifteen minutes ago had a different number than the phone you used last week.”
“Is that a question?” Mix replied.
“It’s close enough.”
“Okay. I use a lot of prepaid phones. And I move around all the time. I’m assuming the number I have for you is a cell phone issued by your employer, correct?”
“That’s right. We don’t use personal phones for state business, so my number is not likely to change.”
“That’ll make it simpler, I guess. My phones change by the month, sometimes by the week.”
So far, in their first five minutes together, everything Mix said had only opened the door for more questions. Lacy was still miffed at being stood up for lunch, and she didn’t like the first impression he made. She said, “Okay, Mr. Mix, at this point Hugo and I go silent. You start talking. Tell us your story, and if it has huge gaps that require us to fish around and stumble in the dark, then we’ll get bored and go home. You were coy enough on the phone to lure me here. Start talking.”
Mix looked at Hugo with a smile and asked, “She always this blunt?”