Chapter One
The four men from Chicago wore boat shoes with black socks, khaki shorts and expensive fishing shirts, each with a pocketful of cigars. They sipped hot black coffee and warmed their hands on the Styrofoam cups as the boat idled down the narrow canal. The gurgling beats of the big outboard motor echoed from the stilted houses, quiet at this early hour.
Captain Jordy Bennett spoke to them for the first time since they left his dock “Take your caps off or you’ll lose them overboard. And watch your coffee.”
They reached the open water of Blackwater Sound and Jordy leaned hard on the throttle. The motor roared, lifting the twenty-foot Cobia to a smooth ride. The men from Chicago held tight to the gunnels. Most of the coffee was on the deck in little brown rivulets seeking the nearest bilge.
The water was dark and opaque this time of morning, and the wake of the Cobia was white on black. Every kind of cumulus cloud was stacked over Key Largo behind them and the sun was poking fingers through the gray masses. Ahead to the west it was clear.
Jordy stood as always to drive his boat, his head above the windshield and the roar of the wind in his ears. He was oblivious to those who were aboard riding the tail of the whirlwind. Soon they were at the Boggies, a hidden creek at the far edge of the mangroves that circled the sound. Once through, they broke into the silence and immensity of the endless world of backcountry.
Listen now to one hundred and fifty horses. It is the first day of September in the tropics, still summer, but it is cool and exciting on the bay and along the shoreline of the Everglades. The motor’s roar is muffled by morning. The channels unfurl like ribbons. Jordy spins the wheel and turns the boat and they are like a bobsled, racing through long light green runs and around them are brown flats only inches deep, but with life movement all about. Finger mullet and shrimp, chased by predators, probably barracuda and jack, create patches of nervous water on the glassy surface.
It was a good time for thinking, trying to assess his feelings regarding the phone call. He couldn’t quite remember how it went, although it happened only nine hours ago. What did he say? What did she say?
~
The phone call—the call that would change the course of a great many lives—came at ten o’clock.
Jordan Bennett had retired early, knowing that his cerebral alarm would wake him at five-thirty, no matter what time he went to bed. Tomorrow would be a busy day. A party of four would arrive at seven o’clock, excited and ready for a day of fishing the shallow waters of Florida Bay with Captain Jordy.
That day he hadn’t gone fishing. Jordy had stayed busy writing newspaper articles and tinkering with his poetry until the time he eased into his spacious bed, naked under a cool white sheet. Although it was late summer in the Upper Keys,he rarely used his air conditioner. Jordy preferred his windows open wide to the breeze that came off the Gulf Stream, across the reefs, through the palms and into his bedroom. Before falling asleep he had inhaled the fragrances that came with that southeast wind, a mixture of bougainvillea and night-blooming jasmine and frangipani and decayed seaweed at low tide. He listened as the Australian pines whistled softly in the breeze, scraping their needles gently across the little house like a de-clawed cat at a screen door.
Jordy again thanked God that he had found the courage to drop out of the world of big business and the constant battle for the buck at any cost, including the disregard of integrity, honesty and even friendship. In Jordy’s eyes, America worshipped ambition so much that all trampling of values were forgiven. He was no longer a part of it, and he fell asleep in peace.
The only light came from a dock lamp further up the canal and a lop-sided moon, almost full. The ceiling fan ticked softly, stirring the air that came from the sea.
The jangle of the telephone was a harsh intrusion into Jordy’s absolute tranquility. He was tempted to let the damn thing ring until it quit, but he succumbed to curiosity and reached for the receiver.
~
Seven hundred miles away, the finger that dialed Jordy’s number belonged to Rob Conn, who once had worked for the Jordan Bennett Development Company in Atlanta. Across the room Cassie Barrineau watched. There was excitement in the air at the old beach house on the South Carolina coast. A rare southwest wind brought the briny smell of oyster beds across the moonlit marsh and into the rustic great room.
Cassie had been widowed for five years. After the death of her husband, she had taken over Barrineau Industries and tripled the size of the company. But after thirty years in the unexciting business of providing temporary help and services for the manufacturing industry, she was tired. She especially was tired of the last few years in the corporate world; tired of men hitting on her for her money or her connections to people of power; tired of the obligatory black Cadillac sedan and the tailored suits. She yearned for a man who cared not about those material things, but a man who cared for her as a woman.
It had been an eventful day. Cassie had flown in the company plane from Columbia in the middle of the state to the coast to visit her new friend Bebe Thompson. She met Bebe earlier in the summer at a pool party at the governor’s mansion. They became immediate friends and Bebe and her husband Rick invited Cassie for the weekend at their summer cottage on Pawleys Island.
There Cassie met Bebe’s daughter Tammy and her husband Rob Conn, who had come from Atlanta for a week at the beach. The three ladies spent half the day on the beach and the other half browsing in the Hammock Shops. Cassie invited her friend Buck Tillman to dinner. It would round out the group with the Thompsons and Conns.
Buck had been told to dress casual, and his best effort was to wear a white dress shirt, unbuttoned at the top. His tee shirt showed under his rather large Adam’s apple. Buck was a magistrate in Myrtle Beach—a small town widowed judge who had no time for style.
Back at the cottage after dinner, Buck saw that no one was suggesting an after-dinner drink, so he said his goodbyes and left in his big Buick station wagon.
The five who remained immediately popped the corks on two bottles of chilled Chardonnay and sipped and hooted and hollered about the evening. The group decided that Buck was a dud. Bebe was more specific when she said he was a puke. Cassie tended to agree.
Suddenly Rob jumped to his feet. “Oh Lordy, Miss Cassie, I have just the fellow for you!”
“Don’t do me any favors, Rob,” Cassie said. “That’s precious of you, but I have lots of boyfriends.”
“Please listen to me,” Rob pleaded. “He’s single and he’s handsome.”
“Well, shut my mouth. Do go on.” Cassie’s eyes, blue as the sky on a clear winter day, were sparkling.
“His name is Jordan Bennett, but everybody calls him Jordy. He started a business to rescue distressed real estate projects. I worked for him in Atlanta.”
Rob stopped to gulp half of a second glass of wine. His hand was in the air to prevent interruptions.
“Jordy made lots of money before he dropped out of the business world. I was his purchasing agent. All his employees loved him. He's a gruff kind of fellow, but he believed if you couldn’t have fun doing something, then the hell with it.”
Rob hadn’t lowered his hand, but he had the group’s full attention.
“I heard he’d retired to the upper Florida Keys where he always took his vacations, fishing in the back country. So now he’s a fishing guide. Last year I searched him out because my boss wanted to take his yacht to the Keys and go fishing with a guide.”
Bebe grimaced. “Rob, Cassie doesn’t want a common fishing guide.”
“No ma’am, there ain’t nothing common about Jordy. I think he got his captain’s license so he could write off his fishing hobby on his taxes. Oh yeah, he owns a weekly newspaper. He’s a writer; I’ve seen a book of poetry he wrote.”
Now Rick grimaced. “Poetry?”
“Rick, he’s a man’s man. You’ll like him. Miss Cassie, you’ve got to meet him. I guarantee you won’t be bored. The five of us could fly down and go fishing with Captain Jordy.” Rob was pleading his case. The prize could be a free fishing trip.
Cassie thought of her aversion to blind dates, none of which had worked out very well, and then she thought “to hell with it.” She laughed. “Let’s call him.” Her inhibitions were disappearing as fast as the wine in her glass.
Suddenly there were five mischievous conspirators gathered around the phone stand. Four of them were in it for the laughs. Rob was serious, composing his introduction carefully, already smelling the salt air as he fished for free. He counted the rings and hoped that Jordan Bennett would pick up the phone.
Jordy sat on the edge of the bed, mind alert. A late phone call could not be a happy event. If it was his daughter in trouble, he could deal with it. If it was his ex-wife or a wrong number, he could offer the subtle sarcasm that comes with a sharp mind.
“Hello?”
“Hey Cap’n, this is Rob.”
“Rob who?” Jordy knew damn well who it was, and it didn’t please him to be talking to his ex-employee.
“Aw man, you know me…Rob Conn.”
“Did you talk your boss into bringing your free-loading ass down here for some more fishing?”
Rob put his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone and suggested that the group give him a little privacy. “He needs warming up. I think he was asleep. Give me a minute and he’ll be delighted I called.”
They backed away. Maybe this wasn’t the greatest idea.
“Jordy, Jordy. This is your lucky day.”
“It’s night, you idiot. Late night.”
“Well, are you gonna be happy I called. I have just met the woman that you need in your life.”
“Did you tell her I fired you?”
“That was the greatest thing that ever happened, boss. I remember you told me I was a ship without a rudder. You helped me get the job I have now, which suits my skills.”
“So you’re a suck-up to an idiot who has too much money.”
“Cap’n Jordy, you’re being awfully mean to one of your biggest fans.”
Jordy softened. “I know it, Rob. I’m sorry. Come on down, I’d love to see you.”
Rob cleared his throat and took on a conspiratorial tone. “Boss, look, I’m here at this party and I’ve met an amazing lady. She’s very pretty, she’s in your age bracket, she’s a widow, and I think you two would hit it off very well.” Rob cupped his hand over the phone to make sure those present didn’t hear, and said, “Jordy, she’s rich and she’s got a nice body. You’ll love her.”
“Rob, do you know how many calls I get a month from my friends all over the world who have a ‘rich and beautiful widow lady’ for me to meet? Too many. Goodnight, pal. I have a charter tomorrow.”
“Wait! I want you to talk to her. She’s a true Southern belle. I know you’re from Atlanta and you love that stuff. If you like her and want to meet her, the five of us can fly down in her plane and do a little fishing while you two get to know each other.”
“Five? You know damn well I only take four in my boat.”
Jordy had searched months for the perfect boat for his kind of fishing. He had named it Dropout. Plenty of open space and high gunnels to give a safe feeling. A walk-through windshield provided access to a small forward deck for fishing. A big outboard moved the Dropout quickly through the channels of the backcountry to reach the remote areas of the south shore of the Everglades and the north waters of Florida Bay. Everything worked just fine with four guests and one captain.
“And besides, I don’t do blind dates.”
Jordy painfully remembered the last such event. His college buddy Doug, a television producer in Miami, had come fishing and brought his wife and their friend Peggy. A news anchor person at the Miami station, Peggy was single and attractive and on the hunt.
It was a perfect day of fishing and fun, but it was clear that Jordy’s friend was into matchmaking. During the day, Doug revealed privately that Peggy had a form of inoperative cancer. Maybe it was out of pity or maybe because of his buddy’s urging, but Jordy accepted an invitation for dinner the next night at her home in Coral Gables. The scene played again in his mind.
Peggy serves him a wonderful meal and then wastes no time after dinner with foreplay. She takes his hand and leads him into her bedroom, undresses both of them swiftly and pulls him into her bed. For the first time in his life, Jordy is unable to achieve an erection. It is a nightmare. She has small breasts with very large nipples. Her body is lean and tan and appears very healthy. She is almost frantic in her attempts with her hands and her mouth. He knows that she is thinking he is repulsed by her disease but that is not a factor. He simply lacks a sexual attraction for this woman who came into his life by arrangement rather than selection. Jordy dresses silently, offers lame and awkward apologies, and drives back to the Keys in the chill of the night. Lying sleepless, he vows never to get into that situation again.
“Here she is, Jordy. Her name is Catherine Barrineau, but we call her Cassie. Cassie, this is Jordy,” and then Rob was gone.
Outside a hoot owl softly hooed, sounding like his battery was running low. A breeze pushed in with a slight smell of rain, a welcome smell in the tropics. Jordy thought of hanging up, but he was a Southern gentleman. He would stay and work his way out of this one without hurting anyone’s feelings.
“Well, hello Jordan Bennett. Can I call you Jordy? Everybody calls me Cassie. I’m so sorry we woke you up. I never dreamed you’d be asleep but then I didn’t look at the clock. It’s after ten, isn’t it? This is just too silly and I want to hang up the phone but that would be rude now that we went this far. How are you?”
The accent was deeply Southern. He was used to the Atlanta version, where the men sounded genteel and versed in Southern tradition, Rhett Butlers all, and the women talked too fast and too nasally, especially the younger ones. Her voice was maple syrup and brown sugar and that resonant bottom string on the violin.
“Nice to meet you, Cassie. I hope Rob hasn’t been telling you the truth about me. If he does, I’ll sue him for malicious slander.”
“Well, he has been carrying on about how good a fisherman you are.”
“Do you like to fish?”
“I adore it. My daddy took me fishing a lot when I was growing up. I think he liked it ‘cause I didn’t mind baiting the hook, whether it was a worm or a minnow or whatever. And I took my own fish off the hook, I might add. I haven’t had a lot of time in the last twenty years, but I managed a few trips. In fact, things have been so busy around the business that I don’t see any way I could get down there in the near future.”
She dropped to a whisper. “I didn’t want to tell Rob, though. He is dying to go down there.”
“Well, the fishing is not the best this time of the year, and it can get pretty hot out in the backcountry.”
“Tell me about this backcountry business. What kind of fishing is that all about?”
Jordy poked a pillow in to a more comfortable backrest. “The fishing’s about sea trout and redfish and snook and big mangrove snappers. The setting is what makes it special. Florida Bay is a half million acres of shallow water between the Keys and the mainland of Florida. It takes me almost an hour to run my boat to where I like to fish. These are big remote salt water lakes in the Everglades National Park. It’s a world where you almost never see another human, but you’ll see bald eagles and roseate spoonbills and white pelicans and all sorts of endangered creatures.”
“My goodness, no wonder you retired there. Have you ever been to South Carolina?”
“Yes ma’am, but only for eight weeks of basic training at Fort Jackson in Columbia. It was in July and August, and the temperature stayed above a hundred.”
“Now, that doesn’t count. Our state has everything, from the mountains to our great rivers to the lowcountry, where I am now."
Jordy, unaware that he was in transit from being polite to being interested, turned on the bedside lamp. “You didn’t know backcountry and I don’t know lowcountry.”
“You’d love it, I know you would. Our coastline is all barrier islands, and inside those islands are tidal marshes that stretch forever. We can get wonderful oysters and crabs and clams and big fat shrimp. And we can catch some of the same fish you do, like sea trout and redfish—only we call them winter trout and spottail bass. And we catch flounder.”
"I guess flounder don't like warm water; we dont't see them down here."
The conversation continued for another five minutes, with Cassie asking about the weather and apologizing again for the lateness, and Jordy asking about the well-being of Rob and his wife.
"Well, nice talking to you, uh, Cassie. Can you put Rob back on the phone?"
Rob took the phone and made a little prayer. “Well, Cap’n, what do you think?”
“I don't think so, Rob. Maybe you can get your group down to four, and then call me during regular hours when I can see my calendar. Your friend Cassie sounds nice, but I don't think your plan will work. Good night."
Rob hung up the phone, his mind racing with a plan to talk his wife out of the trip, reducing the group to four. He would need Rick and Bebe along to provide transportation and pick up the checks. "I think he's really interested," he lied to the waiting group.
“Well, shut my mouth and I do declare!” Cassie exclaimed. “He sounds precious. Y’all, we’ve got to do that trip!”
Jordy cradles the phone, turns off his lamp and settles into his bed. He hears his friend Bully Boy, the great blue heron who rules his dock, squawk warnings to an intruding snowy egret. A quietness settles upon him as he reviews the phone call. “What the hell was that?” he asks the dark room.
