Sally had been smart enough to bring along some towels. The night was warm and humid, but a cool breeze was coming in the open sides of the orca stadium and we both shivered. We took turns toweling each other’s back. I found myself lingering, gently buffing her smooth skin long after it needed drying. I could have done it all night and I don’t think she would have minded. I know I wouldn’t have. She slid back into her exercise suit. I pulled on my slacks over my squishy underwear. We collected our stuff, slipped out of Oceanus as unobtrusively as we had come in, got into the pickup, and headed back to her apartment.
We didn’t talk. She was alone with her thoughts. My mind kept doing instant replays of the same terrifying picture. Rocky advancing on Sally, his mouth wide open as if to devour her. Me frantically struggling to get to her before Rocky did. Sally playing games with the whale. I felt like a fool for trying to rescue her.
Back at the carriage house, I took her up on the offer of a shower and she loaned me a bathrobe of brushed terrycloth. It was snug around the shoulders, but Sally liked extra large, so it covered the important parts. She told me to throw my underwear in the dryer. While I was doing that, she went into the bedroom to get rid of her wet bathing suit. She quickly showered, and came out a minute later wrapped in another terrycloth robe. She turned the lights down and relit the candles. Then she went to the kitchen and poured two snifters of Grand Marnier. She brought them over to the sofa, where I sat trying to piece together the mindless mosaic of this bizarre case.
She took a sip of brandy and stared at nothing.
“Well,” she said, “we didn’t find the prod.”
“Sorry,” I said.
She smiled and put her hand on my arm. “Don’t be. It wasn’t a waste. I’m glad you had the chance to see Rocky isn’t the deranged beast the press paints him as. Do you still think he killed Eddy Byron?”
“Yes,” I said. It wasn’t the answer she was looking for.
A crimson flush appeared on her cheeks. Her smile vanished. I didn’t give her the chance to reply.
“And that’s why I worry when you get in that close to him,” I said. “You still think he’s a big panda who wouldn’t harm a fly. Maybe you’re right, but maybe you’re wrong, and maybe there’s something bent about him.”
“You don’t know that.”
“As far as I’m concerned, Rocky is a prime suspect until proven otherwise. If he were human, he’d be posting bail.”
Anger flashed in the gentian eyes.
“Who are you, really?”
For an instant I thought Sally had fingered my real identity in another example of blown cover.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean who do you think you are in the scheme of things? Don’t answer, because I’ll tell you. You’ve got the same egotistical disease that afflicts all of our species. You think human beings are the center of the universe. That we are superior in every way. The whole cosmos revolves around what we do. You’re conditioned to hate or fear anything you don’t understand. You couldn’t conceive that there are creatures on earth who may be as intelligent as we are, maybe even superior to us. Creatures who control their environment without destroying it, who don’t wage war or assault their mates, who only kill for food.”
Tears welled up in her eyes. I had touched a nerve again. I was good at that.
“Look, Sally.”
“No, you look. I thought you were different. When you put aside your foolish fears and agreed to go in that tank tonight, I said to myself, here is someone who is not afraid of the truth. I can see I was wrong. You’re just like the rest.”
I extricated my foot from my mouth and tried again.
“I’m sorry I upset you, Sally. You’re right about one thing. It is very hard to get rid of notions you’ve had all your life. When I saw Rocky coming at you with his mouth open, all I could think of was Jaws. I didn’t know it was organized playtime, but I did know about Eddy Byron. I knew he was dead, that he was found in the pool, and that Rocky may have killed him.”
“I was never in any danger,” she snapped.
“That’s easy for you to say. You’ve worked around these animals before, so you can sit there and get angry and say I’m just being silly. But no matter how rational I try to be, I’ve still got the shivers because for a second back at Oceanus I thought Rocky was going to hurt you, and that scared the hell out of me.” I got up to go. “My stuff must be dry by now.”
Sally put her hand out and held on to my sleeve, tugging me back onto the sofa.
“No,” she said softly, “let’s talk.”
But we didn’t talk, at least not verbally.
We communicated on a more primal level, locking eyes, then moving closer. She smelled of soap and water. I touched her arm and ran my hand inside and up her sleeve, tracing her shoulder blade with my fingers, then under her hair, massaging the smooth warm skin at the back of her neck. She quivered and closed her eyes, and I kissed her under her ear, feeling the warmth of her skin. She arched her neck, tilted her chin up, and parted her lips. I pulled my hand out of her sleeve and slipped it inside her robe.
My fingertips explored the graceful curves of her body. Then I helped her off with her robe. She shivered, and with urgent, searching hands, she caressed my face, my neck, and my chest. I peeled out of my robe, and we stretched out on the sofa. We kissed, gently at first, then harder, breath coming quickly, inhibitions dropping even faster, until our bodies merged in the flickering yellow glow of the candlelight.
Chapter 25
The long rosy fingers of a Homeric dawn reached through the window and gently pried my eyes open. Sally and I lay like two spoons in her bed, having moved there from the sofa during the night. Her back was against my chest; her skin was fever warm and her hair tickled my nose. I inhaled the flower scent of shampoo and listened to her low, even breathing, thinking what a lovely sound it was.
Reluctantly, I unglued myself from her body and slipped out from under the sheets. Sally stirred, but didn’t awaken. I watched her for a moment, thinking that the peaceful sleep of a lovely woman might convert even an old agnostic like me to religion. Nothing so exquisite could be a cosmological accident.
I dug my shorts out of the dryer and got dressed. On a kitchen memo pad, I jotted a note telling Sally I went home to change and would see her at Oceanus. Returning to my boathouse, I ripped a piece of paper scrawled with Sam’s handwriting from a nail on the front door and stepped inside, almost tripping over Kojak, who lay in ambush on the threshold. He didn’t like being left alone all night and his whiskers were curled in a furious frown. But when he saw me pouring him a bowl of milk, he rubbed against my legs, purring and generally making a nuisance of himself. Kojak’s a cheap date. I guess we were pals again.
Sam’s message said if the Millie D were fixed, he’d go fishing the next day, but not to worry because the Nickerson kid could fill in if I couldn’t make it. I changed into a clean shirt and slacks and went out to my truck, stopping briefly at Elsie’s for a coffee to go.
I got to Oceanus ahead of everybody else and went to punch in. A note was clipped to the back of my time card. It said: Meet me 10:00 A.M. in the fish house. Jill.
I tore the note up and went to the locker room to change, then walked over to the dolphin pool looking for Sally. She wasn’t there, but Mike Arnold was. His eyes lit up at my arrival. Before long, I was helping unload boxes of fish from a truck, moving them on a hand dolly from the delivery door to the fish house.
Ten o’clock came, but no Jill. I dillydallied until ten-thirty, then checked Jill’s time card. She had punched out the night before. I didn’t worry about it. She might have changed her mind. Or she might have been up partying all night and slept in. She was still only a kid, after all.
Sally and I ran into each other later that morning. We said good morning, but before we’d exchanged more than a couple of words
, she mumbled an apology about being busy and started to hurry away. As she walked off, I asked her out for lunch, but she said she had made plans. I watched her go, scratching my head, wondering if I would ever know enough about human nature. I went back to work and around noon, I got in my truck and drove over to the Lewis Bay Marina.
A cabin cruiser longer than a blue whale occupied the slip next to the Artemis. The name painted on the boat said it was the Berger King from Naples, Florida. A young deckhand saw me poking around on Uncle Constantine’s boat and called over. “You looking for the old guy?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Seen him around?”
He nodded and pointed to the restaurant overlooking the marina. “He and my boss are having a drink.”
The place was crowded with hungry tourists, and I didn’t see Uncle Constantine until he waved from a corner table. I walked over and he pulled out a chair.
“Aristotle, come sit down and meet my friend Mr. Berger.”
I shook hands with a big-shouldered guy about sixty with a year-round tan and a jaw you could balance a champagne glass on. He had longish hair and little-boy bangs that probably cost him a lot of money at the Hair Club for Men, but the Prince Valiant look didn’t go with the prizefighter’s ruins of a nose, the deep-set wrinkles, and the shoe-sole skin. He was dressed in a “Miami Vice” outfit, white slacks and a pale violet T-shirt. He was drinking Beck’s beer dark. My uncle held a clouded glass that probably contained his favorite heart medicine.
Berger pumped my hand with enthusiasm and grinned crookedly. He had the opportunistic eyes of a traveling salesman.
“Good to meet you, pal. Your uncle here has been telling me all about you.”
“Yes, Aristotle, I tell Mr. Berger about our wreck diving.”
“Damn interesting stuff, too,” Berger said.
So much for our top-secret project. “Oh,” I said. “How much has my uncle told you about our work?”
“Enough so that I want in on it. Damn, I want to see that silver Madonna for myself.”
I glanced sharply at Uncle Constantine. He shrugged and looked out the window.
I came back to Berger. “Silver Madonna, you say?”
“Yeah, the statue your uncle saw in the hold of the ship. That right, Constantine?”
My uncle leaned forward. “I tell Mr. Berger maybe I see a Madonna. But not for sure.”
Berger guffawed. “Hell, Constantine, don’t go cozy on me. You were saying a few minutes ago you could see the lapis lazuli in her pretty blue eyes.”
Time for damage control. “Mr. Berger,” I said. “I should warn you about wreck divers. They can get real excited underwater, and their imagination goes into hyperdrive. It’s quite possible my uncle saw nothing like the things he described. You never know for sure until you get the stuff out of the water.” I stared hard at my uncle. “Something you think is silver might only be tin, for instance.”
Uncle Constantine avoided my eyes. He puckered his mouth and patted his shirt pocket as if he were searching for the pack of Luckies in plain sight on the table in front of him.
Berger punched me lightly on the shoulder. “Tin. Hah. Dammit boy, you don’t have to play games with me. I know there’s a risk involved, but I’m not afraid to put my money where my mouth is. No pain, no gain, I always say, and I’ve done real well by that.”
“Mr. Berger has three hamburger stores in Florida,” Uncle Constantine interjected. “They are very busy.”
“Biggest-grossing fast-food franchises in the state, and most of the money I’ve made squeezing herds of cows between buns has gone into real estate, good stuff, not under two feet of swamp water. So if it’s money bothering you, don’t worry, lad.”
“No, Mr. Berger, it’s not money. I wonder if you could excuse us. I’d like to talk to my uncle. I’m on my lunch hour so I don’t have much time.”
“Sure thing,” he said, grabbing my hand and pumping it again. “Talk all you want. Constantine, we’re going to be neighbors for a while. I’m gonna to stick around here and look for a horny widow. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll invite myself over. I’d like to get going on this real soon. Right, pardner?”
I grabbed Uncle Constantine’s arm and guided him out of the restaurant to a picnic table next to the marina.
“Okay, Uncle Constantine, what’s going on?”
“Don’t get mad, Aristotle. I explain. Mr. Berger, he comes in his big yacht yesterday. I see he is from Florida, so we talk. He has been to Tarpon Springs, and he says, why am I on Cape Cod, no sponges here? I say, there is better than sponges. We have some drinks, then talk some more.”
“Is that when you told him about the silver Madonna?”
A shrewd look replaced the innocent expression in his eyes. “Mr. Berger is no fool, Aristotle, but even a smart man is a little greedy. I just make sure he has something to be greedy about. You hear me tell him. I never say I see a Madonna. I say maybe I see one. I don’t tell him maybe I see a tin ingot that looks like a Madonna.”
I shook my head. “Damn, Uncle. That’s fraud.”
“No, Aristotle. He makes the story in his head. It’s nothing.”
“Like those pills, and your heart attack the other day. I suppose that was nothing.”
“No heart attack,” he said, rubbing his midsection. “Bad cooking.”
“Don’t give me that, Uncle,” I said firmly. “I know all about it. I talked to Ma.”
“Paff. Your mother worries too much. Okay, so it’s heart attack, but no big deal, I have pills. I take them, makes everything okay. Don’t worry, Aristotle.”
Uncle Constantine’s cavalier attitude didn’t calm my fears. I was worrying. He was the most vital, alive man I had ever met. I didn’t want to see the spark of life extinguished because of an old tin ship.
I couldn’t hide my exasperation. “Uncle Constantine, why do you want to kill yourself over this wreck? You know damn well that by the time you get through with the legal work, you’ll be lucky to break even. You might lose money, even if you pull in a whole boatload of suckers like Mr. Berger.”
Uncle Constantine pointed to a chubby-legged girl about two who was walking along hand-in-hand with her mother.
“Cute, no?” He was stalling. Seeing it would do no good, he shrugged and said, “Aristotle, you remember when you are a little boy what I tell you about the cross in the water?”
“Sure, I do, Uncle.” In January, the Tarpon Springs Greeks celebrate the Epiphany with the blessing of the waters. The archbishop throws a gold cross into a bayou and young Greek guys from the town dive from a circle of rowboats. The kid who brings up the cross is blessed by the archbishop and supposedly has good luck for the rest of the year.
Uncle Constantine said, “Then you don’t forget what happens when I am seventeen.”
I smiled. “The girl who held the white dove with blue ribbons on its feet.”
“Ah, good, you remember. She lets the dove go. It is the signal to dive. She is so beautiful, I can’t see anything else. So I am still standing on my boat when splash! All the boys dive. My friends George and Mike get to the bottom first, but I want that cross more than anybody, so I swim hard, grab it, come up, and hold it high. They pull me out of the water. The archbishop touches my head and says, ‘Blessing, blessing on these waters,’ and everyone cheers, even George and Mike. Then we walk through the streets, all the winners from other times, singing and taking money for the poor. I am the hero.”
I put my hand on his shoulder. “You used to tell me the archbishop must have used his strongest blessing, because your good luck started right away.”
His eyes lit up. “Neh, Aristotle. Yes, yes. After the dive there is a big glendi on the sponge docks. Much food and music. I talk to the girl with the dove. Then at the Epiphany ball, I dance with her, your Aunt Thalia. My luck stays good. I have two children. I buy the Artemis and pi
ck many sponges. I get the bends, but I don’t die.”
“You’ve had a good life, Uncle.”
“Sure, Aristotle, I know that. Maybe too good. One day God looks down and says, ‘This miserable man Constantine, he laughs all the time, he gets all the good luck, there isn’t enough for other people, so we’ll take some away and see how much he believes.’ So God moves my kids far away and I never see them. He gives me a bad ticker and makes me get old so I can’t work and nobody wants to hire me. Still I laugh. So God says, ‘We’ll give this fellow a big test,’ and he takes Thalia away from me.”
Thalia was a vivacious and lovely woman, named after one of the three Graces, Good Cheer, and the name fit her well. I knew my aunt’s death had been tough on the old man, but he masked his grief under his natural exuberance. It was easy to forget his sorrow was probably tearing him apart.
“I’m so sorry, Uncle Constantine. She was always my favorite aunt.”
The words seemed inadequate, but I must have said the right thing because he snapped out of it. He put his hand on my knee and said, “Don’t feel bad, Aristotle, you and me, we go out, we get cross and good luck will come back again.”
“I don’t understand, Uncle. What cross?”
“Aristotle,” he said softly. “You’re uncle’s not crazy in the head. I can’t dive with the kids in the bayou. But I can go bring up the tin wreck. That’s my cross.” He grinned. “Then maybe God will say, ‘This man is an old fool, give him back some luck before he kills himself and comes knocking at our door.’ So, you help me?”
I saw a golden opportunity to carry out my mother’s orders. “Okay, Uncle, I’ll help you. But you have to promise me something.”
“Sure, Aristotle, anything.”
“I want you to stay out of the water.”
“Now who’s crazy. Then how do I get my cross?”
“You don’t,” I said. “I’ll get it for you.”
Uncle Constantine was stubborn, but he was no fool. He grabbed my hand and shook it and put his other arm around my shoulder.
Death in Deep Water Page 25
