I sipped. It burned my lips but I hoped that it would sear away the lipstick. "I learned a couple things."
"I'll bet you did."
She was probably only ribbing me, but there was something in her tone and in the set of her jaw that allowed me to imagine that maybe, just possibly she was jealous. The idea thrilled me but I didn't have the nerve to test it. I stuck to the detective stuff. "Seems she's running Lefty's businesses now."
"Ah."
For a moment I was stumped as to how to continue. Ocean sounds came through hidden speakers and I had a faint and false sensation of the trawler rocking. Then, suddenly, I knew the real reason I'd needed to come here and what I had to say. I was still casting about for a tactful way to bring it up, when I heard myself blurt out, "Look, since yesterday I've had this shitty feeling that you know more than you're telling me."
Maggie rearranged her legs; her foot bumped against a stair. In anyone else this would have seemed a negligible fidget, barely noticeable, but it was such a violation of the yoga teacher's bodily precision that I found it painful to behold. She looked down at the floor, then up at me again. "You're right."
I blew out some air and leaned forward with my elbows on my knees. "So tell me."
"I'm not sure that I can. Kenny made me promise not to tell anyone."
"Kenny's dead."
"Still, it was a promise." Her calm gray eyes narrowed just a bit; her voice caught and I thought maybe she would start to cry. "A promise to a friend."
Weirdly, my throat closed down in turn. Not in honor of Kenny Lukens or even in sympathy with Maggie's affection for him. No, what put secret tears behind my eyes was something more selfish and helpless and embarrassing to admit. Hurt feelings, pure and simple. "A friend," I echoed. "Very loyal. Very nice. He was a friend. So what am I? Unpaid help? Someone you use to—"
She cut me off, but very quietly. Her lips seemed infinitely careful as they formed the words, "I don't know what you are, Pete. Or what I want you to be. I've been trying for days to figure it out. Can't you see that?"
Some detective. I hadn't seen it, and my lack of seeing now shut my mouth and pinned me where I sat. I stared at Maggie. The light was soft and she was very tan but still I thought I saw her flush. I imagined the warmth climbing up her neck and throbbing at the tender place behind her ears. We were maybe six feet from each other, and I think there was a moment when I might have wafted up from the settee and taken her in my arms and we might have become lovers then and there. But the moment passed before I quite believed in it.
When Maggie spoke again, it was in a tone that was trying real hard to be businesslike. "What I haven't told you," she said, "is that someone found Kenny on Green Turtle Cay. Someone, maybe, from that water sports place."
I sat still and waited for more.
"Small world down here," she said. "Guys get rock fever. They get tired of drinking in Key West, they jump in a skiff and go drinking in the Bahamas. Same life, different island for a while."
"And one of these guys," I said, "just happened to show up at the bar where Kenny was working?"
"Seems that way. Maybe it was just bad luck. More likely he'd been looking for him. Who knows? But it was someone who'd been a regular at Lefty's. He recognized Kenny before Kenny saw him and could bolt."
"They talked?"
"The guy talked at Kenny. He was very drunk. He kept going back and forth between making threats and trying to cut a deal."
"A deal?"
"He told Kenny that Lefty still wanted to have him killed. But he had no loyalty to Lefty. He hated Lefty. He just wanted what was in the pouch. For himself. Said he'd pay ten thousand dollars for it. Said that was way more than it was worth to Kenny anyway."
"And Kenny said?"
"Kenny said nothing. Kenny wouldn't even admit that he was Kenny. He claimed he didn't know what the guy was talking about. Claimed he'd never been in Key West in his life." She shook her head and gave a sad, small laugh. "You know Kenny."
"No," I pointed out, "I don't know Kenny."
"A terrible liar," she said. "But he kept on trying."
"So this guy—"
"Got drunker. Scrawled the Key West number on a matchbook and told Kenny to call and just leave his name when he wanted an easy ten grand. But then he got more threatening, like he'd decided he better take care of Kenny then and there. Kenny was terrified. Went to fetch ice and just kept going. Out the back door, to his dinghy. Sailed off to a different island and never went back."
"But kept the phone number," I said. "Did he ever call this guy?"