Troubles in Paradise (Paradise #3)(64)

“Ayers,” Maia says. She finishes her coleslaw and eyes Huck as she sets down her fork. “If I tell you something, can you keep it a secret?”

All he can think is that she’s going to tell him something about Irene—she bought a boat, she signed on with rival fishing boat What a Catch!, she’s moving back to the States. “I can, yes,” he says.

“Ayers is pregnant!” Maia says. “With Baker’s baby!”

Huck would have said he was too old and jaded for anything to bowl him over, but Maia just proved him wrong. He thinks back to the last time he saw Ayers—when she gave him the diaries. She looked…peaked. To say the least. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. She told me the other day.”

“And Baker is the father? Baker, not Mick?”

“Isn’t that crazy?” Maia says. She lifts a rib off Huck’s plate that he didn’t have any appetite for. “Their baby will be my niece or nephew. And if Ayers and Baker get married…” Maia’s eyes light up. “Ayers will be my sister-in-law! We’ll all be related!”

Huck wonders if Irene knows. She must. What the hell does she think about that? Well, there is one silver lining: Irene Steele isn’t going anywhere with a new grandbaby on the way.



The next morning, Huck sees Irene pull into the Gifft Hill School parking lot to drop off Floyd. Even the sight of her—chestnut braid, white scoop-neck T-shirt, the blocky sunglasses that look like what an elderly person with cataracts wears—addles Huck.

“Irene!” he calls out through his open window. He wants to talk to her about Ayers and Baker, a baby coming, her new grandchild. Forget the FBI and Russ and the diaries—the pregnancy is good news, beautiful news.

He catches Irene by surprise. She glances over, sees it’s him, and, without missing a beat, throws Baker’s Jeep in reverse, backs out of the lot, and goes screaming down Gifft Hill, which is in the opposite direction of her house. She must really want to get away from him.



After dinner that evening, Huck smokes two cigarettes in rapid succession on the deck. He passes through the kitchen, then hits reverse, pulls the Flor de Ca?a off the shelf, does a shot, then a second shot. He checks on Maia. She’s at her desk studying, not on her phone, a small miracle.

“I’m going to read for a bit, Nut,” he says. “Good night.”

He goes into his bedroom and sits at his desk, which is where he keeps his laptop and a paper calendar listing all his charters as well as files for bills and boat maintenance. He pulls a piece of paper from the tray of his printer, finds a pen that works, and thinks, Here goes nothing.

He writes a letter to Irene. He doesn’t worry about his spelling or word choice; he doesn’t start over when he wants to change his phrasing, just crosses things out. It doesn’t have to be perfect; it just has to be true.

When he’s finished, he reads it through, folds it in thirds, sticks it in an envelope. He’s probably the only fool on earth who’s still handwriting letters, but what he had to say shouldn’t be texted and she won’t talk to him. A letter is outdated, but it will also be difficult to resist reading. He hopes.

He just has to figure out how to get it to her.



A few days later, Maia stays overnight with Ayers. It’s the first time Huck has been alone since Irene left. He could easily go out and spend a few hours tinkering on the boat, then grab a burger from the Tap and Still on the way home. Or he could buy some good beer, grill some tuna, lie down in his hammock, and finally crack open the Patterson book. But when he pulls up to the National Park Service dock and lets out his charter guests—a perfectly nice couple from he can’t remember where and their three boys, who were all in boarding school; they obviously didn’t see one another very often because they were so happy to be together—he hears steel-drum music coming from Mongoose Junction blending with strains of Kenny Chesney over at Joe’s Rum Hut: Save it for a rainy day! And he decides he doesn’t want to be alone. He calls Rupert. “You out?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Skinny?”

“Aqua.”

Good, Huck thinks. He’s been craving the Aqua Bistro’s onion rings for a while now. “I’ll be there in an hour,” he says.

“I’ll be waiting,” Rupert says. “But I gotta meet Sadie at Skinny at nine and Dora at Miss Lucy’s at ten thirty.”

Typical Rupert; he has a woman at every watering hole. No doubt Josephine will be singing tonight at the Aqua Bistro. Huck will hurry and shower. He loves Josephine’s voice.



Forty-five minutes later, Huck is seated at the round open-air bar of Aqua Bistro next to Rupert. Josephine is playing the guitar, lulling everyone into a sense of well-being with her sultry rendition of “Come Away with Me.” Rupert orders tequila shots with beer backs.

“Don’t forget, I have to drive home,” Huck says.

“Ha! That’s no excuse on this island. Stay left, go slow, tell the donkeys to get out of your way. You and I both know you could do it blindfolded.”

They click shot glasses and throw the tequila back. Huck feels okay. He slaps down five bucks and asks for the roll. The bartender hands him a leather cup filled with dice. He shakes it and lets them spill—nothing.

Rupert laughs. “Might as well have taken out your lighter and set your money on fire.”