Looking at it, I felt a small part of my heart open up. It was that feeling I’d had as a child whenever I got a new book. I couldn’t wait to get home and crack it open. A jolt of excitement went through me as I imagined the moment I’d get to step into its secret world.
Little did I know then … I already had.
4
As I passed all the hotels and bungalows along Siesta Key Beach, I started thinking that maybe I’d misinterpreted the little surge of excitement I’d felt at the prospect of diving into a new book. It must have just been a little post-tramautic adrenaline, because my whole body was starting to tighten up and my neck was tingling. By the time I reached Midnight Pass Road, my shoulders felt as if they were each holding up a ten-pound bag of sugar.
Great, I thought. Whiplash.
I’d probably jolted my neck when the pink VW bonked into my rear bumper, and then carrying Baldy around probably hadn’t helped matters any. All the more reason to take a good long hot shower as soon as I got home. I stepped on the gas. After my performance with Deputy Morgan I figured I was temporarily immune to speeding tickets.
All the way down Midnight Pass I couldn’t stop thinking about Baldy—how he had looked up at me with that strange smile on his face and said, “Safe.” Just the fact that he had to ask me if he was even alive kind of broke my heart. At that point he must have thought he’d died and gone to heaven, and I’m sure all those pain-blocking endorphins coursing through his bloodstream felt pretty darn heavenly.
I wondered if maybe he hadn’t recognized me from before when he sped past. Maybe he was smiling at the irony of it all. Maybe it was his way of saying, “You’re right, I am a jackass. Sorry for the trouble.”
I pulled into the curving lane that leads down to the place I’ve called home for about as long as I can remember. The sound the crushed shell made as the wheels rolled over it actually made my shoulders relax a bit. I hear that sound every single day. It means home to me, just as much as the sound of the waves lapping up on the beach down below the house. My headlights lit up the tangle of pines, mossy oaks, sea grapes, and palms on either side of the lane, and after a couple of twists and turns, I pulled into the courtyard.
Most of the houses along this stretch of the key are sprawling, multimillion-dollar mansions filled with movie idols and star athletes, but ours came right out of the Sears, Roebuck catalog. My grandparents picked it while they were still newlyweds and dreamed of finding the right spot to build one day. Then, a couple of years after my mother was born, my grandfather was in Florida on business, and a co-worker took him on a tour of Siesta Key. When he returned home, he presented my grandmother with a brand-new deed to a piece of land on the edge of the Gulf. She nearly divorced him, but he persuaded her to come down and have a look herself. They stood on the future spot of their dream home and watched the sky turn gold as the sun settled into the ocean. My grandmother always said that buying this land was the smartest decision she ever made, and my grandfather would nod at me and wink.
It’s a simple, two-story frame house with white siding, weathered a milky gray from years in the sun and salty air. After my grandparents passed away, my brother moved in with his partner, Paco, and our cat, Ella Fitzgerald. I live above the four-slot carport next to the house in the apartment our grandfather built for relatives to stay in when they visited from up north.
It has a balcony with a hammock and a little glass-topped breakfast table, and French doors that open into a small living space with a sofa and a big, comfy armchair. A breakfast bar divides the living area from the kitchen, and then there’s a short hallway that goes back to my bedroom. There’s a bathroom on one side of the hall and an alcove with a washer and dryer on the other, and I have a big walk-in closet with room for a desk, which is where I take care of all my pet-sitting business. It’s small, but it suits me fine.
Today, the house and the apartment aren’t worth a hill of coconuts, but the land they’re sitting on … well, that’s a whole other story. We could all retire and travel like queens all over the world on the money we’d get for it. We’ll never sell, though. It’s practically a member of the family now.
As I rolled past the courtyard, I noticed Michael and Paco were out on the deck laying fish and sliced vegetables on the grill. I was happy to see them—not every girl gets to come home to a couple of shirtless hunks making her a gourmet dinner, but also, our schedules don’t always line up so great. Michael works twenty-four/forty-eight at the firehouse, which means he’s at the station one full day and then off for two days. Paco is an agent with the Special Investigative Bureau, which means his schedule, not to mention his job, is a complete mystery to all of us. He’s sometimes gone for days on end, working undercover.
I pulled into the carport to find Ella Fitzgerald perched on the hood of Paco’s pickup. She was licking one white paw and daintily drawing it over her left ear. When she saw me, she stretched herself into a scary Halloween cat and let out a little nik-nik sound to signal that she would very much appreciate it if I would be so kind as to come over and give her a couple of scritches behind the ears.
Ella is a pure calico-Persian mix, with alternating patches of red, black, and white fur. She was a gift to me, but it didn’t take her long to figure out that all the good stuff is in Michael’s kitchen—in addition to being a first-class fireman, he’s a world-class cook—so she spends most of her time there. I still think of her as mine, though. I learned a long time ago that just because you love something doesn’t mean you get to keep it forever.
I shut off the ignition and planned my course of action. If I played my cards right, I could slip past the boys, hide my bloody clothes, take a quick shower, and get back down for dinner in a cat’s pounce. Not that I get some sort of thrill sneaking around behind their backs, but I didn’t think it would do Michael any good to see me looking like a bit player from Dawn of the Living Dead. He has enough on his plate as it is, and being my older brother hasn’t exactly been a tiptoe through the tulips, so whenever I can I try to spare him the bloody details, so to speak. Although the thought did cross my mind that he’d be pretty proud to find out I’d practically saved a man’s life.
I put Ethan’s hoodie back on and watched Michael and Paco at the grill, waiting for the right moment to make my move. Just then, they both went back inside to get something from the kitchen, and I took a deep breath. My heart quickened, and I felt like James Bond or George Smiley, as if I needed to synchronize my watch or whisper into my sleeve, “We’re goin’ in!”
I heaved my stiff body out of the Bronco and closed the door as quietly as possible, then gave Ella a quick rub on her head as I went by. She could tell my heart wasn’t really in it, though. “Sorry, Miss Ella,” I whispered. “I’ll make it up to you later.”
I tried to take the stairs two at a time, but my neck was so sore I could barely handle them one at a time, so instead I took little baby steps, slowly so I wouldn’t make any noise, and just as I was halfway up, Michael came out with a big bowl of mixed greens. I pressed myself against the side of the railing and froze as he set the bowl down on the big teak table our grandfather made. Then, as slowly as possible, I slithered sideways up the steps, keeping my back flat against the wall.
I’ve always thought that if my pet-sitting business didn’t work out, I’d convince Paco to get me a job at the Special Investigative Bureau. I’d make a good spy. Even injured, I’m nimble as a cat and sneaky as a snake, I thought to myself.