Author: Robyn Carr

“You’re still here,” Mac observed.

He took another swallow of beer and shook his head. “Feels like unfinished business around here. I find out something new every day, but half the time it leaves me with more questions.”

“About his death?”

“About his life,” Cooper said. “How’d he make ends meet? He bought deli food from the deli, but he didn’t mark it up....”

“I think Carrie gave him a break,” Mac said. “He bought all his supplies, including liquor, from big-box stores and I bet he made a decent profit on that. I mean, there was no rent, right?”

“He took care of things. Of people. I have Rawley working again, for now.”

Mac grew serious for a moment, then put a firm hand on his back, as if to say thanks.

“I ran into a kid on the beach today who was Ben’s friend, so he says,” Cooper went on. “Ben’s created a habitat for those birds on the point. I feel like I should find out what Rawley needs before I leave. Like I owe it to Ben. I wonder, though...he took care of people but everything is broken down to the point of falling apart. How’d he live?”

“I don’t think making money was ever a priority of Ben’s, but don’t quote me. You probably know more about his business than I do. Than any of us do.”

“Well, he didn’t have much money, for one thing. And didn’t worry about it, from what I can figure out. Why didn’t he give that place to someone else? Why didn’t he give it to the town?”

Mac laughed. He took a pull on his beer. “The town would’ve sold it. Like I said, there are people in town who like things the way they are—simple. Then there are people who think a big business on the bay would be good for the town.”

“What do you think?” Cooper asked.

He gave a lame shrug. “I think a big business, like a golf resort or something, would turn us into a town full of busboys, waiters, maids and valets. I think it would put Carrie’s deli, the Pizza Hut and the diner out of business. But it could help the chamber of commerce and commercial fishermen, especially if we ended up with a five-star restaurant at that resort. You want to know what I’m talking about? Drive up to Bandon Dunes. People come from all over the world to stay there, play golf there, hold events from business conferences to weddings there. It’s really something. Very high-class. There’s a lot good about it. And the help comes from Bandon.”

“It’s work....”

“And not to be taken lightly,” Mac admitted.

“It could help the local economy,” Cooper said. “Increase the value of your property.”

“It could,” Mac said. “You’ve been here about a week. Have you told anyone about Ben’s will?”

“I might’ve mentioned I was responsible for the bait shop, but you’re the only one with the details. You and Rawley.”

“Well, Rawley doesn’t talk. People are already assuming things that are probably true—like that you own it. And you could sell it.”

“There’s still a little legal wrangling to be done,” Cooper said. “I don’t have to hang around for that, though.”

“Why are you still here?”

“As near as I can explain, I want to understand Ben’s intentions, if I can. That doesn’t mean I’m planning to meet his expectations—maybe I just can’t. But I owe it to the guy to see if I can figure them out before I make a plan.”

Mac glanced over his shoulder, glanced back and said, “Well, get ready to make a plan, Cooper. Incoming...”

Almost before he finished his sentence, a woman appeared. She was at least fifty-five, but trying to look thirty-five. Her suit was some kind of satiny red material, low cut to reveal her cleavage. The miniskirt exposed legs that were short, and her pumps were high, very high. Hair bleached blond, of course. Nails, long and red. She wasn’t dressed for church; in fact, she’d look pretty at home with a pole to swing around.

“Well, Mac, how are you?” she said, leaning toward the deputy for a cheek press and kiss-kiss. “And who is your friend?”

“Ray Anne, meet Cooper. Cooper, this is Ray Anne. Cooper was a friend of Ben’s.”

Her face crumpled on cue. “Oh, Cooper, I’m so sorry for your loss. Ben will be greatly missed.”

“Thank you. Pleased to meet you,” he said. But he knew beyond a doubt that Ben didn’t have a relationship with this woman. In contrast, he had understood Ben’s relationship with Rawley almost immediately.

There were a few minutes of chat, Ray Anne asking after Lou and the kids, wondering if any progress had been made on that traffic light in town. Did Mac hear anything about a “domestic situation” involving Charlie and Donna? To which Mac replied, “No, was there a situation?”

Without answering, she turned to Cooper. “I heard a friend of Ben’s was in town. How is everything out at his place?”

“A wreck,” Cooper said. “I’m exploring ways to deal with it.”

“Well, if you need any help, feel free to call.”

A business card appeared; she was a Realtor. Apparently, the woman knew sleight of hand. That card must have been in her hand the whole time, yet had remained invisible until her strike. Cooper looked at it briefly, looked back at Ray Anne, smiled and said, “Thank you.”

“I know every good contractor in the area, no matter what you need—paint, flooring, structure damage, anything...”

She knew everything. “Mold removal?” he asked.

“Yes!” she said, beaming. She tapped the hand that held the card. “Just give me a call. That’s my cell. Anytime!”

“Appreciated,” he said. The grouper arrived.

“There’s your dinner,” she said. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around town. Take care. And let me know if there’s anything you need, Hank. Always more than happy to help a friend.”

Mac and Cooper turned to their identical dinners. Cooper took a bite. “This is good,” he said.

“Told ya,” Mac returned.

“So, she knows everything. She probably knows my social security number. You introduced me as Cooper, but she called me Hank. I’d bet she knows the acreage on Ben’s place.”

“That would be my guess,” Mac said.

Cooper ate a little more grouper. “And I bet I could get laid for a couple hundred acres.”

Mac turned toward him and, with the slightest smile, said, “You can get laid for just talking about it.”

Cooper tried not to laugh, as Ray Anne was still working the room, taking a run on the bar, then stopping off at tables. “This common with her?”

“I think so,” Mac said, eating more of his dinner. “You’re the first newcomer we’ve had around here in a while, however.”

“You ever, um, experienced that?”

“The attention? Or the payoff?” Mac asked.

“Well, since we’re sharing confidences...”

“Cooper, I work in this town. My kids go to school here, my aunt’s a teacher here. Lou’s known Ray Anne a long time. In a word, no. I have truly dense areas in my brain, but not that dense. Really, she’s not my style. I never did have a mother fixation.”

“I never had a mother who looked like that,” Cooper said.

They ate in silence and by the time Cooper pushed away his plate, Ray Anne had left the restaurant. “So, Mac, did the family desert you tonight?” he asked.

Mac sat back. “Not exactly. It’s Lou’s bunco night with some good friends from Coquille and she’ll be out late. I picked up a pizza for the kids and ran for my life.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “I stood at the door, threw it in and said I’d be home in two hours. They jumped on it like starving hounds.”

“Two whole hours?” Cooper asked with a laugh.

“I have to check homework. If I don’t check homework, Lou’s on me like a cheap suit.”

“Checking homework. That can’t be so bad.”

“You checked homework lately, pal?”

“Whose homework do you think I’d check?”

“Well, that’s not the point, Cooper. The point is, it’s torture. If I were in school now, I wouldn’t have graduated sixth grade. In short, I’d rather give up a nut. But that’s the price of fatherhood.”

* * *

Lou stood in front of the bathroom mirror in only her panties, gently lifting her breasts. Then she took a side view and sighed. Although they were small, she felt they drooped to an unflattering degree; they used to be perky. She let them go. Then with her fingers gently pulling at her cheeks, back toward her ears, she wondered for the millionth time if she could look ten years younger with a face-lift.

“Lou, come back,” Joe called from the bedroom.

I’m not greedy, she thought. Just ten years.

She sighed again and went back to the bedroom. Joe Metcalf was fifty and, besides being handsome, he was in terrific shape. George Clooney shape. He was strong as an ox, wide-shouldered, flat-bellied, with long legs, big wonderful hands and beautiful teeth. As she approached the bed, he turned off the TV and opened his arms. “What were you doing in there?” he asked, his lips going immediately to her neck.

“We call it freshening up,” she said, tilting her head back to give him more of her neck.

“I bet you were brooding.”

“Now why would you say that?” she asked, pulling back.

“Because it’s something you tend to do. I think all our problems would be solved if you brought me out of the closet. Why are you keeping me a secret, Lou? Why am I still ‘bunco night’?”

She hesitated. It was so complicated. Mostly it was his age—ten years younger. Even though his hair would be gray if he grew it out, with that shaved head, he could pass for forty-five. “I don’t want the kids to feel vulnerable, to feel like my attention could be sliding away from them.”

“It won’t, Lou. We’ll spend whatever time together is reasonable for you. I have kids, too.”

“Yours are on their own.”

“Thank God,” he said with a sigh. He rolled onto his back but he kept an arm around her. Joe was the divorced father of a son and daughter, twenty-five and twenty-three, respectively. “They still have way too many needs, however. A wallet drain.”

“They’ll be married with children before you know it,” Lou said. “And so will mine. And I’ll feel like a great-grandmother. Oh, my God.” She dropped her head onto his naked shoulder.

He laughed at her and his hand found her ass. “Best-looking great-grandmother in the state, maybe the country.”

She lifted her head, messy red-gold curls flopping around. “When you’re seventy I’ll be eighty. Eighty.”

“Christ, like you’re screwing a nineteen-year-old. I hope I live to seventy. I can’t wait to see what you bring to eighty!”

Lou and Joe had met through an online dating service. They made a date for coffee and he looked, well, mature. When she asked, “How old are you?”, he answered, “How old do you want me to be?” She had answered, “Fifty-nine,” and he said, “Consider it done.”

It was weeks before she learned the truth. She thought he just looked damn good for his age, which men had an annoying tendency to do. It had been programmed that way by the world—men became distinguished while women faded and aged.

He’d been divorced for ten years, had tried dating from time to time but nothing really clicked and he wanted to meet someone he had things in common with who would join him for movies, dinner, social things. Oh, he liked to eat, went to movies seldom, but... “Okay, the truth? I wanted to have sex again before I died. With someone I liked.”