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Marlins?”
    “They might win a pennant in ten years.”
    “You don’t sound like a baseball fan.”
    “I am, though. That’s the problem.”
    Bernie lowered his voice. “I notice you’re more interested in that gal in the mirror than in what I’m saying.”
    Carver turned to face him, catching a whiff of alcohol fumes. Bernie was drinking bourbon on the rocks and there were three swizzle sticks on the napkin next to his half-full glass. “You know her?”
    “Nope. Just seen her come in a few times.”
    “She ever in here looking for male company?”
    “Nope. Willet’s ain’t what you’d call a meat market. Mostly working folks drop in here, just want to relax and be left alone.”
    “That how she is? A loner?”
    “I think so. Now and then some guy tries to get next to her, but she always sends him away. Polite, though. Seems nice enough.”
    “Ever talk to her yourself?”
    “Not me. She’s too young for me. Anyway, I got this prostate condition, and what it does—”
    “Maybe she likes alcohol too much,” Carver suggested.
    “Doubt it,” Bernie said. “She usually nurses a drink or two along, then she leaves. I think she just wants to come in here and take time out from the world like the rest of us. She don’t play the video games or nothing, and she don’t seem interested in even talking to the other women in here. A person that drinks alone has got problems, usually. It ain’t good. That poor girl’s most likely got problems.”
    “Or is one,” Carver said. He planted the tip of his cane on the tile floor and stood up. “Nice talking to you, Bernie.”
    “Don’t run off. Hang around, friend. I’ll buy you one.”
    “Thanks,” Carver said, “but I gotta get home to the wife.”
    “Hey,” Bernie said, “I know how that goes.”
    Carver laid a ten-dollar bill on the bar. “Next one’s on me, Bernie.”
    “Next two,” Bernie corrected, smiling broadly.
    Carver made for the door.
    He waited outside until Marla left alone, then he followed the Toyota back to the little house on Jacaranda Lane.
    She stayed inside this time, and at 10:27 the lights winked out. He waited another twenty minutes before driving away down the winding street, enjoying the flow of air through the windows.
    Her actions had all seemed innocent enough, he thought. An ordinary woman having an ordinary evening.
    Almost as if she suspected someone other than Joel Brant might be watching her.

5
    C ARVER EASED THE SHOWER handle to cold and waited until his heart might stop before turning off the water. Then he swept the plastic curtain aside and, gripping the towel rack for support, stepped out of the tub and onto a thick, white terry-cloth bath mat. He’d had his therapeutic morning swim in the ocean and he could still feel sand he’d tracked in on the mat beneath his bare feet. With one hand on the washbasin he toweled himself dry, then he quickly shaved, rinsed his disposable razor, and replaced it in the medicine cabinet. He ran a comb through his thick fringe of wet hair then left the bathroom to get dressed.
    He didn’t use his cane when he had fixtures or furniture to hold on to for balance. It had been hooked over the bathroom doorknob. He used it now to cross to the cottage’s screened-off sleeping area, smelling coffee. Beth must have gotten the Braun brewer going.
    After sitting on the bed and working his way into underwear and gray slacks, he put on gray socks, black leather moccasins he didn’t have to contort himself to lace, and a dark green pullover shirt with a collar and pockets. He didn’t like shirts without pockets. He thought they should all be discounted as factory seconds.
    Beth was perched on a stool, leaning with an elbow on the breakfast bar, when Carver limped into the cottage’s main area. She was eating buttered toast and had a cup of coffee poured for him. While he was swimming, she’d showered and dressed. Her hair, straightened long enough ago to have regained much of its