Sand Sharks

“Like judges have more personal judgment than ordinary mortals,” my internal preacher murmured.

The pragmatist nodded. “And like nobody noticed when you and Chuck Teach—”

“Never mind,” I told them firmly.

“It’s not Sam I miss so much,” Chelsea Ann said, interrupting my thoughts. “It’s having someone put his arms around me and kiss me like I’m special and necessary to him that I miss. I miss being in love, Deborah. Forty-two years. That’s what Martha and Fitz have had. That’s what I want.”

Me, too, I thought and patted the hand-carved knob on my gear shift that Dwight had given me so I’d always have a handy piece of wood to touch for luck.

When we reached the hotel, the moon was a huge silvery blue disc playing hide-and-seek with fluffy white clouds that barely dimmed its brightness.

I was feeling the need for some fresh air after our hours in the hospital. “Want to take a walk on the beach?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Sorry, I’m really tired. And Rosemary’s probably going to want to talk.”

We rode up in the elevator together and I went straight to my room, but all I had to do was open the French doors and step out into that amazing moonlight and it was too much to resist. I quickly changed into a long-sleeved tee, slacks, and sneakers, and was soon back downstairs.

Although the bar was now closed, out on the terrace there were still people seated at the small tables or in rocking chairs. Nursing their final drinks, they spoke in low tones, as if equally reluctant to go inside and end this lovely night. One or two spoke to me when I passed but I wasn’t looking for company and cut across the pool area and down the planked walkway to the steps that led to the beach. A young couple—honeymooners?—were making out in one of the hot tubs, oblivious to the world and certainly to me.

I walked down the steps to the sand. A whiff of cigarette smoke drifted past on the warm night air and I looked around for the source, but the beach was deserted so far as I could tell.

I took off my sneakers and tucked them under the steps beside the lifeguard stand. The tide was low again and a wide band of hard sand made walking easy. Not that I was out to do a marathon or anything. Although the moon was so near full that nothing could completely blot out its light, more clouds had drifted in from the west and they hid its face for minutes at a time.

As I walked, I thought about how complicated it all was. Life. Love. Why some marriages worked and others failed. Chelsea Ann was a funny, impulsively warm-hearted friend and I still liked her ex-husband Sam. I had known them both long enough to remember when they had genuinely loved each other. Where had their love gone?

And Rosemary and Dave. Almost twenty years down the drain. But that I could understand. She had thanked her sister for not saying “I told you so,” after Chelsea Ann berated her for telling that cute little waitress that Dave could give her the names of some SBI agents, but sheesh! It’s all very noble to forgive your cheating husband, but you don’t immediately turn around and give him the contact numbers of a Playboy bunny, do you?

And dear Martha and Fitz. If she should lose him, it would be through no fault of her own.

I paused to wait for the moon to come back out from behind a cloud that was as dark as my worry for Fitz. There wasn’t a mean bone in his body, so why the hell would anyone deliberately try to kill him? And could Pete Jeffreys’s death possibly be linked?

By now, pleasantly tired, I had retraced my steps until I was almost back in front of the lifeguard stand. I sat down on the dry sand and rested my chin on my knees as I stared out at the slow-rolling waves and rewound the tape on Saturday night.

I saw Jeffreys’s run-in with Stone Hamilton’s dog, I saw Martha’s refusal to shake his hand coupled with Fitz’s amiable clasp, I watched him speak to Allen Stancil, then introduce Cynthia Blankenthorpe to Allen. I saw Reid and his friend Bill’s distaste for Jeffreys and the way Jeffreys snubbed me after I’d shared a drink with those two. I heard Blankenthorpe’s annoyance at being stuck with his bill when she knew he’d just made a cash withdrawal of three hundred dollars at an ATM.

So where was the connection to the hit-and-run, assuming there was a connection?

No one admitted seeing Jeffreys after Fitz saw him entering the men’s room alone and—

“Hey, wait a minute!” cried the pragmatist. “Quick! Hit the pause button.”

“Those were not Fitz’s exact words,” the preacher agreed, peering at the screen.

Before I could figure out what had snagged my subconscious attention, a voice said, “Deborah? Deborah Knott?” and I jumped three feet.

“Sorry,” the man said. “I didn’t mean to spook you.”

The moon had once again emerged from the clouds, and there was plenty of light to recognize Judge Will Blackstone, who continued to apologize for startling me.

“That’s okay. I just didn’t hear you come up.”

“Somebody told me you were here and I’ve spent all day looking you. You’re not avoiding me, are you?” he asked.

“Of course not. Good to see you,” I murmured inanely, the automatic pleasantry out of my mouth before I could stop it. At the moment, he was the last person it’d be good to see.

I started to stand, but he sat down heavily, clutching at my arm as he went so that I was unbalanced and almost landed on top of him, which set off another flurry of apologies from both of us.

“And I wanted to be so cool,” he laughed. He got to his feet and helped me up. “I hoped to see you at the fall conference so I could apologize for what happened last spring. I guess I came on too strong, too fast.”

“Yeah, well, I think we both misjudged the situation.”