Tourist Season

"Je

"Why? He's done nothing wrong. He told me he's got a clear conscience. Here, want a taste of this?" She thrust a wooden spoon in his mouth. "See, that's good stuff."

"Not bad," Keyes said, thinking: She's at it again.

Je

"Fewer calories than you think," she said, her green eyes sparkling through the wine crystal.

"You sure look great."

"As soon as the granola bars are done, I'm leaving town," Je

Keyes said nothing.

"I'd ask you to stay for di

"I understand," Keyes said. "Where you going?"

"Wisconsin. T'see my folks."

No hesitation; she had it all worked out. Keyes admired her preparation. If he didn't know her so well he might've believed her. He tried to stall.

"May I have some wine?"

"Unh-unh," Je

"Sleepy is how I get."

"No, sexy and romantic is how you get."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Tonight it's wrong."

"It wasn't wrong in the hospital, was it?"

"Not at all," Je

He stood up and took her hands. "Please help me."

"I can't," Je

Keyes guessed how it must have started: a spark of an idea—maybe Je

"Is he going to stop this craziness?" Keyes asked.

"I don't think so," Je

"Then he'll be caught," Keyes said, "or killed."

"Oh, I doubt that." She removed her headband and plucked off her tiny gold earrings. "I know Skip, and he's way ahead of everybody. Even you, my love. Now, scoot out of here and let me pack. I've got a ten-o'clock plane."

Brian Keyes retreated to the living room and sat dejectedly on the coffin-turned-coffee-table.

"What are you doing?" Je

"Did you hear what happened today? Today it was a goddamn bomb. Three people blown to bits. You think that's cute? The old Wiley sense of humor—you find bombs amusing?"

"Not particularly." Je

"This isn't a game of Clue," Keyes said. "Your boyfriend has become a murderer."

"It's not like you to get so melodramatic," Je

"Brian, you've got two problems Skip doesn't have."

"What's that?" Keyes asked, sensing defeat.

"Your ego and your heart."

"Well, pardon me." Now it was time to go. He didn't have to take this Joyce Brothers shit from a woman who bakes her own granola bars.

Halfway out the door he turned and said, "Je

"That was a moment, Brian, yours and mine." She smiled; the first soft smile of the whole evening. "It was one lovely moment, and that's all. Why does there have to be more? Why do you guys think there's always a Big Picture? Honest to God, Brian, sometimes I think the newspaper business fucked you up forever."

Je

"Have a good trip," he said. "Give your parents my best."

"Aw, you're sweet," Je

Ninety minutes later she left the house carrying a canvas travel bag and a tin of hot granola bars. She wore tight jeans, a loose long-sleeved blouse, and white heels. Her hair was pi

The drive to the airport was vintage Je

She parked in the long-term garage at Miami International. Slouching low in the driver's seat, Keyes whizzed right past her and found a spot on the next level. He bolted from the car, raced down the stairwell, and caught sight of Je

Even in a crowd she was impossible to miss. She had a classic airport walk, sensual but aloof; men always moved out of the way to watch Je

Keyes followed her until she stopped at the Bahamasair ticket counter. He hid behind a pillar, scouting for Skip Wiley.

"Want us to take over?"

Keyes wheeled around. "Jesus Christ!"

"Didn't mean to frighten you."

It was Burt the Shriner.

"Where'd you come from?" Keyes asked.

"Right behind you. Ever since you came in."

"And your pal?"

"He's around the corner. Keeping an eye on your lady friend."

Keyes was impressed; these guys weren't half-bad.

"She's on her way to Nassau," Burt reported. "Her ticket was prepaid."

"By whom?"

"The Seminole Nation of Florida, Incorporated. Does that make any sense, Mr. Keyes?"

"I'll explain later."

Keyes peered around the pillar at the Bahamasair counter, but Je

"Shit!"

"Don't worry," Burt said. "James is close behind."

"We're too damn late." Keyes broke into a run.

Because of the phenomenal number of airplane hijackings from Miami, the FAA had installed sophisticated new security measures designed to prevent anyone with bombs, guns, or invalid coach-class tickets from entering the flight concourse. The most effective of all these security steps was the hiring of squads of fat, foul-tempered, non-English-speaking women to obstruct all runways and harass all passengers.

In tracking Je