The Naked Detective(73)

Still, I was glad to have this single flashy item for my scrapbook. It would preempt any hassles I might have with the IRS. Not a real private eye? Oh yeah? Well, suck on this! Then again, my music room had been destroyed. Speakers shot out, carpet stained with gore. Repairs would just about erase what I'd saved in taxes. Some might call that justice.

Rather goadingly, I thought, Maggie waved the paper in my face. "You're going to get a lot more work from this," she said.

"Oh no, I'm not," I vowed.

She raised an eyebrow, then refolded the paper and put it aside. Something in the gesture made me sad; for a moment I didn't know why. Then I did. It somehow made me think of Kenny Lukens, with his mildewed clipping from a long-forgotten paper; his clipping and his desperation and his tattered dream. Dreams sometimes made people reckless. Things got out of hand and people needed help. And you weren't immune from being asked for help just because you happened to be naked in the hot tub. Would Kenny Lukens be alive if I had helped him sooner? Would I?

I looked up at the poinciana tree. It was coming into leaf just as its shade was needed most. Sometimes things worked out, happened in their proper season.

Distracted, I didn't notice Maggie moving until she was nestled up against me. I felt her arm, her flank. Under water, her body had no temperature, just a smoothness and an almost fluffy buoyancy. She threw a leg across my thighs. I leaned my cheek against her short damp hair. She'd told me that you learned to see things through by seeing them through, that finishing was just a habit. I wanted to believe it. She and I had something left to finish, after all. Though at that moment, for the first time in what felt like many days, there seemed to be no hurry.