Fatal Reservations (6 page)

Then I remembered that Palamina had promised to make some changes in the decor, too. She insisted on doing this overnight, by herself—like we were hapless contestants in a desperate office makeover. Nothing that would cost a lot of money, she assured us, but a step above the fake palm trees and flowered chintz that we had been satisfied with before she came. How I hated familiar things changing.

Most of all I wished that I’d had time to spit shine my opening paragraph on lunch. The last thing I wanted was to have her suspect that Wally had hired me only because he thought I was cute.

I parked my scooter in the back lot and raced up the stairs, already fifteen minutes late. Paint fumes grew stronger as I approached the second-floor landing. Pushing open the door to the reception area, I was shocked by the bright yellow color of the walls. And then I noticed a series of large framed photographs behind Danielle’s desk. A plate of pink shrimp and a glass of wine on a table overlooking the ocean—Louie’s Backyard?—polydactyl cats lounging at the Ernest Hemingway Home, a rooster flapping his wings in front of the Little White House, and finally, the
quotation “Leap and the net will appear” in elegant calligraphy, superimposed over two bright red butterflies.

“Wow,” I said, a little stupefied by the changes. “It looks amazing.”

“Hurry,” said Danielle, beckoning me to follow her into Wally’s office. “We’ve been waiting for you to start the meeting.”

I hustled into the office and took my customary seat catty-corner to the desk that had been Wally’s. His familiar face was on Palamina’s oversized screen, and she was sitting in his chair. His back wall, on which he had thumbtacked our best articles from the past year, was now papered with textured burlap, and his prized ceramic flip-flop lamp had been replaced with two Asian-style table lamps made of arcing fish. Gone were the cascades of garish-colored beads from Fantasy Fest and New Year’s Eve, which had been looped on a couple of random nails on his walls. The room seemed neater and more elegant. And maybe a little bit sad.

“Sorry I’m late; the brunch went slowly at Firefly. But I did bring leftovers.”

I held up two brown bags, now unappealingly stained by grease and smelling to high heaven of cheese and onions.

Palamina’s nose wrinkled slightly.

“Let me stick those in the fridge for you,” Danielle said, snatching them out of my hands.

“I’ve just taken Wally on a tour of our new look,” Palamina said with a grin, once Danielle was back in place.

“All I can say is wow,” I said with an enthusiastic accent on the “wow,” knowing that anyone who knew me—as Wally and Danielle did—could see right
through it. The changes looked glamorous and upscale and upbeat, too—none of which I was feeling.

“Wow is right,” said Wally from the computer screen. “I didn’t realize how much we were in need of a makeover.”

I squirmed and pasted a sickly smile on my face. I loved the way the look of our old office had evolved, a kitschy style that I thought suited
Key Zest
perfectly.

“And,” Danielle added, pointing at me, “hold on to your hat, because we are no longer obligated or even encouraged to wear the yellow polyester
Key Zest
shirts! Palamina is thinking of ordering us these.” She tapped the page on a catalog spread open on the desk, which showed a flowing silk blouse with an asymmetrical hem and a low neckline. Still the yellow color that brought out the jaundice in my skin tone, but with the addition of a style guaranteed to keep me twitching to hide glimpses of brassiere and even breast.

“A polyester Hawaiian shirt doesn’t do much for anyone,” said Palamina. “Do you think?”

“Wow,” I said again, because I couldn’t think of anything else that wouldn’t be rude. Of course our team shirts were homely, but to me, they were like a badge and a blue polyester uniform were to a cop. They meant we belonged. They meant we were on the case, on the hunt for the best food—the best everything—in Key West. The brotherhood of
Key Zest
. “Wally’s going to look adorable in that,” I finally added when it became clear that Palamina was waiting for my reaction.

Palamina laughed. “Let’s get the meeting started. Bring us up to date on the floating restaurant.”

“The commission meeting was wild,” I said. “Edel Waugh spoke up against the new place and tried to invoke the regulations of the Historic Architectural
Review Commission and so on. But she was overruled because it’s a boat, not a building, so the present regulations don’t apply. They plan to reconsider the situation, but it sounds like they are likely to grandfather in the Mastins’ restaurant anyway.”

Palamina’s forehead wrinkled up a little. “So, hmm, what are you thinking about for the angle of your story?”

I felt my mouth sag open—I hadn’t thought for a minute about my angle. I pulled my jaw shut. “Actually, I hadn’t noodled that out yet. I had planned to go home and work on the piece last night, but right after that, Lorenzo was attacked right there in the meeting. And then there were contentious discussions about the Sunset Celebration at Mallory Square and the cemetery burglar. It was too tense to leave. And this morning I devoted to Firefly.” I had to stop blathering—to Palamina it must have sounded as though I was making excuses for doing a shoddy job.

She nodded, looking thoughtful, and then turned to focus on Wally’s image on the computer screen. She tapped the tip of her pencil on the desk. “I don’t know what your policy has been in the past, but I’m kind of thinking Hayley should maintain her focus on the food angle, rather than get caught up in the town politics. I like the idea of Hayley’s brand being food and restaurants, sort of the Key West Pete Wells or Frank Bruni. And then you or I can cover politics as needed. Once you get back down here, of course.”

“Sounds okay to me,” said Wally. “Okay with you, Hayley?”

Pretty clear that she didn’t think I could handle hard news, because I hadn’t produced an “angle.” But what was I going to do, pitch a fit about covering fluff?
“Sure,” I said. “But rest assured that I can write about anything. What I mean is, I’m capable of writing on any subject.”

Palamina gave a brisk nod. “If it sounds okay to the rest of you, I took the liberty of making a reservation at For Goodness’ Sake for Hayley for dinner tomorrow. While the other news organizations are waiting to see what shakes out with the regulations, we’ll get the jump on what the meals are like. Table for four at seven thirty under the name Wells. I have a date with Commissioner Greenleigh for drinks tonight. I bet I can get something quotable from her on the zoning controversy.”

We spent another fifteen minutes in the meeting—a record short length for
Key Zest
. I did miss the usual chitchat and gossip, but each time we veered in that direction, Palamina briskly steered us back to work. Within those fifteen minutes, she’d admired and approved my lunch article’s title and slashed the lead to a stylish two sentences that would get necks snapping. Or salivary glands watering or eyeballs popping, whatever. Once Wally had signed off the conference call, I said, “How did he look to you? Don’t you think he looked pale?”

“But he sounded strong,” Danielle said. “I think work is good for him, something to keep him occupied that isn’t sad.”

“Agreed,” said Palamina. Then she turned to me. “So you’ve got Firefly in the bag; do you think you can get two more lunches in and have the article to me by Tuesday? Actually Monday would be even better, so I have time to edit.”

“Of course.” I gathered up my papers and computer and slunk down the hall to my cubicle, which had not
yet been decorated in the world-according-to-Palamina style. I phoned Wally as soon as I’d shut the door.

“I didn’t get a chance to find out how you’re doing,” I said.

“We’re doing well,” he said. “Mom’s feeling better and I may even get down to Key West for part of the weekend.”

“Fabulous!” I said. “Can’t wait to see you. Let me know when you get here.” And then I touched my toe in the water: “That Palamina is a whirling dervish, isn’t she?”

“A breath of fresh air,” Wally said. “Nothing negative about her. It takes a weight off me to know she’s quite capable of handling things until I get back full-time.”

Which hadn’t exactly been my experience—not this morning, anyway. In the past, her fringe of red hair and striped leggings had reminded me of a friendly woodpecker. But this morning? A vulture, a crow, a starling: She’d scared me to death.

After making reservations at two other restaurants, I hunkered down at my computer to pull my notes about Firefly together. I was deep into a digression about the merits of Southern comfort food in a world that seemed to embrace nonfat everything when my phone rang. Torrence’s name flashed onto the screen.

We exchanged greetings, and I complimented him on his performance at the city commission meeting. “These days, it must not be easy for cops to sound competent without coming off as arrogant,” I said. “But you managed it. And it didn’t seem like you were going to strangle any of the crazy questioners, either. Even though the meeting dragged on forever. And what was with the nut case who attacked Lorenzo?”

He laughed. “Plenty of practice. Listen, I have a question about your friend. Would it be convenient if I swung by the office and we chatted for a couple of minutes?”

I let that sit for a second. Would it be convenient? Not at all. I had a new boss who was watching my every move. “How about I grab something for a late lunch and bring it down to the police station?” I wasn’t hungry in the slightest, but if he was, I’d gladly sacrifice my waistline to keep him out of the office. “Anything you’re craving?”

“You got me,” he said.

“You’re easy to get.” I snickered. “What is it?”

“I drove by the Old Town Bakery this morning and they had a special sandwich on their chalkboard. Italian with ham, soppressata, basil pesto, fontina, spinach, and tomato. On one of their homemade French bread loaves. Doesn’t that sound like heaven?”

“Absolutely. Dessert?” I asked.

“I’m on a diet,” he said, his voice halting and mournful. “I have to tap everything I eat into this smartphone app that adds the calories up on the spot. I think I’m already over the limit for today.”

“So the chocolate OMG brownie?”

He groaned.

5

Their tree is full this year, the fruit thud on the roof all night, but he doesn’t like this varietal; they taste like old butter.

—
Diana Abu-Jaber,
Birds of Paradise

I drove up to the pink stucco Key West Police Department with yet one more fragrant bag of food, thinking that I’d visited this place over the past year and a half more often than a normal person should. How could it be, I wondered, that I knew so many people accused of murder? And how would I manage to squeeze information from Torrence without ratting out Lorenzo? Not that he’d really told me anything incriminating, but he sure was acting guilty.

The person manning the security camera and the station’s locked front door must have recognized me: I was buzzed inside without even picking up the phone. I made my way down the left-hand hall to Torrence’s office and tapped on his door.

“I’ll be right there. Just chill a minute, okay?” he answered, his words muffled.

It was more like five minutes, but then the door banged open and instead of Lieutenant Torrence, I faced a bristling wall of testosterone: Detective Bransford. In white dress shirt with sleeves rolled up, a burr of whiskers on his face and tie askew, he looked like an escapee from
GQ
—ready to be photographed for an article on messy looks that ooze sex appeal. I tried to play chicken, seeing who would speak first, but I caved within fifteen seconds.

“Hello,” I said in a reedy voice that barely sounded like me. “It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood.”

He looked puzzled.

“You know, the song?” I warbled the line this time, still reedy, but now off-key, too.

But Bransford didn’t crack a smile. Maybe his mother hadn’t tried to relive her childhood by sitting him through dozens of reruns of
Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood
, the way mine had. Or maybe he’d sprung full formed from someone’s forehead, like Athena had from Zeus. All head, no heart.

Last year, we’d dabbled with dating. But then his ex-wife materialized and persuaded him to try their marriage again. As my mother liked to say, why would I want a man who didn’t want me? But every time I’d seen him since, the air between us had crackled with unexplored tension. Before I could stop myself, my gaze dropped to his left hand, empty except for a fine line of pale skin where his wedding ring had been. His eyes followed mine.

“I brought Torrence for lunch,” I stammered nonsensically, feeling completely embarrassed. “I mean lunch for Torrence. You know how hungry that man gets. His blood sugar dips down and he turns into a grouch. It’s a public service I’m doing—”

“Things didn’t work out with my wife,” Bransford said, tapping his ringless finger. “She hoped things would be different, but they weren’t.” He grunted out a mirthless laugh. “People don’t change, you know? If all the evidence points to one truth, only a fool ignores that. You might want desperately for something to be a certain way because you’re soft on someone. But that doesn’t change how life is. Right?”

How could I possibly answer that? In truth, I sort of believed what he was saying, but that didn’t mean I liked it. Eric wouldn’t agree—he said people could change, if they wanted to work at it hard enough. But why was Bransford telling me this, anyway? I squeezed my hands into fists and kept my silence.

“I’m certain that Lieutenant Torrence will cover this in your discussion,” he finally added, lips barely moving but mustache undulating. “We know that Lorenzo is a close acquaintance of yours.”

I interrupted him, my voice flat and definite. “A friend.”

“A friend of yours,” Bransford corrected himself. “But if he gets in touch with you or if you hear anything that might explain his absence, it’s absolutely urgent that you let us know.”