Shark Beach

by Chris Jameson

  “What would it be like to live out here, totally isolated?” he said aloud.

  “Paradise,” Rick replied, scanning the trees. The island was quite small, but they could see a rooftop in the distance. “Or maybe Hell, I’m not sure which. If I was this alone, I might turn into Jack Nicholson in The Shining.”

  “It’d be nice for a while, though,” Matti said.

  Rick sighed, and Matti did not have to ask him to elaborate. The guy worked so much and was under so much pressure that the idea of escaping his obligations had to seem like a dream. He knew he ought to strike up a conversation about it, ask Rick about his marriage and the tension with Corinne, but though they had been friends for a very long time, that was simply not the way their relationship worked.

  Up ahead, the big shambling guy had perched on the edge of an old, fallen tree and cracked a bottle of beer while he watched his wife and son searching a field of seashells for perfect specimens. The shells had been spread into a fan shape here, thousands of little ones and hundreds of larger ones driven to this one spot by the way the currents collided.

  “We should have brought our own cooler,” Rick said.

  “Next time,” Matti said. “I’ll tell you this much, though. I hope like hell that the store will be open later and we can pick some up. I think even Jenn might get a little buzzed without much encouragement.”

  “Say it ain’t so,” Rick joked.

  Jenn had never been much of a drinker, but Matti figured that after the past couple of days they would all be in the mood.

  The tattooed guy must have seen them eyeing his cooler. He lifted his beer to hail them. “Come on over, fellas. I don’t mind sharing. We’re castaways, right? We gotta stick together.”

  Matti glanced at Rick, who pointed at the man.

  “You, sir, are a hero,” Rick said. “Generosity is sorely lacking in the world.”

  They joined him on the fallen tree. He handed each of them an ice cold bottle of something called Swamp Monster Ale, and used his opener to pry off the caps.

  “I’m Ernie.”

  They introduced themselves to Ernie, and gave him the lowdown on their families while he talked about his own. When he began to comment on the three women who were swimming out by the boat, Matti shifted uncomfortably.

  “What do you think about our captain?” he asked.

  Ernie arched an eyebrow. “He’s not my type. I guess his bathing suit’s pretty cute though.”

  Rick laughed. Matti grimaced a bit, but when Ernie raised his beer to clink a toast, Matti did not refuse. All three tilted their bottles back and drank. Matti had never been comfortable with the way men tended to talk about women, even if it seemed nothing more than idle chatter.

  “So, you guys staying on Captiva?” Rick asked.

  “Yep. Down at South Seas Plantation,” Ernie replied. “Didn’t bother with a rental car, and I figured since we were on the third floor and facing the mainland, we’d be all right. Mostly that turned out true, but there’s no power in our building, so I’m trying to keep us busy till they sort it out or till we go home on Saturday.”

  The conversation went on like that, with Rick engaging Ernie about the storm and its aftermath. Matti glanced up along the beach and saw Jesse standing with Kelsey about a hundred yards farther along the sand. Kelsey stood on the sand and walked parallel to Jesse, who had waded knee deep into the water and bent over, peering through the clear surf in search of shells. Jesse had his T-shirt pulled out in front of him, creating a basket in which he had undoubtedly been tasked with carrying the girl’s shells. Kelsey seemed reluctant to go into the water and was instead directing Jesse’s search. A sudden rush of love for his son swept through Matti. He was a good kid—a fine young man—and Matti knew he would never be prouder of anything in his life than he was of being Jesse’s father.

  He had always been sentimental and only grew more so with each passing year. He figured by the time he turned fifty he would be weeping at TV commercials like his own father had at that age.

  Along the shore, a wave crashed in and Kelsey retreated up the sand. Matti frowned deeply. He had seen children flee from incoming waves a thousand times, many shrieking gleefully, but what he had just witnessed did not appear to be a game. Kelsey had looked genuinely nervous, glancing over her shoulder as she raced up the sand.

  Matti looked at Rick, but he had been too wrapped up in his conversation with Ernie and had not been paying attention. Whatever had turned Kelsey so skittish, her father hadn’t noticed at all.

  CHAPTER 10

  Jesse spotted the conch and a huge grin spread across his face. It was just laying there, a massive shell, bigger than any he had ever seen outside of a store. He had always wondered where they came from. Even most of the smaller ones ended up smashed, but the hurricane had swept in so many beautiful shells that his T-shirt hung heavy and wet and sandy with all of the ones Kelsey had demanded he keep.

  This one, though—he glanced at her, saw her noticing his hesitation—the kid would lose her mind. He was happy Emma had stayed behind. Jesse liked her well enough, but Kelsey always seemed to take the brunt of her older sister’s moods, so it was nice for her to be away from Emma for a while.

  “What is it?” she called to him.

  Jesse gave her a sly smile. He shifted in the water so his back was to her. Carefully cradling his shirtful of shells, he bent and hefted the massive conch, lifting it up, doing the best he could with one hand to brace it against his leg and search it for holes and jagged edges. The shell felt smooth and, if not perfect, at least close enough to be sold in some beach store.

  He dropped it with a splash and let it sink to the bottom.

  “Oh my God, what was that?” Kelsey asked. “Jesse?”

  “Come find out,” he replied, giving her a small shrug. “It’s going to make your whole week. I promise.”

  Kelsey hesitated. She stared at the water where he had dropped the conch, glanced out at the deeper water, and then glared at him.

  “That’s not fair.”

  “I’ve been doing all the work out here.”

  “’Cause you’re supposed to be a nice guy, and you’re my friend.”

  He couldn’t argue with that. “At least tell me what you’re so freaked out about.”

  Kelsey glanced at her feet in embarrassment. “The shark I saw earlier. Everyone said it was a dolphin, but I don’t think so.”

  His mouth dropped open and then he laughed at her.

  “Hey!” she snapped. “That’s not nice. I can’t believe you’re laughing at me. It just made me nervous, okay? Jeez!”

  Jesse held up his one free hand, trying to wipe away his grin. “That’s not why I’m laughing. I’m laughing because you are an evil kid.”

  She crossed her arms. “Me? I’m evil?”

  He cocked his head. “You’re afraid if you come in the water you’ll get eaten by a shark, so you send me in to hunt for shells? Like, oh, it’s only Jesse. If he gets eaten, that’s totally fine.”

  Kelsey couldn’t even argue. She tried to fight her smile, but then it blossomed into a giggle and she shrugged. “Well, when you put it that way, it does seem a little evil.”

  “Do you want me to dump all these shells?”

  Her smile turned into panic. “No, please!”

  “Then come on in here and get this absolutely massive conch shell that nobody will believe we just found in the water. I mean, it’s so huge, you will keep it as a souvenir from this trip forever. But you have to come in and get it.”

  Kelsey kept her arms crossed, frowning nervously at the water around him. She glanced up and down the beach, out at the waves, and then sighed dramatically and threw her arms in the air. “Fine!”

  As she reached into the water and lifted out the beautiful conch, Jesse heard his dad calling for them. When he looked over, he saw people heading back to the boat.

  “Oh my God,” Kelsey said, staring down at the shell in her hands.

  “Come
on, kid. We’ve gotta go.”

  As he led the way out of the water, she didn’t complain about him calling her “kid.” And she seemed to have forgotten her fear of imaginary sharks altogether. Jesse felt good, walking beside her. He had no siblings of his own and had always enjoyed the big brotherly relationship he had with the Scully girls, but Emma had become distant and a little strange, even skittish, over the past year or so. With nine-year-old Kelsey, he could still feel like a big brother, like he was helping. His parents wanted him to work hard, to get good grades or excel on the baseball diamond, so he could feel proud of himself, but those things never felt to him like sources of pride. Making Kelsey feel better was different.

  “They better not leave without us,” she said, picking up her pace on the sand.

  Jesse smiled. “Race you back?”

  She started to reply, then bolted in mid-sentence to get a head start, laughing the whole way. Kelsey looked absurd, jogging with that huge shell cradled against her abdomen, but Jesse knew he must have appeared even more ridiculous as he tried to catch up with her. The sagging belly of his shirt, laden with shells, made him look and run like a pregnant woman.

  The three middle-aged women were still swimming, extending their stay on Cayo Costa for a few extra minutes despite the scowl of Captain Len. The massive, rotund guy talking to Jesse and Kelsey’s fathers shuffled over to admire his kid’s sand castle and help his wife pack up. Despite their burdens, and with Jesse calling her a cheater the whole way, he and Kelsey managed to reach the boat first. They waded into the water—Jesse noticing Kelsey’s wary glances out at the waves, in search of fins—and carefully climbed aboard.

  “That’s a hell of a prize,” Captain Len said as he helped Kelsey up. “Best conch I’ve ever seen somebody find out here. You must be the luckiest kid alive.”

  Kelsey beamed. As Jesse followed her up onto the deck, clutching his wet, sandy, shell-laden shirt against him, he nodded his gratitude to the captain. The guy had seemed like a bit of a jerk earlier, but he’d been very kind to Kelsey and that went a long way.

  “Excuse me,” Jesse said, as Captain Len called out to the others that it was time to depart. “Any chance you have a plastic bag or something, so I can get these shells out of my shirt?”

  The captain barely looked at him. “Not sure. If you wanna check the cabinet in the head, you might find something.”

  Jesse went across to the enclosed area of the deck. Kelsey had already gone inside and as he walked past her, he smiled again. She had put the conch on the seat beside her as if it were her favorite pet. If she had been any younger, he thought, she would have started holding conversations with it.

  “I’ll be right back,” he told her, and he went carefully down the narrow steps to the cabin area, where a rope bearing a Crew Only sign hung across the passageway.

  As he opened the door to the head, he saw the narrow space, the toilet, and the tiny cabinet above it. A frown creased his forehead. His chances of finding anything useful in there were almost nil, but out of the corner of his eye, he spotted something that drew his attention. Beyond the head, beyond the Crew Only sign, another small door stood open. It was some kind of utility closet. A canvas bag lay half-spilled from the partly open door, some kind of gray shopping bag jutting out of the canvas.

  Jesse glanced over his shoulder. “Crew Only” meant “Crew Only,” but Captain Len had seemed nice enough, happy for Kelsey, and Jesse just wanted to take a quick look. If one of those bags was empty, surely the captain wouldn’t mind.

  He stepped over the rope. The sign swung a bit when his leg brushed against it. He could hear Captain Len calling to the others, getting agitated now. With a thump, someone boarded at the back of the boat, so it wouldn’t be long now. Jesse opened the door a bit farther and crouched to look at the canvas bag and the plastic one sticking out, but the bags held what looked like snorkeling equipment.

  Beyond the canvas bag, he spotted a pastel-green beach duffel with a flamingo stitched onto the side. Halfway zipped, it had another plastic bag sticking out of it. Jesse knew the moment he reached into the closet that he had crossed a line, but all he wanted was a bag, after all. Kelsey’s shells were weighing down his wet T-shirt, stretching it out, and he wanted to divest himself of that burden.

  Inside the plastic bag, he found an array of women’s jewelry. Expensive looking. The bag contained two wads of cash and three cell phones.

  Jesse held his breath. He glanced to his left, but the narrow stairs were in shadow. Voices called out up on the deck, but he was alone. He pulled the flamingo duffel toward him and positioned it on top of the canvas bag he’d first seen, and he unzipped it all the way. There were two other plastic bags inside, as well as several expensive-looking items. One seemed to be an ornate, antique hand mirror badly wrapped in a clean facecloth.

  For a moment or two, he struggled to find an explanation that didn’t involve Captain Len being a thief, but unless someone else had stashed this bag here, he could come up with no other rational answer.

  Jesse rocked back on his heels, staring at the bag. He whispered to himself, wondering what he was supposed to do now.

  “Little shit,” a voice growled. “I guess you can’t read the sign.”

  Jesse turned to see Captain Len on the narrow steps, staring at him, only the rope and the CREW ONLY sign between them. He stood up quickly, hands dropping to his sides. All of Kelsey’s sandy shells showered to the floor at his feet.

  “Mister, I—”

  “Can’t mind your own business? Obviously,” the captain said. “Now why don’t you put that back and shut the door, then get upstairs with your family?”

  Jesse could only stare. His breath had caught in his throat and his heart tapped a rapid rhythm in his chest. Wasn’t the guy going to hurt him? Threaten him?

  “Come on, buddy,” Captain Len said.

  Warily, Jesse grabbed the flamingo bag and pushed it back, deeper into the utility closet. Was there some other explanation after all? Could these things belong to him? Had he been helping someone move?

  Then again, what was Captain Len supposed to do, attack him now? Kill him, with his father and Mr. Scully and those other people on board?

  Jesse stood. He shut the door. At first it didn’t click, swung back to halfway open the way he had found it, and he had to lift the handle and give it a shove to make it latch.

  “It does that,” Captain Len said. “Pain in my ass.”

  Jesse stepped over the rope. For a moment, Captain Len wouldn’t get out of his way, but then he shifted aside and gave him just enough room to pass. As Jesse slid by him, the man leaned over and whispered to him, his breath reeking of garlic.

  “You forgot something,” the man said.

  Flinching, Jesse realized he meant the shells. They had spilled on the ground and he had just left them.

  “Go upstairs. I’ve already pulled the anchor up and we’re starting to drift. When we’re under way again you can come back down and clean up your mess.”

  Jesse nodded and pushed past him, climbing the narrow steps.

  When he reached the top, that was when the screaming began. Jesse saw Kelsey’s panicked expression, saw the way Mr. Scully turned toward the rear of the boat, and then they were all rushing to the back, out onto the aft deck.

  Jesse’s dad stood at the top of the ladder. The fat guy’s wife had climbed on board and now his little son was on the ladder, his father behind him in the water. They had also turned to look off the starboard side.

  Two of the women traveling together were knee deep in the water, frantically scanning the surf. One had her hands over her mouth but the other stood partly bent, as if she might vomit, or as if she needed to search for something very small that she had lost in the waves.

  The third woman had vanished. A pool of blood spread in the water, eddying and swirling, just a part of the ocean now. Something bobbed to the surface perhaps thirty yards away and began to float—a small scrap of brightly col
ored material, a swatch of the missing woman’s bikini.

  The other two screamed again.

  Mr. Scully jumped off the boat, rushing to those women. Jesse’s dad followed suit, wanting to shout for his father to come back, because Kelsey had been right.

  Kelsey. Jesse glanced around, worried for her, and saw her rushing at him. The little girl wrapped her arms around him and held on tight.

  “I told you,” she said. “I told you.”

  One of the women went silent. The other started shouting, pointing to where the missing friend had been swimming. Jesse scanned the water, watching his father and Mr. Scully start to wade out farther.

  A fin appeared, fifty feet away, and that changed their minds.

  They turned and rushed for shore, escorting the two grieving women up to the sand, too late to save their friend.

  “Nosy little fucker,” a voice growled in Jesse’s ear.

  Strong hands slammed into his back. Kelsey screamed as Jesse went overboard, flailing, trying to reach for the railing. He saw Kelsey’s wide, terrified eyes as he fell, saw Captain Len grab her by the hair and tug her toward the front of the boat.

  Jesse splashed into the waves, deeper than he thought he would be. His feet couldn’t touch bottom. Submerged, trying to swim, trying to figure out which way was up, all he knew was that the water felt warm, the current strong, and that the sharks were down there with him. Down there in the swirl of a dead woman’s blood.

  * * *

  Rodney Smalls had been chief of the Sanibel Police Department for seven years. In all that time, there had never been a murder on the island, rarely been an act of violence of any kind. There had been precisely one accidental drowning and a number of deaths by natural causes. He liked the sound of the job—Chief Smalls—but he had never fooled himself into thinking it was anything but a cushy one. As chief, he didn’t have to do any of the bullshit policing work. No speeding tickets, no parking citations, hardly any domestic disturbances. The job consisted mostly of paperwork, public relations, and keeping the peace amongst the various small-town roosters who strutted around trying to lay claim to what little power could be had over their fellow islanders.