Duby's Doctor (32 page)

“Get some rest, son,” Frank Stone told Duby.
“You, too, Doctor.”

Mitchell smiled and nodded her thanks.

“Yes, and you should take at least one day to
stay home and recover from all of this,” Mandy insisted. “And, on
Sunday, after church, you’re both coming to our house for lunch.
D’accord
?”

“
Oui
,
Maman
,” Duby answered.
“We will have lunch together ... all four of us. And thank you
again, Frank Stone. Without your help, this would have been a very
sad day, I think.”

“Yes, thank you,” said Mitchell.

The lieutenant escorted Mitchell and Duby to
his car, where he seated them in the back seat. Frank and Mandy
Stone watched the car until it had driven out of sight, then they
walked hand-in-hand toward the parking lot where Mandy’s car was
parked.

Duby and Mitchell sat as close together as
two people could get, in the back seat of the police cruiser. Their
hands remained entwined, as they had been since before they had
left the Do Bee 2, headed for shore. Neither of them wanted to
relax their grip, much less completely release their hold, on the
other person.

Looking down at their clasped hands, Mitchell
said pensively, “Would you really have sailed your boat all the way
to Cuba for that man?”

To her surprise, Duby laughed.

“What’s so funny? That man would’ve killed
you if you
didn’t
take him there, and he would’ve killed
you if you
did
take him there. How is that funny?”

“It is funny,
cheri
, because I have
no idea in the world how to sail a boat!”

“You’re kidding! But you live on a
sailboat!”

“
Oui
, I live there because Dubreau
lived there. But, in truth, I only sleep there,
cheri
.
And, I know no more than you about spear guns, either.”

Mitchell looked at him incredulously for two
seconds, and then they began laughing together.

“Then, I guess it’s a good thing I showed up
to rescue you, isn’t it!” she said.

“Ah,
oui
, it is. But, next time you
come to rescue me, please wear more clothes.”

“I thought I should try to appear shallow and
dumb and, y’know, harmless. Kinda throw old Churro off his
guard.”

“And so, you became Heather.”

“Right. Everybody knows a Heather sometime in
their life, even if she doesn’t actually use that name.”

They were quiet for a moment, then Duby said,
“
Michel
, will you make me a promise?”

“Anything, Johnny.”

He raised their clasped hands and kissed
hers. “Promise me you will never, ever again call me ‘Scooby
Dooby.’”

She laughed and answered, “Okay, I
promise.”

“But, you can be Heather again sometime, if
you want,” he teased. “I liked her.”

“Oh, you did, did you?”

“
Oui
, I liked Heather – not as much as
you,
Michel
, of course!”

“Of course.”

“And I have a confession to make: I did sort
of like your tiny red swimming suit. I did.”

“I know,” she said. “I could tell, actually.”
She winked at him.

He smiled. “I just do not think you should
wear it in public.”

“Okay.”

“Ever again.”

“Okay.”

“But, do not throw it out.”

“Okay.”

“Just keep it, you know, for at home.”

“Okay.”

They exchanged a soft kiss on the lips, which
they cut short because they were aware of the lieutenant’s eyes in
the rearview mirror.

After a short period of quiet, she said, “I
don’t want you to go back to that boat.”

He studied her face.

She opened her soul to him with her gaze.

“Okay,” he said.

“Not just for tonight.”

“Okay.”

“You should never go back there.”

“Okay.”

“You should sell it.”

“Okay. And then what?”

“Well, after you sell it, you could ... buy a
car, maybe.”

“Okay, but
Michel
, where will I go, if
I don’t go back to the boat? I have to live somewhere.”

She was quiet for a long time. She looked
away from him and watched the city passing by the car window.
Finally, she said, without turning toward him, “Even though today
was so horrible ... I was sure we were going to die. I was scared
out of my mind sitting on that boat with that terrible man. ...
But, even with all that...”

She turned and looked into his eyes. Tears
glittered in hers as she said, “Even with all that, I was happy.
Deep inside, I wasn’t missing a part of me anymore. I thought that
man was going to murder us, but deep down, I was happy. Is that
crazy?”

He shook his head slowly and, with a shy
half-smile, he said, “I know. I was happy, too.”

“I want you to come home,” she said.

“I would like that,
cheri
, but to do
that, we will need to complete phase two.”

“Phase two of what?”

“Phase two of my master plan.”

“You have a ‘master plan’?”

“
Oui
.”

“Okay. What is phase two, then?”

“If I am to live in your house and make it my
home, I will have to become your husband.”

“Oh. Sure. I know. I know that. Catholic
school, right? Sister Elizabeth would never understand. Okay. It’s
a good plan. I’ll agree to that.”

He gaped in surprise. “You will?”

“Yes. Why not? I love you. We rescue each
other quite nicely.”

“We do, that’s true. And, I love you, too.
But,
Michel
, what about the difference in our ages? Are you
no longer worried about that?”

She sighed. “Well, to tell the truth, I wish
you were a couple years older. And, of course, I wish that I were a
year, or five, younger. But, if our souls are eternal, then a
couple years one way or another is not enough to count, really.
And, given your past record, I’m afraid if I don’t stay close and
keep an eye on you, you won’t live to get any older!”

He bent and kissed her again, longer and
stronger this time. When he lifted his head again, he said, “So, it
is settled. I will be your husband, and you will be my
bodyguard.”

She laughed. “And, just for my information,
before I take on this job, do you have many other enemies like old
Churro, who are likely to emerge from your past with evil
intentions?”

“I really do not know,” he said. “I guess we
will find out.”

“Hmm,” she said, and laid her head on his
shoulder. As she let her eyes drift closed, she asked, “Do you like
cats?”

“I really do not know.”

“Hmm. I guess we’ll find out.”

A few quiet moments later, he whispered, “Do
you like pirate books?”

But, she was already asleep.

Iris Chacon has been a musician,
screenwriter, radio producer, voice-over artist, legal assistant,
and teacher before turning to writing full-time. All of her novels
to date have been set in Florida, which her family has called home
since the 1700s. Iris strongly believes that reading should be
good, clean, exciting fun.

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Finding Miranda

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ENJOY THIS

SAMPLE CHAPTER

OF

FINDING MIRANDA

An invisible (or, at best, forgettable) small-town
librarian, Miranda is accustomed to anonymity. Suddenly, two people
seem all too aware of who, what, and where she is: one is the hunky
blind radio host who lives next door, and the other is a
murderer.

Sample Chapter

Seventy-five-year-old Martha Cleary relaxed
in her front porch rocker by dawn’s misty glow with her coffee at
her side, her binoculars hanging from her neck, and her
small-caliber rifle in her lap.

Wide, shady verandas were the norm in the
tiny community of Minokee. The rustic frame houses crouching
beneath the live oak trees were nearly as old as the trees
themselves. No one had air conditioning in Minokee. With their Old
Florida architectural design—all wide-opening windows and deep,
dark porches—the quirky ancient cottages were cool even when it was
hot enough to literally fry okra on the sidewalk downtown. If
Minokee’d had a sidewalk. Or a downtown.

Next door—and only a few yards away from
Martha Cleary’s rocking chair—a screen door creaked open and
whapped shut. Bernice Funderberg doddered toward her own rocker,
blue hair in curlers, pink fuzzy slippers complementing her floral
housedress.

“Yer late,” Martha said.

“Yeah, when ya hit seventy ever’thing ya
gotta do in the bathroom takes a durn sight longer than it yoosta,”
groused Bernice. “Did I miss ‘em?”

“Nah, not yit.” Martha lifted her binoculars
and peered off down the narrow asphalt road to where it curved into
the thick palmetto scrub a half-mile away. A jungle of vines,
palmettos, young pines, and broad, moss-draped oaks pressed close
alongside the road. Nothing was visible through the tangle of flora
and shadow. “They ain’t made the turn yit. Prolly got a late
start—like you.”

“But not fer the same reason, I’ll betcha!”
Bernice said with a chuckle.

“Bernice, poop jokes is the lowest form of
humor. I am appalled at your unladylike references to bodily
functions at this hour of the mor– Get outta there, you sorry
varmint!” Martha raised, cocked, and fired her rifle in one smooth,
practiced motion. Bushes rustled in the garden bordering her
porch.

“Git ‘im?” said Bernice, unruffled by the
sudden violence. It’s just another dawning in semi-quiet little
Minokee.

“I didn’t wanna hurt ‘im, jest wanted ‘im
outta my summer squashes.” Martha set her rifle aside and shook a
fist at the bushes. “Find yerself another meal ticket, Bugsy! I
don’t do all this yard work fer my health, y’know!”

Bernice snorted. “Yes, ya do, ya old biddy.
Say, ain’t that them?” She pointed toward the far curve of the
road.

Martha hoisted her binocs, focused, smiled,
and nodded. “Yep. Here they come.”

“Shucks,” whined Bernice. “Looks like a shirt
day.”

“Hush up, ya shameless cougar!” said
Martha.

Across the narrow street, first one and then
another screen door whined as other house-coated, coffee-carrying
ladies emerged and took their seats in porch chairs. The new
arrivals waved, and Bernice and Martha waved back, smiling.

“Jest in time,” Martha said.

In the distance a man and dog loped toward
the cottages, gliding along the leaf-shadowed, warm asphalt, with a
soft whhp-whhp-whhp as the man’s running shoes met the pavement. He
wore faded jogging shorts that showed off well-muscled thighs. A
tee shirt stretched across his wide chest and tightly hugged his
impressive biceps. His pale beard was trimmed close to his face,
which was shaded by the bill of his Marlins baseball cap. He wore
sunglasses. His donkey-sized dog wore a bandanna.

The ladies in the porch chairs sighed and
sipped their coffee, all eyes devouring the oncoming duo. As he
drew nearer, without slowing his pace, the man angled his face with
its hidden eyes right and left and acknowledged each lady with a
wave. A mellifluous bass voice rumbled from behind his pectorals,
“Mornin’ Miz Martha, Miz Wyneen, Miz Bernice, Miz Charlotte.”