Miss Dreamsville and the Lost Heiress of Collier County (8 page)

“Not that side,” Jackie said, glancing my way. “Flip it over.”

Why was it that I so often felt stupid around Jackie? Sure enough, the reverse side was Judd's rendering of where he thought the new road had been carved into the swamp, based on what he'd seen from the air. Jackie had already gotten us to the Tamiami Trail and from there she headed north. Our first turn from the main road was supposed to be about a half mile past a combination bait shop and liquor store called Gin and
Bare It. Judd had told Jackie it was easy to spot from the air on account of a gigantic painting of a naked lady on the tin roof, a revelation which, Jackie recalled, had left her momentarily speechless.

Jackie wrinkled her nose when we passed by, then slowed down so we could find the side road. “Hasn't anyone in this county ever heard of a street sign?” Jackie complained. “Wait,” she added. “That must be it.”

Sam Cooke was singing “Another Saturday Night” on the radio, but the signal was already fading and Jackie turned it off. The side road was a lot like the one I took to Dolores Simpson's fishing shack, only more remote. “Oh, rats, why did I get the car washed. Remind me next time I buy a car to get one of those surplus Jeeps from the war.”

The road showed signs of being heavily used, and recently. This was unusual. Even Jackie, city girl that she was, noticed the broken tree branches on either side, and she remarked about ruts in the road, which she maneuvered around rather expertly. I started looking for the next road, where we were supposed to make a right turn. “If we get stuck out here, we're in trouble,” Jackie announced, as if it wasn't obvious. Just as I was about to suggest we turn back, we came upon the right turn, or what we hoped was our right turn.

“Maybe we should have told someone we were heading out here,” I said.

“Judd knows,” Jackie said.

Of course he did. He'd made the map. And, knowing Judd, he was looking at his watch right now, trying to estimate our location.

“Jackie, you look to the front and I'll look back,” I said.

“Of course I'm looking to the front, I'm driving the car!”

I paused. “Jackie, I guess no one ever told you this,” I said, choosing my words carefully, “but when you're driving on a dirt road this far back in the swamp, it's pretty easy to run over a snake. If you see one and you think you hit it, it's important to say, ‘I think I just ran over a snake.' And your passenger—that would be me—will need to be prepared to look back and see if it's behind the car after you ran it over.”

“Well, where would it be if it isn't behind the car?” Jackie asked.

“Could be it's climbed in the car. But more likely underneath and wrapped around the axle.”

“
Oh my God, that is disgusting!
Ew!
Ugh!
I hate this place . . .
”

I was sorry I'd said anything.

Jackie continued driving with her hands clutching the wheel. “How come nobody told me this before?” she whined.

“I have no idea,” I said. “I guess I should have told you. I mean, all the times you've driven to Priscilla's grandma's house, someone should have mentioned it. I guess we all thought you knew.”

Jackie made a sound like
harrumph
. “Whenever I learn something like this, it makes me wonder what
else
I don't know,” she said. I was afraid she might turn around but she didn't.

Another ten minutes, however, and she hit the brakes hard. A brand-new gravel road, twice as wide as the little unpaved side roads, appeared in front of us. Was it a mirage? I couldn't have been more shocked if a UFO plopped down in front of us. Unlike the twisty, haphazard roads we were used to, this one was straight as a crow flies. It wasn't paved like the Tamiami Trail but it still counted as bona fide by Collier County standards since an actual engineer, rather than Billy Joe down at the so-called highway department, seemed to have designed it. For
example, it appeared to be properly graded. And gravel? That took planning. And money.

Jackie took a long drag on a cigarette. “How far do you think we are from home?” Her mood was serious, and I was grateful for it.

“A couple of miles,” I said. “Four or five, maybe. What does the odometer say?”

Jackie, for once, looked sheepish. “I didn't check the odometer before we left.”

“Well then the only way to tell would be to climb a real tall tree.” Jackie gave me one of those “you've got to be kidding” looks.

“I'm not climbing a tree, and neither are you,” she said. “There are
things
in those trees. Horrible bugs! Snakes!” She shuddered, and I turned my head to the side so she wouldn't see me hiding a smile. Poor Jackie. She was so far out of her element here that it was hard not to be amused.

And yet, fear was not a bad companion to have, back in the swamps. Distances were so hard to figure. At times, the marsh acted like a giant sponge that swallowed noise. Visually, it was even more confusing. You might come across a place that was wide open and meadow-like, with rabbits running around, or a stretch of open water with little islands where gators dozed on the banks and spoonbills perched in low-slung trees. In many parts of the 'Glades, though, you couldn't see farther than the nose on your face, as my mama used to say.

“Let me see that map,” Jackie said. “If Judd is right, this new road is not more than a mile long, and the construction trailer should be right at the end of it.” She hit the gas a little too hard, causing the rear wheels to dig into the gravel and sending a thousand tiny pebbles flying. A hundred yards later, we
saw something in the roadway: A gator not much bigger than a hound dog had parked its lazy self in the middle of the road. “Look at that disgusting
thing
!” Jackie said, slowly bringing the Buick to a stop. She pounded her fist on the horn, a loud blast that was completely ignored by the gator, which didn't so much as twitch at the sound.

Jackie hadn't yet accepted the fact that gator encounters were inevitable. Why, in Collier County, if you weren't careful you could step on one dozing on your front steps. In fact, that's how Mama's friend Miss Fern Tootin died. Not that Miss Tootin got chomped by a gator. She tripped over it and fell. But it wasn't the fall that killed her, either. It was on account of her being so annoyed at the gator that she fired a shot from a .22 caliber pistol, only the bullet ricocheted off her wrought-iron fence post and struck her dead.

Jackie honked again. “What the heck is wrong with it? Do you think it's dead?” she shouted.

“Aw, come on, Jackie, it's just a baby.”

“I should run over it,” she said.

“Jackie! How could you say that?!”

“Well, it's not as if there aren't a million of them around here. I don't think anyone would miss one.”

“Jackie Hart, that little gator has more right to be here than
you
do! They've been here since time began, and you just got here in 1962.”

Jackie sighed and lit another cigarette, the fourth or fifth one since we started on this little journey. I noticed she was using a lighter I hadn't seen before. “That's nice,” I said quietly.

“What's nice?”

“The lighter. Is it new?”

“Ted got it for me as a birthday present.” She handed it to
me to look over. “It's just like the one that Elizabeth Taylor owns. Well, not exactly, because hers is probably solid gold and mine is gold plate.”

This was getting to be a little peculiar. It was the second time in three days that Elizabeth Taylor, bless her heart, had unknowingly intervened and saved the day for me. Dang, that woman must have some mighty powers. She was clear across the country, in Beverly Hills, and just bringing up her name could change the course of a conversation all the way over here in the Everglades.

“It's gorgeous,” I said. I didn't smoke but even if I did I knew that a lighter like that would be out of my league. Jackie was one of those women who always looked good; my mama would have said it was on account of her having good cheekbones, though to be honest I never really understood what that meant.

“Look, Dora,” she said, “I'm sorry. Of course you know I would never have run over the, um, creature.”

“I'll get out of the car and chase it to the side of the road,” I offered.

“Oh my God, Dora, don't!”

“Jackie, it can't be more than four feet long.”

“I'll drive around it.”

“Well, then drive around the tail end of it, not the front end.”

“Huh?”

“Always drive behind an alligator's tail end,” I explained patiently. “If you drive in front of it, it's more likely to panic and run right in front of the car.”

“Oh for Pete's sake!” She ground out her cigarette in the ashtray. “I'm not going around him! He's going to have to get out of
my
way.” Jackie leaned on the horn again but the critter didn't budge.

She lowered the power window and stuck her head out. “Get out of the road!” she shouted.

The poor beast, unmoved by the threat of a Buick weighing two tons or even the Yankee-style horn honking, was startled into action by Jackie's hollerin'.

“Look at that,” Jackie said proudly. “It's moving.” Sure enough, the gator, now wide-eyed and apparently sensing a true predator, started to creep forward, then move swiftly to the edge of the gravel road, where it vanished.

“Must have been the Boston accent,” I said. “He never heard one of those before.”

Jackie laughed. “What do you say we find that stupid trailer, and with any luck, your stupid former husband, and get this over with?” Before I could answer she pounced on the accelerator, fishtailing that Buick and giggling like a half-mad schoolgirl.

“Jackie, stop that! You must be damaging the road!”

“Oh, so what?” Jackie said. “Why can't we have a little fun. Besides, you hate the road! It shouldn't be here, right?”

I hung on for dear life, hoping Jackie wouldn't lose control of the car and land us in the swamp. I had never known a married woman who acted like Jackie. I knew a few girls in high school with a similar wild streak but they'd changed overnight once they'd said their “I dos” and “I will obeys” at the altar.

There's a saying that if marriage don't change a woman, motherhood will. Well, that was not the case with Jackie, either. Many times the thought had gone through my head that her twin daughters and especially her son, Judd, were more mature than she was. When they'd arrived in Naples, the kids were wise, taking their time to adjust, but with Jackie, it was like she'd been shot out of a cannon. The womenfolk in town were appalled; the men were scandalized. Her fashion taste was more Ava Gardner
than Florida matron, her intelligence was intimidating, and her tendency to speak her mind was shocking. She not only had opinions, she shared them.

The fact that her husband Ted was old Mr. Toomb's newly hired business manager had given her some leeway. She and Mr. Toomb had their differences but they had buried the hatchet, for the time being at least. Of course, that's what I hoped, but I also knew that Jackie was the kind of person who burned up goodwill in a hurry.

Jackie finally calmed down and began driving like a normal person. I tried to focus on the possibility that I might be seeing Darryl. I was grateful that Jackie was with me; even though I never knew what she was going to do next, I could count on her friendship.

The road began to curve gently and suddenly there it was: a brand-new construction trailer. One vehicle, a pickup, was parked nearby. A man was hunched over slightly, studying something—maps maybe, or construction plans—that had been spread out on the hood.

Darryl.

My heart switched places with my stomach. I wanted to beg Jackie to turn around but somehow I summoned the courage to stifle the urge. I had to get this over with.

But as we drove closer, I soon forgot all my troubles. Jackie slammed on the brakes, and the car lurched to a stop. We were close enough to read the lettering on a sign that read Welcome to Dreamsville!

N
ow I was sorry. Oh, was I sorry. I wish I'd never come home. I wish I'd never been born. Most especially, I wish I wasn't with Jackie Hart at that precise moment.

Jackie's reaction was nothing less than I expected. “I'm going to kill him!” she screamed, and I was hopeful we were still far enough away that he didn't hear her, though he looked up and stared in shock when he realized a strange car was sitting a piece down the road.

“He can't do this!” Jackie hollered, hurting my ear. “He's stealing my name! I'm going to call my lawyer!”

“Jackie, let's turn around and go home and talk this over,” I said quickly. My instinct was to retreat, plan, and return to battle another day. Jackie's instinct was to fight first, think later.

Instead of gunning the engine, however, she drove like a civilized person (which, frankly, almost scared me more) until we were close enough to pull up a few feet from him. I could see that he recognized the car—of course he did. Everyone in southwest Florida knew that car.

“Excuse me,
sir,
” Jackie said, like she was about to ask for directions.

I almost felt sorry for Darryl. He was entirely flummoxed. “I thought I heard a car horn a while ago,” he said. “I guess that was you?”

“Might have been,” Jackie said with that same edge to her voice.

“You're Miss Dreamsville, aren't you?” he asked. “Mrs. Jackie Hart?”

“Yes,” she said icily.

“Oh, I see you're in mourning. I'm sorry for your loss.”

“And I see that you have chosen to call your development ‘Dreamsville.' The implication is that I am endorsing this project. You will be hearing from my attorney.”