info, without circular talk.”
“Your directness is not reading well. And I wasn’t fucking all night. I was talking and listening, and if we don’t drop it now, we’ll be very sorry.”
“If we drop it now, other arguments will take its place.”
“Okay, I’ll get a condo. I don’t need charity. I don’t need free rent. I make my own money.” She started for the backyard shower.
“You need some rest?”
“I’ll clean up and go to work. I’ll be fine.”
“We were going to have coffee on the porch this morning.”
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Yes,” she said. She looked at the porch, through the screens at the quiet lane. “I still want to do that. I’ve wanted to do that every morning.”
Ten minutes later, again wrapped in the beach towel, she combed out her wet hair.
I poured two cups. “Last night you thought it might be murder.”
She lifted her brush and nodded. “It’s too simple. Something’s not right.”
“But you didn’t say that to Dexter?”
“Or to anyone else, either. They’ve all got their heads set on suicide. But I swear, the vibes inside that house were way off tune.”
“When did you go in?”
“After the Herald left,” she said. “One of the commissioners wanted to console Yvonne. I went in, too, to express my sympathy.”
“Had you met Yvonne before?”
“No. And she sure wasn’t what I’d expected.”
“What was wrong?”
“She acted like she didn’t need consoling. She kept looking outside, at the officers in the mangroves, like she was afraid they were going to find something. I don’t know what, his scalp or something. I mean, how would you find anything? There’s so much crap in there, dead branches, leaves, who knows what. But that’s how she looked. Like they were bothering her, she didn’t want them to find a thing. She wanted them to go away. You were out there taking pictures, and she looked like she wanted you to leave, too. I finally decided she wanted me to go away, too.”
“So you left?”
Teresa shook her head. “I asked if she had a place to go, or someone to stay with her for a few days. I was thinking she didn’t want to hang around the scene of her husband’s bloody suicide, which I thought made sense.”
“And she said…”
“She said, ‘Hell no. This was always my house, and I’m moving back in.’”
“People grieve in different ways,” I said. “Maybe she hated the guy. Maybe she’s happy he’s gone. It doesn’t mean foul play.”
Teresa stared at me. I felt as if she were looking through my eyes, into my thoughts, to judge me the way she had judged Yvonne Gomez. “You’re a man,” she finally said. “You’re allowed to think like a man.” She took a long brush stroke through her hair. The towel fell away from her breasts, the cold air touched her nipples. She covered herself, then said, “Let me call this one, okay? It was worse than strange. She can’t move in, anyway. It’s still a crime scene, without a crime.”
“Are you going to say something to Dexter today? You want me to give you a little boost, advice on how to phrase it?”
She shook her head. “I was hoping you’d ask around, see if anybody had a problem with the man. I mean, you’ve done things in the past year or two, figured out those scams, those other murders. You’ve helped the police find some evil bastards.”
“It’s not my job to fight for truth, justice, and the American way.”
“It was when you were in the Navy,” she said.
Where had that come from? I couldn’t recall ever discussing my Navy years with Teresa. “That was my job description then,” I said. “I’m not in the service now. I’m not a cop, and I don’t have to carry the crimes of Monroe County on my back. I’m worn out from the past couple of years of getting sucked into one shit storm after another. What do cops call burnout?”
“Burnout. When nobody’s around they call it dirtbag overload.”
“I’m
“Your directness is not reading well. And I wasn’t fucking all night. I was talking and listening, and if we don’t drop it now, we’ll be very sorry.”
“If we drop it now, other arguments will take its place.”
“Okay, I’ll get a condo. I don’t need charity. I don’t need free rent. I make my own money.” She started for the backyard shower.
“You need some rest?”
“I’ll clean up and go to work. I’ll be fine.”
“We were going to have coffee on the porch this morning.”
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Yes,” she said. She looked at the porch, through the screens at the quiet lane. “I still want to do that. I’ve wanted to do that every morning.”
Ten minutes later, again wrapped in the beach towel, she combed out her wet hair.
I poured two cups. “Last night you thought it might be murder.”
She lifted her brush and nodded. “It’s too simple. Something’s not right.”
“But you didn’t say that to Dexter?”
“Or to anyone else, either. They’ve all got their heads set on suicide. But I swear, the vibes inside that house were way off tune.”
“When did you go in?”
“After the Herald left,” she said. “One of the commissioners wanted to console Yvonne. I went in, too, to express my sympathy.”
“Had you met Yvonne before?”
“No. And she sure wasn’t what I’d expected.”
“What was wrong?”
“She acted like she didn’t need consoling. She kept looking outside, at the officers in the mangroves, like she was afraid they were going to find something. I don’t know what, his scalp or something. I mean, how would you find anything? There’s so much crap in there, dead branches, leaves, who knows what. But that’s how she looked. Like they were bothering her, she didn’t want them to find a thing. She wanted them to go away. You were out there taking pictures, and she looked like she wanted you to leave, too. I finally decided she wanted me to go away, too.”
“So you left?”
Teresa shook her head. “I asked if she had a place to go, or someone to stay with her for a few days. I was thinking she didn’t want to hang around the scene of her husband’s bloody suicide, which I thought made sense.”
“And she said…”
“She said, ‘Hell no. This was always my house, and I’m moving back in.’”
“People grieve in different ways,” I said. “Maybe she hated the guy. Maybe she’s happy he’s gone. It doesn’t mean foul play.”
Teresa stared at me. I felt as if she were looking through my eyes, into my thoughts, to judge me the way she had judged Yvonne Gomez. “You’re a man,” she finally said. “You’re allowed to think like a man.” She took a long brush stroke through her hair. The towel fell away from her breasts, the cold air touched her nipples. She covered herself, then said, “Let me call this one, okay? It was worse than strange. She can’t move in, anyway. It’s still a crime scene, without a crime.”
“Are you going to say something to Dexter today? You want me to give you a little boost, advice on how to phrase it?”
She shook her head. “I was hoping you’d ask around, see if anybody had a problem with the man. I mean, you’ve done things in the past year or two, figured out those scams, those other murders. You’ve helped the police find some evil bastards.”
“It’s not my job to fight for truth, justice, and the American way.”
“It was when you were in the Navy,” she said.
Where had that come from? I couldn’t recall ever discussing my Navy years with Teresa. “That was my job description then,” I said. “I’m not in the service now. I’m not a cop, and I don’t have to carry the crimes of Monroe County on my back. I’m worn out from the past couple of years of getting sucked into one shit storm after another. What do cops call burnout?”
“Burnout. When nobody’s around they call it dirtbag overload.”
“I’m
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