Maggie cast her eyes down as the weight of thirty years lifted. All the churning inside her stopped, replaced by peace and…understanding.
He stood and pocketed the stub. “Thank you, Mrs. Lawson. And would you thank Mrs. Wylie for me? Your husbands both played a part in ending a dark chapter in Biloxi’s history. We’re grateful.”
“I’ll tell her. In fact, I’d like to tell her now, if we’re done.”
“We sure are.” He put the ballcap back on and nodded. “Have a good day, ma’am.”
“I’m about to,” she assured him.
As long as they could make room on that boat for one more person who wanted to celebrate Artie Wylie, she would have a very good day indeed.
The short runacross the street and to the marina was, well, not short. Not for a desperate seventy-eight-year-old woman. Would she give herself a heart attackanda stroke trying to get to the Celebration of Life before they took off?
Yes, if she had to, she would. Artie would have!
Old Artie, the unexpected, unsung Superman who’d protected two families, helped take down a criminal ring, and saved the evidence for the future. And Roger, who’d used his negotiation to secure that very property he’d told her she could “squirrel away.”
And squirrel she did—with the help of James Hill, who she hadn’t even known existed.
She fumbled with the latch to the marina gate, her hands trembling as they had been since the moment she’d met that retired FBI agent.
The one who said her husband was in heaven! Along with Artie, who she’d hated all these years for no good reason.
Panting, she hustled toward the marina shack with absolutely no idea where Tessa kept her boat.
“Did they leave?” she called to the young man behind a screen. “The Artie…thing? Tessa Wylie and everyone? Where are they?”
He peered past her down a long dock. “They’re just getting underway but you might be able to call them back if they see you. Head down that way.”
She took off, bolting over the weathered wood in the most unladylike,unMaggielikeway she’d ever run.
The boat was well on the way out of the marina, rumbling toward the harbor with a noisy engine and no one looking back to the dock they’d left behind.
“Jo! Jo Ellen Wylie!” She yelled—actually shrieked like a fishwife—and waved her hands wildly and jumped up and down. “Don’t leave without me!”
No one even looked.
“Jo Ellen! Wait for me!”
But Jo sat in the seat next to Tessa, who was driving, her arms wrapped around her box of Artie. All of the benches and seating were filled her family and friends yucking it up in the sunshine.
Didn’t they hear her?
“Hey! Stop!” she screamed again. “I want to come with you! Stop!”
It was Roman who turned from his seat on the stern, flipping up his sunglasses, then saying something to Lacey. She whipped around, cried out in surprise, and finally Maggie had all their attention.
Every single one of them turned and stared like the apostles watching Jesus walk on water. And at that moment, Maggie might have tried it to get to that boat.
Jo Ellen shot up, clutching her precious cargo, and Tessa cut the engine to silence.
Maggie pressed a hand to her chest, trying to calm her heart, but it felt like it would beat out of her ribcage. Breathless, speechless, she stared back at them realizing she had no idea what to say.
“Are you okay, Mom?” Vivien yelled, standing, her concern visible from here.
“I want to come! I have to come! Please tell me there’s room!”
“We’ll make room!” Jo Ellen called out. “I’m so happy!”
