Page 25 of Key West Homecoming

“It’s exactly law. You’ve just got better carpet.”

Emma laughed. “Where in Boston are you?”

“Back Bay. Litigation.” Maeve ate some of the slaw. “I keep thinking I’ll go back to Boston and visit Key West here and there, but it never happens.”

“What brought you down?”

Maeve took her time with that one.

“Family,” she said. “My mother’s here, and she needs me now.”

“Is she all right?”

“She has good days, and not so good days.”

It was said in the tone that closes the door and stays polite about it. Emma had used that tone about one-hundred times herself. So she left it where it was and ate a chip.

Maeve's phone buzzed. Face down beside her plate. She turned it over, read it, and put it back without answering.

“That's Patrick,” she said.

“You don't have to tell me who Patrick is.”

“He runs charter fishing out of the Marina. Third generation on this island, which down here is more or less royalty. He's asked me twice this week what I'm doing in September. And I've changed the subject twice, so now he stopped asking. That's worse.”

“What's in September?”

“Boston,” Maeve said, and took a bite of her sandwich.

Emma didn't push it. After a moment, Maeve told her the slaw was the only thing in the building Connie hadn't improved in thirty years. Emma got the message with the change of subject.

With most of the food gone, Maeve glanced at her watch.” It's two-fifteen. County offices close at four o’clock. I want to make my calls today, not tomorrow.”

“Then let's go.”

Out of the leather notebook came a small ivory business card, which Maeve set in front of Emma. There was a Massachusetts number with a personal cell handwritten in blue ink on the back.

“Cell is only for the next three months. Text or call any hour. I mean that.”

Emma slipped it into the front pocket of her legal pad. Then found one of her own and slid it back.

“Ashcroft & Payne,” Maeve read. “Chicago.”

“Same rules, any hour.”

“Noted.”

They got up together and Maeve put a twenty on the table for a tip. She knew her aunt would argue about it but she didn’t seem to care.

They walked out of the bar into the bright afternoon light and stopped on the sidewalk.

“Where are you going now?” Maeve asked.

“To talk to Jake Kelleher.”

“Good, let me know how that goes. I’m going home to make my calls. I’ll text you as soon as I have a name.”

“Thank you, Maeve.”