Page 46 of Camino Ghosts

When the bottle was empty they agreed they should leave before drinking more. They gathered again at Mercer’s cottage where the pot of gumbo was waiting on the stove. Mercer turned on the burner and sliced and buttered a baguette as Diane tossed the salad and Thomas selected another wine.

Midnight was the goal but they didn’t make it. At eleven, Thomas walked onto the patio to check the snowfall and saw none. He and Mercer retired to the bedroom while Diane disappeared under a quilt on the couch.

10.

By midmorning the skies were clear, the sun was out, Santa had come and gone, and things were back to normal in North Florida.

Judge Lydia Salazar lived alone in a gated community seven miles west of Camino Island, on the mainland by a small lake that not too many years earlier had been somewhat rural. Now, though, the roads were congested. Her neighbors were complaining, but seriously, weren’t they all part of the problem?

She was fifty-seven and had been elected in a close race seven years earlier. Reelection was around the corner and she was dreading another campaign. Like most sitting judges, she now believed that electing judges was a bad idea. She preferred to be appointed, one four-year term after another. Elections, though, were not going away and she spent little time fretting over the next one. Her docket was busy. She enjoyed her work and was well regarded by the lawyers who came before her.

Her first husband was long gone and she didn’t miss him at all. Her son, Lenny, was only thirty minutes away and she saw him and his family often, especially now that he and his wife, Alissa, had produced two children. Judge Salazar was still amazed at how swiftly she had been consumed by the two little people who now dominated her thoughts. When they arrived for Christmas lunch, their grandmother Sally, as she was affectionately nicknamed, was waiting with another round of gifts and toys. Within minutes her den was destroyed, with paper, wrappings, and boxes everywhere. Sally was on the floor in the middle of it all, having a ball and reliving the days when her own kids were lost in Christmas magic. When she could corral them, she read stories by the tree, fed them gingerbread cookies, and found more gifts to open.

Over hot cider, the adults watched the kids and talked about the weather. The snow had come closer than anyone expected. Scattered flurries had been reported in southern Georgia, close enough to give them hope for next year. Alissa was from Maryland and missed an occasional snowfall but had no desire to return there. She taught school and was taking a couple years off to raise the kids. Their finances had been tight, but there was good news. Lenny had finally found traction in the building boom and maybe, just maybe, he had his first big break.

Lydia had seen something in the newspaper or online about Old Dunes, but thought nothing of it. Another development was hardly headline-worthy in their world. For her, the big news was that Lenny had signed contracts to build at least eight upscale condos in the second phase of Old Dunes. The massive development just might keep him busy for years as he built his company. They were so optimistic about their future, they were already talking about moving closer to the job sites.

And closer to Sally!

After a long lunch of turkey, creamed potatoes, and stuffing, they loaded the kids into their car seats, and with Sally sitting on the rear bench between them drove a few miles east toward the coast. The entrance to Old Dunes was blocked by a gate, but Lenny had an electronic pass, which he waved at a sensor. The streets had been paved for several months. The curbs and gutters were finished. Dozens of buildings were in various phases of being framed—apartments, condos, zero-lot-line homes, vast mansions, a central square lined with stores for the future, the harbor and marina. Lenny pointed here and there and relished being so involved with such an impressive project. He proudly stopped in front of the first condo he was building, a sprawling townhome that would hit the market for almost a million bucks. There would be plenty of them, he was certain.

With both kids napping beside her, Sally couldn’t help but be impressed. Her son had struggled mightily to get his little construction business off the ground. Now, he was building million-dollar homes. And she could spend more time with her grandkids.

11.

Having made so little progress with the painting, Mercer was reluctant to waste another day, even though it was Christmas. Thomas balked and threatened a strike. His cell phone said forty-eight degrees, two shy of the threshold. Instead of bickering, they agreed to go for a long walk and enjoy the afternoon.

Warmer days were coming. They’d get it painted sooner or later. Why hurry? They were on beach time, right?

CHAPTER EIGHT

EARWIGGING

1.

On the first Monday of March, Judge Salazar held her quarterly docket call to review pending cases, schedule hearings and trials, and check the status of the many guardianships and conservatorships under her jurisdiction. With everything now fully digitized and available online, the docket call was more a ritual, a throwback to a simpler era when the lawyers enjoyed gathering in their grand courtroom early on a Monday morning to have coffee and pastries, pass along the gossip, and act important. Judge Salazar still expected them to show up, though attendance was no longer mandatory. After each docket call, the lawyers and judges moved down the street to a private dining room in the rear of an upscale restaurant and held their quarterly bar meetings. Some of them would later move on to a saloon across the street for another version of a bar meeting.

When Judge Salazar called the case, “In Re Petition of Lovely Jackson,” Steven Mahon and Mayes Barrow stood. A handful of spectators watched with little interest.

Sid Larramore from The Register watched from the front row. At that moment, it was the most interesting case on the island, but he had gathered no new material for the story in a couple months. The letters to the editor had petered out and lost some of their bite. A few people were quietly in favor of Panther Cay because of the economic boost, but Camino Island was still a conservative place where most folks belonged to a church and claimed to attend regularly. Gambling was frowned upon. Could prostitution be far behind? And drugs? The majority, at least in Sid’s opinion, were opposed to more development in the area.

The lawyers agreed that discovery was on track and they could not foresee anything that would interfere or delay the trial, set for May 18.

Judge Salazar thanked them and moved to the next case. The morning dragged on. Steven hung around and planned to attend the bar lunch, something he did only once a year. At 11:30, the judge adjourned court and encouraged the lawyers to regather at the restaurant down the street.

In the buffet line, Steven shadowed the judge and luckily found a seat next to her. With thirty lawyers in a dining room the conversation was guaranteed to be lively. Most of them talked as they were eating, either about their latest exciting cases or college basketball. The guest speaker was a lawyer from Jacksonville who was swamped with immigration cases, and he managed to hold their attention for about ten minutes. Unfortunately, he went on for thirty more. As soon as he finished, his audience virtually stampeded out of the room.

Judge Salazar turned to Steven and said, “Are you in a hurry?”

“No, it’s a pretty slow Monday.”

“Got time for coffee?”

“Sure. I’ll get us some.”

“Black, please.”

“I may have a small slice of the caramel cake. You?”

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