Randy White - Shark River

Then Lindsey was beside me. She grabbed my hand and began to steer me away toward a hedge of hibiscus that separated the grassy landing area from the bay. She said to me, “I don’t care how shy you are, how proper, I’m not leaving without a good-bye kiss.”

I let her pull me along, saying, “What the hell’s wrong with these people? Yesterday I was a hero, today I’m poison. Even your bodyguard-what did I do to make her mad?”

“Gale?” Her expression said it was unimportant, why waste the energy? “Don’t worry about her. Gale’s always pissed off about something. It might be that she’s jealous.”

“She’s jealous because of me?” I smiled. “I don’t think so. She hasn’t shown the slightest interest. But I’m flattered you’d think that.”

“Not you, you big dope. She’s interested in me. She’s been wanting to come on to me for, like, the last month, but couldn’t work up the nerve. Too professional, probably.” She turned to face me, laughing. “That’s hilarious! Gale interested in you? She’s gay. Man, are you out of it sometimes.”

“Yeah, I don’t doubt that, but the question’s the same: Why would she be jealous? Unless you told her about last night. Which you didn’t

… did you?”

“I don’t tell her anything. She always, like, goes straight to Dad.” She paused for a moment. “Now that you mention it, though, um-huh, she is acting weirder than usual.”

Lindsey was still thinking about it. She stood close enough to speak confidentially. “Or it could be because of Dad. Yeah, that might be it. My father spoke to her this morning on the phone and had her close to tears, he was, like, yelling at her so much. I was in the next room and could hear him. That’s how pissed off he was.

“Same with the two women cops. With them, what happened was, my dad did a conference call this morning. Them and their boss at the Sheriff’s Department, Dad’s point being that they hadn’t done what they were paid to do, which, when you think about it, they didn’t… .” She let the sentence trail as we were approached the bushes. She turned to me again, made herself as tall as she could be on tippy-toes. Held my right hand to her chest as she kissed me gently, then harder. “I like you, Ford. We need to get together soon. Real soon.”

“It’s something to think about.”

She kissed me again. “No, it’s not. You think way too much. That’s your problem. Like the shoe commercial: Just do it.”

Smiling, I used my good hand to hold her away momentarily. “Okay, sure, you’ve got a point, so we’ll get together. But you know what I’m thinking about right now?”

In a torch singer’s smoky voice, she answered, “If it’s the same thing I’m thinking of, we’ve only got about five minutes, so drop your shorts and let’s get started,” then laughed at her own parody.

“No, what I’m wondering is how’d your dad know the two women cops screwed up? They were assigned to guard you, but you snuck out. How could he know that? That’s my point.”

She made a face and shrugged. “I’ve never figured out how my dad knows all the things he knows. I quit worrying about it long ago. He’s always watching me, always finding out stuff.”

I experienced a slow, uncomfortable dawning. “You mean he knows and the deputies know where you went last night, where you stayed? That we were together?”

“Maybe not but it’s possible. They usually keep track of me every damn second of the day. The bodyguard I had before Gale, she was like that, then Gale, and always because of Dad. They bug my room, bug my phones, tail me when I’m out. Because of the drug thing, only that’s not going to be a problem anymore. I’m serious, Doc, I feel like I’ve changed.”

“Phone?” I said, thinking of the cell phone she’d carried with her. I was aware of a satellite surveillance system, controlled by the National Security Agency, known as Echelon. An NSA operator could sit at his little screen in Fort Meade, Maryland, tune in on a cell phone conversation on the other side of the earth. Could also use the conversation as an effective direction finder; laser in on the precise location, know what street they were on in Singapore or Perth, know if the person using the phone was turning right or left. It was that exact.

Lindsey said, “I don’t know how he finds out all the stuff he does, but don’t worry about it. Plus, who cares? The only thing I really care about right now?” She gave me a slowly lingering kiss, then a slap on the butt. “All I care about is you calling those numbers I gave you, letting me know when we can get together again. You promised, so don’t forget, damn it.”

I was nodding, still considering the probabilities. “Yeah, it would have to be the cell phone. You wouldn’t even need to add a mini-transmitter into something like that. Just dial in on the phone’s preprogrammed number. Or… yeah, maybe they would have to install one more little chip.”

“Ford! You are going to call me. Leave a message at the numbers I wrote down, let me know where you are. I’ll call you here on the island, just as soon as I get to wherever in the hell it is they’re taking me. But if they won’t let me call, don’t think it’s because I don’t want to.” She had gray-green eyes with flecks of gold on the iris. Looking at me, her expression became affectionate, her eyes intense. “I like you, Ford. It’s nice not to feel that itch. That destructive itch. I want to stay in touch.”

I became certain that someone had eavesdropped via the girl’s phone a few minutes after I watched the chopper bank away, swinging northward, gaining speed, when I was summoned to the island guests’ services desk.

Someone had called my room three times; left the same name, the same number.

The first two message slips were blank, but the third read, “Hal Harrington wants to discuss recent Apollo mission. Call immediately.”

R ansom Ebanks asked me, “Why would our daddy lie about somethin’ like that? About you and me being brother and sister? You look at the papers I’ve been trying to show you, the ones back on the island, then you understand.”

In Tomlinson’s bungalow, in a small black backpack, she had a manila envelope filled with papers. Letters mostly, some legal documents and photos. I’d glanced at them long enough to notice that there was a drawing of some kind, too.

I said, “Tucker would lie because-” I almost said Tucker Gatrell lied because he was a fraud and a pathological liar, but caught myself.

Tomlinson was right. The genetics were unmistakable. The eyes, the vocal tones, even the way she turned her head and paused before speaking: all characteristics that reminded me of Tuck. Not that it was surprising my bawdy old uncle had sired a daughter down in the islands. He’d spent a lot of time in Cuba, the Bahamas, and Central America, drinking and carousing. I reminded myself that daughters tend to be sensitive and protective about their fathers no matter who they are. It wasn’t Ransom’s fault that she was Tucker’s daughter. No need to be cruel, so I started over.

“Tucker would lie because he was… let’s just describe him as an unusual person. He was theatrical. Prone to exaggeration, almost like an actor. That’s one way to describe him-the man would have been a decent actor. Which is what he was doing when he told you I was your brother. Exaggerating. Acting like it was true. His little way of having fun. Isn’t that right, Tomlinson? Tomlinson knew the guy. Oh, he was wild about Tomlinson.”

I was being facetious. Tucker’s common greeting when he saw Tomlinson approach was, “It’ll be a couple hundred more years before you hippie bastards should be allowed to mate with human beings. But that doesn’t mean I won’t let you buy me a beer.”