Chemo was dumbstruck. “You get alimony? But you’re remarried! To a frigging CPA!”
“Let’s just say Mick Stranahan didn’t have the world’s sharpest lawyer.”
“You are one greedy twat,” Chemo said acidly.
“Hey, it’s one-fifty a month,” Chloe said. “Barely covers the lawn service.”
She did not notice the hostility growing in Chemo’s expression. “Killing Mick Stranahan is out of the question,” she declared. “Burn up the house, fine, but I don’t want him dead.”
“Tough titties,” Chemo said.
“Look, I don’t know who you are—”
“Sit,” Chemo said. “And keep your damn voice down.”
The wind was kicking up, and he was afraid the argument might carry across the flats to the house.
Chloe sat down but was not about to shut up. “You listen to me—”
“I said, keep your damn voice down!”
“Screw you, Velcro-face.”
Chemo’s brow crinkled, his cheeks fluttered. He probably even flushed, though this was impossible to discern.
Velcro-face—there it was, finally. The insult. The witch just couldn’t resist after all.
“Now what’s the matter?” Chloe Simpkins Stranahan said. “You look seasick.”
“I’m fine,” Chemo said, “But you shouldn’t call people names.”
Then he heaved the thirty-pound anchor into her lap, and watched her pitch over backwards in her silky sailor suit. The staccato trail of bubbles suggested that she was cursing him all the way to the bottom of the bay.
9
Tina woke up alone in bed. She wrapped herself in a sheet and padded groggily around the dark house, looking for Mick Stranahan. She found him outside, balanced on the deck rail with his hands on his hips. He was watching Old Man Chitworth’s stilt house light up the sky; a cracking orange torch, visible for miles. The house seemed to sway on its wooden legs, an illusion caused by blasts of raw heat above the water.
Tina thought it was the most breathtaking thing she had ever seen, even better than Old Faithful. In the glow from the blaze she looked up at Stranahan’s face and saw concern.
“Somebody living there?” she said.
“No.” Stranahan watched Old Man Chitworth’s windmill fall, the flaming blades spinning faster in descent. It hit the water with a sizzle and hiss.
“What started the fire?” Tina asked.
“Arson,” Stranahan said matter-of-factly, “I heard a boat.”
“Maybe it was an accident,” she suggested. “Maybe somebody tossed a cigarette.”
“Gasoline,” Stranahan said. “I smelled it.”
“Wow. Whoever owns that place has some serious enemies, I guess.”
“The man who owns that place just turned eighty-three,” Stranahan said. “He’s on tubes in a nursing home, all flaked out. Thinks he’s Eddie Rickenbacker.”
A gust of wind prompted Tina to rearrange her sheet. She got a shiver and edged closer to Mick. She said, “Some harmless old geezer. Then I don’t get it.”
Stranahan said, “Wrong house, that’s all.” He hopped off the rail.” Somebody fucked up.” So much for paradise, he thought; so much for peace and tranquility.
Across the bay, from Dinner Key, came the whine of toy-like sirens.
Stranahan didn’t need binoculars to see the flashing blue dots from the advancing police boats.
Tina clutched his hand. She couldn’t take her eyes off the fire. “Mick, have you got enemies like that?”
“Hell, I’ve got friends like that.”
By midmorning the Chitworth house had burned to the waterline, and the flames died. All that remained sticking out were charred tips of the wood pilings, some still smoldering.
Tina was reading on a deck chair and Stranahan was doing push-ups when the marine patrol boat drove up and stopped. It was Luis Córdova and another man whom Stranahan did not expect.
“Now, there’s something you don’t see every day,” Stranahan announced, plenty loud. “Two Cubans in a boat, and no beer.”
Luis Córdova grinned. The other man climbed noisily up on the dock and said, “And here’s something else you don’t see every day: An Irishman up before noon, and still sober.”
The man’s name was Al Garcia, a homicide detective for the Metro-Dade police. His J. C. Penney coat jacket was slung over one arm, and his shiny necktie was loosened halfway down his chest. Garcia was not wild about boat rides, so he was in a gruff and unsettled mood. Also, there was the matter of the dead body.