Nobody answered the door, and I was already down the steps when Shelly appeared from behind the trailer and nearly scared the you-know-what out of me. She was barefoot and carried a long rusty shovel.

“What'd you want now?” she asked. She wore cutoff jeans and a sleeveless top that showed off her barbed-wire tattoo.

“I need to talk to Mr. Peeking again,” I said.

“Well, he's not available at the moment.”

“That's okay. I'll come back another time.”

Shelly noticed me staring at the shovel. She laughed and said, “Don't worry, it wasn't Lice I was puttin' in a hole. It was last night's dinner.”

I nodded as if that was the most normal thing in the world, burying food in your backyard.

“Lobster shells,” she explained. “I don't want 'em stinking up the garbage, 'cause they're out of season. Next thing you know, some nosy neighbor calls the grouper troopers and then, Houston, we've got a problem.”

Some of the locals in the Keys poach a lobster here and there in the off months. Not even my dad gets upset about that.

“Whatcha wanna talk to Lice for?” Shelly asked.

“Just some business between him and my father,” I said.

She was so much taller than me, I had to tilt my head back just to see her expression. She was smiling when she said, “Important business, huh?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Come on inside and have somethin' to drink.”

“No thanks. I'm soaking wet.”

“So's Lice,” Shelly grunted, “but from the inside out.”

She jerked open the screen door and I followed her into the trailer. Lice Peeking was stretched facedown on the blue shag carpet, and he wasn't moving. I didn't see any blood, which was a relief, but I couldn't hear him breathing.

Shelly said, “Oh, don't worry. He's not dead.” She gave a sharp kick to his ribs and he started to snore.