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He couldn’t rewind time and take back what he’d said to Mike. He could, however, do something about Maria.
He headed for his gate and got in line at the counter.
“How may I help you?” an airline representative asked when he reached the front of the line.
Logan slapped his boarding pass down on the counter. “I need to make a change. Do you fly to Key West?”
* * *
MARIA WOKE UP WEDNESDAY morning thinking about Logan Collier. She turned over on the lumpy mattress, half expecting him to be on the other side of the bed, his chest bare, his face soft in sleep.
He wasn’t there.
She sat up, pushing the hair back from her face. Images from her dreams bombarded her consciousness. Of Logan kissing her, stripping off her clothes, making love to her. Of Mike bounding down the stairs, bursting into the basement and covering his eyes with a hand. “Whoa. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
She groaned aloud. Part of her dream was actually a memory. Mike had been a fan of Logan’s, treating him like another big brother. On one memorable occasion, he’d come to the basement to say hello to Logan and had barged in on them necking.
That was all she and Logan had been doing. They’d never gone all the way. Annalise had gotten pregnant when she was a senior in high school, then married quickly. Even though things had worked out great for her sister, Maria had been determined not to repeat that mistake. She’d wanted to wait, and Logan had respected her wishes. If she was having erotic dreams about him, seeing him again must have affected her on a deeper level than she’d imagined.
Maria hugged herself and rubbed her upper arms. She’d been right to get rid of Logan by telling him what he wanted to hear. Her entire focus needed to be on Mike.
Although it was almost nine and she hadn’t bothered pulling down the blinds, no sunlight poured into the room. The only window faced a brick wall, which helped explain the relatively low price for a night’s stay. Since she wasn’t getting paid and didn’t know how long the search would take, cost had to be a consideration. She padded to the bathroom over thin carpet and splashed cold water on her face to dispel the cobwebs.
By the time she’d showered and dressed, she was thinking more clearly. She’d been so eager to show around the aged photo of her brother when she got to Key West that she hadn’t done all the groundwork she could have.
It seemed a fair bet that Mike wasn’t using his birth name, but there were other steps she needed to take before she was certain. Examining the Monroe County property records. Checking listings at the local Clerk of Courts office. Accessing the state of Florida’s criminal database.
Maria pulled out her laptop from her bag, called the front desk for the hotel’s wireless access code and tried to log on. After three attempts, she finally connected.
The wireless signal flickered in and out, making what should have taken twenty minutes stretch into two hours. Predictably, she turned up nothing. No property records. No addresses. No vehicles registered to him. No tax liens. The trail simply stopped dead. If Mike were alive, she was even more sure he wasn’t using his real name.
The tone on her cell phone signaled she had a text. It was from Annalise. Again.
Worried about you, it read. When will you call?
Not yet, Maria texted back.
She couldn’t call until she had information that would convince her sister she wasn’t spinning her wheels. Her next step was to visit the Old Town post office, although that was admittedly a long shot. The employees at the branch she’d already checked had been no help.
After that, Maria needed a better strategy. The desk sergeant could be right about Mike not being a local, but she couldn’t ignore the possibility. There were undoubtedly people in town besides Sergeant Peppler who had a finger on the pulse of the real Key West.
She sat up straighter, the name of a Key West P.I. popping into her head: Carl Dexter. Key Carl, everybody called him. A large bearded man in his sixties who came to the workshops at the national P.I. conferences dressed in guayabera shirts, shorts and sandals.
With Key Carl’s help, she had no doubt she could come up with that better strategy.
* * *
INSIDE THE OFFICES OF Dexter Private Investigations later that morning, Kayla Fryburger stood back and admired the beaded white snowflakes she’d strung from monofilament thread in her uncle’s office. The dozen or so snowflakes looked elegant, although making them had been a simple matter of adding beads to corsage pins, poking the pins into cork and applying white glitter.
Uncle Carl had nixed her Christmas tree idea so the snowflakes would have to do. Kayla only hoped someone besides herself saw them.
Since Uncle Carl had left with his girlfriend earlier in the week to visit her family in Chicago, nobody had stopped by the office. That was partially due to Uncle Carl spreading the word that he was out of town until after Christmas. Still, a girl could hope for walk-in traffic.
Dexter Investigation’s normal office hours were 9:00 a.m. to noon. Even though Uncle Carl had suggested she take some time off this week, Kayla had shown up each day just in case somebody stopped in.
Granted, she wasn’t a skilled investigator, but she could make up for in enthusiasm what she lacked in experience.
The past six weeks had been some of the most exciting of her life. Considering her previous line of work had been producing and selling bottle art with her mother, that wasn’t saying much.
Kayla had come up with the idea of learning the ropes from her uncle a couple years ago. After much resistance, he’d finally agreed to an eight-week trial, providing she worked for a pittance.
She’d messed up a few times, including on surveillance duty when it didn’t occur to her the subject might leave his house via a back window. She was getting better, though.
If a client would walk through the door, she’d get a chance to prove it. Kayla stared at the entrance, willing somebody in need of help to materialize.
Five minutes later, she sank into the orange-and-teal-striped sofa in the waiting area, wondering how to fill the time. In previous days, she’d tidied up the magazines on the coffee table, fluffed the pillows and swept the floor. All that was left to do was clean the baseboards.
Minutes later, with a wet paper towel in hand, she gazed down at the short yellow skirt she’d paired with a white top. Not the best outfit for baseboard cleaning. She balanced on her haunches but almost toppled over on her wedged-heel sandals.
“Forget that.” She got down on her knees and went to work.
The swooshing noise was so unexpected it took her a moment to realize the door had swung open. Kayla got to her feet with as much dignity as she could muster and turned to greet the arrival.
Alex Suarez. She fought not to sway. It was Alex Suarez, the object of her unrequited crush. A charming smile split his tan, handsome face. He was wearing sunglasses with silver frames and black lenses. He slid them off slowly and she noticed one of the lenses had a slight scratch. No surprise. She noticed everything about him and had for years.
“Well, hello,” he said.
She smoothed her skirt the best she could, terribly afraid the first thing he’d seen upon entering the office was her yellow rear end. This was why people didn’t take her seriously. Such things were always happening to her.
“Welcome to Dexter Private Investigations.” Her voice cracked on the name. “How can I help you?”
He walked deeper into the office, the smile still present. With his thick dark hair, high forehead and angular cheekbones, he looked almost exotic. She’d heard his given first name was Alejandro but that he’d started calling himself Alex after he emigrated from Cuba with his parents when he was a child. The name had stuck. An accent hadn’t. He sounded quintessentially American.
He studied her. “I know you from somewhere.”
She would have been flattered if she hadn’t been stopping by his restaurant regularly for nearly a year. The Daybreak Café operated from 7:00 a.m. to 2:00 p.m. daily, serving both American and Cuban specialties for breakfast and lunch.
“I’m a fan of the Cuban sandwiches at your restaurant,” she said. “I get one for takeout a few times a month.”
He snapped his fingers. “That must be it. I didn’t know they let you leave school for lunch, though.”
“Excuse me?”
“You go to Key West High, right?” he asked.
He thought she was in high school? She felt her face flame. “I graduated from there a long time ago. I’m twenty-five.”
“Really?” His eyes widened. They were such a dark brown they were almost black. “I never would have guessed it.”
She stood up to her full height of five feet two, taller if you took into account the heels of her chunky sandals. “I look younger.”
“You look great,” he said, his smile widening.
She hoped she wasn’t blushing. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-five.”
“Well, then, you look younger, too,” she said. “I wouldn’t have guessed any older than twenty-nine.”
He laughed. “I’m Alex Suarez, by the way.”
As if she didn’t know.
“Kayla Fryburger.” She waited for him to make a crack about her name. Almost everybody did.
“Okay, Kayla,” he said, “now that we’ve established you’re out of high school—”
“Years out of high school,” she interrupted.
“Many, many years out of high school,” he said with the smile still in place. “That must mean you’re not just helping out over the holidays?”
“I work here,” she verified. “I’m Unc— I mean, Mr. Dexter’s assistant.”
“Is that right?” He nodded. In light-colored slacks and an off-white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he appeared cool and confident. If he bottled some of that confidence and sold it, she’d be first in line.
“It is.” She tried to remember what Uncle Carl said to potential clients. “Tell me what brings you here today.”
“I’d like to tell both you and Carl,” Alex said. “He’s a friend of mine. Is he around?”
It figured Alex knew her uncle. The local business community wasn’t terribly extensive. But apparently Key West was big enough that the man she’d been swooning over for years hadn’t noticed her. “No, I’m sorry. He’s in Chicago until December 27.”
Alex grimaced and sucked in a breath. “That’s not good news. I need to hire somebody today.”
Kayla’s heartbeat sped up. “You can hire me.”
He looked dubious. “I thought you assisted.”
“That’s right.” Assisting was all she’d ever done. “But I can do more than assist. I can take on a case. That’s why I’m here in the office. I’m ready and willful. Uh, I meant ready and willing.”
She shut up. She sounded like a total amateur, which she was. It would be best if he didn’t know that, though.
Alex scratched his smoothly shaved jaw. “Perhaps I should tell you why I’m here and we can go from there.”
“Sounds good.” She tried to contain the excitement coursing through her. “Go ahead.”
“Can we sit down?” he asked.
“Sure. Come this way.” She led him to her uncle’s office and got behind the big desk. Uncle Carl was a large man, more than a foot taller than she was. The desk seemed to swallow her so that she felt like a little girl playing house.
To compensate, she said in her most professional voice, “Please proceed.”
“Have you seen this?” He was holding a rolled-up newspaper, which he unfolded and handed to her.
It was a copy of the Key West Sun. The headline above the fold read “Baring It All.” The story was about a councilman proposing a referendum to allow nude sunbathing along a narrow strip of beach, a move championed by naturists who embraced the anything-goes Key West culture.
“I have seen it and I’m for it.” Kayla grimaced as it occurred to her how he could misconstrue her support. “Not that I would sunbathe naked. I mean, I would if nobody was around. It’s not like I’m a prude or anything. Although I’m not an exhibitionist. Not that I’m saying these people are.”
She had to press her lips together to stop her stream of words. Why couldn’t she stop talking?
“Not that story.” He leaned across the desk and pointed to a photo below the fold. “That.”
She’d seen the life-size fiberglass Santa that was pictured at the intersection of Duval Street and U.S. 1. He held a fistful of money in one hand. In his other was a sign that said “’Tis the Season to Spend in Key West.” Someone had painted the statue’s face white and added black rings around its eyes and red streaks trickling from its mouth. “Zombie Santa,” the caption read.
Kayla giggled, covering her mouth to stop it from becoming an unladylike guffaw.
“That reaction is exactly why I’m here,” Alex said. “As a representative of the Key West Merchants Association, I’m authorized to hire a private investigator to save our group from further embarrassment. So far a prankster has dressed Santa like the Grinch and now a zombie.”
“Somebody has a sense of humor,” she said.
“The Merchants Association doesn’t think it’s funny,” he said. “They’re taking this very seriously.”
“Then why not just retire the statue?” Kayla asked.
“That was my suggestion,” Alex said. “But it’s not the way these things work. The group paid a local artist a pretty penny to create that statue. Santa has a lot of fans.”
“But it’s so...” Kayla’s voice trailed off for fear of insulting him.
“Crass?” he supplied.
That was exactly what Kayla had been about to say. By emphasizing materialism, the statue focused on the wrong side of the holiday.
“Don’t worry about offending me,” he said. “I spoke out against the statue from the beginning. Nothing would make me happier than to get it off the street.”
“Then why are you in charge of hiring a private investigator?” she asked.
“Just because I was against the Santa doesn’t mean I want to see our group embarrassed,” he said. “We need to find out who’s doing this. Or at the very least, make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
“Then you came to the right place.” Kayla injected confidence into her voice even though she was already wondering how a one-woman operation would manage twenty-four-hour surveillance on the statue. “Let me tell you our rates.”
She had to go to her uncle’s file and rummage through a sheaf of papers before finding a listing of costs. The hourly rate seemed high to her. Alex didn’t blink.
“That intersection with the Santa is a pretty high-traffic area,” she said, referring more to the cars that passed by the spot than the pedestrians. “You said Santa’s already been messed with twice. It seems likely somebody saw the prankster in action.”
“I’m sure that’s something you’ll look into.”
She planned to do exactly that. She just wasn’t sure how to go about it.
“It’s settled, then.” Alex stood up and reached across the desk, offering his hand.
Kayla took it, the warmth of his grip seeming to travel through every inch of her body. She almost cried out in protest when he let go of her hand.
“Here are my numbers.” He took a business card out of his wallet and laid it on the desk. “I’d like to be updated daily and whenever there’s a new development.”
“Certainly.” She hoped she sounded sufficiently professional.
“I’ll look forward to hearing from you.” He strode toward the exit, pausing to turn around before he reached it. The grin that made him even more handsome was back on his face. “I forgot to tell you. Nice skirt. Yellow never looked so good.”
With that, he left. Kayla brought her hands to her hot cheeks, not sure what disconcerted her more: Alex Suarez or the prospect of conducting a solo investigation.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE PRICKLY SENSATION on the back of Maria’s neck started before she’d gotten halfway to her destination.
During her years in law enforcement, she’d learned to trust her intuition. It had served her well on occasions too numerous to count. Such as the time she was chasing a suspect and ducked into an alley just before he turned on her and fired.
Now her sixth sense was telling her someone was following her.
She’d decided to visit the post office before appealing to Key Carl for help. The directions she’d gotten off the internet took her west on Duval Street, a tourist-heavy thoroughfare that cut a swath through the heart of Key West. The farther west she walked, the more numerous the bars, specialty shops, restaurants and pedestrians became. Trolley cars shared space on the road with bicycles, cars and mopeds.
It seemed as if anything was accepted here. She passed a statue of Santa Claus holding a fistful of cash, with the message to spend it in Key West, and a man dressed in the same shade of green as the feathers on the large talking parrot on his shoulder. A woman whose arms and legs were completely covered in colorful tattoos rode by on a scooter. A belly dancer who had a lot to jiggle performed for tips on a street corner.
Yet Maria could still sense that someone was on her tail.
Had word trickled back to Mike that she was looking for him? She’d left her business card with probably two dozen people last night. She’d mentioned the name of the hotel where she was staying to more than a few of them.
Her heartbeat sped up. If Mike had been the one who’d contacted Caroline, he could be thinking about surfacing. He might even be following her right now. This could be her opportunity to solve the mystery of his disappearance once and for all.
She spied an art gallery with paintings displayed in the window. She stopped, pretending to admire them. The sun wasn’t yet directly overhead, perfect for her purposes. She repositioned her body and angled her head this way and that, as though examining a painting.
The sun reflected off the window, allowing Maria to see the other side of the street.
A familiar man was stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, hanging back but not making nearly enough of an effort to conceal himself.
Not Mike. Logan Collier.
She whirled and marched across the street, directly into the path of one of the mopeds that clogged the artery. The driver, a teenage boy, swerved to avoid hitting her. “Hey!” he yelled. “Watch where you’re going.”
An extra dose of adrenaline surged through Maria, but she didn’t break stride.
Logan stood frozen on the sidewalk, his mouth hanging open. “He’s right. You could have gotten killed.”
Since the moped had missed her, there were more important matters to discuss. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.
He shrugged his broad shoulders. With his short hair and smooth shave, he would have looked out of place in Key West even if he hadn’t been wearing dark clothes. His slacks and shoes were black. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his dark gray dress shirt in deference to the heat.
“I was following you,” he said.
Never would it have occurred to her that Logan was the one on her tail. How could it? Before Monday, she’d seen him exactly once in eleven years. She would have recognized him anywhere, though. He was even better looking now than he’d been as a teen. His face was a little leaner, his golden-brown hair a little darker, his once-straight nose not quite perfect. Except that didn’t make sense. Logan Collier wasn’t the type of guy who got his nose broken.
“How did you know I was here?” The answer occurred to her before he could answer. “Annalise. She’s the only one I told.”
“She’s worried about you,” he said, not bothering to deny it.
“I didn’t tell Annalise where I was staying,” Maria said. “What did you do? Call hotels at random and ask to be connected to my room?”
“Not at random, alphabetically,” he replied. “I’m lucky you’re staying at the Blue Tropics.”
If she hadn’t been so irked, she would have been impressed.
“I hung up before I got put through to your room,” he continued. “I was on my way to the hotel when I saw you leaving.”
He sounded matter-of-fact, as though it was perfectly logical that he should be here in Key West following her.
“I don’t get it,” she said. “Weren’t you supposed to go back to New York today? Isn’t it vitally important you spend your holidays in the office?”
He stiffened. She wasn’t sure why. He’d made it clear long ago that his job was his number one priority.
“It’s only Wednesday,” he said. “I can be back by the weekend.”
She got close to him to better make her next point. A mistake. Last night’s dream was still fresh in her mind and she pictured herself naked in his arms. She breathed in his clean scent, dismayed that it had become familiar again so quickly. Physical attraction. That was all it was. She’d already been down this road with him and he hadn’t turned out to be the man she needed him to be. She hardened herself against him.
“You can be back even sooner if you leave today,” she snapped.
“Are you going back today?” he asked.
What did that have to do with anything? “No.”
“Then neither am I,” he said. “I’m going to stay and help you.”
“No way.” She shook her head. “You think somebody besides Mike contacted Caroline. I’ve got to conduct the investigation as though it was Mike.”
Vertical lines appeared on Logan’s forehead. “Why?”
“I haven’t been able to connect any of his friends to Key West,” Maria said. “Until I rule out Mike, he’s the most likely suspect.”
“And how can you rule him out?”
“By showing around this age progression.” She got a copy out of her purse and handed it to him.
A muscle twitched in his jaw, but otherwise his face revealed nothing. He handed the sheet back to her. “Mike would have been a handsome guy.”
Would have been, not turned out to be.
She swallowed back a retort, reminding herself that she couldn’t prove Mike was alive. Not yet, anyway.
“So where are we headed?” Logan asked.
“We’re not headed anywhere.” She started walking and he fell into step beside her. He was only three or four inches taller than her five feet eight, which was always a surprise. He looked bigger than life. “I’m going to the downtown branch of the post office. I hit the other branch yesterday.”
She passed a fresh produce store and turned the corner onto Eaton Street, which was far less crowded than Duval. They passed a coffee shop and a retro movie theater that was playing first-run films. Maria slanted a glance at Logan. “You don’t listen real well, do you?”
“Think of me as your sidekick,” he said. “I gather we’re going to see if anybody remembers him mailing the envelope?”
She sighed and gave in to the inevitable. “Nobody will remember that, but they might remember Mike.”
The sprawling Old Town post office was in the next block. The line was at least fifteen people deep, a big difference from the post office Maria frequented in Lexington. The lines there had been getting shorter while the number of employees on staff shrank. One of the Lexington tellers blamed the internet.
“Why didn’t he email the photos? Why did he mail them?” Maria didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until Logan answered.
“Whoever mailed the photos,” he said, putting emphasis on the first word, “didn’t want someone to track the IP address back to him.”
“That makes sense,” she said. “I’m getting in line. You don’t have to wait with me.”
“Sidekick, remember?” He kept by her side, so close she imagined she could feel the heat of his body. Last night’s erotic dreams came to mind again. She’d done far too much imagining lately when it came to Logan.
It took more than a half hour to reach the front of the line. An Asian clerk not much taller than the counter she stood behind called out, “Next.”
Maria hurried over, the age progression in hand. Logan hung back but only slightly. She got straight to the point, laying the sheet of paper on the counter. “Could you please tell me if you’ve seen this man.”