Nelson DeMille - Plum Island

"I'm fine."

We treaded water near the dock. She said, "I love swimming naked."

"You don't have to worry about something biting your worm."

"Do you fish?"

"Now and then."

"You can get flounder right off this dock."

"I can get flounder in the supermarket."

"If you go out in your boat just a few hundred yards, you can get brown trout, porgy, and weakfish."

"Where can I get prime rib?"

"Beef is not good for you."

"You had a hamburger for lunch."

"I know. But it's not good for people." She added, "Neither is sex with strangers."

"I'm a high-risk kind of guy, Emma."

She said, "I guess I am, too. I don't even know you."

"That's why you like me."

She giggled.

In truth, most women considered cops safe. I mean, if a woman meets a cop in a bar, presumably he's not a homicidal maniac, he's probably got a clean bill of health, and he has a few bucks in his wallet. Women don't require much these days.

We bantered a little, we kissed and embraced, which is really nice, naked, half submerged, treading water. I like saltwater. It makes me feel clean and buoyant.

I put one hand on her incredible butt and the other on her breast as we kissed and treaded. This was as much fun as I'd had in a long time. She put one hand on my butt and the other on my periscope, which went immediately up.

I said, "Can we do it in the water?"

"It's possible. You have to be in good shape. You have to keep treading water and keep air in your lungs to stay buoyant, and at the same time… you know… do it."

"No problem. My flotation device is big enough to keep us both afloat."

She laughed. We actually consummated this aquatic feat, probably scaring a lot of fish in the process. My lung actually felt better.

Afterward, we both lay on our backs and floated. I commented, "Look, my rudder is out of the water."

She glanced over at me and said, "I thought that was a main mast."

Well, enough nautical naughties. I picked up my head a little and watched her floating out away from the shore with the ebbing tide. Truly, her breasts looked like twin volcanic islands in the moonlight.

She said, "Look up there, John. Shooting stars."

I looked in the southern sky and saw them.

"Make a wish," she said.

"Okay. I wish — "

"Don't tell or it won't come true."

"It already came true, Emma. Me and you." I mean, how's that for romantic? And I already had sex — twice. When the lust is gone, what's left is loathing or love. I think I was in love.

She didn't say anything for a few seconds, then said, "That's very nice.

"I meant it."

We continued to float. After a minute or two she said, "Look there, in the eastern sky. Can you see the constellation Andromeda?"

"Not without my glasses."

"Right there. Look." She attempted to connect a bunch of stars for me, but if there was somebody up there named Andromeda, I didn't see her. To be polite, I said, "Oh, yeah. Got it. She's wearing high heels."

Emma directed my gaze farther east and said, "There's Pegasus. You know, the winged horse of the Muses."

"I know. I had him to win in the fifth race at Belmont last Saturday. Came in fourth."

Emma had learned to ignore me and continued, "Pegasus was born of the sea foam and the blood of the slain Medusa."

"It didn't say that on the scratch sheet."

"Do you want to get laid again?"

"Yes."

"Then stop being a wiseass."

"Consider it done." And I meant it.

So, what a night — a bright, nearly full moon overhead, a gentle shore breeze, the smell of sea and salt, stars twinkling in the deep purple sky, a beautiful woman, our bodies floating, rising and falling with the slow, rhythmic swells. It doesn't get much better than this. All things considered, this was a lot better than my somewhat unpleasant near-death experience.

Which got me thinking about Tom and Judy. I looked up at the sky and I sent out a nice thought to them, a sort of hello and goodbye, and a promise that I'd do everything I could to find their killer. And I asked them to please give me a hint.

I guess it was the feeling of total relaxation, the sexual release, or maybe looking up at the constellations, connecting the points of light — whatever it was, I had it now. The whole picture, the pings, the points, the lines, it all came together in a sort of rush, and my brain was racing so fast I couldn't keep up with my own thoughts. I yelled, "That's it!" and exhaled so much air that I sank.

I came to the surface sputtering, and Emma was there beside me, looking concerned. "Are you all right?"

"I'm terrific!"

"Are you -?"

"Captain Kidd's trees!"

"What about them?"

I grabbed her by the arms, and we treaded water. I said, "What did you tell me about Captain Kidd's trees?"

"I said there's a legend that Captain Kidd buried some of his treasure under one of the trees up by Mattituck Inlet. They're called Captain Kidd's Trees."

"We're talking about Captain Kidd the pirate, right?"

"Yes. William Kidd."

"Where are these trees?" I asked.

"Just due north of here. Where the inlet empties into the Sound. Why do you -?"

"What's with Captain Kidd? What does he have to do with this place?"

"Don't you know?"

"No. That's why I'm asking you."

"I thought everyone knew — "

" I don't know. Tell me."

"Well, his treasure is supposed to be buried somewhere around here."

"Where?"

" Where ? If I knew, I'd be rich." She smiled. "And I wouldn't tell you.

Jeez. This was mind-boggling. It all fit… but maybe I was totally wrong… No, damn it, it fit. It fit everything. All those disjointed pieces, which had looked like the Chaos Theory at work now fell into place and became the Unified Theory, which explained everything. "Yeah…"

"Are you all right? You look pale or blue."

"I'm fine. I need a drink."

"Me, too. The wind is getting cold."

We swam back to shore, grabbed our clothes, and ran back naked across the lawn to the house. I got two thick bathrobes, then retrieved Uncle's decanter of brandy and two glasses. We sat on the porch, drinking, watching the lights across the bay. A sailboat glided over the water, its white sail ghostly in the moonlight, and thin wispy clouds raced across the starlit sky. What a night. What a night. I said to Tom and Judy, "I'm getting it. I'm getting close."

Emma glanced at me and held out her glass. I poured her more brandy and said, "Tell me about Captain Kidd."

"What would you like to know?" she asked.

"Everything."

"Why?"

"Why…? I'm fascinated by pirates."

She regarded me for a moment, then asked, "Since when?"

"Since I was a kid."

"Does this have to do with the murders?"

I looked at Emma. Despite our recent intimacy, I barely knew her, and I wasn't sure I could trust her to keep this to herself. I realized, too, I'd been overly excited about Captain Kidd. Trying to be cool now, I asked, "How could Captain Kidd be related to the Gordons' murders?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I'm asking you."

I said, "I'm off-duty now. I'm just curious about pirates and stuff."

"I'm off-duty, too. No history until tomorrow."

"Okay." I asked, "Will you stay the night?"

"Maybe. Let me think about it."

"Sure".

I put some Big Band dance music on my tape player, and we danced on the back porch in our bare feet and bathrobes and drank brandy and watched the bay and the stars.

It was one of those enchanted evenings, as they say, one of those magic nights that are often a prelude to something not so good.

Ms. Emma Whitestone chose to spend the night. She rose early, found the mouthwash, and gargled loud enough to wake me up. She showered, used my hair dryer, finger-combed her hair, found a lipstick and some eye stuff in her bag, which she applied in front of my dresser mirror while standing in the altogether.