asked them to send over a copy of her complete file. He wished he knew who John Barrymore’s personal attorney had been so he could get a look at any will. John Barrymore had died a little more than one year after marrying someone half his age. Troy wondered if the one year held any significance. On a whim he called all six attorneys who had practices in Mangrove Bayou but none of them claimed to do business with John Barrymore. He could wait. Someone had to file the will at the courthouse in Naples soon.
At lunchtime Troy walked to Bert’s Crab Shack, facing Oyster Bay. Bert’s was on the water. Just beyond it a rickety pier had several crab boats tied to it. The interior was picnic tables and a kitchen. Where the yuppified restaurants nearer the beach had strung up all manner of nautical oddments, Bert’s had bare wood walls. Troy ordered a chicken sandwich and some unsweetened ice tea. His picnic table had an assortment of ketchups, tartar and other sauces in a small metal pail along with a roll of paper towels. Bert Frey came out of the kitchen and sat at Troy’s table. “How’s it going, Chief?” he asked. “Been meaning to stop by. Welcome you to town.”
“Thanks. Pleased to meet you. You have the trapper license, I understand.”
Bert nodded and grinned. “You got something you need trapped?”
“Not at the moment. Just wanted to meet you. And I had to eat lunch anyway.” Troy took a bite and chewed. He swallowed and took a drink of tea. “Is this really chicken?”
Bert laughed. “I see someone else has already welcomed you to town. I get a kick out of that reputation. I call this Bert’s Crab Shack because the tourists get antsy if I call it Bert’s Mystery Meat Shack.”
Troy took another bite. Swallow. Tea. “Is this really chicken?”
“Probably. Could be gator. Taste about alike, or so people say.”
Troy swallowed and blotted his lips with a paper towel. “Don’t you know?”
Bert shook his head. “I don’t eat here. It’s cooked. Do you care?”
“Guess not. Tastes OK. Hand me that bottle of hot sauce.”
Chapter 14
Tuesday, July 23
“Why we gotta go back to that motel to celebrate?” Tats Michaels asked. “That’s your house now. We can fuck right on your big bed.” It was almost midnight and he was driving them east on Barron Road out of Mangrove Bayou. For the first time Katie had let Tats come to her house to pick her up.
“Can’t do that yet, honey-bunny. You knows that. We gotta lie low a few months more. Least we can go any time now, not have to wait for John to go to Atlanta.”
“Well, I don’t like it. You and me been together forever. You’re my woman, always was. Always will be.”
“I knows that, Tats. We love each other. Always did.”
“Damn right. Been fucking since we was kids. You were always the best.” He peered ahead into the darkness. “What did that cop say?”
“He’s an idiot. Don’t worry about him. ’Sides, I got a town councilman on my side now. Met him at the yacht club. The cops get too nosy, I’ll have him tell them to back off.”
“You started screwing someone else?”
“Not yet. Might have to. For insurance, you know. But even if I have to, remember you’re my guy. Always have been. Always will be.”
“Surprised you don’t just screw the head cop, you like screwing so much.”
“Now, now. You know that’s my part of the job. And all that will be over soon, soon’s the lawyer files the will.” She paused and looked out at the darkness ahead of them, thinking. “Screwing the cop might not be a bad idea, though,” she said. “He’s kinda cute.”
Tats frowned. “Cops don’t just back off too easy. I don’t like that they sealed off the boat. That means they’re suspicious.”
“That was annoying,” Katie said. “Even changed the locks so I couldn’t get in. But don’t worry. We’ll soon be in the green. Sell that boat. How much you figure it’s worth?”
“I don’t know. I only fixes