Randy White: Ten thousand isles

"They figure the Indians dug the canal a thousand years ago for their canoes. So they could cross the island and not have to go off-shore."

"Marco Island?"

"No, it was a little island right next to Marco. I've forgotten the name of it. Anyway, Dorothy, she figured it out about the canal. Delia was very excited, because the state archaeologists got involved and there was some talk of giving her a scholarship to college when she got old enough because of all the help she'd been to them. You can imagine what that meant to a single woman raising a daughter on waitress pay.

"The stuff Dorothy found was real valuable. There was a carving of a cat and two of these horrible-looking masks with real long noses. Because of the muck, they were in perfect condition; still had paint on them. I guess because they hadn't been exposed to air, or something. Also, there was this small wooden carving shaped like a paddle blade. About the size of both my palms together with very odd designs on it. Teardrops and a cross and circles within circles."

Tomlinson got up, found pencil and paper and drew what looked to be a bull's-eye over a Gaelic cross. "Was it like this?"

JoAnn squinched her jaw, thinking. "Maybe. I can't remember. The newspaper did a story on what she found, with photographs and everything. I might have it in a box if I can find it. I remember thinking that the cat looked Egyptian. You know the one I'm talking about? The tall one with its eyes closed and paws folded up. It was very strange stuff and Dorothy gave some of it to the archaeologists. The title was 'The Girl Who Finds Things.' The newspaper story, I mean."

That was just the beginning, JoAnn told us. Less than a year later, the child made another discovery. Digging near the edge of the same canal, she'd found human bones, a skull, several hundred blue Spanish chevron trade beads and what JoAnn called a golden tablet. It was the only one like it ever found. The Florida Indians weren't supposed to have had gold, but there it was, the child had uncovered it.

"Delia was so happy, it breaks my heart now. She didn't know how much sadness that damn tablet was going to bring her. At the time, I guess it represented a little break in all her bad luck. The things Dorothy had found before were valuable, but the golden tablet was worth a bundle. It was her ticket to college, that's the way Delia saw it."

Tomlinson said, "How big was the medallion?"

"Not big. Three or four ounces of gold I think Delia said. About half the size of a postcard. Beautiful, very intricate, that's the way I remember it. But its real value was historical. I guess those things, the rare Indian stuff, sell for a lot."

"That's true, I'm afraid. The designs, were they similar to the designs on the wooden totem?"

"Totem? Oh, you mean the paddle. I never saw the totem in person, but I did see a picture. It was a good picture, but I really can't remember. The gold tablet, though, wow! I remember that. Really beautiful. Maybe they were kind of similar."

Tomlinson was nodding as if he'd expected it to be so. "What makes you think the medallion had something to do with the girl's death?"

"She began to have bad dreams. Nightmares, Delia said, almost every night after she found the thing. The tablet was in the dreams. I don't know what the dreams were about. You can ask Delia if you want." JoAnn placed her glass of tea on the hatch cover beside her. Her voice had reminded calm, but I noticed that her hand was shaking.

I said, "You're still upset by this. It happened, what? fifteen years ago?"

She was nodding. "I helped raise Dorothy, Doc. I carried that little girl around and burped her and did all the stuff that mothers do. She was a sweet kid. Very gende and quick to cry at another person's pain.

"It rained the day of the funeral. One of those gray drizzles. It made her casket look so tiny and alone. I've never had children. Dorothy was about as close as I ever came. So, yes, it still hurts and it's still hard for me to talk about and it never goes away."

"How did she die?"

"The coroner ruled it a suicide, but Delia still believes it was an accident. What happened was, one of the island teenagers found Dorothy hanging from the limb of a low tree. This was on Marco, way back on an Indian mound behind the house. Her hands weren't tied, her feet were touching the ground. So Delia thinks maybe she was experimenting with unconsciousness. You know how kids will hold their breath, hoping to pass out, maybe have an out-of-body experience? Delia thinks it was like that. But I don't know. I think the child was probably so scared by the demons she couldn't take it anymore."

"Her mother wants to believe it was an accident?"

"I think so."

"These break-ins," Tomlinson said, "it must be very hard on your friend, someone going through the clothing of her dead daughter."

JoAnn was nodding. "Delia's a wreck. An absolute nervous wreck. It's brought all those old emotions back, all the pain. Someone is violating her daughter. That's the way Delia sees it. All she has left is Dorothy's clothing and some photos, and last night it happened again.

"She got back from work and realized someone had taken out the drawers where she hides her keepsakes and very carefully slit open the sealing paper on the back of the drawers. You know that brown paper I'm talking about? She called the police-third time it'd happened, and by now they think she's a nut case, which she practically is after all she's been through."

"Was anything missing?"

"Some photos, she thinks. Maybe some of the Spanish beads that Dorothy found. She'd found a lot of beads and that's where Delia hid some of them, in the little space between one of the drawers. But the point is, fellas, the woman is in trouble and needs a helping hand."

Meaning us.

There was no one else to choose from. Delia had an estranged boyfriend who was an abuser. He couldn't be trusted. And her taste in men was so consistently bad that JoAnn had taken it upon herself to find a brotherly protector.

"What she could really use is a friend. Someone to stay there for a week or so, so she can at least get some sleep at night. As it is, she's terrified of every sound. If our magazine wasn't right on deadline, I'd be down there now. It's gonna be another week or so before I can get away, and she can't come up here because she's gotta work."

Years ago, recendy divorced and broke, JoAnn and Rhonda Lister had founded a single-sheet weekly "newspaper" that they called The Heat Islands Fishing Report, and sold advertising. Within two years, it was a full-sized magazine and hugely sue-cessful. They'd both made a lot of money but they still ran every aspect of the business themselves. Busy ladies.

"Something else, Doc. It wouldn't hurt for someone to ask around, talk to the police and give them a nudge. The jerk who's scaring her needs to be caught. That's the only way she's going to feel comfortable living there."

I said, "That's not exacdy my line of work."

"I know that, but a guy like you-kind of big and bookish and solid-the cops will pay attention to a guy like you. Plus you're smart. All I'm asking is, drive down there, talk to Delia. Maybe you can help, maybe you can't. Spend a day or two. Are you that busy?"

Yes, I was that busy. I was under contract to collect for Mote Marine Laboratory, near Sarasota, one of the world's great research facilities. After months of paperwork and genuinely asinine government red tape, I'd finally received a Scientific Collecting Permit from the great state of Florida that allowed me to net and transport brood snook, a favorite game and food fish.

Getting the permit had been a bureaucratic nightmare. Never mind that the snook I caught would be released unharmed after we stripped them of milt and eggs. And never mind that Mote is the first to successfully raise snook in large quantities, then reintroduce them into the wild-something state biologists had tried but failed to do.