“How do you know this?” I asked.
He stared down at his leg again and scratched at the spot with his fingernail while wiping off some of the dried napkin bits.
He shrugged his shoulders like this was obvious. “Man, my whole clan’s into archery.”
I popped off my chair like my four-of-a-kind just got beaten by a straight flush. “When the fuck were you going to tell me this?”
The cashier threw me a dirty look as my chair toppled over. Setting it back on four legs, I leaned close, my words shooting out in a bull snort. “We need to talk! Let’s go outside where there’s more privacy.”
Chapter 4
My burger dripped ketchup on the patchy grass outside the restaurant. I ripped another hunk out of my burger then continued my onslaught, bread crumbs flying out of my mouth to emphasize my displeasure.
“What’s wrong with you? You get someone killed in my office, and you don’t think to mention it!”
He shrugged again.
Swallowing the last of my beer, I flung the can against a rock. I needed another. A piece of bun fell as I lifted my hands to my head, shoving my hat off. The burger followed the beer can into a nearby bush as I spun awkwardly on my good leg.
“It didn’t occur to your rational, college-educated mind that there might be a connection between the archery community on this island and Kendal getting one through his chest? Really expect me to believe that?”
“No man, it didn’t. Well, not till now. Yeah, it sorta makes some sense,” he mumbled.
Three deep breaths. Most times I forgot to do this, but somehow, in the heat of my business floundering, my office posing as a sealed crime scene, and my cantaloupe-colored door needing to be repainted, I managed to shift into a Zen-like state.
When I opened my eyes, Junior sat crossed-legged on the grass, biting his fingernails and scratching that same spot on his leg.
“Tell me more, and I want to see your letter.”
“We’re archery folk. Hell, my uncle was an alternate on the Olympic team in eighty-four.”
That had been the year it was held in L.A. I’d seen the plaques at the Coliseum.
“Does your family have money?”
“Yeah, we do all right,” he replied. “My grandma’s well-off, anyways.”
Then it hit me. The Bacon family had made their money in sugar, molasses, and the most famous export from the Virgin Islands, Bacon Rum. I could picture the Jolly Roger flag waving above the name on the 750-milliliter bottle.
“Who else knew about you meeting with Kendal?” I asked.
“No one. I didn’t even tell my dad I was coming down. He wouldn’t have let me. He and grandma don’t much see eye to eye.”
“When’d you get here?”
“Around an hour before I saw you.”
“And all you brought is that backpack you’re carrying?”
“Yup. I have clothes at my grandma’s house.”
Unbelievable. First Elias, a college student at The University of the Virgin Islands, who was an intricate part of Roger’s murder, then this kid. Young men knew how to find trouble.
“Money?”
“I got my own,” he said. “Grandma gives me spending money. I’m running out, though.”
“What’s your father going to do when he sees you?”
“I reckon to ask forgiveness instead of permission. Isn’t that how it’s done?”
Maybe that explained why he was so concerned about grandma’s non-responsiveness. Funds running low. Once I’d picked up my hat and dusted it off, I said, “Letter.”
He rummaged through his backpack and handed me a handwritten letter on eggshell colored paper.
“Is this your grandmother’s signature and handwriting?”
“Yes, as best I can tell.”
Dear Herbert Junior,
If you get worried about me and what’s happening or if I go off the map...I’ve got some things going on, noble things...go see a reporter at The Daily News. Just leave a message there in my name and he will set up a meet with you. He is an old friend, a dear man who is helping me sort things out. He will clarify what’s happening. For your own safety, I’m not going to tell you about it yet. Do not go to your parents, go see the reporter first.
Love,
Grandma
“How did Kendal know who you were?”
The man-boy shrugged. Blank-lost expression, but not shock anymore. Examining the letter further brought another salient fact to my attention: it was undated. So many questions.
“Okay, here’s the deal: I need a job. You are going to hire me to find out what happened to your grandma. You are going to convince your parents to give me a retainer for expenses.”
He stopped biting his nails and scratching. Stillness overtook him again. After a brief pause, he nodded. “All right, man. All right. I’ll try.”
Donning my hat, I offered my hand so he could stand up.
“This is happening,” I said. “Let’s go see your family.”
“They’re gonna fight us on this. They don’t think she’s missing.”
“I’m in the mood for a fight.”
Chapter 5
We arrived at the Bacon house twenty minutes later. The late afternoon sun threw a golden light over the orchard of mango and pomegranate trees.
“No sugarcane?” I said.
“Actually, grandma hates the smell of the stuff. She doesn’t allow rum or sugar in the house.” He inspected his thumbnail, which he’d already bitten to the quick. “She uses honey in her tea.”
“You’re really worried about her.”
It was rhetorical, but he answered anyway. “I have concerns. You know, it’s tiring when no one believes you about something like this.”
I did know. All too well.
He rubbed the back of his hand under his nose then wiped whatever it was on his pants. Once inside, Junior excused himself to use the restroom.
Five fans with blades the size and width of a pelican’s wing swirled the air, but somehow it still smelled musty.
A Victorian couch littered with buttons beckoned. All the furniture looked antique, like museum pieces from the turn of the nineteenth
