Warm Nights in Magnolia Bay, Babette Jongh [book club books txt] 📗

Jefferson Pearson, the real estate developer heading the project, was quoted as saying that he was given an anonymous tip about a strip of bayside land that would soon be available for sale between the old boat ramp and Winding Water Way.

Anonymous tip. Jefferson Pearson, otherwise known as Quinn’s friend and ex-business partner. The same Jefferson Pearson who had offered Quinn a cushy job after he had received an anonymous tip. Abby felt a tornado of anger swirl up from the soles of her bare feet to careen through her body and explode through the top of her head. Quinn hadn’t just considered being involved in JP’s plans; he had instigated them himself.

“That fucker!” Abby jumped to her feet and yelled the words out loud. “That fucking fucker!” Anger propelled her out the back door with such force that Wolf scrambled around the side of the house to his safe den under the porch, and even Georgia tucked her tail and crouched as if under attack. Abby had every intention of storming next door and giving Quinn a heaping helping of what for until she heard Sean yell, “Cannonball!”

A huge splash in the pool next door followed by the sound of Quinn and Sean laughing together brought Abby to her senses. Yes, it was bad that Quinn had probably told JP about the bayside land. But Quinn couldn’t have known what JP would make of that tip. He couldn’t have known JP would go so far as to start that petition against Bayside Barn. Quinn wouldn’t have put so much time and money into renovating that estate if he’d known all along that it would be razed to the ground. He’d been stupid, and he’d done wrong, but he wasn’t evil. Abby needed to cool her jets, give herself the weekend to calm down and think rationally. Maybe Quinn’s involvement in JP’s scheme wasn’t as bad as she thought.

* * *

Quinn loaded a small, soft-sided cooler with soft drinks, bottled water, not-quite-stale chips, and cold pizza left over from lunch. Then he and Sean hauled the paddleboards and all the related paraphernalia to the boat landing. They got all the gear situated under the bungee nets on the front of the boards, then put the boards in and started paddling out. A bank of dark clouds hung over the distant horizon, but the weather report claimed zero chance of rain.

“Dad,” Sean said, his voice thoughtful. “Do you think they’ll really build a hotel here?”

“I don’t know, Son.” Quinn thought of all the damage construction would do to this wild and beautiful space. The developers would fill in the marshes and build high retaining walls along the bayou, which they’d dredge out to allow large, deep-drafted yachts to come in. “I hope not.”

“Look, Dad!” Sean pointed up into a tree on the far side of the bank. A bald eagle sat on the highest branch of a towering cypress tree. The nest she guarded was a flat platform built from thick twigs and long, woody reeds. “Is that an eagle?”

Quinn treasured the sound of Sean calling him Dad in the same tone he’d used back when he was a young kid whose father was someone he looked up to and admired, but more than that, truly loved. “Yes, that’s a bald eagle.”

He pointed to another eagle who glided effortlessly in the sky high above them. “That’s one, too, flying overhead. He’s young, so his head hasn’t gone white yet, but it will. Eagles have been making a comeback around here, especially along these marshland inlets where the fishing is good. Eagles love to fish.”

Sean watched the eagles in awe. He sat relaxed on his board, his attention on the world of plants and animals that went on about their lives, unconcerned with the two humans drifting past in the dappled shade of the small bayou. Sean let the paddle rest on his crossed knees. “I bet they’ll leave if a hotel gets built here.”

“Not just the eagles, but all the animals who live here now. Even old Goliath, who’s probably been living here for the last umpteen years.” Quinn felt a long-fingered grasp of breathtaking fear clench around his heart. “I’m afraid you’re right, and I hope it never happens. Because if developers move in, the animals will have to move out.”

Move out sounded like the animals had a choice, another place to go. When the stark truth was that they wouldn’t move out, they’d just die, because the ecosystem that sustained them would be destroyed, and they’d have no place else to go. If that happened, Quinn hoped to God that Sean would never find out that the daddy he was once again beginning to look up to had helped JP get his clutches on this unspoiled land that abounded with life.

Sean pointed to a long, black snake that draped like a Christmas tree garland over a low-hanging branch that hung out over the water. “What kind of snake is that?”

Quinn paddled closer to get a better look. “It’s a black racer. You can tell because his body is long and slender, and he’s all black except for a white chin.”

Sean paddled closer, too, but kept behind Quinn’s board when he examined the snake. “Is it poisonous?”

“Well, snakes aren’t poisonous. Plants are poisonous; snakes are venomous. But no, he’s not venomous. He’s harmless to humans, but he eats frogs and bird eggs and even small venomous snakes. He’s a good snake.”

“Mom says that only a dead snake is a good snake.”

Quinn nudged Sean’s board and turned them both back into the bayou’s central flow. “Your mom isn’t wrong about much, but I’d beg to differ with her on that point. Even venomous snakes have their place in the world, and they won’t bother you if you don’t bother them.”

“Uncle Jim says that a water moccasin will come after you. He says they’re aggressive and territorial.”

Quinn’s older brother, Jim, was a hunter and outdoorsman who loved