why I was calling," she said. "To apologize. I'm genuinely sorry, Matthew."
"So am I," he said, and guessed he meant it.
"Walking out," she said. "Dumb. Just plain dumb." She hesitated and then said, "Just when it was getting good, too."
There was a sudden silence on the line.
Matthew cleared his throat.
"Uh, Susan," he said, "about the weekend…"
"Yes, the weekend," Susan said. "Here's what I thought, if it's okay with you. Can you pick her up here at about five on Friday?"
"Sure, that'll-"
"And if you have a little time, maybe you can come in for a drink."
Another silence on the line.
"Yes, I'd like that," Matthew said.
"So would I," Susan said.
"So… Friday at five, right?"
"Right. See you then. And Matthew…?"
"Yes?"
Her voice lowered. "It really was getting good."
There was a small click on the line.
It sounded like a maiden's blush.
Smiling, he put the receiver back on the cradle and pulled the first of the two folders to him. Both folders had been labeled here at the office yesterday morning, after he'd given the photocopied pages to Cynthia. Both folders contained Otto's standard contract form, signed by himself and the party or parties hiring him, stapled to which was a two-paragraph rider. The first paragraph stated why Otto was being hired, and the second was a disclaimer to the effect that whereas Otto would investigate diligently and in good faith, there was no guarantee, stated or implied, that he would necessarily achieve results. That Otto had felt it essential to add this rider to his basic contract indicated that he'd been burned before and was taking no chances on collecting his fee. Each folder also contained Otto's daily notes on the case, all of them typed clean.
The first folder was labeled DAVID LARKIN.
***
Whether you approached the place by land or by sea, it didn't make any difference. Either way, you could see the sign announcing Larkin Boats. Big white double-sided sign with ice-blue plastic lettering on each side, Larkin Boats. Biggest retailer of boats in all Calusa, sold them new, sold them used, sold them from dinghies to yachts-Larkin Boats, his TV commercials said. The Way to the Water. The showroom was on the Trail itself, but behind that was a deepwater canal and enough dock space to accommodate fifteen, twenty boats, depending on the size. Bird sanctuary just beyond the canal, and beyond that the Inland Waterway, man wants to take a boat out for a spin, be my guest. Larkin Boats, The Way to the Water.
Late that Wednesday morning, Larkin was sitting with Jimmy the Accountant on the foredeck of a fifty-seven-foot Chris-Craft Constellation, a boat maybe twenty years old but still in terrific shape, could take you clear to the Bahamas if you wanted it to. Larkin was wearing jeans and Topsiders, and a white T-shirt with blue lettering on it: Larkin Boats, The Way to the Water. Jimmy the Accountant was wearing a green polyester suit and pointy brown shoes and a white shirt with a tie looked like somebody vomited on it and mirrored sunglasses and a narrow-brimmed straw fedora. Jimmy was five feet eight inches tall and he weighed a hundred and eighty pounds, and Larkin thought he looked more like a fat spic than the Italian he actually was. Jimmy's real name was James Anthony Largura but almost everybody called him Jimmy the Accountant or Jimmy Legs, both names having to do with his occupation. Jimmy the Accountant came to see you when there was an accounting due. Jimmy Legs broke your legs if you didn't account to his satisfaction. Or your arms. Or your head. Or sometimes only your eyeglasses.
Jimmy was Larkin's younger brother.
Jimmy was here to ask if Larkin could let him and some friends of his use one of the boats for a little trip they had to make on Friday, the
"So am I," he said, and guessed he meant it.
"Walking out," she said. "Dumb. Just plain dumb." She hesitated and then said, "Just when it was getting good, too."
There was a sudden silence on the line.
Matthew cleared his throat.
"Uh, Susan," he said, "about the weekend…"
"Yes, the weekend," Susan said. "Here's what I thought, if it's okay with you. Can you pick her up here at about five on Friday?"
"Sure, that'll-"
"And if you have a little time, maybe you can come in for a drink."
Another silence on the line.
"Yes, I'd like that," Matthew said.
"So would I," Susan said.
"So… Friday at five, right?"
"Right. See you then. And Matthew…?"
"Yes?"
Her voice lowered. "It really was getting good."
There was a small click on the line.
It sounded like a maiden's blush.
Smiling, he put the receiver back on the cradle and pulled the first of the two folders to him. Both folders had been labeled here at the office yesterday morning, after he'd given the photocopied pages to Cynthia. Both folders contained Otto's standard contract form, signed by himself and the party or parties hiring him, stapled to which was a two-paragraph rider. The first paragraph stated why Otto was being hired, and the second was a disclaimer to the effect that whereas Otto would investigate diligently and in good faith, there was no guarantee, stated or implied, that he would necessarily achieve results. That Otto had felt it essential to add this rider to his basic contract indicated that he'd been burned before and was taking no chances on collecting his fee. Each folder also contained Otto's daily notes on the case, all of them typed clean.
The first folder was labeled DAVID LARKIN.
***
Whether you approached the place by land or by sea, it didn't make any difference. Either way, you could see the sign announcing Larkin Boats. Big white double-sided sign with ice-blue plastic lettering on each side, Larkin Boats. Biggest retailer of boats in all Calusa, sold them new, sold them used, sold them from dinghies to yachts-Larkin Boats, his TV commercials said. The Way to the Water. The showroom was on the Trail itself, but behind that was a deepwater canal and enough dock space to accommodate fifteen, twenty boats, depending on the size. Bird sanctuary just beyond the canal, and beyond that the Inland Waterway, man wants to take a boat out for a spin, be my guest. Larkin Boats, The Way to the Water.
Late that Wednesday morning, Larkin was sitting with Jimmy the Accountant on the foredeck of a fifty-seven-foot Chris-Craft Constellation, a boat maybe twenty years old but still in terrific shape, could take you clear to the Bahamas if you wanted it to. Larkin was wearing jeans and Topsiders, and a white T-shirt with blue lettering on it: Larkin Boats, The Way to the Water. Jimmy the Accountant was wearing a green polyester suit and pointy brown shoes and a white shirt with a tie looked like somebody vomited on it and mirrored sunglasses and a narrow-brimmed straw fedora. Jimmy was five feet eight inches tall and he weighed a hundred and eighty pounds, and Larkin thought he looked more like a fat spic than the Italian he actually was. Jimmy's real name was James Anthony Largura but almost everybody called him Jimmy the Accountant or Jimmy Legs, both names having to do with his occupation. Jimmy the Accountant came to see you when there was an accounting due. Jimmy Legs broke your legs if you didn't account to his satisfaction. Or your arms. Or your head. Or sometimes only your eyeglasses.
Jimmy was Larkin's younger brother.
Jimmy was here to ask if Larkin could let him and some friends of his use one of the boats for a little trip they had to make on Friday, the
Similar Books
