Christmas in Key West
Cynthia Thomason

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Copyright

Cynthia Thomason writes contemporary and historical romances and dabbles in mysteries. She has won a National Reader’s Choice Award and the 2008 Golden Quill. When she’s not writing, she works as a licensed auctioneer for the auction company she and her husband own. As an estate buyer for the auction, she has come across unusual items, many of which have found their way into her books. She has one son, an entertainment reporter. Cynthia dreams of perching on a mountain top in North Carolina every autumn to watch the leaves turn. You can read more about her at www.cynthiathomason.com.

This book is dedicated to my mother,

Barbara Brackett, with love

for all the Christmases past, present and future.

Chapter One

REESE HUNKERED DOWN on one knee and burrowed his fingers into a patch of soft golden fur covered by a colorful neckerchief. “You have a good day, buddy,” he said to the Labrador retriever. “Take a couple of naps for me.” Giving the dog a goodbye scratch behind the ears, he walked outside and got into his patrol car. He’d already talked to the dispatcher on duty. The night had been a quiet one. Reese hoped the calm would continue at least for the next three days, at which point a new crop of tourists would descend upon Key West in the four-day Thanksgiving break.

He’d just backed out of his driveway when a message came through on his radio. Instantly tuning in, he hoped the call from the station would be nothing more important than a request to stop for doughnuts. “This is Reese,” he said into the mic on his shoulder. He preferred using his real name instead of his official police-speak identity when he could. “What’s up?”

His hope for continued calm evaporated when the dispatcher said, “It’s Huey Vernay, Reese. He’s at it again.”

Reese gripped the steering wheel in response to the coiling in his stomach. Anything to do with Huey, his trinket business or the happenings at Vernay House produced this reaction. “Did we get another complaint from a tourist about his attitude?”

“Nope. This is worse.”

The coiling resulted in an all-too-familiar pain in his neck. “What’s he done now?”

“Edna Howell just called. She said Huey started another fire in his backyard and the smell came over her fence. She claims that if she opens her windows, she’ll suffocate from toxic fumes.”

“Here we go again,” Reese muttered as he turned onto Duval and headed toward Southard Street, where the ten-room Vernay House had stood since the late 1850s. He leaned out the window, caught a whiff of burning rubber. “Shit.”

“What’s that?” the dispatcher asked.

“Sorry, Merlene. Call the fire department. I’m only a couple of blocks from Huey’s now. I’ll go on over.”

“Roger that, Reese. Do you need backup?”

As much as he’d like to foist the responsibility on anyone else in the department who would take it, he declined. He didn’t see flames shooting into the air, so that was a good sign. “Probably not. But I’ll want a half bottle of aspirin when this is over, so make sure we have some.”

The dispatcher chuckled before signing off, and Reese gave up hope of filling his thermal mug with coffee from Martha’s Eye Opener Café. He flipped the switch on the car’s light bar and sped toward Southard Street.

REESE PULLED TO A STOP in the plume of smoke drifting over the wraparound porch of Vernay House. He got out of the cruiser and waved his hand in front of his face to dispel the foul air. Walking around to the backyard, he spied Huey Vernay standing upwind from a smoldering pit of who knows what. Thank goodness the flames that still existed were minor, but acrid gray clouds hung over the old Classic Revival mansion.

Reese strode to the big man, who was bare-chested except for the apron of his denim overalls. Smudges of soot blotched his face and arms.Atypical scowl creased his face.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Huey?” Reese asked.

The man took a drag on the stub of his cigarette and released a long, wispy stream of smoke. He flicked the butt to the dirt and ground it in with the heel of his boot. Looping his thumbs through the straps of his overalls, he said, “What’s it look like?”

Reese wanted to say, Insanity, but refrained, knowing that answer was too close to the truth.

Huey raised his bushy white eyebrows in the condescending smirk he’d perfected after years of boasting about his blue-blooded-Louis-the-Something background. Genetically speaking, French ancestry, even ties to royalty, didn’t count for much in modern-day Key West, but Huey refused to accept that. “I’m abiding by the almighty Community Improvement Board and the code enforcement officer’s order to clean my place up.”

“You know darn well you can’t do that by lighting a fire,” Reese stated. “I warned you about this a week ago when you set that blaze in your garbage can.”

“I’m doing it different this time,” Huey retorted. “You complained that I didn’t have a proper containment screen on the top of the can, so now I’m burning my trash in the open. There isn’t a law against that as far as I’ve heard.”

Reese looked down at the pile of garbage slowly disintegrating into spitting embers. “I’ve only been here a couple of minutes, Huey, and I’ve already come up with five codes you’re breaking right now.”

“Well, hell, Reese, you can’t have it both ways. The island’s gestapo can’t tell me my home is an eyesore and then have you stop by and prevent me from sprucing it up.”

Sirens sounded in the distance. Aware that even laid-back Key West was in the midst of rush hour, Reese tuned to the radio channel connecting him to the island’s fire department. “Tell your boys they can slow down,” he said to the dispatcher. “The fire’s under control. I still need them here to do a damage assessment, but there’s no immediate threat to property.” He signed off and glared at Huey. “I’m going to my car to get the paperwork,” he said. “You’re getting citations this time.”

Huey’s eyes, as gray as the smoke around him, became slits. He tugged on the full beard that had earned him first place in the Ernest Hemingway look-alike contest four out of the past ten years. “What for? Doing my civic duty?”

Ignoring the sarcasm, Reese went around the house to retrieve the necessary reports. After he’d written the first citation, he walked back and handed a copy to Huey. “This is for burning household waste.”

Huey stared at the paper that had been thrust into his hand. “Of course I’m burning household waste. That’s exactly what that officious son of a bitch you sent out here told me to get rid of.”

“You can’t burn it, Huey. You can only set fire to lawn debris. I gave you a copy of the rules the last time I was here.”

“You did? Guess I must have burned it in this pile by mistake.”

Refusing to be goaded into making an equally sarcastic comeback, Reese studied the smoldering items in the widening circle of blackened weeds and said, “You’ve got a rubber tire in there, along with plastic and metal containers that, if I knew what they’d once held, might scare the crap out of me.” He handed Huey a second ticket. “This is for not having your fire within the appropriate setback. You’re too close to the fence line.”

Huey stared at the fence separating his property from his neighbor’s. “That damn busybody Edna Howell. The old biddy ratted me out—”

“And for not clearing an area around the pit to ensure containment,” Reese continued. He wrote the third citation. “This is for not having a shovel and hose nearby in case the fire spreads.”

He was starting a fourth ticket when Huey reached out and placed his big hand over Reese’s. “You’ve made your point. Now we both know you can write.”

Reese frowned at him. Huey was consistently the most difficult resident on the island to deal with. He held on to grudges longer than anyone Reese had ever known. And Huey had a hell of a lot of grudges to stew over, including one against Reese and his family that dated back a lot of years. “I thought I made all this clear last week when you had the previous fire,” he said. “I should have ticketed you then.”

Huey ruffled the papers in Reese’s face. “I’ll tell you what you can do with your citations, Mr. Big Shot.”

Reese struggled to hold on to his temper. “You want me to arrest you, Huey? Because I will. You’re threatening an officer of the law—”

“Phooey. I remember when you were still wet behind the ears. It wasn’t so many years ago, Reese Burkett, that you were on the other side of the law more often than not, and don’t you forget it. Many’s the night I sat on my porch and watched the cops chasing you and that Cuban gang you hung out with.”

Reese sighed, admitting to himself that Huey had a point. Reese had gotten into a lot of trouble on this island. That was why folks had been surprised he’d accepted a position with the Key West Police Department when he’d gotten out of the navy.

He started to remind Huey that both of them had episodes in their pasts that were better left buried, but his words were interrupted by a crew of firemen coming around the side of the house.

Larry Blanchard, fire captain and another Key West native, warned Huey about his reckless actions. “I should charge you for what this unnecessary call cost the citizens of this town,” he said.

“Go ahead.” Huey clasped his wrists together and held them in front of him, daring someone to slap cuffs on him. “I can’t pay it. You know what it’s like for a small, independent businessman these days. Can barely keep food on the table.”

Blanchard rolled his eyes, and it was all Reese could do not to point out that Huey hadn’t made a decent living in years. Having ruined his reputation as the local handyman by charging folks for inferior work, he now sold cheap souvenirs to tourists from a mobile vendor’s cart during the nightly sunset festivities on Mallory Square. Still, Reese found it hard to believe that Huey had trouble paying his grocery tab. The six-footer tipped the scales at well over two hundred pounds.

“You’ve got fourteen days to pay these citations,” Reese said.

Huey passed his hand over his collar-length white hair. “Don’t hold your breath. I won’t have the money in fourteen weeks. And if I did, I wouldn’t give it to you jackass bureaucrats.”

“Then I’ll be back to get you.”

“Fine. I’ll be waiting. The people of this island can provide me with a bed and three squares a day.”

Although Huey had been an eyewitness to some trouble Reese had gotten into thirteen years ago, the last thing Reese wanted was to arrest the guy. He dreaded listening to Huey’s complaints while he served time. And he certainly didn’t relish providing Huey with any more excuses for not earning a living. But mostly Reese didn’t want to haul Huey in because the Vernays had been on this island for more than a hundred and fifty years. Not all of their history here was good, but they were as much a part of Key West lore as Stephen Mallory, John Simonton or Samuel Southard, men who’d had streets named after them because of their illustrious contributions to the island. No street was named for the Vernays.

Regretfully, Reese had to accept that he was running out of options with Huey. The stubborn old guy wasn’t giving him any choice other than jail. Reese scratched his head. Except for the option he’d used as a last resort once before in similar circumstances. Maybe Loretta could talk some sense into her ex-husband this time, too.

He stopped the fire captain as he circled the contaminated pile. “How’s it look, Larry?”

“It’s out, but there could still be some hot spots. To totally decontaminate the site, we should clear the whole pile out of here.”

Reese nodded toward Huey’s rusty old truck, which sat in front of the decrepit carriage house. “Never mind,” he said loudly. “Huey’s cost the city enough for one day.” He glared at the man. “You haul this trash down to the sanitation site after it cools, or call the junk dealer to come take it away. You hear me?”

“I’m not deaf, Reese,” he snapped. “Just pissed off, and that doesn’t affect my hearing.”

“I’m just making myself clear,” Reese said. “I’m stopping back this afternoon to see that you’ve started cleaning this toxic mess up. And if it isn’t all gone in two days, I’ll slap you with another fine.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

Reese got in his cruiser and headed to the station. He’d missed breakfast, but that wasn’t the main reason he was already thinking about lunch. He’d made up his mind to go to Phil’s Pirate Shack on Caroline Street. Hopeful about talking to Loretta Vernay, he could also order a grouper sandwich to go.

EVERY TIME A CUSTOMER opened the door at Phil’s, a grease-smeared plastic pirate’s head hanging on a hook over the entrance cut loose with a squawky rendition of “Ho, Ho, Ho and a Bottle of Rum.” Reese entered the establishment at noon and glanced around at the usual crowd of locals who knew this was the place for the best seafood on the island. And unlike many of the restaurants in town, the prices were fair.

A few customers hollered at him, mostly construction workers building or remodeling ever-expanding resort hotels, or guides and charter operators from the area’s marinas. These were guys for whom the fresh-catch scent at the Pirate Shack was cologne. Reese walked over to a table where the two mechanics from Burkett’s Paradise Marina were chowing down on fish and chips. “How’s everything going?” he asked the men.

“Wouldn’t do any good to complain,” Bill MacKenzie said. He scooted a chair away from the table with the toe of his work boot, indicating Reese should join them.

He waved off the invitation. “I’m getting a takeout,” he said.

Bill took a swallow from a long-necked beer bottle. “We wanted your father to eat with us, but your mom asked him to pick out some fabric for curtains or something.”

Reese chuckled. His mother was always doing something to their Gulf-side stilt house—a fact that made Frank Burkett cringe. At this stage in his life, Reese’s dad was basically content with a comfortable recliner and a television. The marina had provided a good living for the family since he’d resigned as a cop and opened the business twenty years earlier. And his wife was a major reason for that success. Ellen Burkett was an excellent manager.

“You guys enjoy your lunch,” Reese said, scanning around the restaurant for Loretta. He spied her coming out of the kitchen with a platter of food skillfully balanced on her hand. Reese smiled at her. He didn’t know Loretta’s age, but he figured her for around fifty, sixteen years older than he was. She looked good. Kept her short hair a light blond, her figure trim and appealing.Alot of women who’d lived most of their lives in the unforgiving island sun showed the effects of ultraviolet rays in creases around their eyes and lips, as well as scars from skin cancer treatments. Not Loretta. Reese guessed she must have a closet full of wide-brimmed hats. And he knew for certain that she was one Vernay who would always have a smile for him.

She gestured with her free hand. “Be with you in a minute, Reese.”

He propped his foot on the empty chair and talked with his friends until she was free. When she approached, her order pad at the ready, he led her away from the others.

“What can I get you, honey?” she asked him.

“A grouper sandwich to go, coleslaw instead of fries. But that’s not the only reason I’m here.”

“Oh?” She grinned. “Anything else, and you’ll have to check with Phil.”

Reese smiled. Loretta and Phil had been together for almost twelve years, once she’d finally given up on Huey, packed her bags and walked out of Vernay House for good. And since that time, the mansion had suffered twelve years of nobody caring about it.

“If I didn’t know that Phil could beat me with one hand tied behind his back, I’d be tempted,” Reese said. “But this has to do with an entirely different matter.” He sobered, cleared his throat and watched Loretta’s blue eyes narrow suspiciously. She was a smart woman and caught on fast.

“You’re not here about Huey, are you?”

Keeping his expression resolute, he replied, “I know you’re busy, but I need to talk to you.”

She lowered her voice. “I asked you to leave me out of Huey’s problems, Reese. Besides, Phil could come out of the kitchen anytime, and if he hears us discussing Huey, he’ll blow a gasket.”

Reese stated the obvious, hoping it would make a difference. “Huey’s his brother, Loretta. He must care about what happens to him.”

“He did once,” she said, “but not anymore. Phil has vowed never to lend him money again or come to his rescue.” She leaned in close and spoke in a whisper. “I know Huey was hurt when I left him for Phil, but darn it, Reese, it’s been twelve years, past time for Huey to get on with his life.”

Reese wasn’t sure he agreed. In fact, the way the romantic triangle had ended up was one aspect of Huey’s life that earned Reese’s sympathy. Another was that Huey had said goodbye to his daughter shortly before Loretta walked out on him.

“Phil doesn’t even like me talking about Huey,” Loretta said, “and frankly, that’s how I want it, too.”

“I’m going to have to arrest him, Loretta.”

She sagged against the bar. “Oh, come on, Reese. You don’t mean that. Huey’s a problem. Nobody knows that better than me. But arrest him? He’s sixty-five years old. And he’s not a criminal.”

“Maybe not in the sense you’re thinking, but he’s a public nuisance and he’s breaking the law. At least once a week I’ve got to drive over to his place and remind him that living in the Conch Republic doesn’t mean that we’re divorced from the rest of the country. We have the same laws here as on the mainland, and Huey seems to enjoy stretching them to the limit.”

Her voice filled with resignation, she asked, “What did he do this time?”

Reese explained about the fire, Mrs. Howell’s phone call and the complaints they’d gotten from tourists recently. “No wonder he doesn’t make a living selling those cheap souvenirs,” Reese said. “One encounter with Huey, and nobody wants to buy anything he’s offering. All the tourists think about is getting away from him.”

Loretta shook her head. “I don’t know what I can do.”

“I’ll give you a chance to talk to him one more time. He has fourteen days to pay his latest citations, and a couple of days to dispose of a load of offensive garbage in the yard. If he does those things, and if you can convince him to abide by the laws around here, I’ll cut him a break…again.”

She sighed. “Huey doesn’t like to listen to me, Reese. You know that.”

Reese felt bad for putting Loretta in the middle of this situation, but he knew darn well she’d never forgive him if he arrested Huey without telling her first. She might claim to have given up on the man, but somewhere deep inside her, an affection for him still flickered.

“Okay,” Reese said. “I understand your position, but I felt I owed it to you to tell you before I acted.”

She tapped her order pad on the bar. “I appreciate that. You still want your sandwich?”

“I’m happy to say Huey hasn’t ruined my appetite.”

She turned to go to the kitchen, but stopped after a few steps. Turning back, she said, “Actually, there’s one person, and one only, who might be able to get through to him.”

Reese knew exactly who she meant, and an image of a cute, blue-eyed blonde filled his mind. “I didn’t think it was my place to suggest Abby,” he murmured.

“He still listens to her,” Loretta said. “Not that he follows her advice. But if anybody can get him to behave himself, it would be our daughter.”

Reese was beginning to see a way out of this dilemma. “So what are you saying? That you’ll call her?”

“I hate to. She’s got her career in Atlanta. She’s busy. And she’s really not comfortable being here.”

Reese only nodded. He hadn’t seen Abigail Vernay in thirteen years. He was aware that she returned to the island sometimes. She still maintained a connection to Huey and her mother, but she stayed away from the public areas when she was here, and remained only a couple of days. Their paths hadn’t crossed in the seven years he’d been back.

All that supported what Loretta had told him. Abby did seem to have misgivings about coming home. Reese just hoped the history between them wasn’t one of the reasons.

What had happened was ancient history. She’d probably forgotten all about it. Still, Reese couldn’t be certain. Women’s memories were tricky things.

Chapter Two

“HE’S GOT TWO WEEKS to pay a bunch of fines, Abby, or Reese Burkett’s going to arrest him.”

Abby had been unable to get her last conversation with her mother out of her mind. When Loretta had informed her of Huey’s latest trouble and its consequences, she had been furious. “Arrest him?” she’d practically shouted at her mom, though her anger had been directed at the island’s arrogant police captain. “Reese had better not lay a hand on Poppy.”

Now, two days later, as she neared Southard Street, Abby was ready to do whatever was necessary to protect her father. Once she’d calmed down, she had admitted that his behavior had gotten out of hand. She also recognized that she had the best chance of talking some sense into him and keeping him from going to jail. “You’re the one person Huey seems to tolerate these days,” her mother had said.

Abby smiled, thinking about the unique father-daughter bond they shared, a bond that had been tested over the years but remained strong because of weekly phone calls and genuine concern. But now, Abby had to admit her dad needed something more from her than a supportive, long-distance relationship. He needed to start behaving like a grown-up.

So, taking into account the month of personal days and vacation time she’d accumulated, Abby made a difficult decision. After turning over a mountain of paperwork to a colleague, and explaining her situation to the most vulnerable of her cases, she’d arranged for a leave from her job so she could stay in Key West through Christmas. Her involvement with the young women in her caseload didn’t end just because she was away, of course. She’d made sure everyone who depended on her had her cell phone number.

Leaving Atlanta had been difficult, but Abby was convinced she was doing the right thing for her family. If anyone could help Huey out of the mess he’d gotten himself into, it was her, not an island cop who thought he could change her dad by intimidating him. She only wished she could avoid Reese throughout her stay, as she had in the past, though she doubted that would be possible. Key West was, and always had been, a small town.

Thanksgiving Day was nearly over when Abby drove up to her old house with a couple of take-out turkey dinners on the floor of her car. She hadn’t told her father she was coming, for two reasons: she didn’t want him to worry about her making the long drive, and she didn’t want to answer questions about why she’d planned the trip.

As she pulled up the cracked cement driveway, she encountered debris that spread from the lawn into the street.

Much of it was charred and unrecognizable—and an indication that things were as bad as her mother had said. Abby parked, got out of her car and wrinkled her nose at the foul odor from the garbage.

Then she gazed up at the two-and-a-half-story house she’d grown up in. At one time she’d been proud that the 1857 mansion had been built by her great-great-great-grandfather Armand Vernay, a self-made millionaire during the island’s infamous shipwrecking days. Today, eleven months since her last visit, Abby only sensed decay and desperation around her, emphasizing even more the painful memories of the choices she’d made thirteen years ago, and the consequences she’d been forced to live with.

Scraggly oleander bushes, once brilliant with pink blossoms, now reached heights of more than ten feet and invaded the wraparound porch. Bare limbs chafed the delicate rippled glass in the ancient windows. The wide brick pathway, where once two people could walk arm in arm to the front door, barely allowed one person to climb the three steps without risk of scratching ankles on unkempt brambles. Most of the windows were shuttered, giving the house a sad, deserted feel.

Clutching the turkey dinners, she picked her way toward the porch, half expecting Huey to burst through the door. He always seemed to have a special radar where she was concerned, somehow knowing when she was around. Disappointed, she walked in the door, which was never locked, and called his name.

Silence. She stared into the parlor, noting the disarray. Mail, mostly flyers, littered Huey’s desk. Dust lay thick on the old mahogany pieces she used to polish with such care. She progressed down the hall, again calling for her father. Once in the kitchen, she set the turkey dinners on the table and peered out the window. Maybe he was in the backyard. She glanced at the overgrown bushes and a large, darkened patch of dirt that looked as though it had been burned—confirmation of Huey’s run-in with Reese.

Abby shook her head and returned to the hall. Maybe Poppy was napping. She’d go upstairs and awaken him, she decided, just before her cell phone rang. She pulled the phone from her jeans pocket, read the digital display and answered. “Mom?”

“Hi, honey. Have you arrived at Huey’s yet?”

“Yes, I just got here.”

“Good. I didn’t want to call and upset you while you were still on the road. I was afraid you’d drive too fast to get here.”

Abby sat heavily on the bottom step of the staircase. “Mom, what’s happened? Poppy’s not here.”

“I know.” Loretta paused. “Now, don’t think the worst, but he’s in the hospital.”

“The hospital?” Abby rose and hurried to the front door. “Why? What’s wrong with him?”

“He fell, Abby. He’ll be okay, but he’s got a few bruises and a concussion. The doctors want to keep him overnight for observation.”

“My God. Poor Poppy.” She picked up her purse, which she’d dropped on the hall stand, and went outside. “I’ll head right over. Are you coming, too?”

“I went when I first heard, but once I knew Huey was okay, I came to work. You can call here at the Shack if you need me.”

“Okay. But wait, Mom, don’t hang up. How did it happen? Why did Poppy fall?”

Loretta breathed deeply. “You won’t like hearing this, Ab.”

“Mom…”

“Huey says Reese Burkett attacked him.”

ABBY’S HANDS SHOOK on the steering wheel as she drove the mile to the island hospital. She tried to picture Reese Burkett with her fingers wrapped around his neck. But instead of popping veins on his forehead, and broken blood vessels in his eyes, all that came to mind was a youthful, cocky smile and heavily lashed green eyes full of confidence and invincibility. That was Reese then. She had no idea what he looked like now, only that she would experience an admittedly selfish gratification in discovering he’d packed forty pounds onto his athletic frame and lost most of his thick dark hair. How dare he manhandle her father? She’d meet him in court, facing an abuse charge!

The sun was setting as she parked in the hospital lot and entered the lobby. Mechanically, she showed the required identification, had her picture taken and patted the ID sticker onto her blouse. She was used to hospital security regulations. In the course of her job, she visited many hospitals in the Atlanta area.

Huey was on the second floor. Abby exited the elevator, quickly scanned the directional signs for his room number and headed to the end of the hall. She heard Alex Trebek read an answer on Jeopardy, then recognized her dad’s voice giving the proper response before the contestants could buzz in.

Huey snapped his fingers as she entered the room. He’d gotten the Jeopardy question right.

Abby hurried to his bedside, then stopped short when she saw the bruise around his closed right eye. “Poppy!”

He turned to her, and a huge grin spread across his face. “Well, I’ll be. Baby girl! What are you doing here? You found out I was in this joint?”

“Not until I got into town, about thirty minutes ago. Mom phoned and told me you’d been admitted.”

He stared at her with his good eye. “So what are you doing here? It isn’t Christmas yet.”

“No, but I came early, to spend more time with you.”

“What? You’re staying through December?”

“That’s the plan.”

“That’s not like you, Abigail—taking off work so long.”

“It’s fine, Poppy. Everything’s covered.”

“But you never stay more than a couple of days.”

“I know, but this is different.” She pulled up a chair. “Anyway, I don’t want to talk about me. I want to know what happened to you. How are you feeling?” She lifted the tube leading into his arm. “And what’s this for?”

He lowered the TV volume with his remote. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Everybody gets a drip of some kind, they tell me. That’s just sugar water or something.” He tapped the side of his head. “It’s the old noggin that’s giving me trouble. But they gave me something that makes Alex Trebek look like Loni Anderson.”

Abby leaned close. “What about your eye?”

“Oh, yeah, that. Haven’t had a shiner in years.”

She rested her hand on his arm. “Poppy, what happened? Tell me how you ended up in here.”

He snorted. “You need to ask your old beau about it, Abigail.”

“Don’t call him that. He was never my beau, and you know it. If Reese did this to you, I want to hear the details.”

“He did it, all right. Knocked me flatter than an IHOP pancake in my own front yard.” Huey suddenly sat up straight. He stared over Abby’s shoulder and gazed cantankerously at the doorway. “And there’s the abuser now. Come to try and put the cuffs on me again, Reese?”

Abby spun around, the chair legs scraping on the speckled linoleum. Her heart pounded. There he was, well built, still with a full head of hair. Damn you, Reese, she thought, hating that her chest clenched with resentment and heartache and other emotions that, if she analyzed them, might scare her to death.

She stood up and placed her hand over her stomach in an effort to calm the trembling inside. She hadn’t seen Reese in thirteen years. He’d matured, but he hadn’t really changed. At twenty-one, he’d given lots of girls reason to hope he would ask them out, her included, though at barely eighteen, she hadn’t sparked his interest. Until…She shook her head, banishing the image of that one night she’d tried so hard to forget, a night he obviously had.

As he walked toward her, Reese stared, obviously searching for her in the recesses of his mind. His lips twitched, as if he almost wanted to smile but figured it was inappropriate. He wiped his hand down the side of his jeans and held it out to her. “I can’t believe it. Is it really you, Abby?”

She refused his handshake—a small act of defiance to let him know she was aware of his role in this travesty of justice tonight. “It is,” she said, her voice harsh. “And I’ve arrived just in time, it seems.”

“Come to finish me off, did ya, Burkett?” Huey muttered. He tugged onAbby’s arm, getting her full attention. “Don’t leave the room, Abigail. I’m going to need a witness.”

“That won’t be necessary, Huey,” Reese said, twisting a ball cap in his hands. “I just stopped by to see how you’re doing.”

“How do you think I’m doing?” Huey said. “You roughed me up pretty good, Captain Burkett.” He pointed to his eye. “I may lose my vision in this one.”

Abby gasped. “Poppy, is that true?”

Reese frowned. “It’s not true. I’ve talked to the doctor. Your dad’s going to be fine.”

“Lucky for you,” Abby said. “If Poppy suffers any permanent injury because of what you did…”

Reese scratched the back of his head. “Abby, can I talk to you in the hallway?”

She glared at him with all the bravado she could muster. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Give me five minutes, Abby, please.”

She looked at her dad, who reached for the TV remote and punched up the volume a couple of notches. “Go ahead,” he said. “But don’t believe a word he says. He tried to arrest me today and it got ugly. That’s the truth of it.”

Reese shook his head. “I’m sorry, Huey. I apologized to you earlier, and I’m apologizing again. I didn’t want you getting hurt. You can’t think that I did.”

“Don’t ask me what was going on in your head, I just know what I felt when you attacked me. And I got the bruises to prove it.”

Reese stretched out his arm. “Abby?”

“Five minutes.” She stepped ahead of him, then walked a few feet down the hall.

“Can we find a place to sit and talk?” he asked.

She stayed where she was. “This is okay. I don’t want to be too far away in case Poppy calls me.”

“Fine.” Reese tucked the ball cap under his arm and ran his fingers through his hair. Strands fell onto his forehead, andAbby locked her gaze on the nurses’ station rather than stare at him. “I know how this must look to you,” he began.

“No, you don’t,” she said, focusing on his face again. “Because if you did, you wouldn’t be here. You’d be out trying to hire a lawyer.”

“I don’t need a lawyer, Abby. What happened was unfortunate, but there was no physical abuse.”

She didn’t respond, letting him squirm. “Since you’re here, I assume Loretta called you.”

She nodded. “Thank goodness.”

“Right. Anyway, then she told you that Huey’s been starting fires on his property, which is an escalation of his other irritating antics.”

“And I’m sure that, as a representative of the police force, you did your duty and warned him to stop.”

“I did. Several times.”

“And he cooperated?”

“For now, yes. But it’s only been a few days. I also told him to get rid of a pile of burned, potentially toxic substances that remained from his last bonfire. The stuff is offensive to his neighbors. It stinks.”

Abby remained silent. She couldn’t very well argue the point. She’d experienced the foul odor herself.

“Anyway, responding to a complaint call from another resident of Southard Street, I went back to Huey’s place today and discovered that he had dumped the mess at the edge of his yard, with most of it spilling onto the street. That’s illegal dumping, violation of code number—”

“Never mind,” she interrupted. “I’m not arguing with you about minor infractions my father may have committed. I want to know why you manhandled a senior citizen, a man at least thirty years older than you.”

“I’m getting to that.”

She glanced at her wristwatch. “You’d better hurry. You’ve only got two minutes left.”

When he glared at her, she backed up a step. Perhaps she was hitting too hard.

“I told Huey I was going to arrest him. He deserved it, and damn it, Abby, I could still arrest him.”

“If you think you’re intimidating me with your threats, Reese, you’re wrong. I’m not the teenage girl who left this island years ago. I’ve experienced a few things—”

He held up his hand. “I don’t think for a minute you’re that same girl, Abby. I’m hoping you’re ready to hear a reasonable explanation for what happened.”

Reasonable? Abby quickly tamped down her anger by mentally counting to ten. Was he insinuating that her behavior thirteen years ago hadn’t been reasonable?

“In typical Huey fashion,” Reese continued, “your father refused to get in the car and come down to the station.”

Abby had no defense for that charge. She knew her father too well.

“He stood there over that trash like he was king of his self-made mountain, and wouldn’t budge. In fact, he even said that if I wanted him in the patrol car, I’d have to drag him into it.”

Abby could almost hear her dad’s voice.

“That did it, Abby. After I’d warned him time and again about breaking the laws in Key West, I’d reached my limit. I stepped around the trash heap, grabbed his arm and started to pull—gently, mind you—pull him to the car.”

“And what happened?”

“He yanked free, stumbled, slipped on something gooey at the edge of the yard and fell. Unfortunately, his head hit the mailbox, and that’s how he got the black eye. The other bruises and the concussion? Collateral damage, I suspect.”

She waited a moment, tapped her toe against the floor and said, “That’s the story you’re sticking with?”

Reese raised his hands. “Abby, that’s the story. Period. I called an ambulance, and the rest you know.”

She would definitely confirm this version with her father. In the meantime, she made a great show of checking her watch again. “We’re done here,” she said.

Reese reached out as if to touch her arm. She stepped away and he dropped his hand. “I’m sorry it happened,” he said. “That’s why I’m here tonight—to make sure Huey’s all right.”

“And you have,” she said. “You’re free to go and celebrate Thanksgiving.”

“Celebrating is the last thing on my mind,” he said. “But I will go.”

He walked to the elevator. Once inside, he pulled on the baseball cap and stared at her from under the bill. Then the doors closed, and Abby drew the first normal breath she’d taken in more than five minutes. But at least the worst was over. She’d seen Reese again and she hadn’t melted or fainted or even babbled. She’d stood her ground pretty well. Now, though, as she went back to her dad’s room, she realized that nearly every limb of her body was trembling. She’d have to work on controlling that reaction.

Jeopardy had ended. The TV was silent. “Buzz the nurse, Abby,” Huey said. “Earlier they told me I could go home if I had somebody to observe me through the night. I guess you’ve got a good enough pair of eyes, so I want out of this place.”

“Okay, Poppy. I’ll see if I can arrange for your discharge.”

He swung his legs over the side of the bed. “So what’d you think of Burkett after all these years?” he asked. “He’s a piece of work, isn’t he? Officious son of—”

“Let’s not talk about that now,” she said. “Let’s just get you home. Those two turkey dinners I brought might still be edible.”

Chapter Three

ON FRIDAY MORNING, Abby raked dried leaves and twigs into a large pile. Somewhere under this mess that used to be her front yard, grass had to exist. And if it didn’t, she’d plant seeds, fertilize and hope for the best.

After scooping part of the pile onto her rake, she dumped the refuse into a garbage can. Thank goodness the trash collector she’d phoned earlier had removed the burned debris from Southard Street. Abby considered the money well spent, since Reese wouldn’t have anything to complain about for a while. She wondered why her father hadn’t called the trash man himself. Did Poppy not have thirty dollars?

She’d just resumed her raking when the window to the second-story master bedroom opened and her father stepped onto the balcony, a cup of coffee in hand. She’d checked on him several times during the night, and he’d slept well, almost as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

“Good morning, Poppy,” Abby called up to him. “How are you feeling?”

He rested his elbows on the railing and gave her a robust smile. “Fine, but what are you doing down there? It’s barely eight o’clock, way too early for you to be making all this racket.”

She glanced at what she’d accomplished in the past hour. “This yard won’t rake itself.”

“But I don’t get up this early. I have to work today.”

She leaned on the rake handle and reined in her impatience. Unless his routine had changed, and she doubted it had, hours would pass before he pulled his vendor’s cart from the side of the old theater building where he stored it, and set up his souvenir business in Mallory Square. “We’ll decide about you going to the square later. It’ll depend on how you’re feeling then. Besides, you don’t work until sundown, and the festivities are over by nine o’clock.”

“That doesn’t mean I want my daughter disturbing my rest before I’m ready to get up.”

“Funny, but I was thinking that if you’re feeling better, you could help out.” She pointed to the veranda, where she’d stacked assorted lawn tools. “I brought two rakes from the carriage house.”

“I’d help you, but I’ve got this bad eye. Keeps me a bit off-kilter, if you know what I mean. I hope someone comes along to give you a hand, though, baby girl.” He pointed a shaky finger. “Only, not that someone.”

A blue-striped Key West patrol car rounded the corner of Duval and Southard Streets. Abby couldn’t see the identity of the driver, but her heart leaped to her throat just the same. When the car stopped directly behind her Mazda, Huey let loose a few choice words and disappeared into the house, leaving Abby to face Reese, who was stepping out of the cruiser.

Dressed in a standard police uniform, he walked toward her. “I hear Huey came home last night. How’s he doing?”

“He’s okay.”

Reese gave her a lopsided smile. “Then you’re not going to sue me or the department?”

Once she’d had a chance to consider Reese’s explanation, Abby had reached the conclusion that his story was probably closer to the truth than her father’s. Huey’s version had included such colorful phrases as “rough-necked bully” and “power-hungry tyrant,” while he referred to himself as “innocent victim.” But not knowing Reese’s reason for showing up this morning, she simply said, “I’m keeping my options open.”

Reese smiled again and glanced around the yard. “I see the trash has been removed.”

She gave him a smug look. “Of course. We’re law abiding residents of Key West, Reese. Ones who should not have to be fearful of being arrested.”

He nodded. “Nope. Not anymore. Not about this, at least.”

“Gee, it’s nice that the police department is sending out one of its finest to follow up with surveillance of some of the most dangerous citizens.”

“That’s not why I’m here—exactly,” he said.

“Oh?”

He held out his hand. “You wouldn’t shake with me last night. I thought I’d try again.” When she didn’t move, he added, “It’s been years, Abby.”

She relented, clasped his hand and stared at the long fingers wrapped around hers. Bits of twigs and soil stuck to their joined palms. She pulled her hand back and wiped it against her jeans. He did the same. “Cleaning the yard, I see.”

She swiped her rake across the dirt. “You cops don’t miss a clue, do you?”

Reese folded his arms over his chest. “So how have you been?”

How have I been? Abby marveled at how absurdly casual his question was in light of what her life had been like since she’d last seen him. But of course, Reese never thought of that night. He’d had thirteen years to forget. She’d had thirteen years to remember. And regret.

She answered blandly, though her heartbeat pounded in her ears, nearly deafening her. “Fine.” Ironically, in spite of the churning in her stomach now, that was mostly true—or should be. She had a fulfilling job, many friends and nice neighbors. And past relationships that didn’t linger overlong in her mind when they ended. She had offers for dates that she sometimes accepted. In fact, her life was so busy she didn’t allow herself to think about what was missing in it or what had gone wrong.

He looked toward the house, his features indicating a sort of benign acceptance. “I know Loretta called you. I’m sorry for putting both of you in the middle of this problem with your father.”

Abby’s back immediately stiffened—an involuntary reaction she experienced when dealing with anyone who even hinted that something might be wrong with Huey. “There’s no problem. Poppy seems okay to me. But if it makes you feel any better about interfering in people’s lives, I can tell you that we’re working on a few things.”

“I don’t want this situation to get blown out of proportion, Abby. I have a job to do. You know that, don’t you?”

She pretended to concentrate on her work. “I wonder how many acts of aggression have been committed under the guise of that excuse.”

He started to respond, but she added, “It’s okay, Reese.

You have to protect the people of Key West from the threatening presence of a confused senior citizen. It must be a mammoth responsibility.”

He rubbed his thumb over his clean-shaven chin and stared at her a moment, as though trying to decide if her sarcasm was for real. After a moment, he said, “I can’t imagine why we haven’t run into each other in the seven years since I’ve been back.”

“I don’t return to the island often,” she said. At least, I haven’t in the past seven years.

“How long you planning to stay this visit?”

She glared at him determinedly. “As long as it takes to get the authorities off my father’s case.”

His lips curled into a genuine grin. “It’s a great time of year to be here. Decorations are going up on Duval Street and Mallory Square today. Plans are under way for the Christmas boat parade. You’ll see a lot you remember about the holidays, plus some new additions.”

“Can’t wait,” she said. How nice for Reese to chat about holiday decorations as if he weren’t on a one-man mission to pester Huey into having the worst Christmas ever.

Deciding they’d had enough small talk,Abby was about to release Reese from this obligatory visit when her father shouted, “Scram!”A single word delivered from the veranda with enough force to approximate a shot from a rifle.

Startled, Abby spun around. Reese, seemingly unconcerned, took a slow step toward the porch. “’Morning, Huey,” he said.

“Get off my property, Burkett!”

Huey filled the front entrance. His old shotgun rested against his right elbow, the barrel pointed toward the porch floor.

Abby rushed to him. “Poppy, what are you doing?”

He had the good sense to set the weapon against the door frame. “Reminding certain people that this is Vernay property.”

She grabbed the gun and put it out of his reach. “Do you always greet visitors by threatening them with firepower?”

“Mostly just pain-in-the-ass police captains.” He stared at her, obviously noting her shocked expression. “It’s not loaded, Abby. I keep it for show.”

She opened the breech of the shotgun he’d taught her to use years ago, and looked down the barrel. To her relief, he was being truthful. It was empty. “Someone could see you with this thing and get the wrong impression.”

“No, they wouldn’t,” Huey said, his good eye narrowed at Reese. “They’d get just the impression I want them to have.”

Huey appeared determined to make her efforts on his behalf impossibly difficult. She took the gun inside the house and came back to the porch. “Reese, I didn’t know about this.”

He shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. He’s got the proper paperwork for that old thing, and everybody’s aware that he doesn’t have shells for it.”

“That you flatfoots know about, anyway,” Huey said. “Just because you sent Loretta over here to search doesn’t mean she found every bit of contraband.” When Abby started to protest, he waved off her concern and whispered, “Keep your cool, Abigail. If I even have bullets, I don’t remember where they are.”

Reese looked down at the sidewalk and shook his head. Abby couldn’t help sympathizing with his plight for just that moment. Huey didn’t make keeping the peace on Southard Street easy.

“You folks have a nice morning,” Reese said, heading back to his squad car. “You need anything, just call the station.”

“That’ll be the day,” Huey couldn’t resist replying.

STILL SHAKING FROM a tumult of emotions she’d hoped not to experience, Abby sat on the porch steps and dropped her head in her hands. “For heaven’s sake, Poppy, that whole thing with the shotgun was embarrassing.”

Huey leaned against a support pole and looked down at her. “Don’t be embarrassed by anything having to do with Reese Burkett. That man ruined your life.”

She sighed. “He didn’t ruin anything. My life is perfectly fine.” As long as I don’t allow my thoughts to go back more than twelve years.

“Well, he ruined mine, and I’d hate to think you were having any romantic notions about him.”

She turned her head to give her father a cold stare. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“He’s the wrong guy for you to be fantasizing about.”

“I am not fantasizing about Reese. For you to even suggest such a thing is insulting and demeaning.” Abby wasn’t sure how Huey’s suggestion was either one of those things. Nor was she completely honest when she said she didn’t fantasize about Reese. When a woman went to the lengths she had over the past years to avoid a man, it was a safe bet that she fantasized about him plenty. Just maybe not in a good way.

Huey pulled a wicker chair close to the edge of the porch and sat. “Ab, while we’re being so truthful…”

Were they?

“I’m still wondering why you’re here so much before Christmas. You’re not having trouble at work, are you?”

“No. Everything is fine at work. I left a few of my teen pregnancy cases in limbo, but the girls can call me or any of the other counselors anytime. They know that.”

Huey nodded, seeming to accept that explanation. “And why are you staying so long?”

She turned on the step to see him clearly. “You’re almost giving me the impression that you don’t want me here for a full month.”

He raised his hand. “Nope. That’s not it. If it was up to me, I’d have you move back here permanently. We have babies who need good families in the Keys, too. I’m just thinking that your mother might have called you with some cock-and-bull story about me having some problems with Reese.”

“Poppy…”

“I can handle Reese. I can take care of anybody who comes on this property.”

She thought of the shotgun. “A few minutes ago I saw how you treat trespassers.”

“You’re damn right, baby girl. This half acre is Vernay land. Always will be. Your mother had no business involving you.”

“She’s worried about you.”

“The hell she is.” He lit a cigarette and took a long drag. “I’m glad you’re here, Abigail, but I’m starting to believe that you’ve bought into your mother’s hysteria about the way things are with me.”

Abby leaned toward him. “I’m not so sure it’s hysteria, Poppy. Your confrontation with Reese yesterday convinced me that there are problems. I’m here to help, and if that means both of us standing up to Reese, then I’m with you all the way.”

He frowned. “So now you’re ready to square off with Reese?”

“Yes, now.And if this is some veiled accusation about how I handled the past, I’ve warned you before not to bring it up.”

He shrugged. “Consider it forgotten. For now.”

Abby stood. “I’ll make you some breakfast.”

She felt the press of familiar feelings of guilt as she went into the house. She knew the blame for what had happened thirteen years ago lay mostly on her shoulders. She was the one who had made the crucial decision.

REESE CALLED THE STATION and told the sergeant on duty that he’d be a few minutes late. The previous half hour with Abby had left him shaken. He’d gone over to see if he could make things right between the Vernays and himself. After all, Huey had been hurt on Reese’swatch, and he could just imagine how Abby viewed the incident. Fortunately, Huey’s injuries were minor, but they wouldn’t have happened at all if Reese hadn’t shown up and tried to force the guy into the patrol car. Cops often made tough decisions that they either had to rationalize or learn to live with later.

He headed north on Route 1 toward Burkett’s Paradise Marina. If anyone understood the pressures a cop lived under, it was Frank Burkett. Though he’d given up the job years ago, he still felt a strong kinship with the guys on the force.

Reese parked in the marina lot next to his father’s beefed-up Ford pickup, which was used for hauling boats. He got out of the patrol car and walked into the pristine blue-and-white metal building that combined a full-service mechanics area with a sales department that stocked every imaginable device for the avid boater, fisherman or recreational water enthusiast.

Ellen Burkett was behind the cash register, cashing out a customer who’d loaded up on pre-rigged trolling lines and plastic lures. Frank sat at the end of the counter, a cup of coffee steaming in front of him. “Hey, son,” he called out. “What’s going on in town? Rounding up any bad guys?”

Frank started every conversation with a question about Reese’s job as a cop. He never began by saying how many boats he’d rented out, or if the bill-fish were running. Reese knew why his father had quit the force. Ellen had wanted him to. She’d claimed the stress was getting to her and she was tired of worrying about him every time he put on his uniform and left the house. Deep down, Reese knew his mother had always hoped her husband would be more than a patrol cop. She’d got her wish. Now he was the owner of the biggest marina on the island. And he spent every morning sitting and drinking coffee.

Reese ambled up to the counter. “Haven’t run into any bad guys today,” he said, “unless you count Huey Vernay. I was just at his place.”

Ellen spared a glance in Reese’s direction before returning her attention to the customer.

Frank stirred his coffee. “How’s Huey doing? I heard on my scanner yesterday that the paramedics were called out to his house.”

Frank listened to his home scanner to keep up with what happened on the island. Reese frowned. No doubt about it. His dad had been a good cop, and a happier man when he was on the force. In fact, Reese had been disappointed in him when he’d given in to Ellen’s demands. Even as a kid, Reese had known that a man shouldn’t stop doing what he was put on earth to do, just to please somebody else.

Reese had ignored his mother’s pleas and become a cop himself. Public service ran in his and his dad’s veins. Reese, however, wouldn’t give up his place in the department for anything. Especially now that he’d earned the position of captain of the Patrol Operations Bureau. He hoped to be chief someday.

“Reese?” his dad said. “Is Huey okay?”

“Oh, yeah. He just took a tumble in his front yard and got a black eye.”

Frank shook his head. “Poor guy. It never gets any easier for him.”

Ellen finished her transaction and came up to them. “Don’t waste your sympathy on Huey Vernay,” she said. “Have you forgotten that he’s the one who told the police about Reese’s involvement with those immigrants?”

“No, we haven’t, Mom,” Reese said. “But let it go. It happened years ago.”

She sniffed. “I’m afraid I’m not so forgiving. Huey’s motives when he turned you in had more to do with getting even with the Burketts than doing his civic duty. Besides, he brings all his misfortune on himself.”

Frank conceded her point with a nod. “I suppose, but it’s still a shame. He’s likable enough if you peel away that crusty exterior.”

Ellen busied herself clearing away Frank’s coffee cup and wiping nonexistent stains from the counter. “Actually, we may not have to worry about Huey much longer,” she said.

Reese stared at her. “What do you mean?”

“I heard something at city hall the other day. If Huey doesn’t pay his back taxes, they’re going to auction off his house. If we’re lucky, maybe he’ll move away.”

Reese stopped her by placing his hand over hers. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely. He owes a small fortune.”

“And you just found out about this?”

“I had heard rumors,” she said. “But now it’s the year end. The county always does property appraisals about this time. Huey’s taxes have shot up like everybody else’s. And he still owes last year’s payment and some from the year before.”

Her husband stood. “Ellen, you didn’t tell me any of this.”

“Well, now you know, Frank. I say it’s good news. That old house of Huey’s is an eyesore, and the Community Improvement Board can’t get him to do anything. This is what he deserves. Besides, we should worry about ourselves. Our taxes are going up, as well. Yours, too, Reese. Wait till you get the bill.”

Reese rubbed his forehead. “Abby’s not going to be happy when she hears this.”

Ellen looked at him. “Abby? What’s she got to do with this? Is she here?”

“Yep. I just left her in the front yard, raking up stuff from last summer’s storms.”

His mother’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know Abby was coming to town.”

“Loretta called her to help out with Huey.”

Ellen crossed her arms. “She’s got quite a job there. I hope you don’t get mixed up with that bunch, Reese. The whole lot of them are trouble. Loretta taking up with Huey’s brother, Huey acting like a crazy man…How long is Abby staying?”

“I didn’t ask her. But if what you say is true, she’s got more worries with Huey than just his code violations.”

Leaving the marina, Reese wondered if Abby had heard about the taxes. She probably hadn’t, since Ellen knew everything on the island before anyone else found out, and he figured Huey wouldn’t have told her.

Reese pictured Abby’s reaction when she learned the news, and he decided to check his mother’s facts on his own. Then he’d take an even bigger step. He’d tell Abby himself. She already resented his interference in Huey’s life, but she had to believe she could trust him. He wasn’t that wild guy she’d known years ago. He was a cop now, not a crusader who ignored the law.

He sat in his truck a minute, looking over the water, hoping the panorama of a glass-smooth Gulf would calm him. Not today. Not when Abby’s troubles were on his mind. She’d stood right up to him this morning, staunchly denying that Huey had any problems.

He remembered that proud stubbornness from when she’d been in high school. She always kept herself apart from everyone.Apart and above.He’d never once heard ofAbigail Vernay breaking the rules or getting into trouble. She’d been a straight-A student and always seemed to possess a fierce determination to succeed despite not having a lot of support from home. When Abby was just a kid, Loretta had tried to be a good mother to her, stretching limited dollars every way she could. But Huey had always managed to screw up.

Reese recalled Loretta’s saying that Abby worked in social services in Atlanta. He figured she’d be tops at whatever she did.

He cranked up the engine on the patrol car and smiled. In his youth, he’d pulled a lot of stunts he wasn’t proud of. Some of them he would arrest himself for now. And a couple of them, including that one brief encounter with Abby, came back to haunt him sometimes. But he’d bet that Abby didn’t have much in her past to be ashamed of.

Chapter Four

FORTY-FIVE MINUTES AFTER Reese’s unexpected visit, Abby stacked the breakfast dishes in the drainer and tried, unsuccessfully, not to think about him. She’d heard of some significant events in Reese’s life over the years. Her mother had told her when he’d married, and then when he’d divorced, seven years ago. Abby didn’t know the details, just as she didn’t know if he was involved with anyone now. One thing she told herself. If Reese was in a serious relationship, she shouldn’t care.

She hung the dishrag over the sink and looked out the window. Why in heaven’s name was she wasting even a moment of thought on a man she’d sworn she’d gotten over completely? Unless she hadn’t.

If only she’d been smarter all those years ago! She wouldn’t be wasting brain cells on him now.

Grateful when her cell phone rang, she went to the kitchen table, where she’d left it. She recognized the caller’s name and pressed the connect button as her concern mounted. “Alicia?”

“Miss Vernay? I’m sorry to call you…” The teen’s thin voice trembled.

“Don’t be. I gave you my number so you could use it if you needed to. Is something wrong? Is everything okay with the baby?”

“Yes, the baby’s growing fine.”

“Then are you rethinking your decision about the adoption?”

“I have to. Things have changed.”

Abby sat in the closest chair and imagined the anguish on Alicia’s pale face, the sadness in her big brown eyes. “But when I left, you’d made up your mind. You were going to keep the baby.”

“That was when Cutter agreed to help me raise it.”

Abby pressed her fingertips against her forehead. She’d heard this story too many times. “What happened, Alicia? Did he back out?” She hoped not.Alicia’s boyfriend had been in trouble with the law a couple of times, but the prospect of becoming a dad seemed to be turning him around.

“No, ma’am.” Alicia hiccupped—the prelude to what Abby knew would end in sobs. “He got arrested last night. He st-stole a car.”

“Oh, no. That’s not his first offense.”

“It’s his third. He’s in jail right now. They aren’t going to let him out.” Alicia was crying. “I’ve got no choice, Miss Vernay. I’ve got to give up this baby. Otherwise my daddy’s going to throw me out.”

For just a moment, Abby considered that being thrown out of a ratty trailer sitting on cinder blocks on the outskirts of Atlanta might not be a bad thing. But she didn’t say that. The single-wide was the only home Alicia Brown had ever known. And other than the group homes Abby sometimes sent girls to—an option Alicia had already rejected—Abby didn’t have any other housing suggestions for her and her baby.

“Can you find me a family, Miss Vernay? A good family to take my baby?”

“You’re at four months now, right?”

“Yes.”

“We’ve got a little time. I want you to think about this very carefully. You need to use the best decision-making skills you have.” Abby realized the near futility of what she was suggesting. When a vulnerable sixteen-year-old girl found out she was pregnant, her world fell apart. Yet that was when she had to make the most crucial decisions.

“I’m just a phone call away, Alicia,” Abby said. “We can spend as much time as you want going over your options. I can try to locate a foster home for you. You can apply for work-study programs. I can guide you to some fine state-run child care facilities…”

“I’ve made up my mind. I don’t want to do this without Cutter. And I want a closed adoption.”

As many times as Abby had counseled young girls that giving up a baby was a personal and critical decision, as many times as she’d told them they had to make the decision based on their emotions, needs and expectations, she would never advise one of them to choose closed adoption. Even Abby, thirteen years ago, hadn’t picked that option.

She approached the issue carefully now. “You know what that means, Alicia? You won’t ever see your baby again. You won’t know where he’s gone. You’ll never know what he looks like or what he becomes.”

Alicia drew a trembling breath. “It’s the way I’ve got to do this, Miss Vernay. I have to say goodbye to this baby and be done with it. I just need you to find a family. And I need it to be somebody who’ll pay my doctor bills. With Cutter in jail…”

“Okay. That won’t be a problem. I have more than forty families on my list at the moment.”

“You think I’m being selfish, don’t you?”

The desperation in the girl’s voice almost brought Abby to tears. “No, honey, I don’t. What you’re doing is one of the most unselfish acts a mother can do for her child. I just want you to be sure.” She waited until Alicia’s sobs subsided. “I’ll have one of the other counselors in the office begin the match for your child and the perfect parents today.”

“Thanks.”

“But there’s time. If you change your mind—”

“I won’t.”

“Are you still going to school?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, good.”

“Nobody can tell yet.”

“Don’t lose this number. You call anytime, day or night.”

Alicia disconnected and Abby slid her phone into her pocket. She walked through the house to the front door. Huey had gone upstairs to rest. She should have appreciated the solitude, but the quiet only gave her more opportunity to think about the Alicias in the world.

Abby was getting better about accepting these stories as facts of life.And she was definitely grateful that she had the knowledge to help so many troubled teens through one of the most difficult times of their lives. she was relieved when she watched a birth mother come to terms with her future and take her baby home. She was equally happy when a birth mother agreed to a fair open-adoption plan with eager adoptive parents. Happy endings existed, andAbby considered herself lucky to be able to participate in them.

She hadn’t felt so lucky thirteen years ago. And she hadn’t experienced a happy ending.

Had she been in Atlanta, Abby would have started to work immediately on Alicia’s plan. In Key West, her home for years, she didn’t know what to do, so she walked outside and looked for a diversion, something to take her mind off the place where it so often returned.

In a few minutes a 1965, canary-yellow Mustang convertible pulled in front ofVernay House.Abby ran down the steps to the car and popped open the passenger door. “Mom!”

Loretta jumped out and enclosed her in a fierce hug. Wrapped as tightly as a twisted ficus tree, the two women swayed together, giggling and sniffling and carrying on as if they hadn’t spoken to each other in years, when in reality they’d talked twice last night. Through Abby, Loretta had gotten Reese’s interpretation of Huey’s injuries, and had in fact supported his theory.

Finally, she stepped back to get a mother’s-eye view of her baby. “You look wonderful, sweetie…considering.”

“Right. Sure I do.”

Phil Vernay came around the front of the car and gave her a peck on the cheek. “How you doin’, cupcake?”

She squeezed his hand. Phil was a good man. While she was growing up, he’d been a supportive and loving uncle. It had taken a few years, but Abby had slowly accepted Phil in Loretta’s life, and now she appreciated how happy he made her mother. She couldn’t resent Loretta’s decision to leave Huey. Happiness was hard to find, and Loretta and Phil had made a life together. Unfortunately, Huey had never let the past go.

“I’m doing okay, Uncle Phil,” she said. “How’s everything over at the Pirate Shack?”

“Same as always,” he said. “Thank the Lord.”

Loretta jutted her thumb toward the house. “Has the bear wakened yet?”

“Oh, yeah. We’ve already had a close encounter of the Reese kind this morning.”

Loretta grabbed Abby’s arms and looked deep into her eyes. “Oh, honey, running into Reese can’t be easy for you.”

“It’s not so bad,” she said. “In fact, it was probably good that he showed up at the hospital last night. At least this morning I’d already gotten over the initial shock of seeing him. I didn’t fall apart, and a few minutes ago Poppy didn’t shoot him.”

Loretta pointed to the porch. “Speak of the devil.”

“For Pete’s sake,” Huey hollered. “Can this day get any worse?” He stomped down the steps and stood with his fists on his hips. “Doesn’t the good brother have some kegs to tap and fritters to fry?”

Abby winced. She knew Uncle Phil was here to please her mother. This reaction from Poppy would only antagonize Phil.

“Nice shiner, Huey,” Loretta said.

Phil, a younger, softer, beardless version of his brother, leaned on the hood of the car he cherished, and glared. “It’s not ten o’clock yet, Huey. Even the worst of the worst on this island don’t start drinking this early.”

“Then get off my land and go irritate somebody else until it’s time to fire up that week-old grease.”

Phil shook his head, walked around the front of the car and got in. “Come on, Loretta. We’re leaving.” He smiled at Abby sympathetically. “Sorry, cupcake. I’ll see you later—someplace where the air’s a little easier to breathe.”

Loretta tugged Abby toward the car. Before getting in, Loretta whispered, “So what did you think of Reese? How did he look to you after all this time?”

“Don’t ask, Mom. I’m just glad I’m not stupid and eighteen again.”

Loretta glanced up at Huey, who was tapping his foot impatiently. “Oh, sweetheart, even when we grow up, we can still be stupid.”

AN HOUR BEFORE SUNDOWN, the migration toward Mallory Square began. Cars, bicycles, motor scooters and pedestrians headed along the narrow streets of Old Town toward the harbor to enjoy the decades-old celebration of sunset in Key West. And Huey roused himself from the ancient wicker rocker on the veranda and went inside to get his keys.

“I’m going with you,” Abby said, grabbing a ball cap from the hook by the front door.

“You don’t have to. I feel fine, and I’ll only be two or three hours, depending on the crowd. I’ll call when I’m through, and you can meet me at the Bilge Bucket for supper. My treat.”

“The Bilge Bucket idea is fine, but I’m still going with you. I just brought you home from the hospital last night.”

“I don’t need any help. I’ve been selling the same crap for years. Having you alongside me won’t change the profits any.”

Abby wanted to argue that point. Considering Huey’s usual personality, she thought a friendly smile at his vendor’s cart might increase revenues. He soon had to pay the fines for starting the fires, and she suspected he didn’t have the money for it. “I’m not taking no for an answer,” she said, holding the front door open. “After you.”

To save time, they took Whitehead Street instead of tourist-packed Duval, and pulled into a small private lot next to the old Customs House, where Huey had enjoyed free parking for years. Thank goodness the Vernay name still drew some perks. There were probably days when Huey’s entire profit from sales would barely cover the fee at the public lot.

They walked the short block to the local theater building and located his mobile cart. With its large pair of wooden wheels and center post for stability, the sturdily built conveyance resembled a gypsy’s wagon. Years earlier, Huey had skillfully painted the sides with bright, tropical colors meant to look like waves crashing along the shore. Now the designs were barely recognizable and the paint had faded to muted blues, yellows and pinks. The sign in the center of the whimsical peaked roof was still legible, however: Tropical Delights of the Conch Republic.

Huey released the padlock securing the cart to a fence post and hung the chain on a hook at the back of the cart. Then he lifted the twin posts on the front, one in each hand, and, rickshaw-style, strutted briskly toward the square, with Abby keeping pace. His inventory, secured behind locked side panels, rattled and clanked as he moved.

The harbor area teemed with activity as they approached. Crowds gathered in semicircles along the wide paved dock, where street performers with animal acts, comic routines and acrobatic skills vied for the attention of tourists with fat wallets. The entertainment was free, but each performer had baskets set up around his designated “stage,” clearly indicating that tips were appreciated.

Reese had been right. Town maintenance crews had turned the square into a holiday wonderland. Street lamps, curved at the top, had been wrapped with red and white ribbons to resemble candy canes. Lights decorated all the hotels, and fences and patio umbrellas displayed a riot of traditional Christmas colors. Nothing about Key West at this time of year even hinted of understatement. During the holidays every public building twinkled with multicolored bulbs and flashing signs that screamed, in case anyone should doubt it, This isKeyWest, andWe’re Making Merry.

Huey set his cart in his usual spot, back from the performers where mobile vendors like himself offered everything from KeyWest lemonade to handcrafted jewelry. He unlocked the panels of his wagon, exposing merchandise on both sides. Then he dropped the wooden boards, creating a level surface where more items could be displayed.

As her father sorted through chipped goods and threw them in a trash bin, Abby arranged the varied and colorful assortment of “stuff” that Huey offered for sale. Hanging from the roof on one side of the cart were dozens of fuzzy coconut heads, painted to resemble scowling, one-eyed pirates. Each was marked Made in China and priced from three dollars to five, depending on the detailing. Shell wind chimes hung from the other side, their hollow-sounding clackety-clack drawing attention in the breeze.

The rest of Huey’s inventory was equally garish and also entirely foreign-made. He set up brightly painted ceramic blowfish, ocean-theme salt and pepper shakers, stuffed flamingos, palm tree mugs and conch-shell bells. Six-inch ceramic figures of chubby beach goers carrying umbrellas and sand buckets added to the eclectic inventory.

Nothing on Huey’s cart was priced higher than five dollars. Abby’s hopes of improving her father’s bottom line plummeted. But when families with children actually stopped and examined his goods, she became encouraged. Perhaps a market for Huey’s goodies existed among young parents, who could only afford inexpensive souvenirs.

Unfortunately, her hopes were dashed again when Huey took a rickety folding chair and a pair of binoculars from the back of the cart. He opened the chair, plopped himself in it and held the binoculars up to his face.

“What do you need those for?” Abby asked.

“I use them every night,” he said. “I keep thinking something interesting might happen. Hasn’t yet, but you never know.” He hung the binoculars around his neck and popped up a hat shaped like an umbrella, which he jammed onto his forehead, virtually hiding his eyes. Taking a deep, relaxing breath, he snapped open a newspaper. So much for watching the world. And so much for salesmanship.

Abby walked around the cart, stared down at her father and attempted to be diplomatic. “Ah, Poppy, don’t you think you’d sell more if you showed more enthusiasm?”

He glanced up at her. “They’ll ask if they want something.”

All around them, merchants were hawking their goods, performers were drawing crowds and food vendors were offering free samples. Mallory Square at sunset was an entrepreneur’s playground. Yet Huey sat, uninspired and totally uninvolved. Abby frowned. No wonder…

There were more ways to finish that thought than she cared to contemplate.

She tried to fill in the obvious gap in her father’s merchandising technique. When browsers approached the cart, she offered to show them individual items. She even sold one little girl a flamingo—a sale that wouldn’t have happened had Abby not placed the furry creature in the child’s hands. Meanwhile, Huey read the newspaper.

A tense moment occurred when a boy no older than four came up to the cart and tugged on Huey’s shirtsleeve. With bright, inquisitive eyes, he pointed to Huey’s white beard and asked, “Are you Santa Claus?”

Anticipating a brusque reply, Abby prepared to soothe the child’s hurt feelings. Her dad, however, merely dropped the paper to his lap, leaned forward and said, “You think every man with a beard is Santa Claus?”

The little boy smiled and said, “Yes. But why does Santa have a sore eye?”

Huey grunted. “Good question, kid. Reese, the Red-nosed Reindeer, punched me.”

The boy giggled. “I thought his name was Rudolph.”

Huey gently jabbed the boy in the center of the cartoon on his T-shirt. “Haven’t you ever heard of anyone changing his name to protect the guilty?”

“No. What does that mean?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Huey grabbed a coconut head from a hook and handed it to the boy. “Here. Merry Christmas.”

His mother nudged him forward a couple of inches. “What do you say, Trevor?”

“Thanks, Santa.” Mother and son headed off toward a performer putting his trained cats through their paces.

Abby stared at Huey for several seconds before saying, “You know something, Poppy?”

He picked up the newspaper again. “Don’t go getting all sentimental on me,” he warned.

She kissed his cheek. “Okay, but your soft spot is showing.”

He placed his hand where her lips had been. “Is not.”

She smiled and stuck another head on the empty hook. And then she saw a patrol car slowly pull up to the edge of the harbor. Enough sunlight was left for her to determine that Reese Burkett sat behind the wheel. And he wasn’t alone. Someone was in the passenger seat.

A shiver of anticipation, or dread, or maybe even disappointment, worked its way down her spine, and Abby stepped around the side of the cart to be out of sight. But she knew Reese had seen her. She sensed him watching Huey and her, felt his attention by an involuntary curling of her toes in her sandals.

“What are you hiding back there for?” her dad asked.

“I’m not hiding.” She pointed. “Isn’t that Reese?”

Huey turned in the chair just enough to glance over his shoulder. “Yep. Probably hassling citizens for fun. He ordinarily doesn’t work at night, and never at the sunset ritual.”

Abby feigned an interest in fuzzy stuffed dolphins and peeked at the car. “Who’s with him? It looks like someone with long blond hair.”

“You need glasses, Abigail,” Huey said. “Long blond ears is more like it.”

Abby couldn’t resist; she came around the cart for a closer look. Reese was out of the car and coming toward them. A big yellow dog on a short leash trotted obediently beside him.

The twosome stopped at the cart and Reese smiled at Abby. “I thought you might be here with Huey,” he said.

Huey made a show of rustling the newspaper. “You’re an investigative genius, Burkett,” he said. “No wonder you’re captain of this illustrious police department.”

Reese scowled down at him. “I see you’re feeling better.”

“You want me to really feel better?”

Reese seemed to think about it before saying, “Sure.”

“Tear up your copies of those worthless citations. Then I’ll know you mean it.”

When Abby nudged the back of his chair, Huey mumbled something she was glad she couldn’t hear.

Reese turned his attention to her. “How’s business?”

“Fine. Great,” she lied. “You were looking for us?”

Reese patted the animal’s head, and the dog gazed up at him with huge, adoring eyes. “Just doing rounds.”

She couldn’t help smiling. The dog was overgrown and clumsy-looking, a definite hug magnet. “Is he yours?”

“Yep.”

“What kind is he?”

“A Lab mostly. Name’s Rooster.”

“Rooster?”

“Yeah. I found him outside one of the restaurants in town. He was chasing after some of the chickens that run over the island. All that squawking and barking was upsetting the business owners.”

“That’s what I’ve always said about you,”Huey muttered.

Abby shook her head. “Seems like a nice dog.”

“He is.”

“Well, see you,” she said, with a wave of her hand. Only Reese didn’t leave.

“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” he stated. “I’m off on weekends. Would it be okay if I stopped by your place in the morning?”

“Why would you do that?”

“I’d like to talk to you about something.”

“What’s wrong with right now?”

He glanced down at Huey, who was arguing with a few customers over the price of a plastic beach ball. The pregnant woman and her two kids seemed to be winning.

“We should keep this between the two of us.”

Abby shrugged with an indifference she didn’t feel. What could Reese possibly have to say that concerned the two of them? Masking her curiosity behind a flip remark, she said, “I guess this means you’re not canceling Poppy’s fines.”

Reese smiled again, this time an indulgent pull of his lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Make it early,” she said. “I’ve got errands to run.”

He tugged on the leash. “No problem. I’m an early riser.”

The yellow dog padded alongside him back to the patrol car, jumped in and took his seat as the passenger. Abby watched them leave the parking lot. She was a long way from admitting to herself that she was relieved that Reese’s “date” had long blond ears.

Chapter Five

AT NINE O’CLOCK SATURDAY morning, a black Ford pickup turned onto Southard and stopped in front of the house. Abby increased her efforts to sand the decorative wrought iron fence at the sidewalk. She was aware when Reese got out of the truck, but she decided not to acknowledge him right away. Big deal. He’d shown up. He obviously had an ulterior motive.

He strode up to her. “Hey.”

She glanced up and continued working. “Hey, yourself.”

He held out a tall mug and a plastic pack of accessories. “I brought coffee.”

Noticing the trademark M, she took the mug and stirred in two sugars. “Martha’s. Thanks.”

He leaned against the fence. In tan cargo shorts and a green-and-orange University of Miami T-shirt, he was decidedly uncop-like and more like the young college grad who’d brought his reckless behavior and invincible attitude back to the island. The same young man who’d suddenly joined the navy and left Key West without telling her he was going. Not that he’d felt he owed her an explanation back then. He’d made that clear by not calling her after she’d met him on the beach for the encounter that changed her life. After two weeks, she’d given up hoping he would.

“You planning to paint that?” he asked, gesturing at the fence.

“You think it needs it?”

He smiled. “It has for the seven years I’ve been back.”

“Actually, I thought I could talk Poppy into painting.” She wrapped sandpaper around a pole and scraped. “I told him I’d rough it up first.”

Reese stared at the front door of the house. “So I should expect him to come out any minute and start yelling at me?”

“Nope. He went for doughnuts.” She sipped her coffee. “If you have something to say, you’d better get to it.”

“Can you stop working on that fence for a minute?”

She stood up, dusted her hands on her shorts. “I’m all yours. Is this going to take longer than the five minutes I gave you at the hospital?”

He crossed his arms. “Great. I’m on the clock again.”

She managed a small smile. “Let’s sit on the stairs.”

They settled side by side on the top step. After a few moments of silence, Reese said, “Abby, I discovered something yesterday—”

She held up her hand, interrupting him, and looked toward the corner. “What’s that noise?”

He nodded, indicating he was familiar with the chug of an engine and the now-amplified chirpy voice that filtered through a speaker. “It’s the Conch Tour Train,” he said. “You remember that.”

The Conch Tour Train, famous as the way for visitors to see the island and hear its history, rolled onto Southard. The engine, a cross between a kids’ amusement ride and an old steam locomotive, pulled five passenger cars down the narrow street. A Christmas wreath blinked from the decorative smokestack. Each open-air tram, trimmed with colorful awnings, was packed with tourists pointing and waving and ignoring the driver’s warning to keep their hands safely inside the vehicle.

“A cruise ship docked at Mallory Square this morning,” Reese explained. “The tour trains will be steady all day until the passengers reboard.”

“What are they doing on this street? We’re not part of the tour, are we?”

Reese shrugged. “I really don’t know. The guides pick the sites. They drive around to all the spots they think are important because of local color or historical significance.” He gazed up at the house. “This was the home of Armand Vernay. Your ancestor had quite a reputation during the island’s shipwrecking days.”

Not this again. While she’d lived in Key West, Abby had struggled to live down the horror stories about her ancestor’s misdeeds. And when she wasn’t defending the family name for her great-great-great-grandfather, she was defending Huey’s reputation as the island’s ambitionless eccentric. She cringed when the tour guide spoke.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I urge your attention to your left, to the faded Classic Revival residence nearly hidden behind that pair of old banyan trees. This is Vernay House, built in 1857 by the infamous Armand Vernay. The house, with its interesting and colorful history, has remained in the hands of his descendants since that time.”

Enough, Abby thought, mentally waving the guide on. It wasn’t to be.

“Armand Vernay was a notorious salvager who braved Atlantic storms to aid vessels that became grounded on the treacherous reefs that border our island. In the 1850s, when Key West was the richest city per capita in the United States, salvaging was our most profitable industry. The rules were simple. The first wrecker to reach a foundering ship had rights to its cargo, which could be anything from gold, to porcelain, to the finest European leather goods.”

Abby’s stomach clenched. She stood. Here we go. More talk about Armand’s wicked ways.

“I didn’t know your place was on the tour, Abby,” Reese said. “But I’m not surprised. The legend of Vernay House is a good story.”

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