Free All Through the Night by Davis Bunn Page B

silent breakfast, she had looked at him and mouthed one word. The hardest thing in her existence to say. Please.
    At times like that, Wayne had never been able to deny her anything.

    This morning, Wayne made a seven-mile loop around a strip mall and a defunct waterfront park, then swung back by the community’s newest neighbor. The new development was little more than raw earth and bulldozers clogging the early morning air. A huge sign proclaimed a Cloister development of championship golf course, deep harbor marina, competition pool, shopping center, and of course home lots available at preconstruction prices. Wayne stood and leaned against the fence until the earthmovers rumbled away the last of his recollections, then turned and jogged home.
    The final half mile was a long sprint through old Florida, past the community gates and the final flock of orange trees, down the line of live oaks, his footsteps soft on the old lane of crushed rock and clamshells.
    His regular crew was there to observe his sweaty return. Foster greeted him with, “You’re late.”
    Wayne eased himself down in stages. “We finished the gig, remember?”
    Jerry watched Wayne sprawl on the grass and start stretching. “Wonder what would’ve happened, I showed up for work only when we had a new crime.”
    Foster said, “You see the red rocket parked in front of the community center?”
    “Hard to miss.”
    Jerry said, “Your sister’s here too. They been in Holly’s office for almost an hour.”
    Wayne showered and dressed and emerged to find the three of them standing in his front yard. Holly, his sister, and the mystery lady. He stepped onto the porch and wanted to say something cute like, The three horsewomen of the apocalypse. The ladies looked very serious. And seriously tense.
    Jerry set aside his paperback novel and Foster stopped pretending to read the Journal. Wayne didn’t say anything, but he wanted to, because right then it felt mighty good to have some backup.
    Instead, he said to his sister, “This has got to be about the other half of my debt. As in, the debt that wasn’t yours to begin with and nobody said nothing about splitting or doubling or whatever you want to call it. My wager was with Victoria.”
    “Yeah, well, you should’ve read the fine print.”
    Which, Wayne had to admit, wasn’t a half-bad comeback for a pastor.
    Eilene said to the community leader, “You first.”
    Holly had adopted his sister’s stance, arms doing a tight body wrap and face seamed by a day that had dawned old. “We promised you a commission.”
    Foster said, “Thirty percent sounds good.”
    The community director absorbed the blow and refused to go down. “That’s absurd.”
    “So is getting back enough cash to keep this place afloat.”
    “You can’t possibly expect—”
    Foster broke in, “Of what the community received. Not the families.”
    “No,” Wayne said. “I don’t want it.”
    Foster gave him angry. “As your agent, I would advise you to keep your trap shut.”
    Wayne told the community head, “Pay me what you paid the other accountant. Let me have this house.”
    He was about to say, That’s all . Then he had a vision of two old guys smiling their way across moonlit waters and added, “And a boat.”
    “What?”
    “Not a big one. A fishing skiff. For the community. Flat-bottomed, thirty horse kicker, trolling motor. And some decent fishing poles.”
    The three women exchanged a glance. One that suggested they had come over here with a lot more on their minds than Wayne’s payday.
    His sister asked, “You done?” Only her question was not directed at her brother and his comeback, but at Holly.
    “Yes.” The community director’s voice was like the last puff of air from a busted balloon. “I suppose so.”
    Eilene glanced at the mystery lady. Who looked as fine close up as she had from an oblique distance. Maybe even better. Dark hair. Stunning features. Built. The mystery lady gave his sister a