okay?”
“He was a pilot in the 1930s, a real pioneer, and he trained pilots for the Army during World War II. He settled here after the war and flew charter hops to Havana in the forties and fifties. After Castro, he worked for Curry’s Chandlery until it burned. He admitted that he sold me the cottage for fifteen grand more than he ever thought he’d get for it.”
“He have family?” she said.
“He sold because his wife died,” I said. “He had two kids, or at least that’s all I knew about. A boy in college on a baseball scholarship and a girl a couple years out of high school. Weedy wanted to go back to Michigan to live out his years.”
“Gotcha,” said Lewis.
“With all this other crap going down, why do you want to know about Weedy Fields?”
“I found two things in Kansas Jack’s house that might give us clues to his past.” Bobbi unzipped her belly pack, removed a small photo, and handed it to me. “Why would Kansas Jack Mason have a picture of a young woman standing in front of your house?”
Right away, the sparse vegetation around my cottage told me the print was made before I arrived in Key West. The girl was in her early teens and wore a tough expression and a light-colored dress that came to midthigh. I recognized her immediately, even with her hair shorter than I’d ever seen it. I felt alarm and disappointment knowing that her photo was among a murdered man’s possessions. “It’s Horace Fields’s daughter,” I said. “They called her Pokey.”
“Weedy and Pokey?” said Liska.
“It’s a town full of nicknames,” I said. “You of all people—”
“Let’s get back to the picture,” said Bobbi. “You get to know her when you were buying the house?”
I shook my head. “We met after Fields and I signed the papers at closing.”
“The daughter came to the closing?” said Liska.
“No, she didn’t live at home. The neighbors told me she moved out when she was still in high school. She’d taken up with a boy in the Navy, and Horace pushed her out of his life, never spoke of her.”
“Then how did you meet her?” said Lewis.
“We closed our deal and left the lawyer’s office, and Weedy took me to the Boat Bar for a beer. He told me that he’d shipped some things to Michigan, sold his furniture, and left five boxes in the utility room, stuff that his late wife wanted to give their daughter. He gave me the girl’s phone number and tried to give me fifty bucks to store the boxes for a month or so. If she didn’t show any interest, I could put the stuff with the trash. I told him I didn’t want the fifty, so he bought a round of drinks for the old boys in the bar.”
“Did you call her?” said Lewis.
“Sure,” I said. “She came by a week or so later to see if it was worth her bother. She looked happy to have it, but she was in a small car, an old Camaro, and couldn’t carry much of it home. She came back a day or two later in a borrowed pickup truck and took it all in one trip.”
“Her nickname was Pokey?” said Lewis. “You recall her given name?”
I shook my head. “You could check old records at the high school.”
“And how old was she when you met her?”
“I think nineteen, almost twenty,” I said, “so this picture’s well before my time.”
“You never saw her again?”
“She came by again, maybe six weeks after she got the boxes.”
“My, my,” said Bobbi. “Please tell us about it.”
I glanced at Liska. He dodged my eyes, gazed at the porch screening.
“She showed at the door,” I said. “She wanted to come in and walk around. Wanted to remember better times or something like that. She told me about her mother, went out in the backyard and cried, then got in that old Camaro and drove away.”
“I see,” said Bobbi. “And that was all that happened?”
“Sorry to bore you, but that was it,” I said. “You found two things that caught your eye?”
Lewis looked at Chicken Neck, as did I. He nodded, gave
“He was a pilot in the 1930s, a real pioneer, and he trained pilots for the Army during World War II. He settled here after the war and flew charter hops to Havana in the forties and fifties. After Castro, he worked for Curry’s Chandlery until it burned. He admitted that he sold me the cottage for fifteen grand more than he ever thought he’d get for it.”
“He have family?” she said.
“He sold because his wife died,” I said. “He had two kids, or at least that’s all I knew about. A boy in college on a baseball scholarship and a girl a couple years out of high school. Weedy wanted to go back to Michigan to live out his years.”
“Gotcha,” said Lewis.
“With all this other crap going down, why do you want to know about Weedy Fields?”
“I found two things in Kansas Jack’s house that might give us clues to his past.” Bobbi unzipped her belly pack, removed a small photo, and handed it to me. “Why would Kansas Jack Mason have a picture of a young woman standing in front of your house?”
Right away, the sparse vegetation around my cottage told me the print was made before I arrived in Key West. The girl was in her early teens and wore a tough expression and a light-colored dress that came to midthigh. I recognized her immediately, even with her hair shorter than I’d ever seen it. I felt alarm and disappointment knowing that her photo was among a murdered man’s possessions. “It’s Horace Fields’s daughter,” I said. “They called her Pokey.”
“Weedy and Pokey?” said Liska.
“It’s a town full of nicknames,” I said. “You of all people—”
“Let’s get back to the picture,” said Bobbi. “You get to know her when you were buying the house?”
I shook my head. “We met after Fields and I signed the papers at closing.”
“The daughter came to the closing?” said Liska.
“No, she didn’t live at home. The neighbors told me she moved out when she was still in high school. She’d taken up with a boy in the Navy, and Horace pushed her out of his life, never spoke of her.”
“Then how did you meet her?” said Lewis.
“We closed our deal and left the lawyer’s office, and Weedy took me to the Boat Bar for a beer. He told me that he’d shipped some things to Michigan, sold his furniture, and left five boxes in the utility room, stuff that his late wife wanted to give their daughter. He gave me the girl’s phone number and tried to give me fifty bucks to store the boxes for a month or so. If she didn’t show any interest, I could put the stuff with the trash. I told him I didn’t want the fifty, so he bought a round of drinks for the old boys in the bar.”
“Did you call her?” said Lewis.
“Sure,” I said. “She came by a week or so later to see if it was worth her bother. She looked happy to have it, but she was in a small car, an old Camaro, and couldn’t carry much of it home. She came back a day or two later in a borrowed pickup truck and took it all in one trip.”
“Her nickname was Pokey?” said Lewis. “You recall her given name?”
I shook my head. “You could check old records at the high school.”
“And how old was she when you met her?”
“I think nineteen, almost twenty,” I said, “so this picture’s well before my time.”
“You never saw her again?”
“She came by again, maybe six weeks after she got the boxes.”
“My, my,” said Bobbi. “Please tell us about it.”
I glanced at Liska. He dodged my eyes, gazed at the porch screening.
“She showed at the door,” I said. “She wanted to come in and walk around. Wanted to remember better times or something like that. She told me about her mother, went out in the backyard and cried, then got in that old Camaro and drove away.”
“I see,” said Bobbi. “And that was all that happened?”
“Sorry to bore you, but that was it,” I said. “You found two things that caught your eye?”
Lewis looked at Chicken Neck, as did I. He nodded, gave
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