• • •
"Fun evening," I said. We were up in our suite, sitting on the bed.
"The way he just acted," said Robin. "I know he's under stress, but . . ."
"Loves the natives but doesn't want them dating his daughter?"
"It sounded more like he was shielding Dennis from her."
"It did. Maybe she's got an unfortunate history with men. The first time I saw her I noticed the sadness in her eyes."
She smiled. "Is that all you noticed?"
"Yes, she's good-looking but I don't find her sexy. There's something about her that sets up a clear boundary. I've seen it in patients: "I've been wounded. Stay away."'
"That obviously doesn't apply to Dennis."
"The old man really lost it," I said. "Perfect capper to a charming dinner."
She laughed. "That base. Night of the uniformed dead. And Hoffman. Joe Slick."
"Why do I get the feeling Hoffman's sole purpose for the dinner was the half hour he and Moreland spent alone?"
"Then why not just drop over here?"
"Maybe he wanted to be on his home turf, not Moreland's."
"You make it sound like some sort of battle."
"I can't help but think it was. The tension between them . . . as if the two of them have some issue that goes way back. At any rate, Moreland didn't get what he wanted for Aruk. Whatever that is."
"What do you mean?"
"He puzzles me, Rob. Talks about helping the island, rejuvenating it. But if he's as rich as Creedman says, it seems to me there are things he could have already done. Like improve communication. Put some of his fortune into schooling, training. At the very least, more frequent shipping schedules. Instead, he pumps a fortune into his projects. Walled in here like some lord while the rest of the island molders. Maybe the islanders know that and that's why they're leaving. We certainly haven't seen any big show of civic pride. Not even a grassroots movement to protest the barricade."
She thought about that. "Yes, he is very much the lord of the manor, isn't he? And maybe the islanders know something else: Hoffman's right about some places not being set up for development. Look at Aruk's geography. The leeward side has great weather but no harbor, the windward side has a natural harbor but rocks instead of soil. In between, you've got mountains and a banyan forest full of land mines. Nothing fits right. It's like a geographic joke. Maybe everyone gets it but Moreland."
"And Skip and Haygood with their resort scheme. Which proves your point. Oh, well, looks like I signed on with Dr. Quixote."
She got up and rolled off her panty hose, frowning. "It was so out of character, the way he just treated Pam. There doesn't seem to be much intimacy between them— which makes sense, with his being an absent father— but till tonight he's never been harsh."
"He's the one who sent her to boarding school," I said. "And even with her M.D. he doesn't consider her a colleague. All in all, no candidate for father of the year."
"Poor Pam. First time I saw her I thought, "homecoming queen.' But you never know, do you?"
She unbuttoned her dress and stepped out of it. Folded it over a chair and touched her wrist.
"How does it feel?" I said.
"Excellent, actually. Are you working tomorrow?"
"Guess so."
"Maybe I'll try to do something with those pieces of shell."
She went into the bathroom. And screamed.
19
Three of them.
No, four!
Racing back and forth, light-panicked, on the white tile floor.
One scurried up the shower wall, pointed its antennae at us. Waved.
Robin was pressed into a corner, fighting another scream.
One crawled up the side of the tub, paused on the rim.
Lozenge shaped. Red-brown armored shell as long as my hand.
Six black legs.
The eyes, too damn smart.
It hissed.
They all began hissing.
Speeding toward us.
I pulled Robin out of the room and slammed the door behind us. Checked the space beneath the door. Tight fit, thank God.
My heart was hurtling. Sweat burst out of me and leaked down in cold, itchy trails.
Robin's fingers bit into my back.
"Oh God, Alex! Oh God!"
I managed to say, "It's okay, they can't get out."
"Oh, God . . ." She gasped for breath. "I walked in and something touched— my foot."
She looked down at her toes and trembled.
I sat her down. She held on to my fingers, shaking.
"Easy," I said, remembering the insect's face— stoic, intense.
"Get rid of them, honey. Please!"
"I will."
"The light was off. I felt it before I saw it— how many were there?"
"I counted four."
"It seemed like more."
"I think four is all."
"Oh, God."
I held her tight. "It's all right, they're confined."
"Yucch," she said. "Yucch!"
Spike was barking. When had he started?
"Maybe I should sic him on them."
"No, no, I don't want him near them— they're disgusting. Just get them out of here, Alex! Call Moreland. I can take them in their cages, but please get them out."
• • •
Gladys arrived first.
"Bugs?" she said.
"Huge ones," said Robin. "Where's Dr. Bill?"
"Must be from the bug zoo. It never happened before."
"Where is he, Gladys?"
"On his way. You poor thing. Where are they?"
I pointed to the bathroom.
She grimaced. "Personally, I hate bugs. Nasty little things."
"Little wouldn't be bad," said Robin.
"Working here doesn't bother you?" I said.
"What, the zoo? I never go in there. No one goes in there but Dr. Bill and Ben."
"Well, something obviously comes out."
"It never happened before," she repeated.
Hissing from behind the door. I pictured the damn things chewing through the wood. Or escaping down the toilet and hiding in the pipes. Where the hell was Moreland?
"Did you see what they were?" said Gladys.
"They looked like giant cockroaches," said Robin.
"Madagascar hissing cockroaches," I said, suddenly remembering.
"Them I really hate," said Gladys. "Cockroaches in general. One of the things I like about Aruk is the dryness, we don't get roaches. Lots of bugs, period."
"So we import them," I mumbled.
"I keep my kitchen clean. Some of the other islands you've got bugs all over the place, got to spray all the time. Bugs bring disease— not Dr. Bill's bugs, he keeps them real clean."
"That's a comfort," I said.
A knock sounded on the suite door and Moreland loped in carrying a large mahogany box with a brass handle and looking around.
"I don't see how . . . did you happen to notice what kind—"
"Madagascar hissing roaches," I said.
"Oh . . . good. They can't seriously harm you."
"They're in there."
He advanced to the bathroom door.
"Careful," said Robin. "Don't let them out."
"No problem, dear." He turned the knob slowly and took something out of his pocket— a piece of chocolate cake that he compressed into a gummy ball. Spreading the door a crack, he tossed the bait, closed, waited.
A few seconds later, he opened the door again, peered through. Nodded, opened wider, slipped in.
"My new fudge loaf," said Gladys.
Sounds came from inside the bathroom.
Moreland talking.
Soothingly.
He emerged moments later holding the mahogany box and giving the OK sign. Chocolate smears on his fingers. Crumbs on the floor.
Thumps from within the box.
Hiss.
"You're sure you got all of them?" said Robin.
"Yes, dear."
"They didn't lay eggs or anything."
He smiled at her. "No, dear, everything's fine."
It sounded patronizing and it got to me.
"Not really, Bill," I said. "How the hell did they get here in the first place?"
"I— don't know— I'm sorry. Dreadfully sorry. My apologies to both of you."
"They're definitely from the insectarium?"
"Certainly, Aruk has no indig—"
"So how'd they get out?"
"I— suppose someone must have left the lid loose."
"It's never happened before," said Gladys.
"That's us," I said. "Trailblazers."
Moreland tugged at his lower lip, rubbed his fleshy nose. Blinked. "I suppose I must have left the lid off—"
"It's okay," Robin said, squeezing my hand. "It's over."
"I'm so sorry, dear. Perhaps the scent of your dog food—"
"If it was food they were after," I said, "why didn't they head for the kitchen?"
"I keep my kitchen clean and shut up tight," said Gladys. "No flies, not even grain weevils."
"Our door was locked," I said, "and the dog food's sealed in plastic bags. How did they get in, Bill?"
He went over to the door, opened and closed it a couple of times, kneeled and ran his hand over the threshold.
"There's some give to the carpet," he said. "They're very good at compressing themselves. I've seen them manage—"
"Spare the details," I said. "You probably knocked a year off our lives."
"I'm terribly, terribly sorry." He hung his head. The cockroaches bumped inside the box. Then the hissing began again. Louder . . .
"You did handle it perfectly," he said. "Locking them in. Thank you for not damaging them."
"You're welcome," I said. I'd turned phone solicitors down with a kinder tone.
Robin squeezed my hand again.
"It's okay, Bill," she said. "We're fine."
Moreland said, "An unforgivable lapse. I'm always so careful— I'll put double locks on the insectarium immediately. And door seals. We'll get working on it right now— Gladys, call Ramon and Carl Sleet, apologize for waking them up, and tell them I've got a job for them. Triple overtime pay. Tell Carl to bring the Swiss drill I gave him for Christmas."
Gladys rushed out.
Moreland looked at the box and rubbed the oiled wood. "Better be getting these fellows back." He hurried to the door and nearly collided with Jo Picker as she padded in, wearing robe and slippers, rubbing her eyes.
"Is everything . . . okay?" Her voice was thick. She coughed to clear it.
"Just a little mishap," said Moreland.
She frowned. Her eyes were unfocused.
"Took something . . . to sleep . . . did I hear someone scream?"
"I did," said Robin. "There were some bugs in the bathroom."
"Bugs?"
The roaches hissed and her eyes widened.
"Go back to sleep, dear," said Moreland, guiding her out. "Everything's been taken care of. Everything's fine."
• • •
When we were alone, we let Spike out and he raced around the room, circling. Sniffing near the bathroom before charging in head down.
"The dog food goes downstairs tomorrow," said Robin.
Then she got up suddenly, pulled back the bedcovers, looked underneath the box spring, and then stood. Smiling sheepishly.
"Just being careful," she said.
"Are you going to be able to sleep?" I said.
"Hope so. How about you?"
"My heart's down to two hundred beats a minute."
She sighed. Started laughing and couldn't stop.
I wanted to join in but couldn't manage more than a taut smile.
"Our little bit of New York," she finally said. "Manhattan tenement in our island hideaway."
"Those things could mug New York roaches."
"I know." She put my hand on her breast. "How many beats?"
"Hmm," I said. "Hard to tell. I need to count for a long time."
More laughter. "God, the way I shrieked. Like one of those horror movies."
Her forehead was moist, curls sticking to it. I brushed them away, kissed her brow, the tip of her nose.
"So how long do we stay in bug-land?" I said.
"You want to leave?"
"Plane crash, unsolved murder, the zombie base, some fairly uncongenial people. Now this."
"Don't leave on my account. I can't tell you I won't freak out if the same thing happens again, but I'm okay, now. Ms. Adaptable. I pride myself on it."
"Sure," I said, "but sometimes it's nice not having to adapt."
"True. . . . Maybe I'm nuts but I still like it here. Maybe it's my hand feeling better— a lot better, actually. Or even the fact this may be our last chance to experience Aruk before the Navy turns it into a bomb yard or something. Even Bill— he's unique, Aruk is unique."
She held my face and looked into my eyes. "I guess what I'm saying, Alex, is I don't want to be back in L.A. next week, dealing with the house or some business hassle, and start thinking back with regrets."
I didn't answer.
"Am I making sense, doctor?"
I touched my nose to hers. Curled my lip. Bared my teeth.
Hissed.
She jumped up. Pounded my shoulder. "Oh! Maybe I should have Spike sleep in the bed and put you in the crate."
• • •
Lights out.
A few self-conscious jokes about creepy-crawlies and she was sleeping.
I lay awake.
Trying to picture the roaches trekking all the way from the insectarium to our suite . . . marching in unison? The idea was cartoonish.
And even if the dog food had attracted them, why hadn't they stayed in the sitting room, near the bag?
Roaches were supposed to be smart, as bugs went. Why not head for an easier meal— the fruit from the orchard?
Instead, they'd taken a circuitous journey, scampering up the gravel paths, across the lawn, into the house somehow. Bypassing Gladys's kitchen. Up the stairs. Under our door.
All because of a sealed sack of kibble?
Despite Moreland's claim, the bathroom door seemed too snug to let them in or out. Had we left it open before leaving for dinner at the base?
Robin always left the bathroom door closed. Sometimes I didn't. . . . Which of us had last used the lav?
Why hadn't they come running out when we arrived home? Or at least hissed in alarm?
An alternative scenario: they'd been placed in the bathroom and shut in.
Someone up to mischief during the dinner at Stanton. The house empty. Someone seizing the opportunity to send us a message: Go away.
But who and why?
Who had the opportunity?
Ben was the obvious choice, because he had access to the insectarium.
He'd said his evening was full, between fatherhood and a hibachi dinner with Claire.
Had he come back?
But why? Apart from the remark about natural rhythm, he'd shown no sign of hostility toward us. On the contrary. He'd gone out of his way to make us feel welcome.
Out of obligation to Moreland?
Were his own feelings something else?
I thought about it for a while, but it just didn't make sense.
Someone else on the staff?
Cheryl?
Too dull to be that calculating, and once again, what was her motive? Plus, she usually left after dinner, and no meal had been served tonight.
Gladys? Same lack of motive, and the idea of her purloining roaches seemed equally ludicrous.
There had to be at least a dozen groundskeepers and gardeners who came and went, but why would they resent us?
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