“According to you,” he said, getting a little closer than usual, “I haven’t been much of a friend, either.”
My pulse sped at his nearness, and my breath stilled—but then he tapped the tip of my nose like he used to when we were children, and I realized he was still teasing me.
I lowered my eyelids and scowled at him, which only made him laugh.
But something else caught his attention.
Alice stood at the top of the steps, her smile wide. She walked down the stairs, letting her hand trail gently on the railing.
Lewis didn’t let his gaze wander from Alice but said to me, “Are you going to introduce me to your friend, Carrie?”
“She’s not my friend,” I said, irritated for reasons I couldn’t identify. I needed to get Alice upstairs or out of the house before someone else saw her and asked questions.
“Then who is she?” he asked, even though Alice could hear him.
“I’m Miss Alice Pierce,” she said, extending her hand dramatically, like an actress in a movie. “And who are you, Mr. Police Officer?”
He grinned, smitten, as he took her hand. “Lieutenant Lewis Cager, at your service.”
“Alice and I were just leaving,” I said to Lewis as I grabbed my purse from the hall table. “Father is in his office.”
“We were leaving?” Alice asked.
I moved between them and took Alice’s arm, drawing her out of the foyer.
“Goodbye, Lewis,” I called.
His laughter filled the foyer behind me as I led Alice into the kitchen, toward the back door.
“That was rude,” Alice said as she pulled away from me.
“We have to go to the baker and the butcher for Mama.”
Alice walked beside me, but her stiff posture changed, and she began to laugh. “You’re jealous! Is Lewis your sweetheart?”
“No.”
“Maybe not yet, but deep down inside, you want him to be.”
Her accusation was ridiculous.
Lewis Cager was my childhood tormentor. Nothing more.
Or so I used to think.
9
JUNE 30, 1727
KEY WEST, FLORIDA
I woke up to an empty cabin and a bright blue sky the next morning. Thoughts of Lewis’s visit and Alice’s assumption turned in my mind. When the breakfast bell rang, I left the cabin and headed toward the galley. Throughout the stormy night, the ship had trekked toward the east, and now we were near the island of Key West. Captain Zale had ordered the anchor to be lowered and a launch to be sent to the island for fresh water. Timothy had told me, upon passing the Florida Keys the first time, that a well had been dug there by pirates and was open to one and all to use, though no one occupied the island.
“Oatmeal, bacon, and fresh bread,” Ned said as I entered the galley. He had already picked up all three platters, and they were resting precariously in his hands and on his left arm.
“Let me help,” I told him.
“I have them.” He moved past me, irritation in his voice.
