but splurging on a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice was a treat she allowed herself twice a week.
Today she bypassed the juice and looked for a paperback thriller. Since she seemed doomed to spend her nights alone, she needed the excitement.
Before checking out, she wandered over to the community bulletin board to see if any handymen were advertising. There was a similar board at the rec center, which she planned to check, as well. She jotted down two possibilities, then tore off a sheet of paper and scrawled her own ad.
Jack-of-all-trades needed for a variety of house repairs on Palmetto Grove Key.
She added her home and cell numbers, and tacked the ad at eye level between a circular for a local Baptist church and photos of a new litter of water spaniels.
As she stepped back, a tall man with broad shoulders came up beside her and gazed at her contribution. “Jack-of-all-trades?”
She took her time examining him. She liked what she saw, but apparently she had a fondness for sociopaths. Take CJ, for instance.
The guy was in his middle forties. Nice enough to look at, but not handsome. Rugged was a better word, more like somebody who sloshed through the Everglades in waders, hunting ducks or alligators. He had short dark hair, a cleft chin and five o’clock shadow at eight o’clock in the morning.
“I own five houses up the road toward the point, and they all need repairs,” she said. “I’m hoping I can find one person to do the work. Simpler that way.”
“You need permits?”
She shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. I won’t be looking over anybody’s shoulder.” CJ might be looking, but she suspected her ex was a no-permit kind of guy.
“How about licenses?”
“I don’t know what Florida requires.” She paused. “Maybe I don’t want to know.”
“I’m from out west, but I’m staying around for at least a couple of months, and I’m looking for something to do when I’m not fishing.” He grinned, a white splash against tanned skin. “Fishing comes first.”
“How first?”
“I could probably give you twenty hours a week. More to start, if it’s an emergency, especially if there’s someplace to fish near your property.”
“No emergency, and I bet there are places to fish on my property. You’re welcome to them. Can you do anything in twenty hours?”
“If I work hard and fast, which I do.”
“You have experience?”
“I built a couple of hunting cabins, just for fun. Wired them, did the plumbing, you name it. The sale of the first one helped me retire sooner than I expected.”
“Retired?”
“Military. I’m taking a sabbatical, if you want to call it that. Traveling around, trying to decide where I’ll hang out in the winter. I like it here, so I’m going to stay awhile to see if I still like it when the new wears off.”
She held out her hand. “I’m Tracy Deloche.”
Without crushing her fingers, he gripped them hard enough to let her know he meant business. “Pete Knight.”
“I was going to check around to figure out what to pay.”
“Fifteen bucks an hour to start, in cash, no paperwork. If we’re happy together, you’ll raise it to keep me. You’ll be happy.”
“There’s a water pump, a leaky roof, some wiring….”
“If I can’t handle something alone, I’ll find the right person to back me up.”
She didn’t know what else she could ask for. Fifteen dollars an hour sounded like a steal. Of course, if Pete Knight worked at turtle speed, she would be wasting her money, but then she could fire him.
“I’ll think about it,” she said, “but I’m interested. Do you have a number?”
He jotted it on a scrap of paper, and she thanked him. In the checkout line, she looked back to make one more assessment, but Pete Knight was already gone.
Ten minutes later she parked in front of the Henrietta Claiborne Recreation Center and gathered her things for the day ahead. Almost a year ago, against her better judgment, she had taken the job as recreational supervisor. She had a degree in recreation and leisure studies, though only limited experience, but the director had been desperate.
In college the degree had seemed a perfect choice. She was an expert on leisure time, plus she’d always been good at athletics. With a little more effort and a lot more interest, she might even have excelled at some sport and gone professional. But Tracy had been content to spend her hours on golf courses and tennis courts trolling for a husband.