Daiquiri Dock Murder Read Online Free PDF Page B

to see my car again. Hope the cops haven’t ordered it towed away from some no parking zone.”
    “No tow-away danger. Spoke to some friends. I left it in a legit parking slot. Pays to have friends in the right places. Thought you might rather have the car near the Harbor Walk instead of at the hotel—in case the police come searching for it—or you.”
    “That’s a possibility?”
    “Could be. You never know. It pays to be on guard.”
    Kane drove slowly along the bumps and narrowness of Elizabeth Street to the area once claimed by shrimpers for their shrimp docks. “I haven’t worked here all that long, but the old-timers say that before Henry Singleton died and his heirs sold the Key West Bight to the city, they could walk from Elizabeth Street to Grinell on the decks of the hundreds of shrimp boats anchored in the bight. But no more.”
    “Things change, Kane. Face it. The bight’s now Key West’s Historic Seaport District. I can empathize with the commercial shrimpers forced to move on and find new waters to work, and I’m glad you talked the city into letting you stay.”
    “It hasn’t been the same, Rafa, being the only shrimp boat captain in the area. Believe me. Not the same at all. Sure, I still make my living shrimping, but I had to agree to open The Buccaneer to tourists and school groups on Wednesdays as an historic attraction. Shoots my Wednesdays all to hell. First I have to clean the boat up to get ready for guests, then I have to clean up again after they leave. And the after-guests-leave cleanup is the worst.”
    “Hey, there’s the Prius.” I stopped Kane’s rant when I saw my car. Although Kane could remember little of the ‘old days,’ he hated seeing government swallow the freedom of the common worker. He parked his truck in a palm-shaded space reserved especially for him, and we walked back to my car. Opening the driver’s door, I slid under the wheel, turned to inspect the rear seats, opened the glove box.
    “Everything’s as I left it, Kane.” I smiled at him. “Thanks for taking care of it for me.”
    “That’s the sexiest thing you do, Rafa.”
    “What are you talking about? I didn’t do a thing.”
    “Not a thing except smile at me. Your smile is one of my favorite things. It’s like the sun roof in a car—lights up the whole area, especially my heart.”
    “Thank you for being so sweet. It’s nice to know something about me pleases you.”
    “Your smile’s not the only thing. Want to hear more?”
    Now I felt self-conscious every time I smiled, but I smiled at him again. “Not now, okay? I might get a big head. Let’s go on to your boat, okay? I try to forget all the glitz and glamour around it. It’s still just my favorite shrimp boat.”
    “Glad to know that.”
    “As a child the shrimp docks fascinated me. There was the unique smell, of course, but after a few deep breaths, I got used to that. Gulls swooped and dived. Watchbird pelicans perched, statue silent as they guarded dock pilings and waited for handouts. White boats trimmed in black dotted the sea, their riggings pointing skyward like dark swords. We lost an interesting scene when the shrimp fleet left Key West.”
    “You’re good at painting word pictures.”
    Today, The Buccaneer lay moored beside the last of the sleek sailboats. I could imagine their captains looking down their noses at a smelly shrimp boat. Kane’s boat floated many yards from the seawall and Kane strode toward it. I followed him onto the swaying catwalk, grabbing the security line on my right for support.
    When we reached his boat, Kane boarded in one quicksilver movement, then turned to give me a hand while I stepped over the gunwale onto the gray deck. I’ve never been a sailor at heart, and the roll of the boat even while secured in its slip made me feel unsettled and vulnerable. Shadows of running clouds plunging us from shade to light and back to shade again left me off balance and I looked at the horizon hoping for