Page 84 of Alonzo

“It was a date. And it was romantic.” It was kind of romantic. If you don’t count the gravesite and the curse. I’m pretty sure it ended with a piggy-back ride. “What are you guys talking about?”

“Jesse Boston here says he’s in Key West for a client. Says he’s some kind of famous”—she stops to make air quotes—“yachter. As if that’s a thing.”

“It’s a thing,” Jesse says.

“It’s not a thing. I grew up here. There were no famous yachters. There were rich douchebags with yachts. And anyway, that doesn’t explain why you were in the process of asking me all kinds of questions about Tara.”

“Me?” I point to my chest. “Why are you asking questions about me?”

“He says,” Belinda continues—and boy, she’s in some sort of mood this morning—“he’s here to give Alonzo love lessons.”

I crinkle my nose. “What are you talking about?”

Jesse turns to me. “That part is over. I wasn’t aware that he had a girl when I was sent here to help him out. Now I’m just here for guidance.”

“Who sent you?” I ask.

“It’s not important. But how can I help you while Alonzo’s at work? Do you need anything? I’m totally at your disposal.”

And you know what? Maybe I should take this job a little more seriously. On the one hand, when you talk to this guy without introduction, Jesse Boston kinda comes off like just another a douchebag yachter. But Lonnie already told me some of his secrets so to me, he’s actually just another incarnation of your run-of-the-mill shady mobster.

I’m just about to tell him I’m good, when Belinda groans. “I do not want to talk to you!”

I look across the street and see Lonnie’s brother standing on the cottage porch. Tony. That’s his name. The one Belinda used to date.

Is it me or are all our lives suddenly becoming very tangled?

“I’m not talking to you,” Tony yells as he hops down his porch stairs. “I’m going to eat breakfast at my parents’ house.” Then he stops. “You wanna come?”

“No, I do not want to come!” Belinda volleys back.

“Not you.” Tony juts his chin. “Jesse. You eat yet?”

Jesse perks up like this is the best invitation ever. “I’m down.” And then he is down. Off the porch and crossing the street.

Belinda walks over to my porch, trying to pretend she’s not watching them walk away. She growls a little as she climbs my steps and then flops down in a rattan love seat next to the railing. “God, I hate him.”

“Tony,” I say. “Why though?”

“Because he’s such a fucking liar, Tara. I swear to God, if I have to hear his practiced speech about how he can’t be serious with a girl one more time, I will choke him out with my bare hands.”

“What was his excuse? Please tell me it was not a siren.”

“A siren?” She shoots me a confused look. “Like a car alarm?”

“Never mind. What was his excuse?”

“He has to protect me. His work is too dangerous.”

“His work?”

“Yeah. I know. He runs some fucking sailboat business.”

“Another douchebag yachter?” I snort.

“Exactly! I can’t take it. I really can’t take it.”

“Where’s Vann?”