Southbound Read online

  “So, it looks like everything is good to go on the project,” Scott said. “There are some final bits of red tape to take care of, but the deal is more or less done.”

  “That was faster than I thought,” I said.

  Scott grinned. “I’m good at what I do.”

  “You clearly are,” I agreed.

  “I’ve got some stuff for you to sign,” he said, taking a folder from out of a drawer in his desk and opening it up, sliding it across to me.

  I sipped my water and set the bottle aside to read over the details.

  It was all fairly standard stuff, and I signed and initialed each page like I was supposed to after I read each one, making sure everything was in order. “Looks like this is going to be fairly easy--not like the last purchase.”

  “This part is easy,” Scott told me. “What’s going to be tough is the paperwork down the line. There’s a government issue--state government, but that’s the most tedious variety. At least with the feds, they’re incentivizing this kind of purchase.”

  “It’s just a matter of time, and that I have in abundance,” I said. I shrugged off the factor of red tape; I’d been there before, and I was sure I’d be there again.

  “In any case, barring an appeal from someone on the island on the basis of protected property or species, you should be solid--give it maybe a month tops to finish out the buy,” Scott said.

  I rose to my feet and shook his hand when he offered it again. “Sounds good,” I said. “Keep me posted.”

  Because I didn’t have anything else planned for the day, I decided to take the long way home--such as it was, considering the size of the whole island. I coasted for a bit, thinking that maybe once I got home I’d take Roscoe for a walk around the neighborhood, or maybe down to Mallory Square to enjoy some of the shows going on.

  I was thinking about that when I came to a stop at a light with a few cars in front of me. I looked around absently and saw--to my surprise--Aspen was standing by her car, close to the entrance of a run-down building. She was talking to someone and looked upset. I looked more closely at the building she was in front of—it was five stories, and after a moment or two I found the sign proclaiming that it was the Golden Palm Inn. I let out a low whistle to myself.

  I remembered that Aspen had said something about finding the hotel her grandmother had stayed at when she first came to Key West, and it stood to reason that she was at that hotel--the Golden Palm had clearly been around for a long time. I watched as she leaned against the hood of her car and started dialing a number in her phone, and made a decision. Coincidence was one thing, but seeing her two times in one day, even given how little space there was to hide, meant--to me--that I should actually do something about it.

  The light went green, and I managed to get over into the left lane and do a U-turn, coming up the street I’d just been going down. I pulled into the parking lot in front of the hotel and found a space--there were a good many open. I got out of the car and saw who Aspen was arguing with; it was clear that they were arguing, too.

  “What’s the problem, Diane?” I walked up to where Aspen and the Golden Palm Inn’s owner were standing.

  “The problem is that this place is a dump,” Aspen said, her voice sounding a little sharp. I glanced at the hotel, and I had to admit that Aspen had a point. It looked as though the Golden Palm hadn’t been renovated or updated in at least a couple of decades.

  “She made a reservation,” Diane pointed out.

  “You are charging me way too much for the room you gave me, even with the perks for not being able to let me check in last night,” Aspen countered.

  “Can we get to what the argument is about, other than the quality of the hotel room?” I glanced from Diane to Aspen, who still had the phone to her ear. She took it away and apparently ended the call.

  “She’s overcharging me for my room,” Aspen said.

  “I’m charging you the normal rate,” Diane countered. I looked at Diane.

  “Which normal rate?” I asked.

  Diane crossed her arms over her chest. “The normal rate.”

  “My room is filthy,” Aspen told me. “I just want my deposit back for the room so I can go somewhere else.”

  “Deposit is non-refundable,” Diane said.

  “Let me see if I understand the chain of events,” I told them both, holding up my hands to prevent them interrupting me. “You were supposed to check in yesterday,” I pointed to Aspen.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “But there was some kind of problem with the room--some plumbing issue,” I continued, looking at Diane.

  “It happens,” Diane said with a shrug. “We offered her a refund for that night, as well as complimentary breakfast for her stay and a few other perks.”

  “Then she comes today to discover that the new room you’ve put together for her is...not up to her expectations,” I said, not wanting to get Diane’s hackles up.

  “The sheets hadn’t been changed, and whoever was in there last night--one of them at least, who knows--was wearing a pound of makeup,” Aspen said.

  “We can change the sheets,” Diane protested.

  “The toilet was backed up, too. No wonder you have plumbing issues,” Aspen told Diane, sounding bitter.

  “It’s an old toilet,” Diane said. “Sometimes it malfunctions.”

  I took a quick breath. I knew I shouldn’t get more involved than I already was, but I figured that there was no way it was just chance that I’d seen Aspen in the middle of it.

  “Nobody should stay in this place,” I said. I gave Diane a frank look. “I know, I know, it’s a ‘grand old hotel,’ but you haven’t done any updates in at least thirty years.”

  “We keep the place running,” Diane protested.

  “It’s about three steps from being condemned,” I told her firmly. I looked at Aspen. “You want your deposit back so you can stay somewhere else?”

  Aspen nodded.

  “I don’t do refunds on deposits,” Diane said.

  I gave her another look. “You do on this one,” I told her. “Or I’ll help her sue you if it takes that, to get her money back later.”

  “You’ll help her sue me?” Diane scowled. “Gage, I know you have balls and all, but—”

  “Everyone on this island knows that you overcharge out-of-state folks,” I said. “Everyone on this island knows that you should have updated the place decades ago but you don’t because you want to keep as much money as possible for yourself.”

  “I didn’t know you had an opinion about my business,” Diane said tartly.

  “Generally I don’t, but Aspen here is a friend of mine,” I told her. “And you’re trying to scam her. So go into the office and refund her deposit and come back out here with the receipt confirming it.”

  I crossed my own arms over my chest and stared Diane down. This was not at all going the way that it should have for Aspen, and I couldn’t resist doing what I could to change that fact. The poor girl was there to put her grandmother to rest--and here she was, running into trouble at every turn.

  I looked at Aspen. “Do you still have your luggage up there?”

  Aspen shook her head. “I hadn’t brought it up yet.”

  I nodded. “Good. Go on, Diane.”

  I waited until Diane finally turned back to go into the hotel, and turned my attention onto Aspen once more.

  “Thank you for that,” Aspen said.

  “Not a problem,” I told her. I thought for a moment. “Where were you planning on going to? Same motel you spent last night?”

  Aspen shook her head.

  “That place was...well, it’s not my speed,” she said. “I was just going to try and find somewhere else. Drive around the island a bit, see what looked good.”

  I pressed my lips together and let my arms fall to my sides.

  “Why not stay with me?” The question felt heavy in my chest even as I asked it. I’d wanted to suggest it when we’d met on the plane, but th
ere was something there--something about Aspen’s big, brown eyes and the way that I could make out the curves of her body even though she was wearing loose clothes, that had made me talk myself out of it, even beyond knowing it would have been creepy then.

  “Stay with you?” Aspen’s cheeks lit up with color.

  “Why not? I’ve got a nice-sized place over in Truman,” I said. “Close to some of the areas your grandma probably visited when she came here the first time. I do have a dog--a pit-bull mix named Roscoe--but he’s friendly, and if you have an issue with dogs he can stay out of the way.”

  Aspen blinked, looking confused. “I barely know you,” she said.

  “I know it’s kind of weird.” I gave her a quick smile. “But I’m known on the island. Nobody is going to let me get away with being some kind of axe-murderer.”

  “I don’t think you’re an axe-murderer,” she said.

  “But you don’t think I’m trustworthy?”

  Aspen considered that for a moment. “Everyone does seem to know you,” she mused. “And it’s not like I wouldn’t be able to leave--right?”

  “Any time you want, come and go as you please,” I said. “I just figured it’d be more comfortable for you to stay somewhere with a local--someone who might be able to help you track down the places you want to go. Besides, the guest bed at my place is very comfortable.”

  Diane came out then with the receipt for Aspen.

  “Good on you for having a friend here, especially one as influential as Gage,” Diane said. “But I do expect you to abide by the agreement from the website--no reviews unless you have something good to say.”

  Aspen raised an eyebrow at that demand. “I am not lying for you,” she said. “Those fake positive reviews were part of what decided me to stay here. I’m not making someone else go through this.”

  She took her receipt and Diane gave me a nasty look before going back into her run-down hotel.

  “So, what did you decide? I was on my way home, anyway,” I said. “I have the afternoon free--I could show you around a bit.”

  “I guess I could,” Aspen said. “At least for maybe a day.”

  I smiled again and resisted the temptation to kiss her on the cheek, or maybe her forehead, which was slightly wrinkled with concern.

  “Follow me, then,” I told her, getting my keys out of my pocket and walking to my car.

  Chapter Eight

  Aspen

  I followed Gage the whole way from the hotel where the owner had tried to scam me, and tried to figure out exactly why I felt so easy with the idea of staying with him. In my head I could almost hear my grandmother suggesting that this was just another layer of adventure to add to my story about reuniting her with grandpa. And I had to admit to myself that I couldn’t come up with a good argument as to why I shouldn’t stay at Gage’s place. He was a nice guy and my instincts were generally sound on people.

  Other than my dickhead of an ex, I thought. Also, I barely knew him and I had no idea what kind of living situation it was going to be. He’d said “guest room,” but what did that mean?

  Well, if it looked sketchy, I would find somewhere else to say, just as I’d intended to do when I’d told Diane that her hotel wasn’t acceptable.

  But a few minutes later, before I could even make up my mind about anything, we turned a corner onto a street called Whitehead. Gage pulled up to a gate. All of the houses on the block had a kind of understated, bungalow splendor, and the one Gage pulled up to was no different. For a second, I couldn’t entirely believe that it was really the place he was taking me to. As I followed him onto the property and pulled up into the driveway--much wider than any of the ones I’d known about in my hometown--I still couldn’t quite believe it was really his home.

  It wasn’t that it was huge, exactly; the house was probably about the same size, altogether, as my grandma’s house had been back in my hometown. But the landscaping was professional, and the property somehow radiated wealth. It was an older-looking house, and I thought that it might have even been around when Grandma had visited the Keys, but it had clearly been kept up to date the way that the hotel hadn’t been.

  “Welcome to Truman Annex,” Gage said as I got out of my car.

  “This is your house?” I looked around me and realized that I’d been underestimating the size. While it wasn’t enormous--not even the hotels on the island were--it was bigger, I was sure, than Grandma’s house had been, and it was in what seemed to be a prime location, nestled among equally lush looking homes.

  “It’s home sweet home, all right,” Gage told me. “Can I help you with your suitcase?”

  “No--no thanks,” I said, remembering Grandma’s ashes in my belongings. “I’ve got them. Just lead the way.”

  Gage looked as if he wanted to press the point and insist, but he backed off when I showed no sign of any difficulty hefting my things out of my rental car. He led me up the drive and walkway, and I heard excited barking from inside the house. I smiled to myself, thinking that just that one thing made the atmosphere more homey and less imposing.

  I followed Gage through the front door and he intercepted a big, barrel-shaped dog before it could rear up and greet me.

  “Roscoe! Mind your manners,” Gage said in a firm, brusque voice. He didn’t sound stern, just confident and in control. The dog’s eyes spun around and his tail wagged so hard it almost seemed to whip in circles, but he kept all four feet on the ground, even as he approached to sniff me.

  “I’m okay with dogs,” I said, holding one hand down where Roscoe could smell it before I tried to pet him. “Even big galoots like this one, here.”

  Roscoe looked up at me with happy eyes and let out a half-bark, nodding his head.

  “Let me show you the guest room, and you can settle in,” Gage suggested.

  I nodded my acceptance of that; I wanted to put my luggage away before Roscoe had a chance to get curious about any smells in my suitcase.

  Gage led me up a short staircase. He opened the door to a bedroom and I took a moment to appreciate how lovely it was—not palatial, but I was pretty sure it was at least as big as my replacement hotel room had been, with hardwood floors, huge windows, and a comfortable-looking bed.

  “This is kind of amazing,” I murmured, staring all around me.

  Gage had kept Roscoe from following us with a stern word and a baby gate, and he walked across the guest room to open the windows for me.

  “I haven’t been in here for a while,” Gage admitted, turning back to me. “You have your own bathroom through this door over here, a closet, and of course there’s the chest of drawers over there if you want to unpack your things while you’re staying.” He gestured around the room brusquely and I wondered at the change in his demeanor. “Feel free to settle in as you like--I’ll be downstairs with Roscoe.”

  “Thank you so much, for letting me stay here,” I said, smiling at him as warmly as I could as he paused in the midst of walking past me. “I really, truly appreciate it.”

  “I’ve got the space, and after all the trouble you’ve had so far, I figured it was the least I could do for you,” Gage said, putting a hand briefly on my shoulder and giving me a squeeze. I felt a weird little tingle from where he touched me that I couldn’t quite define, but I ignored it as he brushed past me and left me alone in the room.

  On further inspection, I saw that the bed frame, chest of drawers, and even the bedside tables were really valuable, collectible furnishings--real wood and wrought iron, in an old style that probably originally cost a fortune to move down to the remote island. The bathroom was about half as big as the bedroom, with a tub-shower combination that was big enough for me to fit in twice over, and three shower heads so that if I had wanted to, I could have water coming at me from all directions. There were fairly large windows in the bathroom, too, but I noticed that any view from the outside was covered by big palm fronds and bougainvillea, so there was still some privacy.

  Everything looked lovely
and old fashioned and far more expensive than the amenities at either of the hotels I had seen, and I started to wonder just who Gage was, apart from a friendly man who’d helped me out. I took Grandma’s ashes out and tucked them away in the closet where I hoped they’d go unnoticed until I needed them, and browsed the different parts of my new room, opening drawers and checking things out. In one of the bedside table drawers, I found a picture of Gage and a woman, dark haired and smiling. They were on a boat, both of them looking so happy and carefree; but based on the way Gage looked in the picture, it had to have been from at least a couple of years before. Who was the dark-haired woman? I put the picture back, closed the drawer, and shoved the question out of my head.

  After about twenty minutes, I made sure that my phone still had a good amount of charge left, and went downstairs, greeting Roscoe as he padded up to me at the base of the steps.

  “Hey there, good boy,” I said, kneeling down to forestall him jumping up. I patted and scratched at his back and sides.

  “How are you settling in?” I looked up to see Gage coming into the living room from what I assumed to be the kitchen area, and smiled.

  “I’m settling in pretty well, actually,” I replied. “I was see about doing some exploring, but Roscoe’s distracting me.”

  Gage chuckled and came further into the room. “If you want, I need to take the old boy out for a walk; you could come with us, get some exploring in that way.”

  Part of me wanted to kind of wander around the grand old house and see what else I could see in it--but that would be rude, snooping while Gage was away with his dog. Besides which, I had plenty of time to get to know what the rest of the house looked like if I was staying here for a night or two.

  “That would be really nice,” I said. “Can I just get a drink of water first?”

  He nodded. “It’s a good idea, actually--you get dehydrated quick, this far south. Whenever you think about having some water, you should get some. Let me get you a bottle out of the kitchen.”

  I rose to my feet and Roscoe thumped his tail on the floor. “I’ll join you in there, if you don’t mind.”