“Spouses, and particularly exes, always are.”
“Don’t I know it,” replied White.
The plane started shedding altitude an hour and a half later, and they landed at the Southwest Florida International Airport near Fort Myers. A rental car was waiting for them.
White drove while Decker wedged himself into the passenger seat of the midsize four-door.
White glanced over at him as they pulled into traffic. “Sorry, it’s all they had. Shortage of rental cars these days.”
“I’ve never ridden in one that was remotely comfortable, so my expectations are nonexistent.”
“Agent from the local RA is on the scene,” she said, referring to an FBI Resident Agency.
“I know.”
“The bodies are still there, too. They’re apparently holding them for us.”
He glanced at her. “Are you trying to screw with me?”
“No, I’m trying to be informative.”
“Don’t.”
“Alexsaidyou could get testy.”
“You haven’t even seen mildly annoyed, much less the other side of the Rubicon.”
“Thanks for the information,” she replied. “I like to know where I stand.”
He recited from memory, “‘As a person of color and a woman on top of that, I find it a necessity to my future well-being, and that of my family.’”
“Alex also said your memory could be frustrating at times, but she worked around it.”
Decker looked out the window at the bright sky and said, “I never liked Florida. When I played ball at Ohio State, we would come down to play Florida and Florida State and Miami. Hated every second of it, and not only because their players were so much faster and athletic than we were.”
“Why? Too much heat or too many old people? Or both?”
“No, it’s because I’m just a lunch pail guy from the Midwest.”
“Meaning?”
“I hate sand.”
Chapter6
T?HEY DROVE UP TO Agated community in the town of Ocean View, which was situated about half an hour north of Naples. The roar of the breakers from the nearby Gulf shared the ride with them.
“This place looks like a postcard,” noted White as she stopped the rental at the guard hut.
“Not where we’re going it doesn’t,” replied Decker.
The guard came out of the little shack. He was in his forties and walked with a swagger more befitting a Navy SEAL than a luxury community rental cop gatekeeper.
“Can I help you?” he said as White rolled down her window.
She flashed her FBI ID pack.
“White and Decker. We’re here regarding the murder of Judge Julia Cummins.”