Chapter 32
Andie’s nonstop flight to Miami landed just after sunset. She was first in line at the taxi stand at Arrivals, and she was
eager to get home, but she wasn’t going straight to Key Biscayne.
“Coconut Grove,” she told the driver.
Her first stop was Cy’s Place. And it wasn’t for happy hour.
Five hours in the air had given her time to process Francine’s advice. Her old friend was right. Unless she wanted to get
herself and Francine fired, Andie couldn’t tell Jack or Theo that, whatever Theo was up to, it had caught the attention of
law enforcement. But she couldn’t, as Francine had put it, “do nothing and let the chips fall where they may.” There was no
perfect solution. But time was of the essence.
The driver dropped her outside Cy’s Place. She grabbed her bag, went inside, and took an open stool at the bar. Theo was mixing
a cocktail when he spotted her.
“Hey, welcome back,” he said. “Is Jack coming?”
“No. Just me tonight.”
It was a thought-provoking moment, as if they simultaneously came to the realization that not once, ever, had Andie visited
Cy’s Place without Jack.
“Everything okay?” asked Theo.
She forced a smile. “You got a minute?”
Theo wiped his hands on a towel and invited her back to his office.
Andie followed him to a tiny room adjacent to the kitchen that served as both a business office and a surplus storage room.
Metal beer kegs lined one wall. Canisters of mixed nuts and bar snacks lined the other.
There was barely enough room for two people, which didn’t make it any easier for Andie to say what needed to be said.
Theo closed the door. “Did something happen between you and Jack?”
“No, nothing like that. We’re fine.”
“Okay, good. What’s up?”
She leaned against the nearest keg, still trying to find words. “Theo, we’re friends, right?”
“Yeah. Of course.”
“You know I would never want to hurt you.”
“Whoa. Are you breaking up with me?”
She smiled, then turned serious. “No. But I’m not joking around either.”
“Sorry. Go ahead. If there’s something you need to get off your chest, I can take it.”
She knew he could. If there was anything Theo respected, it was toughness.
“You’re Jack’s oldest friend. My daughter loves you to death. You’re like family to all of us.”
“Thank you.”
Her expression turned deadly serious, and she looked him straight in the eye. “But if you ever do anything to embarrass Jack
or bring shame on this family, I will rip you a new one. Do you understand me?”
Theo stared back at her. He seemed to understand that there would be no explanation for the warning, not another word about
it from Andie.
“Understood,” said Theo.
“Good. I hope that’s the end of this.”
“Hope so,” said Theo, and he opened the door for her.
Andie stepped out, grabbed her suitcase, and started toward the exit.
On her way out, she passed one of the little round tables near the jazz musicians’ stage—the one where Jack had proposed to her.
She walked faster, pushed open the door, and left Cy’s Place before Theo could see her lose her composure.
Jack was glad to be home.
With Andie somewhere on assignment, he’d left Righley in the capable hands of their nanny for the duration of his not-so-great
day in court. Catching up on other work had kept him in the office past eight o’clock. Max was the first to greet him as he
stepped through the front door, tail wagging. Righley wasn’t far behind, and her voice was filled with excitement.
“Daddy! Guess who’s home!”
She grabbed his hand and nearly dragged him to the kitchen. Max followed, since a trip to the kitchen usually meant food.
Andie stepped out from behind the counter and gave Jack a kiss.
“What a nice surprise,” said Jack, smiling. Max squeezed in between their embrace, making himself into a golden retriever
sandwich.
“How long will you be home?” asked Jack.
“Until the next undercover assignment,” she said.
Righley hopped up onto the bar stool and said, “The bad guys got away.”
Jack looked at Andie with concern. “Did someone blow your cover?”
“No, nothing like that. Headquarters cut our budget.”
“I’m sorry. So, Operation Jack Eats Junk Food is over?”
“Very funny. But yes, it’s over.”
“Then why are you still wearing your undercover wig?”
“It’s not a wig.”
Jack did a double take. “You cut your hair?”
“Yes, I cut my hair. Why do you act so surprised?”
“I’ve never known you without long hair. When’s the last time you wore it this short?”
“Never. But most women go to a shorter style sooner or later. It’s part of growing up. Notice I didn’t say ‘getting old.’”
“I guess that’s true.”
“You don’t like it?”
“Yes. I like it.”
“I wanted you to love it.”
Righley stood on the bar stool. “I love it!”
“I love it too,” said Jack, as he lowered Righley back into the seat. “It’s just going to take some getting used to.”
“I’m already used to it,” said Andie. Then she swiped at her hair, the way she would when it was long, but there was nothing
on her shoulder.
“You missed!” said Righley, and Jack snorted with laughter.
“Okay, it might take a little time,” said Andie, smiling. Then she checked the clock on the wall. “It’s someone’s bedtime.”
Righley groaned, but Andie promised to lie in the bed with her until she fell asleep, so she went peacefully. Jack grabbed
a few beers from the refrigerator, put them in a bucket of ice, and stepped outside to relax in an Adirondack chair on the
patio. Max went with him. Their little house on Key Biscayne had virtually no front yard, and the back wasn’t much either,
except that they lived on the waterfront, which meant that the entire bay was their backyard. At night the gentle waves glistened
in the moonlight, and the lights of Miami Beach twinkled in the distance. Jack wouldn’t have traded it for anything. Lawyer
by day, “Key Rat” by night. He was chilling and on his second bottle of beer when his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. The
incoming number was no cause for celebration, but he couldn’t ignore it. Julianna Weller was on the line.
“To what do I owe the honor of a Friday evening call from the prosecution?” asked Jack.
“Helena Pollard is selling her house.”
“Sorry, but I’m happy where I live,” said Jack, stealing one more glance at the bay.
The attempted humor fell flat.
“The realtor is planning to stage the property on Monday. Movers are coming this weekend, the walls are getting a new coat of paint, and the floors will be polished. If the defense wants to take photographs or video, or if you just want to look around and take measurements, I’m giving you the courtesy of one last opportunity to inspect the house as it was on the night of Owen Pollard’s death. Are you interested?”
“When can I get in?”
“I can have someone from my office meet you there tomorrow at eight a.m. You need to be out by nine.”
“Thanks,” said Jack. “I’ll be there.”