“Well, I mean, I know you love me.”
“Yes.”
“And I love you,” Jenn said.
“Perfect,” Jesse said.
“We’ve been together for a long time,” Jenn said.
“Sort of,” Jesse said.
“I mean, even at our worst and most separate we were connected.”
“Yes,” Jesse said.
“And we are more than two people who fuck.”
“Yes,” Jesse said.
“Which,” Jenn said, “is much better than being two people who don’t.”
“So you don’t mind about the undressing and lying down.”
“I like it,” Jenn said.
“And you don’t feel objectified.”
“Ob—what?” Jenn said. “Christ, you’re getting like whats-isname, Hamlet. You think too much. We are much more than the damn missionary position and we both know it.”
“And there’s nothing wrong with the missionary position,” Jesse said.
4 1
R O B E R T B . P A R K E R
“A little unimaginative, maybe,” Jenn said.
In the harbor there were lights showing on the bigger boats moored farther out. Cocktail on the deck, supper cook-ing in the galley, the running lights of a small tender boat creeping soundlessly across the black water like a firefly. Jesse drank some Coke. Caffeine.
“Dix and I talked about how sexually charged our relationship is,” Jesse said.
“And that’s a bad thing?” Jenn said.
She poured herself a half glass more of red wine.
“Maybe you’re supposed to sexualize our relationship.
Ever think about that, Hamlet boy? Maybe it has to do with you loving me more than the spoken word can tell.”
“Well,” Jesse said, “there’s that.”
4 2
10
H ealy hiked his pants up at the knee when he sat, to keep the crease. He had on a
tan poplin suit and a coffee-colored snap-brim straw hat with a wide brown headband. His plain-toed cordovan shoes gleamed with polish.
“On my way home,” Healy said. “Thought I’d stop in, see what’s happening with your floater.”
Jesse pointed over his shoulder at the photo.
“That her?” Healy said.
A blowup of Florence Horvath’s driver’s license was stuck on a cork board to the left of the window behind Jesse’s desk.
R O B E R T B . P A R K E R
“That’s her, Captain,” Jesse said. “Florence Horvath, thirty-four years old, address in Fort Lauderdale. She had her teeth cleaned a month ago and charged it on her credit card. We called the dentist, got the dental records, forensic people compared them.”
“You’re lucky,” Healy said. “Lot of floaters are such a mess we never do figure out who they are.”
“Got nothing to do with luck,” Jesse said.
“Right,” Healy said. “It was crack police work that some guy walked in and handed you her driver’s license and credit card.”
“And,” Jesse said, “we didn’t lose them.”
“Got me there,” Healy said. “Now that you know who she is, do you know why she’s up here?”
“Not yet.”
“I’m only a state police captain,” Healy said, “not a chief of police, like you, but since you found her in the water and since this is Race Week, could there be a connection?”
“I got a couple of people checking the yachts in the harbor, see if any of them are out of Fort Lauderdale.”
“Or even docked there in the last three weeks,” Healy said.
“If she came on a yacht.”
“If,” Healy said. “How about the airlines?”
“No Florence Horvath on any of them.”
