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she couldn’t help herself so she Googled her husband’s name and only found a short article about a prison escape in rural Pennsylvania.
    So either the Feds had him stashed in a medium security type prison which posed little threat to the outside community, or they were actively squashing any stories about the escape to save face.
    Justine guessed it was probably both.
    Well, she had no intention of sitting around alone waiting to see what would happen, so she showered again, changed into a cute outfit of turquoise colored Capri pants, a light cotton blouse, her favorite flip flops and her Ray-bans.
    It was going to be her daily style of clothing.  She could get used to it.
    She locked up her condo and walked up to the village.
    It was just past midday by now and most of the lunch places were still going strong, with people sitting outside, albeit in the shade, having salads and more than a fair share of beer and wine.
    That was one of the great things about the Keys. Every hour was happy hour.
    For today’s lunch she chose a more upscale restaurant called Ramona’s, not because she wanted an expensive meal, but more because she wanted to linger and the place had a nice outdoor seating area that surrounded a garden with a manmade waterfall and fountain.
    She ordered a light salad of mixed greens with a glass of chardonnay.
    Her leg felt a little better, probably from the walking.
    She dined alone and enjoyed the peace and quiet, and her food was delicious.  People passing by the restaurant provided a steady stream of people-watching opportunities.
    Justine paid her bill, and then strolled around to a few of the shops. She spent some time looking around and realized she was awfully close to Archer Thorpe’s place.
    There was a hole-in-the-wall liquor store that prominently featured fine wines so she went inside and selected a reasonable but well-reviewed white and red, purchased them, then walked over to Archer’s shop.
    She stood in front, for some reason feeling her heart beating more quickly than usual.  Even her palms were a little sweaty.
    Come on, Justine, you’re not a teenager anymore.
    Steadying herself, she rang the bell.
    Here goes nothing, she thought.

 
     
     
     
     
    13.
     
    The blank sheet of paper didn’t stay blank for long.  Archer used a charcoal pencil begin to begin his sketch.  He already had a vague shape in mind, but scratching the visual down on paper always helped him see the shapes and angles he needed to clarify before he could start any kind of actual carpentry work.
    What he had in mind was a table made of cypress, not too finished, but not overly rustic either.  He had a nice batch of river cypress that was at least one hundred years old.  It was sometimes called pecky cypress because the wood at some point in its life had been invaded by a fungus that created pockets of black when finished.  He considered them badges of honor for a life well-lived.  Archer always thought of it as Florida’s answer to tiger striped oak favored by Arts & Crafts furniture makers.
    As he sketched out various ideas, he let his mind wander. He never rushed this part of the process, because to be impatient here would only cause him to lose huge amounts of time during the actual building process due to poor planning.  He’d learned that the hard way.
    His sketches increased in speed and soon he had several pages of ideas and no sign of stopping–
    The doorbell rang and he ignored it until he finished the last image in his mind.  He stopped and realized that the last sketch was probably his best.
    He stood and went to the door.
    Archer opened it and he was momentarily caught off guard at seeing Justine Beaudry standing in the doorway with a dazzling smile and a tall, narrow gift bag that obviously contained a bottle or two of wine.
    “Justine, are you okay to be up and about?” he asked, stepping aside for her to enter.
    As she passed him, he smelled a trace of perfume, along with an