Metro Girl (Alex Barnaby 1)

Hooker took the piece of paper and studied it. “How reliable is crazy Armond?”

“He’s crazy,” Felicia said. “How reliable is crazy?”

“Great.”

“Tell me again why you are doing all this looking,” Felicia said.

“I want to find my boat,” Hooker said.

“And I want to find my brother,” I said.

“But won’t they come home by themselves when they are ready?”

“We’re not the only ones looking for them,” I said. “I want to find them before the bad guys find them.”

“Is that possible?”

“Anything’s possible,” Hooker said. He had his cell phone in his hand, and he was scrolling through his phone book. He found what he was looking for and pushed send.

“Hey,” Hooker said when the connection was made. “It’s Sam Hooker. What’s up? Un hunh. Un hunh. Un hunh.” There was some NASCAR talk. Then there was some talk about cigars. And then Hooker asked the guy on the other end if he wanted to buzz some islands off the coast of Cuba. There was some laughing after that. Hooker disconnected and stood. “I’m going to the airport,” Hooker said. “Anyone going with me?”

Key West International Airport is on the easternmost part of the island. The terminal is single story white stucco with an orange tile roof, and it seems too pretty, too relaxed, and too small to belong to something calling itself an international airport. We parked in the lot, under a couple palms, and we all followed Hooker into the building.

“You seem to know what you’re doing,” I said to Hooker.

“I’ve flown out of here before on fishing and sightseeing trips. Other than that, it’s an illusion. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

We stood to one side of the entrance and looked around. A slim guy with a great tan trotted over to us. He was wearing sandals and shorts and a short-sleeve, open-necked shirt with a lot of red and green parrots printed on it. His hair was long, pulled back into a ponytail, his sport sunglasses were on a cord around his neck, his eyes were blue and crinkled at the corners, his smile was wide.

“Where the hell have you been?” he said to Hooker. “I haven’t seen you in months.”

“End of the season always gets nutty. And then I had to go back to Texas for the holidays.”

“So what are you doing, shopping for Cuban real estate?”

“My boat’s wandered off. I thought I’d go out looking for it. This is Barney, Rosa, and Felicia. Barney’s going with us.”

The ponytail guy nodded to us. “Chuck DeWolfe. A pleasure, ladies.”

“Isn’t it illegal to fly over Cuba?” I asked Chuck.

“Not for me,” he said. “I’m a Canadian citizen.”

“So, what have you got?” Rosa wanted to know. “Seaplane?”

“Helicopter,” Chuck said.

Helicopter! I’d never been in a helicopter. Never wanted to try one out. I’d take an elevator to Mars before I’d go a hundred feet in a helicopter.

“Barney gets a little nervous over heights,” Hooker said.

“No problemo,” Chuck said to me. “We’ll fly nice and low.”

Felicia was crossing herself and saying the rosary in Spanish. “You’ll crash and die,” she said. “No one will ever find you. The sharks will eat you, and there’ll be nothing left. I can see it all.”

“Yeah, you have to be nuts to go in a helicopter,” Rosa said. “Only men go in helicopters. Women know better.” She shook her finger at me. “Don’t you let him talk you into going up in that helicopter. Just because he’s a hottie doesn’t mean he has any brains.”

“Cripes,” Hooker said. “Cut me some slack here.”