Randy White - Shark River

I felt sick myself just hearing it, and I didn’t doubt it for a moment when JoAnn added, “When Janet got back the next night and realized what’d happened, she went to him and actually got down on her knees outside the door of his apartment and begged him to forgive her. Jeth wouldn’t let her in. Never even opened the door. That was six days ago. He hasn’t spoken a word to her. Says he never will again. I saw Janet yesterday. Remember the way she looked when she first came here? After her husband was killed in the car wreck? Shaky, gaunt, all the horror in the world in those pretty eyes of hers. Clap your hands behind her and she’d jump out of her skin. That’s the way she looks now. She can’t eat, can’t sleep, and can’t stop crying. She thinks she’s cursed. I mean, really believes it. Or that she has some destructive badness in her that keeps screwing up her life intentionally. I had the worst feeling when I left her houseboat-a feeling that she’s not gonna make it this time. It’s too much after all the stuff she’s already been through.”

I stood, placed my mug on the teak table. Said, “Mind if I use your phone?”

“What’re you going to do, Doc?”

There was a wall phone on the control console bulkhead just to the left of the helm seat. “What’s Janet’s number? I haven’t called her in a while.”

Now JoAnn was standing, her expression dubious. “Hey… wait a minute, big fella. You’re way too smart to put yourself in the middle of something like this. Give them some time; they’ll work it out themselves.”

I held the phone away from my ear. “Do you really believe that?”

She sighed, thought about it, then sighed again. “No. No, I don’t believe it. Not for a minute.”

“You know how stubborn Jeth is. If he’s been telling people he’ll never speak to her again, you can bet that’s exactly what he’ll do. As in never again. You think she’s strong enough to deal with that?”

JoAnn shook her head slowly. “Janet’s at the end of her rope. That’s what I believe. After something like this, she may end up one of those crazy hermit spinsters. A bag lady, who knows? I think she’s about to completely lose it. But what the hell can we do to help them?”

I thought I knew the answer to that. The call didn’t take long. A few minutes later, Mack said, “A cell phone? You went for how many years without even an answering machine, and now you’ve got a cell phone?”

I was inside the marina office now, and had just opened the FedEx package he’d handed me. There was no return address on the slip, but I knew who’d sent it.

I pressed the power button of my new cell phone, heard the phone’s irritating beep, turned it off again, and stuck the thing in my pocket.

Mack and Jeth were sitting behind the glass counter. Mack was wearing a safari shirt, the kind with pleats that he’s partial to. He told me he favors that kind of shirt because it’s the sort of thing his grandfather wore growing up in New Zealand. He had his Ben Franklin bifocals on to see because he was tallying up the day’s receipts, a South Trust money bag bulging with cash within safe reach. Jeth sat behind him on a stool in the corner. He was leafing through a Florida Sportsman magazine, wearing his guide khakis. His expression was glum. His face reminded me of the way JoAnn had described Janet: gaunt, like some of the life had been leached out.

When I entered, I said, “Looks like we’ve got live music tonight, huh?”

Mack turned and glanced out the window briefly. The Jensen’s Taxi boat had just pulled in, loaded with amplifiers and instruments and musicians.

“John Mooney’s playing with the Trouble Starters. Jim Morris is back from Key West, so he’s going to sit in. Danny Morgan, too. Ought to be quite a party.”

I said, “I’ve got so much work to do in the lab, I can’t stick around for long. But I’ll be able to hear the music, no problem.” I waited for a moment before I added, “You’re going to be there, aren’t you, Jeth?”

He grunted, shrugged, said nothing.

Mack ignored him. “Your sister stopped by. Said she could play the steel drum if we found one for her, so Jimmy Jensen scared one up. And that she’d get a limbo line going. I really like her, Doc. But you know what you might suggest to her? Don’t use that outside shower of yours. Not during daylight, anyway. She was out there showering this afternoon and two of the rental boats collided. One of them’s going to need fiberglass work. Plus old Mister Wells-the nice old gentleman who leads the Audubon tours? He fell off the dock and twisted the hell out of his knee. She’s got some amazing body, your sister does. Isn’t that right, Jeth?”

Jeth grunted again and held the magazine a little higher in front of his face.

I reached behind the counter, lifted a cardboard box full of my mail and began to sort through it. I told Mack, “She’s not my sister, she’s my cousin,” before I said, “Hey, there’s something I need to discuss with you guys.”

I told them that, for the next couple of weeks, they should be wary of any stranger who came asking for me, of anyone who called and wanted to know where I was. To notify me right away. I told just enough about the scene on the dock with the Rastafarians, and Jeth showed some interest for the first time.

“I wish to hell I’d of noticed it going on,” he said fiercely. “I’d’a beat the crap out of both of them. They come up here like they own the place and attack you like that? On our island, the bastards. Ca-ca-call me next time, Doc. I’ll make them wish they was never born.”

He had a lot of anger in there bottled up, no mistaking it. I’d never heard that intensity in his voice; had never guessed he possessed even the slightest potential for violence.

I said, “If you see them, notify me or call the cops. That’s all you need to do. Or if anyone stops by or calls trying to find me. Give me a heads-up.”

Mack seemed uneasy. He was a newspaper reader, a CNN junkie, but even if he had no interests beyond the borders of Sanibel, he would have known about the kidnapping attempt on Guava Key. News travels almost as fast as gossip among island people. Even so, he was prudent enough not to ask if there was a connection. “Thing is, Doc, I wish you’d told me earlier. This morning, I had two calls. Both from men and about half an hour apart. They wanted to know how to get in touch with you, where your place is. I saw no reason not to-”

I said, “Perfectly understandable, Mack. You didn’t know.”

“Well, what I was going to tell you is, one of them had an island accent. So it may have been one of the Rastafarians who paid you the visit. The other man, though, he had a Spanish accent. Cuban, I figured, but maybe not. I wouldn’t know the bloody difference.”

I didn’t like the implications of that, but I made an effort not to let them see that I was concerned. “Did he identify himself?”

“Nope. Just asked about the marine biologist who lived here, mentioned your name, and said it was important he contact you. I figured he wanted to place an order.” Mack was done with the receipts. He folded his calculator and began to put everything away.

Outside, through the window, people were already beginning to circulate on the docks, freshly showered, drinks in hand. Ransom was out there wearing the kind of short, clingy dress that might be called a chemise-black satin material that hung from her shoulders on two thin straps, showing the inside of her thighs when she moved those long legs of hers. She was wearing white beads in her hair now. Had three… no, four men standing around her, all of them listening intently as she spoke, wanting her to see how interested they were in what she had to say. Three of the four had to be ten, fifteen years younger than her. Didn’t matter. She already had her own little flock of admirers.