Ron Base - Tree Callister 03 - Another Sanibel Sunset Detective by Ron Base

island?”
    “A couple of months ago. She was a guest at the hotel. You know, we just started talking, nothing serious or anything. Then she went away on a business trip, but now she’s back, and I’ve got to say, things are moving along nicely.”
    “Have you spoken to Edith Goldman lately?” Edith was Chris’s lawyer.
    “What? I should call Edith before I date someone?”
    “No, of course not. That isn’t what I was getting at.”
    “What are you getting at?”
    “I just don’t want you to lose sight of the fact you’re not out of the woods yet.”
    “What woods are we talking about?” There was an angry edge to his voice. “What would you like me to do? Sit in my little apartment, fingers crossed, hoping nobody shows up at the door with a warrant for my arrest?”
    “No one is saying that.”
    “Then what are you saying?”
    “Look, you are innocent. I know you are.”
    Chris raised his eyes from the coffee. Haunted eyes, Tree thought. “But that’s the dirty little secret here, isn’t it, Dad? I was there that night. I could have killed my wife.”
    He glared at his father. “Maybe I’m not as innocent as you think.”
    “Talking like that is not helpful, Chris,” Tree said.
    Chris waved his hand, as though to clear away the damning words. “Never mind. It’s nothing. Me being crazy, I guess.”
    “Look, it hasn’t been that long since Kendra’s murder, that’s all I’m saying. It might be a little soon to get involved in another relationship.”
    “What do you think, Dad? Do you think I loved Kendra?” The glittery challenge was back in Chris’s eyes; radiating that defiance he had seen so often over the years.
    “I don’t know, Chris. You tell me. Did you love her?”
    “Whether I did or didn’t doesn’t matter much at this point, does it? The fact is my wife is gone, and I’ve got to somehow get past it. This woman I’ve met, maybe she can help me do that.”
    “Just do me a favor, will you? Call Edith, see if she knows anything.”
    “Okay.”
    “In the meantime, if the police come around, for any reason, don’t talk to them. Call Edith.”
    Chris said, “I’ll bring her to the Lighthouse, maybe this Friday so you can meet her.”
    “Meet who?”
    He grinned. “Susan. The girl of my dreams.”

9
    You’ve got a visitor,” Rex said to Tree when he got back to the office.
    “Man or a woman?”
    “Definitely male.”
    “What’s he look like?”
    “Like he wants to kill someone,” Rex said.
    “Thanks,” Tree said. “That’s very reassuring.”
    He started up the stairs.
    “Try not to get blood on the carpet,” Rex called.
    The African-American male sprawled in the visitors’ chair certainly looked formidable. His head was shaved, and a permanent scowl was built into a face emblazoned with three diagonal scars slashing his forehead and right cheek, dominated by eyes the size of searchlights that inspected Tree with ill-disguised hostility.
    He stroked at a carefully trimmed goatee before he leaned forward and placed a single orange flower on the desk.
    “A Calla lily,” he said. “A beautiful flower. Yes? I bring this flower to you in friendship.”
    “That’s good to know,” Tree said.
    The man sat back, eyeing the lily with apparent satisfaction. “Now you must tell me where I can find a good macaron on the island.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “A macaron,” he said in a high-pitched voice, all wrong for his size; a big man with a small voice. “They are delicate cookie-type confections, made with meringue and egg whites. They are filled with jam or buttercream or ganache. Absolutely delicious. I discovered them in Paris. Everywhere I go I test the local macarons. I did find good macarons in Toronto a few years ago. But so far nothing compares to the macarons of Paris.”
    “I’m afraid you may be out of luck on the island as far as macarons are concerned.”
    “This is most disappointing because this is a beautiful place. Sad they don’t