Ford’s willingness was enough for me. “Or not at all,” I replied, then steered his hand to a place that promised That’s okay, too.
SITTING ON THE DECK, sipping coffee, wearing jeans and a purple tank top that had to belong to Tomlinson, I told myself, Instead of prying, set an example. Ford will get around to discussing the phone call when he’s ready.
Or maybe not. Hadn’t I told him there was no need? It was a matter of respect and like-minded behavior. Last night, Ford had treated me with care by not pressing for details about what had happened at the Helms place. So it seemed right to satisfy his curiosity before dropping a hint or two in hopes of satisfying my own.
“That’s exactly how I remember it,” I said, concluding my story. “It all happened so fast, but, at the time, it just kept getting worse and worse. Like it would never end-you know how that is?”
Ford wanted to hear more about Levi Thurloe and Loretta’s new neighbors-tangent issues, it seemed to me-before asking, “You’re sure you’re not hurt? If the guy did something, you can tell me, I’ll understand.” Then explained he’d read about victims blaming themselves, not their attackers, which is why some women kept the facts secret to hide guilt they didn’t deserve.
“I’ve got a little bruise,” I said, touching my wrist, “but it’s because I almost slammed the door on my own hand. Maybe you haven’t noticed, but I have my clumsy moments.”
Ford is mild-tempered, but I could see that he was too concerned to smile. Part of me was glad. It meant he cared. But I also didn’t want a man who studied fish for a living to get involved in a matter that was dangerous and best left to experts.
“I was at the wrong place at the wrong time,” I explained. “That’s what it comes down to. The lunatic with the axe-whoever it was-he never touched me, I would tell you. So he has no reason to come after me-or Loretta. But the special prosecutor has deputies checking on her just to be safe.”
Ford had yet to ask about Joel Ransler, although the coincidence of Ransler being my new fishing client had caused his attention to zoom. He alluded to the coincidence now, but obliquely, saying, “You two had a wild couple of days. A tarpon jumps in your boat, then you’re assaulted in his jurisdiction.”
“That’s why he’s giving Loretta extra attention,” I reminded him.
“It’s a powerful bond,” he agreed, “and the timing couldn’t be better. I remember when the governor appointed a special prosecutor in Sematee, but I’m surprised the position still exists. The small county with a big drug problem. Whatever the reason, I’m glad he’s there.”
“Their commissioners made it a full-time job,” I replied. “Sort of like a state attorney, but a smaller area. That’s what Joel told me anyway.”
“Joel,” Ford said, but not in an accusing way-more like he wanted to remember the name.
“He’s about my age, that’s what he said to call him, so, yeah.”
“An attorney who likes to fish in his spare time, that’s not unusual. He and his friend were taking a lot of photos, too, you said.”
“I didn’t know why until Joel mentioned it last night. The man who actually booked the charter is about thirty years older, Delmont Chatham.”
“As in citrus groves and car dealerships?” Ford asked.
“Minus the money, I’m guessing. Mr. Chatham works for Sematee County, too. He’s been cataloging examples of old Florida architecture because it’s disappearing so fast. Something to do with restoring historic buildings. He loved Loretta’s house-it’s the oldest house in Lee County, did you know that? When I was showing him the attic, that’s when I found the trunk open-an old Army trunk-and noticed things missing. Quite a bit of old fishing gear was gone, and some family books I’d put in a Ziplocs to protect them.”
It was another tangent Ford found interesting, so I explained about the Vom Hofe reel and Teddy Roosevelt’s little book, Harpooning Devilfish, which I had enjoyed as a teen.
“Vom Hofe,” Ford said, familiar with the name, “and Chatham is a-did you say he’s an expert or a collector?”
I had said neither, only that Delmont Chatham’s antique fishing rod had shattered when the tarpon jumped in my boat. “Probably a little of both,” I replied. “That’s why he wanted to see the reel. He was disappointed, and asked me to call if the reel showed up.”
“Your clients chose the right fishing guide, didn’t they?” Ford said, then referred to last night when he’d spent twenty minutes alone waiting for me to return and listening to Loretta. “Your mother said those two were very sweet to her.”
“She didn’t even meet Mr. Chatham,” I laughed, “and she only said a quick hello to Joel.” As I said it, I was remembering that Loretta, by phone, had raved to me about how good-looking Joel Ransler was, and probably rich, too. Had she told Ford the same thing? More than likely, knowing her, which is why I added, “Loretta enjoys meeting people, but she tends to confuse them with actors she sees on TV. She was on her way to play bingo, so I’d be surprised if she remembers Joel at all.”
Ford chuckled. “I like your mother, no need to worry about that.”
I rolled my eyes. “I just hope Mrs. Helms is safe somewhere, off on a trip with a friend. She and Loretta are close. The Helms family has had enough trouble as is.”
“That’s the problem with gerrymandering,” Ford responded, which made no sense until he explained. “What I mean is, where they live. Sematee County has got that one little section of panhandle that juts west to the bay. It’s only a few miles of waterfront, and all mangroves, so it’s an invitation to drug trafficking because the county seat is so faraway.” Then he asked a few questions about the Helms family, before adding, “I’m not surprised they still have problems up there.”
“Where aren’t they having drug problems?” I said. “Half the people I went to school with screwed up their lives that way. The Helms kids, they’re not even the worst examples.”
“Crystal and Mica,” Ford remembered, filing the information away. “And Mrs. Rosanna Helms-your mother’s closest friend.”
Ford meant something by that, I could tell, but I was eager to get off the subject and put him at ease. “It’s out of our hands, that’s what I’m telling you. We don’t need to worry. If something comes up, Joel gave me his cell number, plus cell numbers for the head detectives, too. The sheriff’s department gets paid to find criminals, Marion. And Joel’s already sent two texts, which proves he’s keeping me in the loop.”
I had offered to show Ford the messages, but he’d been satisfied with my paraphrased versions. The first message read No news. Call if U need me day or nite, and the second had asked if I was available for a charter on Monday. I hadn’t responded but intended to reply Yes, which Ford also knew and had accepted without comment. Now he voiced concern, saying, “Does it seem odd the guy wants to fish when there might be a psycho loose in his county?”
“No,” I laughed, but soon sobered and amended, “Wait… you’re right. A seventy-year-old woman missing-even if it’s Joel’s day off, he and everyone else should keep at it until they find her.”
Ford, though, was also thinking about it and decided he was wrong. “The man’s a prosecutor, not a violent-crimes investigator. Until the police have a suspect, there’s nothing he can do. You two are friends, he hears a dispatcher say your name, so it’s natural that he shows up as a favor to you.” Ford nodded, his expression saying Good for him, then seemed to swing the other direction, asking, “You think he has a romantic interest?”