Salt River: A Doc Ford Novel by Randy Wayne White

Author:Randy Wayne White [White, Randy Wayne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Thrillers, Suspense, Crime
ISBN: 9780735212725
Google: iiTKDwAAQBAJ
Amazon: B07T8THFKT
Goodreads: 46654729
Publisher: G.P. Putnam's Sons
Published: 2020-02-11T06:00:00+00:00

THIRTEEN

From the air, I texted Delia. I had already received clearance to land at Belle Glade Municipal.

She responded, ok, phils here, dont come inside.

There was no need to come in. Glades Municipal serviced a fleet of yellow low-winged crop dusters parked in the heat 300 feet below my amphib. There was a small office, professionally kept, with AC and a Coke machine. That’s all.

To the east of the runway was a massive complex, the sugar refinery and co-op. Six boiler towers spewed white plumes into the air. It was steam, not smoke, yet it resembled Pittsburgh during its industrial peak. Sugarcane is a tropical grass, mostly water, first brought to Florida in the 1700s. It was Prohibition and moonshiners, though, that caused it to spread across the Everglades. But it was the Cuben embargo of the 1960s that brought what is now known as Big Sugar to Floride.

“A noxious exotic,” some claim. “A valuable food source,” say others. Both arguments are espoused with a certainty more suited to theology than science.

I landed, pivoted my little amphib, tail to the office, and got the doors open before shutting down. Temperature on the tarmac had to be a hundred degrees.

Delia came out, a bag over her shoulder, taking long strides. She didn’t glance back when Phil exited in a hurry to catch up. I had no intention of getting involved—until the guy grabbed the girl by the arm and spun her around.

Well, hell . . . I hopped out onto the portside pontoon and dropped to the tarmac.

A mechanic in overalls watched the scene from a busy open hangar. Delia pulled away. The shaggy-haired college professor towered over her and yelled something. Delia responded. Inside the hangar, a power ratchet suddenly went silent. The former lovers didn’t notice. It magnified the volume of the exchanged that followed.

“That’s exactly why I don’t want to see you again, Phil. For god sakes, just leave me—”

“I’m not letting you get into a damn plane with a man you barely know, Delia. We’ll talk in the car. Stop acting like a—” Again, he caught her from behind. The mechanic, whom I’d seen a few times but never met, started toward them, wiping his hands on a towel.

Delia noticed me. Red-faced, she yanked her arm free. Her computer bag slipped and fell hard on the pavement. Phil knelt to retrieve it. When he looked up, I was there.

“This is between us,” he said. “Delia, tell this . . . whatever he is . . . to give us some privacy.”

Delia said, “You know damn well who Dr. Ford is,” then addressed me. “Sorry you had to see this, Marion. I’m ready to go if you are.”

The mechanic kept coming. He might have been a boxer, one of those lethal little flyweights out of Tampico. I said to him, “Tranquilo, mi amigo,” then continued, also in Spanish, “I’m glad to know a good man works here and is willing to help a lady if she needs it. But she’s okay now.

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