Southern Comfort - Fern Michaels [70]
Knowing he’d never get back to sleep and not caring because his usual six o’clock internal alarm would kick in the minute he drifted off, he opted to start the day. There was a lot to do before tonight’s meeting.
First, he took a long, hot shower and started to think about getting a cup of coffee. The Southernmost Point Guest House didn’t start serving until six, and he decided that he wasn’t about to wait that long. He could go to the 7-Eleven up the street, but he really didn’t relish the idea. So once he’d dressed in his Florida tourist garb, he decided that after forty years, it was high time he learned to make a pot of coffee.
His room had a minikitchen equipped with a coffeemaker, toaster oven, and microwave, plus a small refrigerator. Taking a bottle of Evian water from the fridge—there was no way he’d put Florida tap water in his body—he poured two entire bottles in the area indicated on the coffeemaker, then stacked the prefilled coffee filter in the basket, closed the back, and pushed the start button. How easy was that? Dad would be proud of him now. A month shy of his forty-first birthday, and he’d just made his very first pot of coffee. And without any help from the housemaid.
And isn’t this just dandy? he thought. No one gives a flying fluke if I made coffee or not. He felt like calling his mother and asking her why she’d allowed his father to screw up his life, why she hadn’t stood up to him. Maybe if she had, he wouldn’t be such a milksop. Maybe . . . maybe nothing. It was what it was, and there was no getting around it. He was a chicken-shit coward, and everyone that mattered knew it. Except Nancy Holliday. Of course, if she showed up at Sloppy Joe’s tonight and saw him, she would soon learn that he wasn’t worth wasting her time on.
Tyler poured coffee into a cardboard cup, then added a packet of powdered creamer and two packs of sugar. He took a sip. Not bad. He contemplated his day as he sipped the hot brew.
First, he wanted to make an unannounced visit to the cop, see if he was on the up and up. If he knew anything about the goings-on at the compound at the tip of Mango Key, Tyler would demand that he turn over the information. If not, he’d pump him for info about his neighbors. Tyler knew the cop had to be aware that there were two good-looking women occupying that aluminum hut. He smiled.
The cop would also be told that he, Special Agent Lawrence Tyler, was in a position to stop them from doing whatever it was they were doing on Mango Key. (True, he knew that he couldn’t fire them since they had never been rehired. His authority over Jellard might be more apparent than real, but there was no way that even Jellard could put them on the payroll without Tyler having been informed.) But the cop wouldn’t care any more than his father did. The governor only liked to talk about his son in terms of where he was employed, not his actual duties. Thank God for small favors, he thought.
After he left the cop, Tyler would make a special visit to Rush and Martin to give them what for. He couldn’t wait to see the looks on their faces when they answered the door.
Yes, today might be a good day after all.
Kate tucked the blanket securely beneath Rosita. Poor kid, she thought, as she turned off the light. The girl had eaten so much she’d fallen asleep within minutes of closing her eyes. Tick had been gracious enough to offer the child his bed for the night. Kate entered the kitchen, where a goggle-eyed Sandy sat staring at Pete while he told stories of his days in the rodeo. Tick, his back to the pair, stood at the sink, rinsing their dishes and placing them in the dishwasher.
Pete stopped talking when Kate sat down across from him.
“Unbelievable. She went to sleep almost immediately,