The House on Mermaid Point

Chapter Fourteen

Bruce Springsteen’s “Pink Cadillac” boomed in the early evening air, the tune reaching them long before the Nautilimo pulled up to the Mermaid Point dock Saturday night. The floating pink stretch limo, which appeared to have been fused onto a boat hull, had the smooth lines of a vintage Cadillac complete with whitewall tires, a Caddy grille, fins, and a trunk-mounted spare tire. Its T-top, white leather seats, and mahogany dash completed the illusion. Kyra loved it on sight.

The white-bearded captain touched the brim of his straw hat in salute then deftly parallel-parked the floating limo at the dock as if it were a curb. The song continued as the captain bounded out, tied up, and effected a snap to attention. He wore navy shorts over stork legs. His barrel chest was encased in a short-sleeved white T-shirt with painted-on epaulets and skinny blue necktie. A painted gold cord dipped into a faux painted pocket.

“Ladies.” The driver tipped his hat, which was banded with nautical-style ribbon, to Nicole, Avery, Deirdre, Maddie, and Kyra, who had shot his arrival and now filmed them being helped aboard. Troy and Anthony shot from the deck of their houseboat. Hudson and William Hightower had left by boat hours before with no word of their destination.

“SS Nautilimo at your service.” His smile was large and welcoming. His wink was mischievous. “I understand we’re going to do a run up the bay side to the Lorelei, with a return drop-off whenever you’re ready.”

Bruce Springsteen sang on about crushed velvet seats and cruising down the street as the captain handed each of them aboard. Kyra stopped shooting long enough to join her mother on the back bench seat. A life-vested and very excited Dustin sat in his grandmother’s lap.

“Boag!” he said. “Kink Padiback!”

Troy and Anthony jumped off their deck. “Hey, wait up!”

“Sorry, no room,” Kyra called.

“Let’s go,” Nicole said to the driver.

“I could probably squeeze them on.” He nodded to the camera crew as they bounded down the dock, shooting as they came.

“Absolutely not,” Kyra said even as she smiled and waved at Troy and Anthony. “They’ll have to order their . . . own Cadillac . . .” They all sang along with the chorus as the driver pulled away from the dock and headed south. “Or they can follow in the Jon Boat. Or swim. Who knows, maybe the network will send a helicopter. That’s not our problem.”

The captain cut west along the overgrown causeway that no longer connected Mermaid Point to land, then headed south, paralleling U.S. 1, before cutting west under the bridge to the bay. The captain turned down the music and began to point out the highlights.

“If we’d taken the channel east out to the ocean we would have come to Alligator Reef; that’s the historic lighthouse out there that you can see from Mermaid Point. If we were to head south here you’d come to Robbie’s—there’s a marina and shops and a restaurant. And you can take the little one there to feed the tarpon.”

They headed north and began to skirt a series of mangrove-covered islands. “Some of the best flats fishing anywhere is out here. Flats boats can cut in and out since they draw so little water. They use poles to move over the flats. We can’t get quite as close in the Caddy.”

He continued north, pointing out the sights as they went. They passed a marina with docks sticking out into the bay and dry storage off to one side. Another warehouse-sized building rose on the opposite side of a large parking lot. “That’s Bass Pro Shops’ World Wide Sportsman. The sister boat to Hemingway’s Pilar sits in the middle of the floor. You can climb up into it and there’s also a fish tank and all kinds of interesting things mixed in with the fishing gear and tackle and so on. It’s become a real tourist attraction.

“If you want a nightcap on the way back to Mermaid Point we can stop off at the Zane Grey Lounge—it’s a nice watering hole.” He gestured toward the back of the immense World Wide building.

“Or there’s Morada Bay.” He pointed to brightly painted tables and chairs on the beach. Adirondacks were positioned to catch the sunset. A band played on a small stage. “Upscale, but very kid friendly and there’s a full moon party every month.

“That building next to it is Pierre’s—that’s a good bit fancier. Same owner has the Moorings Village across the road on the ocean side. Eighteen villas on eighteen acres. Lots of big-time film shoots on the beach there.”

The stream of information was steady. Kyra panned and zoomed over the bars, restaurants, and sights that their captain pointed out, but mostly she tried to just enjoy the salt-tinged breeze, the waterbirds that took flight from the mangrove-covered islands as they passed, and the sky that was beginning to grow pink above them. And the fact that for the moment, at least, they weren’t being followed.

“There’s the Lorelei over there.” The captain pointed inland to a multitiered grouping of buildings that included what looked like a bar/restaurant built on a dock. An eating area surrounded a thatched hut where some sort of entertainment was in progress. Additional tables and chairs were scattered across a small beach. “A number of well-known backcountry fishing guides go out from the docks behind the restaurant, and there’s a live-aboard population here, too. I keep the Nautilimo here.”

He slowed as they entered a small harbor, where ten or twelve small sailboats floated near each other. “Are these anchored here?” Avery asked.

“They’re on mooring balls. People live on them and take dinghies in and out. The mooring balls they’re tied up to belong to the Lorelei and they pay rent each month for the privilege.”

“They just live out here in the middle of the harbor?”

“Mm-hm,” the captain replied. “The Keys are full of people who come here because of the freedom to just . . . be. Others maybe can’t afford much more. You sure can’t beat the view.”

“Why aren’t the boats closer to shore?” Avery asked.

“That’s a water landing strip—you know, for seaplanes and such.” He took them around the beach, where a number of houseboats were tied to land. Old appliances and stray bits of furniture were piled on the ground around them. “Boy, those look even more rickety than ours,” Nicole said.

“And they don’t even have their own port-o-let!” Avery said.

“Who lives there?” Maddie asked.

“It varies. But it’s a cheap way to live—so some of the guys who do manual labor, or those in . . . transition might live this way.” He rounded the houseboats and the mangrove-covered end of the beach.

“Oh, over there’s the library and the playground I told you about,” Maddie said, pointing as they passed the inlet then slowed further to pass between the Lorelei’s parallel lines of docks where boats of varying sizes were tied. A couple and their dog sat on the deck of one, sipping drinks, their attention split between the crowd and the sunset.

“I’ll be up at the bar,” the captain said as he led them off the dock. Tables, all of them filled, covered a railed deck area. In the corner a magician performed on a stage built into the thatched hut. As they watched, the magician tucked a bird into a box and tapped lightly with a wand. The bird disappeared.

Dustin clapped his hands together. His eyes grew big.

“Why don’t you stay and watch with Dustin a little,” Maddie said to Kyra. “We’ll see if we can get a table down on the beach.”

“Okay.” She stayed on the small bridge that spanned a small slice of bay, bracing Dustin on one hip so that he had a clear view of the stage. “Just give me a wave when it’s time to order.”

The sunset was spectacular, a symphony of pinks and reds that played out before their eyes.

They slipped off their shoes and dug their toes into the cool sand as they wolfed down conch fritters and smoked fish dip, followed by blackened fish tacos and homemade potato chips—all of which was served by an amiable waitress who managed to be both casual and efficient. The magician had finished, much to Dustin’s dismay, and a twentysomething brunette with an hourglass figure sang in a breathy voice as smooth and light as the breeze it rode.

She sang of love and heartache and moving on, and Maddie could have taken any one of her songs as her anthem. That was how she felt—not emancipated in a Gloria Gaynor “I Will Survive” kind of way as she had when she’d first grappled with the decision to end her marriage, but free and light and breathy with possibility.

This time they toasted without prompting, relaxed by the sand beneath their toes, the water that surrounded them, and the star-filled sky that hung over them.

“My good thing is the plans for Mermaid Point,” Avery said, flushed with excitement. “I don’t think even William Hightower will find fault with them.”

“I’m going with that tonight, too,” Deirdre said. “My good thing is being allowed to contribute to those plans. And I agree that not even William Hightower will be able to find fault with them.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Kyra said. “And I’m also glad that we seem to have lost Frick and Frack for the evening.” She held Dustin tightly in her lap. “It’s nice to just be lost in the crowd.”

“I’m glad to be here with you all and in this moment,” Maddie said, a little more fervently than she’d meant to. “I feel like I could sit here forever.”

They raised their glasses and drank their frozen concoctions as the night settled around them and the warm breeze riffled their hair.

“Well, I’m grateful to our captain for springing us from captivity. And my good thing is his . . . ‘pink Cadillac . . .’” Nicole sang the last words in a poor imitation of Bruce Springsteen then pointed at Avery.

“‘Crushed velvet seats . . .’” Avery sang, handing off to Maddie, who chimed in, “‘Riding in the back of a . . .’”

Kyra squeezed Dustin tightly and all of them shouted, “Kink Padiback!”

Maddie laughed, feeling wonderfully light and buoyant. She was still smiling when she excused herself and practically floated up the walkway and over the small bridge in search of the ladies’ room.

Her eyes skimmed right out over the deck, past the bar, then left. She froze briefly at the sight of William Hightower sitting and chatting at a table with Hudson Power.

Hudson’s face lit up when he spotted her. He stood and beckoned her over. William looked up, too, but his dark face was unreadable.