“You belong to Leucadendra?” Nolen’s tone of skepticism was giving way to mild surprise.
“Not anymore,” Moran said. “De Boya tried to get me blackballed. He not only didn’t like the way I played golf, he hinted around I was trying to hit on his wife.”
“Were you?”
“No. I told you, she’s a very nice person. Her name was Mary Delaney, worked for de Boya’s lawyer before they got married.”
“Change her luck and marry a spic, uh, with fifty million. Shit, I’d marry him too.”
“Be careful,” Moran said.
Nolen grinned. “Got a little soft spot there? I won’t say another word.”
“De Boya didn’t get me blackballed,” Moran said, “but it didn’t help my standing at the club any. Then when my wife divorced me for not playing the game, her dad helped give me a shove and there went the club membership. Which was fine, I never liked golf that much anyway.”
“So you were married to bucks, too.”
Moran shrugged. “It might’ve worked, it didn’t, that’s all. The last time I saw de Boya-he came by here about six eight months ago like nothing had happened, like he hardly knew me, and offered to buy the place, build a condominium.”
“What’d you tell him?”
“I turned him down. I got real estate people calling here every week. They’re trying to build a solid wall of condos from Key West to Jacksonville.”
“I won’t ask you the last time you saw his wife.” Nolen grinned to show he was kidding around.
Moran didn’t grin. He said, “Good. We leave her out of this.” He said, “I understand you had a talk with the piano player today.”