Randy White: Gone

Instead, he swung the spotlight toward a patch of tree canopy that was moving and ignored Eugene, who yelled, “I want paid first! Go ahead and get yourself killed! Me, I’m gonna find a beer.”

Ricky had no interest. From where I knelt, it appeared as if he shouldered the shotgun and waded a few steps toward the noise, but I couldn’t be sure. The animal was bigger, moving faster than I’d realized, judging from the way trees parted as it advanced. Which, for the first time, caused me to remember that animals can wind-scent blood from miles away. Meat eaters, anyway. Sharks… vultures… saltwater crocs. And Ricky Meeks, waiting there, water up to his belly, in clothes brittle with his own blood-but the Texan didn’t possess my local knowledge.

The temptation was to stand and get a better look, and I might have if I hadn’t been waiting for a clean shot. And when the spotlight went out for some reason-maybe Meeks had dropped it in his excitement-there was an even better reason to stay put, so I did. In hindsight, it was a lucky decision because we heard Ricky holler, “Jesus Christ!” as if surprised by the sudden darkness. Then he fired the shotgun- BOOM! … BOOM! Two panicky shots spaced a moment apart before there was a third explosion- kuh-WHUMPH! -which wasn’t a gunshot at all, although I didn’t realize it at first. It was the sound of the cruiser blowing up, caused by propane gas, and something Eugene had done in the cabin-hunting for beer, my guess.

Either the shock wave or the heat blew me backward, along with a storm of foliage that had protected us from the blast. Before I could think about getting to my feet, I was already up and running, pursued by the screams of what might have been a man. I didn’t want to risk what awaited my eyes if I turned, so I didn’t. Even when I heard an animal crashing through the brush off to my right, I refused to look. Instead, I focused on Olivia’s back and followed her as she snaked her way through the jungle. That girl could run!

There was no problem seeing now. Above us, the tree canopy was waxy with light from an inferno that consumed the Skipjack cruiser. Ahead, I could see an incline that told me the shell ridge was near. I had described the ridge to Olivia in case we got separated, but she didn’t know the area as well as me so I yelled for her to stop and let me take the lead. The girl did, turning to look with a dazed expression, but then cringed. “You’re bleeding!”

At first, I thought she meant my thigh, which was throbbing after being jabbed by a mangrove spike. “My best jeans, too,” I replied, “but it doesn’t hurt. Are you okay?”

Olivia was more concerned with a couple of bloody holes that dotted my Navaho shirt. “He shot you!” she said, using her fingers to explore my left shoulder.

I felt giddy for a moment, thinking, Not as bad as I shot him, but said nothing. The tiny pellets didn’t hurt any worse than bee stings, a few drops of blood proved I was okay, plus I had noticed my friend’s eyes widening at something she saw over my shoulder.

I turned to look, hearing, “Oh my God!” Then Olivia pointed, and asked, “Hannah?”

I had been wrong about a saltwater croc. What we’d heard crushing limbs was the two-hundred-pound boar hog that had threatened me earlier. The explosion had spooked it away, but now the animal was returning to the fire, its sensitive snout held high, alert for the scent of a meal.

I knew where the hog was headed because of something else we could see: the blackened form of a man who had to be Ricky Meeks, stumbling through the mangroves, away from the blaze.

When she spotted him, Olivia almost backed a step, but then yelled, “I’m the one who did it, you bastard! Me. You stay away from us or… you’ll be sorry!”

Ricky already was. I watched him drop to one knee… stagger forward… then clutch the trunk of a tree to rest, smoke rising from his shoulders. The man had lost the shotgun, along with most of his hair and clothes, which was obvious even from a distance. Even so, the girl waited, unconvinced, before repeating her question about pigs. “Hannah, you don’t think…?”

I nodded. “They’ll eat anything. We can’t let that happen…” I looked into Olivia’s face. “Can we?”

In answer, she moved away so I could concentrate-once I had the pistol sights squared. My eyes tracking, the animal trotted like a Sunday horse, a profile of tusks with a spit curl tail, unaware it had been spared when Olivia amended, “No! Just scare the damn thing away!”

Two shots I fired, missing low and to the right. It would have been a disappointment to all of my great-aunts, particularly Hannah One. But it suited me.

ACCORDING TO MY MOTHER, WHO IS OFTEN WRONG, THE first full moon in July is called the Thunder Moon by modern Seminoles, a name passed down from pyramid builders who lived on our islands during the time of the Maya.

“Summer squalls!” she explained as if the reason was obvious. “If you expect to enjoy your date tonight, better wear something waterproof- not a cocktail dress that shows off what most respectable women keep covered. Including their bullet scars!”

Three dots beneath a Band-Aid did not constitute scars in my experience, so I continued to sip my coffee on this early Friday morning and pretended to listen.

“Who’s the new suitor? That pretty lawyer woman who got you off the hook with the police, I bet. Shoot a man in his privates-even one from Ohio or Texas-most islanders would be on death row. I saw the way she looked at you the other night. Chumming up to me like it was my birthday, but it’s you she wants to pull the straps and ribbons off of!”

Impressed by Loretta’s witchy powers yet again, I raised my eyebrows, then repeated what I’d said several times in the last three weeks. “Self-defense, Mamma. Instead of arresting me, a sheriff’s captain even hinted around about offering me a job. So don’t worry your head about death row. Same with Olivia Seasons. Didn’t you think she was a sweet girl?”

I tried to keep my tone positive and airy. No need to provide the woman with ammunition by admitting it would be weeks before we were officially cleared-a worry that kept me awake nights-or that Olivia, after brightening enough to attend Chapel By The Sea and go shopping, had lapsed into a depression that required medical treatment. “Guilt,” the girl had admitted to me, even though it was her kidnappers-both still in critical condition at Tampa Burn Center-who had to worry about the electric chair.

Loretta had seen me pack the little black cocktail dress, though, and wouldn’t drop the subject. “You’re gunning for someone tonight,” she accused, delighted by the double meaning. “Must be Jake’s fishing client, Lawrence what’s-his-name. I told you he made a pass at your own aunt, which, of course, didn’t faze you. But did I mention he might have offered money? Your Aunt Hannah never traded her body for pay-far as I can prove ,anyway. That’s why I can’t help noticing my own daughter, who was raised in the church, is suddenly rich as Croesus-”

I let the woman talk, numb to her tricky method of asking how I could now afford full-time nursing, a hired van to take her to the Edison Mall once a week, plus a few improvements to the house and dock.

“It’s called a bonus, Loretta,” I interrupted finally. “It’s what a professional investigator gets paid when she does a good job. You can thank me later for having the porch painted, the wiring fixed, and hiring Ralph Woodring to dredge the dock. Next Sunday, you can thank Olivia, too.”

True, I’d had our dock basin deepened for my own benefit-and the benefit of the most beautiful boat I’d ever been granted the right to use, let alone live aboard. But the money was mine to spend as I saw fit, which included a nice bonus from Lawrence Seasons, plus an unexpected present from Olivia.