Christmas in Key West. Cynthia Thomason

“Huey’s cost the city enough for one day.” He glared at the man. “You haul this trash down to the sanitation site after it cools, or call the junk dealer to come take it away. You hear me?”

      “I’m not deaf, Reese,” he snapped. “Just pissed off, and that doesn’t affect my hearing.”

      “I’m just making myself clear,” Reese said. “I’m stopping back this afternoon to see that you’ve started cleaning this toxic mess up. And if it isn’t all gone in two days, I’ll slap you with another fine.”

      “That doesn’t surprise me.”

      Reese got in his cruiser and headed to the station. He’d missed breakfast, but that wasn’t the main reason he was already thinking about lunch. He’d made up his mind to go to Phil’s Pirate Shack on Caroline Street. Hopeful about talking to Loretta Vernay, he could also order a grouper sandwich to go.

      EVERY TIME A CUSTOMER opened the door at Phil’s, a grease-smeared plastic pirate’s head hanging on a hook over the entrance cut loose with a squawky rendition of “Ho, Ho, Ho and a Bottle of Rum.” Reese entered the establishment at noon and glanced around at the usual crowd of locals who knew this was the place for the best seafood on the island. And unlike many of the restaurants in town, the prices were fair.

      A few customers hollered at him, mostly construction workers building or remodeling ever-expanding resort hotels, or guides and charter operators from the area’s marinas. These were guys for whom the fresh-catch scent at the Pirate Shack was cologne. Reese walked over to a table where the two mechanics from Burkett’s Paradise Marina were chowing down on fish and chips. “How’s everything going?” he asked the men.

      “Wouldn’t do any good to complain,” Bill MacKenzie said. He scooted a chair away from the table with the toe of his work boot, indicating Reese should join them.

      He waved off the invitation. “I’m getting a takeout,” he said.

      Bill took a swallow from a long-necked beer bottle. “We wanted your father to eat with us, but your mom asked him to pick out some fabric for curtains or something.”

      Reese chuckled. His mother was always doing something to their Gulf-side stilt house—a fact that made Frank Burkett cringe. At this stage in his life, Reese’s dad was basically content with a comfortable recliner and a television. The marina had provided a good living for the family since he’d resigned as a cop and opened the business twenty years earlier. And his wife was a major reason for that success. Ellen Burkett was an excellent manager.

      “You guys enjoy your lunch,” Reese said, scanning around the restaurant for Loretta. He spied her coming out of the kitchen with a platter of food skillfully balanced on her hand. Reese smiled at her. He didn’t know Loretta’s age, but he figured her for around fifty, sixteen years older than he was. She looked good. Kept her short hair a light blond, her figure trim and appealing.Alot of women who’d lived most of their lives in the unforgiving island sun showed the effects of ultraviolet rays in creases around their eyes and lips, as well as scars from skin cancer treatments. Not Loretta. Reese guessed she must have a closet full of wide-brimmed hats. And he knew for certain that she was one Vernay who would always have a smile for him.

      She gestured with her free hand. “Be with you in a minute, Reese.”

      He propped his foot on the empty chair and talked with his friends until she was free. When she approached, her order pad at the ready, he led her away from the others.

      “What can I get you, honey?” she asked him.

      “A grouper sandwich to go, coleslaw instead of fries. But that’s not the only reason I’m here.”

      “Oh?” She grinned. “Anything else, and you’ll have to check with Phil.”

      Reese smiled. Loretta and Phil had been together for almost twelve years, once she’d finally given up on Huey, packed her bags and walked out of Vernay House for good. And since that time, the mansion had suffered twelve years of nobody caring about it.

      “If I didn’t know that Phil could beat me with one hand tied behind his back, I’d be tempted,” Reese said. “But this has to do with an entirely different matter.” He sobered, cleared his throat and watched Loretta’s blue eyes narrow suspiciously. She was a smart woman and caught on fast.

      “You’re not here about Huey, are you?”

      Keeping his expression resolute, he replied, “I know you’re busy, but I need to talk to you.”

      She lowered her voice. “I asked you to leave me out of Huey’s problems, Reese. Besides, Phil could come out of the kitchen anytime, and if he hears us discussing Huey, he’ll blow a gasket.”

      Reese stated the obvious, hoping it would make a difference. “Huey’s his brother, Loretta. He must care about what happens to him.”

      “He did once,” she said, “but not anymore. Phil has vowed never to lend him money again or come to his rescue.” She leaned in close and spoke in a whisper. “I know Huey was hurt when I left him for Phil, but darn it, Reese, it’s been twelve years, past time for Huey to get on with his life.”

      Reese wasn’t sure he agreed. In fact, the way the romantic triangle had ended up was one aspect of Huey’s life that earned Reese’s sympathy. Another was that Huey had said goodbye to his daughter shortly before Loretta walked out on him.

      “Phil doesn’t even like me talking about Huey,” Loretta said, “and frankly, that’s how I want it, too.”

      “I’m going to have to arrest him, Loretta.”

      She sagged against the bar. “Oh, come on, Reese. You don’t mean that. Huey’s a problem. Nobody knows that better than me. But arrest him? He’s sixty-five years old. And he’s not a criminal.”

      “Maybe not in the sense you’re thinking, but he’s a public nuisance and he’s breaking the law. At least once a week I’ve got to drive over to his place and remind him that living in the Conch Republic doesn’t mean that we’re divorced from the rest of the country. We have the same laws here as on the mainland, and Huey seems to enjoy stretching them to the limit.”

      Her voice filled with resignation, she asked, “What did he do this time?”

      Reese explained about the fire, Mrs. Howell’s phone call and the complaints they’d gotten from tourists recently. “No wonder he doesn’t make a living selling those cheap souvenirs,” Reese said. “One encounter with Huey, and nobody wants to buy anything he’s offering. All the tourists think about is getting away from him.”

      Loretta shook her head. “I don’t know what I can do.”

      “I’ll give you a chance to talk to him one more time. He has fourteen days to pay his latest citations, and a couple of days to dispose of a load of offensive garbage in the yard. If he does those things, and if you can convince him to abide by the laws around here, I’ll cut him a break…again.”

      She sighed. “Huey doesn’t like to listen to me, Reese. You know that.”

      Reese felt bad for putting Loretta in the middle of this situation, but he knew darn well she’d never forgive him if he arrested Huey without telling her first. She might claim to have given up on the man, but somewhere deep inside her, an affection for him still flickered.

      “Okay,” Reese said. “I understand your position, but I felt I owed it to you to tell you before I acted.”

      She tapped her order pad on the bar. “I appreciate that. You still want your sandwich?”

      “I’m happy to say Huey hasn’t ruined my appetite.”

      She turned to go to the kitchen, but stopped after a few steps. Turning back, she said, “Actually, there’s one person, and one only, who might be able to get through to him.”

      Reese knew exactly who she meant, and an image of a cute, blue-eyed blonde filled his mind. “I didn’t