Ardmore Green Read online

  “Did she leave her stuff here?” asked Zeke.

  “Like what?” asked Trina.

  “Girl stuff. Bathroom stuff. Bandages for her tattoo, hairbrush, cell phone, cigarettes, anything like that?” asked Zeke.

  Amy looked around. “I don’t see anything.”

  “Could you look?” asked Zeke.

  “Sure,” said Amy and walked to the open bathroom door. “Nope,” she called over her shoulder, “I don’t see any of her stuff.”

  “Could she be with your brother, Seth?” asked Zeke.

  “No idea.”

  “Did she have any plans? Did she talk with you about doing anything, going anywhere?”

  Amy seemed pretty mellow and relaxed. No secrets here, thought Zeke.

  “Not really. I think she and Will were taking the summer off. She said something about hitchhiking away from here,” said Amy. “But that was a few days ago.”

  * * *

  “It wasn’t a big deal,” said Oscar. “It was just how we grew up.”

  They were sitting around the wooden table in Oscar’s kitchen, drinking coffee, George, Oscar and Zeke. George looked worse than the last time Zeke had seen him, stooped and with the yellow pallor. Zeke could smell his breath and it smelled like rotting flesh. Oscar sat in his wheelchair with a writing pad on the table before him.

  “A lot has happened since then,” Oscar added.

  “Yeah,” George said. “We just did what everyone else did. We helped out, ya know?”

  Zeke sipped his coffee.

  “So when this happened, we couldn’t help but think it had something to do with the family business,” said Oscar. “We were heavy into numbers and loaning money and boosting cars and some of that kind of stuff in the nineties, but that all changed.”

  “That’s where the money for this house came from,” George said. He paused a moment and took a labored breath. “And for the kids’ school and all.”

  “I probably woulda ended up in the family business if it weren’t for the Towers on 9/11,” said Oscar. “It was like, automatic. You graduate high school and they put you to work. Picking up protection payoffs, moving money for the book and for the numbers. You know.”

  “I can imagine,” said Zeke.

  “Back then, you either became a cop, or you went into the business,” said George. He hadn’t touched his coffee.

  “There was a lotta money in it, though,” Oscar repeated. “It’s how we bought this place, and how we sent the kids to private school. The old mob guys were pretty smart with their money.”

  “They hired the Jews to help them,” said George.

  “Yeah,” said Oscar. “We were headed in that direction. But after 9/11 hit so close to home, well, we joined up. Both of us. The Towers were only 80 miles from here.”

  “And you went to Afghanistan, as a Ranger,” said Zeke, looking at Oscar, then at George, “and you went to Fort Bragg?”

  George nodded.

  “Susie’s fourteen, born in 2002, right?” asked Zeke.

  “Yeah, Carol got pregnant the year after we got married,” said George.

  “Well, I’m glad we found her,” said Zeke.

  “Yeah,” said Oscar, “A few years ago, we would have taken care of this ourselves, ya know?”

  “I know. But I’m glad you asked for my help,” said Zeke.

  “We didn’t want to get the rest of the family involved in it,” wheezed George. “Sometimes they still use a scorched earth approach, when it comes to family problems like this.”

  “Yeah, they can get pretty worked up,” said Oscar.

  “Ask Susie, but I think the phone call, the ransom request that Carol received, was made by Will. Or maybe one of his friends. He and Susie were looking for money to leave town. But they never followed through.”

  “Makes sense,” said George, and then he coughed hard. It took him a minute to recover.

  “What’s your next move with Susie?” asked Zeke.

  “We’ll find her and bring her home, either through Will or Seth or one of his sisters. Now we know where to look and who to put the pressure on,” said Oscar. “Send me a bill, Zeke. We sure appreciate your help with this.”

  “Sure do,” said George, and then he shook his head. “A tattoo on her ass. Jeez.”

  Chapter 12

  Zeke arrived at the Philadelphia airport a couple hours early and suffered through longer-than-average TSA lines. The rest of the flight south was uneventful, and he deplaned in Tampa with little trouble. His carry on bag had been adequate for this short trip.

  An odd family, the Larosa’s, Zeke mused. It’s as if they can’t decide whether to be mobsters or not. One foot in, one foot out.

  The ride back to Marie Island from the airport was pleasant. There was enough cloud cover that Zeke was able to roll the windows down and enjoy the warm Florida breeze. He was on the causeway approaching the island when he dialed Tracy Johnson’s number on his phone.

  Tracy was a Secret Service agent in Atlanta who had worked with Zeke a few months earlier. Along the way they’d found a mutual attraction and were in the beginning of a relationship.

  “Tracy Johnson,” she said, sounding distracted.

  “Tracy, hi, it’s Zeke.”

  “Hello, stranger,” she said with a smile in her voice, her attention now focused. “You’ve been busy, I guess.”

  “I have,” said Zeke. “Spent the past few days running down a missing teenage girl. The family thought she’d been kidnapped, but it turns out that she was hiding from them. All good, now.”

  “In Florida?” she asked.

  “Philly,” he said. “I’m just getting back to the island now.”

  “What’s on your schedule?”

  “You, I hope,” said Zeke. “Any chance you can join me here this weekend?”

  * * *

  At the cottage, Zeke parked his BMW in the garage out of the sun, grabbed his bag and headed inside. He pulled out the smartphone again and looked at the display. Oscar had called, but Zeke wasn’t in a hurry to call him back. He wanted to leave the stink of the Ardmore situation behind. So, instead he set his roller bag on the bed and went to the kitchen and started a small pot of Guatemalan coffee. Then he took a shower and changed into a light shirt and shorts. Barefoot, he poured himself a cup, added some cream and natural sweetener, and took it out on the back deck to sit in the afternoon shade of a palm tree.

  The warm breeze smelled of salt and faintly of cooking fish. Zeke considered a walk to the beach and a fish sandwich for dinner.

  Then, after a minute and a couple of sips of coffee, Zeke dialed Oscar’s number.

  “Oscar,” said Zeke. “I saw that you called. Haven’t listened to the message yet.”

  “Yeah, just wanted to thank you again, man. We caught up with Susie when she went back to Seth’s sisters’ house. She’s fine. Took her home to George and Carol and they’re arranging for some sort of therapy, something like PTSD therapy or something. The doctors said she’s going through a lot for a kid. Said she needs the help.”

  “Was she with Will?” asked Zeke, curious.

  “Yeah, the two of them against the world or something. You know how kids are,” said Oscar.

  No, not really, thought Zeke. Then he said, “I’m glad it worked out, Oscar. Stay in touch and let me know when you get down this way. We’ll go tarpon fishing.”

  * * *

  “That is definitely the most interesting tattoo I’ve seen in a while,” Zeke said to Tracy Johnson. “Small and subtle.” They were lying naked in the king sized bed in Zeke’s beach cottage, under the sheet, her head gently resting on his chest. Their mood was light.

  Tracy giggled.

  “I’ve never heard a Secret Service agent giggle,” continued Zeke, with a smile in his voice. “Do they teach you that?”

  “I’m the exception,” Tracy said. “It comes naturally.”

  “I think you’re just happy,” said Zeke.

  “And you think this beca
use...?”

  “Could be your smile, or it could be that you’re on vacation, which usually makes people happy. Or, it may be because you’re here, on an island, away from work and with me.” He paused. “Hmm, that last bit sounded too conceited. Strike the answer behind door number three.”

  “OK, but you’re certainly a big part of the giggle-factor,” said Tracy. “I’m so glad you called me.”

  Tracy Johnson was based in the counterfeiting section of the Secret Service’s Atlanta office, a fairly unexciting assignment. But she had been an integral part in helping Zeke dismantle a Mexican counterfeiting ring. They had been seeing each other ever since.

  “So, we probably need to hydrate and build up our strength,” said Zeke. “You never know when we might need it.”

  “Probably sooner than you think.”

  “I’ll get you some water.” Zeke stood up. “And you might want to get out to the beach before the sun goes down.” He laughed, pulling on a pair of shorts.

  Although Tracy was in her late twenties, about ten years Zeke’s junior, they fit together with a rightness that was both physical and emotional. They felt comfortable and at ease with each other.

  Tracy was a tall, thin girl with long legs and thick brown hair. Her features were very symmetrical, and they complimented her wide brown eyes. She wore clothing well, carrying herself with good posture and the confident air of an athlete.

  When Zeke had picked her up at the Tampa International Airport, she had been wearing tight jeans cuffed above her low boots, and a loose, light sweater over a black shell. Her only jewelry was a silver chain necklace and a matching bracelet. She wore no rings.

  “Wow,” Zeke had said when he saw her.

  Tracy smiled. “You like?”

  “You bet,” said Zeke. “Nice.” She’s put a lot of effort into this, he thought. She’s definitely still interested.

  Tracy’s makeup was subtle but effective, highlighting her best features: her wide eyes and her full, slightly pouty lips. The color contrasted well with her sweater.

  Zeke had asked, on their way back from the airport, “Are you musical?”

  “I am,” said Tracy with a grin. “I most always have a tune going on in my head. Music makes me happy.”

  “I think you’re amazing,” said Zeke with a smile.

  “What song is that from?” she’d asked, feigning seriousness.

  * * *

  In the kitchen of the cottage, Zeke grabbed two water bottles from the fridge and set one in front of Tracy. He took two tumblers from the cabinet and dropped a couple cubes of ice and a lemon slice in each. Then he set the glasses next to the water bottles.

  “It’s actually better to drink this warm,” he said. “But in Florida, cold water seems to be the preference.”

  “Why warm?” she asked, keeping it going.

  “Well, think about it. Your body, and everything in it, is ninety-eight degrees, right? So if you pour forty-five degree water into your warm stomach, it shocks your system. And if you do it after you eat, the cold water has a tendency to harden any oils you’ve eaten and create fat deposits in your intestines.”

  “Thanks for the graphic,” she said with a mock-sour face. “You know a lot about physiology.” Then she smiled. “And I know that from recent experience.” Tracy was wearing a short blue and white robe. She was barefoot and had pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail. Her posture was still elegant but her attitude was comfortable.

  “I try to keep up,” said Zeke. “My view is that we were all given magnificent computers, our brains, which are better than anything any man has ever invented. And we’ve been given a wonderful housing for it, a self-repairing body that manages itself and maintains its stability for years and years. It heals itself and fights infection and disease. It’s self-regulating and, actually, is quite amazing, don’t you agree?”

  Tracy’s skin was smooth and tight over her well-toned body. She was obviously fit but not muscular. When she moved, it was with a smooth, fluid, natural elegance that added to her attractiveness.

  “Not to mention it’s looking good.” He smiled at Tracy again. “But now I’m talking about you specifically.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she said. Then, “Why does my stomach tighten when I look into your eyes?”

  He smiled at her.

  “It must be your confidence,” she said. “It’s very attractive.”

  “Our brain and our body,” he said, grinning, “they’re remarkable tools. They’re magical. A gift that deserves great care.”

  They drank some water with lemon.

  “What’s next?” asked Tracy.

  “Your choice,” said Zeke, maintaining their connection. “I can go either way.”

  “Well,” said Tracy thoughtfully, “the beach will be there tomorrow. We might show these magical bodies just how much we appreciate them...again.”

  Chapter 13

  “I’ve always been lucky,” said Zeke. He paused a moment, looking for the right words.

  Tracy Johnson was languid, lying on the bed next to him. It was three o’clock in the afternoon and they had just awakened from a light nap.

  Zeke was lying on his back, his hands crossed on the pillow behind his head, staring toward the wood-beam ceiling of his beach cottage.

  “You’re pretty lucky right now,” said Tracy. “But then again, so am I.” She said it with an easy, partially distracted voice, a comment to let him know that she was listening.

  “I am,” he said. “Very lucky.”

  He turned toward Tracy, sort of twisting at his waist to see her better. “Love it when you visit,” he said.

  “Me, too,” said Tracy. “But I’ll have to go back to work in a couple of days.” She shared a fake frown.

  “Back to Atlanta?”

  “Yes.”

  “We don’t have to think about that right now, do we?” he teased.

  She rolled toward him. “Distract me,” she said.

  He shifted and leaned in closer, giving her a soft kiss on the lips. He felt her respond gently, and then a moment later more eagerly.

  They kissed again and then broke it off to allow a moment for breathing.

  “Don’t get me excited again,” purred Tracy, her eyes still closed. “Behave.”

  “If that’s what you want,” said Zeke, smiling. I am lucky, he thought.

  After a moment she said, “Well, you don’t have to stop everything.”

  “Hmm,” he said lightly. “Make up your mind.”

  “I can’t,” she said. “I’m helpless.”

  “It’s OK,” said Zeke. “I won’t take advantage of you.”

  She paused and opened her eyes and smiled at him. “Oh, but I wish you would!”

  * * *

  “It was a valuable lesson,” Zeke said. “It spoke to the Zen of judo.”

  “This was when you were learning?” asked Tracy.

  “Yes, a couple years after my parents died in the explosion. The folks in the marina were taking care of me, home schooling and watching out for me. Eddie had started teaching me judo,” Zeke said quietly.

  “I’m sorry,” said Tracy. “I can’t imagine...”

  “It was a long time ago,” said Zeke.

  “Eddie lived on the sailboat...” she said, changing the subject.

  “Yes, the Ryūha.”

  “Which means?”

  “School, like ‘School of thought’. He was a pretty amazing guy.”

  “It sounds like it. So what was the lesson?” she asked, curious.

  “Well, we used to visit dojo’s in South Florida on the weekends. There were usually matches on Saturday mornings. I was maybe ten or eleven at the time.”

  They were sitting in low beach chairs and looking at the turquoise ocean from the west end of Marie Island where Zeke lived in a rented cottage. Tracy was in a bikini and a cover-up, and Zeke wore Board Shorts and Rainbow flip-flops. The sun was just settling into the horizon.

  “Hmm,” she said
.

  “So the guys I’d fight, some of them were pretty good,” he said. “But they would usually grab your gi by the lapels and try to push you around the floor, to intimidate. They sort of muscled you so they had control.”

  “That’s legal?” she asked.

  “Sure. It’s a competitive sport,” said Zeke. “But Eddie didn’t like that style. Just the opposite. He felt that judo was about using the other guy’s momentum and weight against him.”

  “So if the other guy was pushing or pulling...”

  “Exactly, you’re able to continue his motion, his momentum, and use it against him. Plus manage his balance.”

  “You were good at it,” she said.

  “Well, I had a good teacher. I was taught that instead of trying to muscle the other kid you wait until he makes a move and then continue that move beyond his original intention. In truth, it’s a gentle art.”

  “So what’s the Zen of it?”

  “Well, part of it was the patience, being able to wait and sense what was going to happen next—what your opponent was going to do.”

  “Like feeling his inclinations?” she asked.

  “Sort of. And being confident in your analysis and projection. That was everything, really, knowing where he was going next.”

  “And from there you won a spot on the Olympic team?” she asked.

  “Eventually,” he said, “after a lot of practice.”

  He turned toward her. “Enough reflection. Do you want to get something to eat.”

  “Let’s wait for the green flash,” she smiled. “We’ll see it in a moment.”

  “You like the green flash?” asked Zeke.

  “I do. You taught me about that, so there’s no one to blame...”

  “...but me?” he asked. “Well, if you’re going to be watching the sun disappear into the ocean, you have to know about the green flash.”

  Legend is that the top of the yellow sun disappearing into the blue water causes a momentary flash of green color, before it’s gone for the day.