Sunset Key (3 page)

CHAPTER SEVEN

T
he sea in the vicinity of Fitch’s island was shallow. His dock extended seventy-five yards out from the shore into water deep enough to berth a boat.

Letty followed James out of the salon onto the stern.

A tall thin man stood on the last plank of the dock. He was throwing squid into the sea, his gray hair blowing in the breeze. He wore a white, long-sleeved shirt unbuttoned to his sternum. White Dockers. Leather sandals. He was darkly tanned. He finished rinsing off his hands under a faucet mounted to the end of the wharf and dried them with a towel as Letty approached. Reaching down, he gave her a hand up onto the dock. He was even taller than she’d first thought. Six-two. Maybe six-three. He smelled of an exotic cologne—sandalwood, spice, jasmine, lime, money.

The man still hadn’t let go of her hand. His fingers were cool and moist, as soft as silk.

“Welcome to Sunset Key, Selena. Please call me Johnny.”

She could hear Texas in his voice, but it wasn’t overbearing. Houston drawl by way of an Ivy League education. She stared up into his face. Smooth-shaven. No glasses. Perfect teeth. He didn’t look sixty-six years old.

“It’s beautiful here, Johnny,” she said.

“I like to think so. But it pales in comparison to you. They broke the mold.”

Letty’s eyes riveted on what he’d been feeding—gray fins slicing through the water.

“Sand sharks,” Fitch said. “Not to worry. Totally harmless. They like the reefs for protection. A mother and her pups.”

He offered his arm. They walked down the long dock. Letty could see the cupola of a house peeking above the scrub oak that covered the island. According to the blueprints and to Javier, that was Fitch’s office.

“How was your ride over?” Fitch asked.

“Wonderful. Your yacht is amazing.”

“Part of my midlife crisis, some would say.”

Letty glanced back over her shoulder.

James and the unnamed driver followed at a respectful distance.

“Don’t give them another thought,” Fitch said. “I know James searched you, and I apologize for that barbarous invasion, but it couldn’t be helped.”

“It was no big deal,” she said.

“Well, you’re
my
guest now.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Letty said. “You’ve lived here long?”

“Back in my former life, I was primarily based in Houston. I also had a winter place in Aspen. An apartment in Manhattan. Of course, those are gone now. But I bought this key twenty-two years ago when it was fourteen acres of unspoiled paradise. Designed the house myself. It was always my favorite.
There’s a view of the sea from every room.”

They went ashore.

A man of fifty or so stood waiting for them in khaki slacks and a short-sleeved button-down.

“Selena, this is Manuel, my caretaker and steward. He’s been with me for…how long, Manuel?”

“Since you buy island. I live here almost twenty-two years.”

Fitch said, “Before we go to the house, I thought we’d take a walk on the beach.”
He kicked off his sandals.

Manuel turned to Letty. “If you give me shoes, I take them up to house for you.”

Letty leaned over and unfastened her pumps. She stepped out and handed them to Manuel.

“And your purse?”

“I think I’ll hang on to this.”

Fitch said, “Thank you, Manuel.”

“Very good, sir.”

“You’re leaving for Key West when Angie goes?”

“Yes, I go with her.”

“Take care, my old friend.”

Letty and Fitch walked barefoot up a man-made beach.

“Manuel came over on a raft. Half of them died. Sends his paychecks back to Havana. He’s an honorable man. Loyal. He’ll never have to work again after tomorrow. He doesn’t know this yet.”

The sand was soft and stark white and still warm from the sun. There was no surf, no waves. No boats within earshot. Letty could hear the sound of leaves rustling, a bird singing in the interior of the island, and little else. The water was bright green.

Fitch picked up a shell before Letty stepped on it.

He said, “
Down on the seashore I found a shell,/Left by the tide in its noonday swell/Only a white shell out of the sea,
/
Yet it bore sweet memories up to me/Of a shore where brighter shells are strown,/Where I stood in the breakers, but not alone.”

“That’s lovely,” Letty said.

They moved on up the shore. It seemed that with every passing second, the sun expanded, its pool of light coloring a distant reef of clouds.

“It’s why I chose the Keys, you know,” Fitch said. “Best sunsets in the world. Ah. Here we are.” They had reached the tip of the island. A pair of adirondack chairs waited in the sand under the shade of a coconut palm. They faced west, an ice bucket and a small, wooden box between them.

Letty and Fitch crossed the sand to the chairs. The sunset spread across the horizon like a range of orange mountains. There was no wind. The water was as still as glass.

Letty glanced down at the box. The top had been stamped:

HEIDSIECK & CO. MONOPOLE

GOÛT AMÉRICAIN

VINTAGE 1907

NO. 1931

Fitch pulled an unlabeled bottle out of the ice water. He held it to the fading light. The glass was green and scuffed. He went to work opening it.

Letty said
,
“Special. Even has its own box.”

“This bottle was on its way to the Russian royal family when the boat carrying it was torpedoed by Germans. What must have gone through those young sailors’ minds? It took a half hour. They knew,
for a half hour, they were going to die and could do nothing to stop it. Nothing but wait and watch the minutes slide.”

“In what year?”

“Nineteen-sixteen. The vintage is nineteen-oh-seven, which makes this—”

“Ninety-eight years old?”

He nodded.

“Oh my god.”

“It was recovered from the wreck seven years ago. The bottles were perfectly preserved at the bottom of the ocean. Notable not only for the rarity and the history—as it turns out, the wine itself is quite excellent. I bought one for a special occasion. I’d say tonight qualifies. Would you get the glasses, please?”

Letty reached into the box and lifted out two crystal flutes.

“Go ahead and ask,” Fitch said as he struggled with the cork.

“Ask what?”

He worked it out so slowly, there was no
pop
. Just a short
hiss
as the pressure released. The cork crumbled in his hand. He held the opening of the bottle to her nose.

It smelled like perfume.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“Gorgeous.”

Fitch took a whiff himself and then began to pour.

“So ask,” he said. “It won’t offend me.”

“What?”

“What I paid.”

“That would be rude.”

“But
you
want
to
know.”

With her glass full, Letty smelled it again,
the carbonation bubbles misting her nose.

“All right. What’d you pay, Johnny?”

“Two hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars. Here’s to you,” he said.

She didn’t even know how to comprehend
such a figure…for a single bottle of wine!

“To you, Johnny.”

They clinked glasses.

The champagne was amazing.

“I want to know your passion, Selena.”

“My passion?”

“What is it that most excites you in this life? What is your prime mover? Your reason for being here?”

“Prada.”

This got a huge laugh.

“Money can’t buy you happiness, darling. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“But it affords your own brand of misery.”

“You’re a lively one, Selena. That’s good.
Real good. Let’s sit back and enjoy, shall we?” Fitch said. “This is going to be a night for the senses.”

Letty leaned back in her chair. “That’s the prettiest sunset I’ve ever seen,” she said.

“I’m just glad it didn’t rain.” Fitch laughed,
but there was a sadness in it.

All the color went out of the sky.

“Where are you from, Selena?” Fitch asked.

Letty had only had two glasses, but she felt good. Too good. “A little bit of everywhere. I guess I don’t really think of any one place as home.”

Fitch looked over at her. He patted her hand.

“I know this must be a strange deal for you,” he said.

“It’s not.”

“You’re kind to say that, but…” He stared out across the sea. With the sun gone, there were only shades of blue. “I’m just really glad you’re here tonight.”

* * *

They walked toward the house on a sandy
path that cut through the heart of the island.

Letty held Fitch’s hand.

“You have a real sweetness about you, Selena,” he said. “Reminds me of my wife.”

“You miss her? No, I’m sorry. That’s not my business.”

“It’s all right. I brought her up. Yeah, I miss her. She left me a year and a half ago.”

“Before your trial.”

“Go through something like this, you find out real quick who your friends are. It’s not always your kin. Only real loyalty I’ve seen is from Manuel and my lawyers. Both of whom I pay. So what does that tell you? Two of my sons won’t speak to me. My youngest only communicates by email. I understand to a point, I guess. I’ve put them through a lot. Do you have children, Selena?”

“I have a son,” Letty said before it even crossed her mind to lie.

“Is he in your life?”

“He’s not.”

Through the underbrush, Letty caught a glimpse of house lights in the distance.

Fitch said, “But is there anything he could do that would make you stop loving him?”

“No.”

“Anything that would make you willingly abandon him?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I suppose our kids don’t love us quite like we love them.”

“I hope that’s not true.”

“I’ve had my fair share of company over to the island. You’re different, Selena.”

“I hope you mean that in a good way.”

Fitch stopped. He turned and faced her and pulled her body into his.

“I mean it in the best way.”

It took her by surprise when he leaned down for a kiss.

Not the kiss itself, but the pang of guilt that ripped through her like a razor-tipped arrow.

CHAPTER EIGHT

T
he house was a large gray box set on foundation piers. It had long eaves and wraparound decks on the first and second levels. Extensive latticework enclosed the space under the stairs. Letty spotted rafts and plastic sand-castle molds. Snorkeling gear. Life jackets. Beach toys that she imagined hadn’t been touched in years.

She and Fitch rinsed the sand off their feet at the bottom of the stairs.

Halfway up, Letty could already smell supper cooking.

As they walked through the door, Fitch called out, “Smells wonderful, Angie!”

Letty followed him into an open living space. Hardwood floors. Exposed timber beams high above. The walls covered in art deco. A giant marlin had been mounted over the fireplace. A live jazz album whispered in the background. There were candles everywhere. The bulbs in the track lighting shone down softer than starlight.

“You have a lovely home, Johnny.”

Letty spotted James and another man walking down a corridor. She and Fitch passed a spiral staircase. They arrived at a granite bar that ran the length of the gourmet kitchen. A stocky woman in a chef coat slid something into a double oven. She wiped her brow on her sleeve and came over.

“Selena, meet Angie,” Fitch said.

“Hello,” Letty said.

“Angie is head chef at a Michelin-starred restaurant in Paris. I flew her over to prepare something special for tonight. How’s it coming, Angie?”

“I can bring out starters whenever you’re ready.”

Fitch glanced at Letty. “Hungry?”

“Starving.”

“We’re ready,” he said.

“How about wine?”

“Yes, I think we’d like to have some wine.
You decanted everything I showed you?”

“They’re in the cellar, ready to go. What would you like to start with?”

“Bring out the nineteen-ninety Petrus, the ’eighty-two Château Lafite Rothschild and the ’forty-seven Latour a Pomerol.”

“Quite a lineup,” Angie said.

“So much good wine to drink, so little time. We’d like to taste everything side by side, so bring six glasses.”

“You aren’t trying to get me drunk, are you?” Letty teased, bumping her shoulder into Fitch’s arm.

“Now why would I need to do that?”

They sat at an intimate table in a corner, surrounded by windows.

In the candlelight, Fitch looked even younger.

Letty dropped her handbag on the floor between her chair and the wall.

Angie brought the wine in three trips, carrying the empty bottle in one hand and a crystal decanter in the other.

All of the Bordeaux was astonishing. With wine like this in the world, Letty didn’t know how she could ever go back to seven-dollar bottles of Merlot from the supermarket.

They started with a plate of plain white truffles.

Then foie gras.

Then scallops.

Angie kept bringing more courses. Because Letty was drinking out of three glasses, she had difficulty gauging her intake. She tried to pace herself with small sips, but it was simply the best wine she’d ever tasted.

Over the cheese course, Fitch said, “It occurs to me there will be many evenings to come when I long to return to this meal.”

Letty reached across the table and took hold of his hand.

“Let’s try to stay in the moment, huh?”

“Sound advice.”

“So, Johnny. What is your passion?”

“My passion?”

“For a man who has achieved all the material wants.”

“Experience.” His eyes began to tear. “I want to experience everything.”

Angie came over to the table. “How was everything?”

“I’m speechless,” Fitch said.

He rose out of his seat and embraced the chef. Letty heard him whisper, “I can’t thank you enough for this. You’re an artist, and the memory of this meal will sustain me for years to come.”

“It was my pleasure, Johnny. Dessert will be up in fifteen.”

“We’re done here, and we can handle getting dessert for ourselves. Someone will clean up. You’ve been cooking all day. Why don’t you take off?”

“No, let me finish out the service.”

“Angie.” Fitch took hold of her arm.
“I insist. Pete’s waiting in the yacht to take you back.”

For a moment, Letty thought Angie might resist. Instead, she embraced Fitch again, said,
“You take care of yourself, Johnny.”

Fitch watched her cross to the front door.

As she opened it, she called out, “Dessert dishes and silverware are on the counter beside the oven! Goodnight, Johnny!”

“’Night, Angie!”

The door slammed after her, and for a moment, the house stood absolutely silent.

Fitch sat down.

He said, “How strange to know you’ve just seen a friend for the last time.”

He sipped his wine.

Letty looked out the window.

The moon was rising out of the sea. In its light, she could see the profile of a suited man walking down a path toward the shore.

“It begins to go so fast,” Fitch said.

“What?”

“Time. You cling to every second. Savor everything. Wish you’d lived all your days like this. Excuse me.”

He rose from his seat. Letty watched him shuffle across to the other side of the room and disappear through a door, which he closed after him.

She lifted her purse into her lap and tore it open. Her fingers moved with sufficient clumsiness to convince her she’d gotten herself drunk. She grasped the spray bottle. Fitch still had some wine left in two of his glasses.
Reaching across the table, she put five squirts into the one on the left.

The door Fitch had gone through creaked open.

He emerged cradling a bottle in one arm and carrying two glasses in the other.

He was grinning.

From across the room, he held up the bottle, said, “The jewel of our evening. Come on over here, sugar.”

Fitch sat down on a leather sofa.

Letty still hadn’t moved, her mind scrambling.

I missed my chance. I missed my chance.