Within half an hour Sandy’s migraine had vanished.
Sun warmed their backs and sand coated their legs and when they licked their lips they tasted the sea. Sandy built the four corner towers, forming first with the bucket and then cutting with the bread knife, carving the tower tops into chiseled battlements. Jake was the excavator, digging the moat over which Sandy built the bridge, packing sand onto a length of bull kelp. Lanny followed, squeezing out handfuls of wet sand so that it dripped onto the towers, onto the bridge, growing drip by drip into fantastical spires.
There was a time, Sandy thought, when this was all that was needed.
Back when Dad ran the fishing boat and Mom kept the books and tracked the market price, and Sandy and Jake and Lanny in their primitive Sea Urchin souls pledged their lives to the sea.
Jake finished the moat and began to sculpt the gargoyle, to guard the castle.
Sandy carved the best staircase of her life, angling down the south tower to meet the interior courtyard.
Lanny ran out of drip sand and Jake left off sculpting to take Lanny’s bucket into the surf, refilling it with sloshy sand.
“Want me to do drips on your gargoyle?” Lanny said.
Jake said, “Want me to do drips on your head, doofus?”
Lanny grinned.
Sandy hadn’t seen Lanny so sunny since before they’d rescued the diver. Just look at him now. She decided to let him build the whirligig tower. She'd planned to build it herself, as she always did—she carried the ball in her pocket to roll down the whirligig ramp—but this time she would entrust it to Lanny. He'd be beside-himself-thrilled. And then, after they finished here, after a reward of grilled cheese sandwiches—what else?—Jake would get bored and go home and she and Lanny would come back and sit on the sand and watch the tide come all the way in. Just like old times—before The Shitstorm, before Lanny took to stealing and lying. Old times, when trust was unbreakable. They’d sit here content and she’d be the sun in Lanny’s sky again. And truths would be told.
And maybe they’d even hold onto this day.
“Sandy!” Lanny pointed. “Tide’s turning.”
She looked. He got that right. “Tide’s turning,” she echoed. She almost sang it out. She went around to the castle’s seafront side to check out Jake’s gargoyle and it was the finest gargoyle he’d ever done. Nothing was going to get past that gargoyle. Not sand crabs, not dogs on the loose, not marauding seagulls. The Sea Urchin castle would stand. Only the sea would be allowed to claim it.
She’d just turned to start carving windows in the towers when she saw them at the cliff top on the public stairway—Walter-Something and Cassie-Something.
CHAPTER 16
We did not know what to do.
Planted on the bluff top, we stared down at the astonishing scene.
Not astonishing, really, to see Lanny Keasling down there working on a sand castle. But gruff Captain Sandy Keasling? The mind boggled. And green-haired Captain Kayak, on his belly in the sand, arm thrust into what looked like a tunnel.
This morning out at Morro Rock Fred Stavis had mentioned a Keasling family get-together but Walter and I had envisioned something like a barbecue.
Well, we'd come in search of Lanny, and here he was.
Maybe he'd dug a hole in the sand and buried the red float.
Very funny. I had floats on the brain. Long day. This morning we'd left Morro Rock and gone by the cop house to update Tolliver and give him the yellow float and then we'd returned to our motel lab and worked the new evidence. The volcanic grains in the braided rope were basalt of the Franciscan Complex, just like the pebble from the holdfast caught in the Outcast anchor, which meant the yellow float might have originated at the same place—somewhere on one of those targets we'd identified on Cochrane Bank. The other grains of evidence from the rope—which indeed turned out to be coral—would, we dearly hoped, narrow the neighborhood.
Walter had said, irritably, “I know next to nothing about coral.”
We'd phoned Tolliver and asked if that marine scientist he'd located might be available.
And then we sat back and talked over what we had.
And we came to the conclusion that the red float—if indeed it was a float, a cousin to the yellow float—might very well have telling grains of evidence caught in its rope. Evidence that might narrow the neighborhood even further.
And that sent us hunting Lanny Keasling.
We got directions from Tolliver and headed out of town, along the highway, onto the windy drive that led to the simply astonishing house on the bluffs. We had swallowed our surprise, and knocked. When nobody answered we had nosed around and spotted the stairway down to the beach.
And now here we stood, gaping.
Walter said. “I believe we’ve been spotted.”
We had. Sandy Keasling’s head tipped back. She wore a ball cap whose bill shadowed her face but there was no doubt where she looked—directly up at us.
Walter waved.
Her hands went to her hips. She stood her ground, watching us descend the stairway.
Now Jake Keasling saw us. He pushed up from his belly and sat cross-legged. Arms folded. Head cocked.
The only welcoming Keasling was the man we’d come to see. Lanny waved both arms over his head like he was guiding a ship into its berth. When our feet hit the sand he was there to meet us and he shepherded us back to the castle, confiding, “We made this.”
“It’s magnificent,” Walter said.
I nodded. It was.
Lanny spread his arms, encompassing the lot of us. “This is Walter and this is Cassie and this is my sister Sandy and this is my brother Jake.”
I realized that Lanny did not know we had already learned they were siblings. Sandy was glaring at Lanny, as if he’d shared too much information. Jake was frankly frowning. It seemed he’d had enough of us day before yesterday taking samples at his beach.
“And I’m Lanny. You can call us all Lanny and Sandy and Jake, and we can call you Cassie and Walter.” Lanny hesitated. “Is that good?”
I gave Lanny a smile. “Certainly. It’s nice to meet the Keasling family all together. Lanny and Sandy and Jake.”
Walter said, “Yes indeed.”
“Yes indeed,” Lanny said, “we’re the Sea Urchins!”
“Lanny.” Sandy’s voice was low and threatening.
Lanny blinked. “But we are.”
“Sea Urchins?” I asked.
“A childhood affectation,” Jake said. “We’re the Keaslings. Salt water runs in our veins.” He uncrossed his legs, bent his knees, leaned back on his elbows, gazing up at Walter and me. “But enough about us. Let’s talk about you. I know you went to sea with my siblings because I saw you on their boat, but I don’t believe they know you’ve met me. Sister dear, brother mine, our visitors are geologists, doing some sleuthing for Doug Tolliver. In the matter of Robbie's disappearance.” Jake shot Sandy a glance. “Silly me, I guess you already know that. Seeing as how they were doing their thing on your boat.”
There was a silence. Lanny lost his smile. Jake found one. Sandy cast a look at the incoming tide. The water lapped up to the long trench in front of the sand castle.
“What do you want?” Sandy said. “We’re busy.”
“Not really,” Jake said. “We’re playing.”
Sandy gave a little jerk, as if she’d been slapped.
Lanny said, “It’s okay. We can finish after. We can talk to them. It’s sad about Robbie. We should help.”
I hoped Lanny would still feel helpful when we explained why we’d come.
I said, “Thanks Lanny. I have something to show you.” I took out my cell phone and displayed the closeup photo of the sulfur-yellow float from the shrine.
Lanny gaped.
I moved to hand the phone to him for a better look.
“I don’t want it,” he said.
Sandy seemed to go on alert. Watching Lanny, then turning to my cell phone. Jutting her head for
a look.
Jake got to his feet and came over to see. “It’s a marker float,” he said. “Big wow.”
“What’s it got to do with us?” Sandy demanded.
Walter said, “We found it in a place... We believe it was put there by Robbie Donie.”
“Yeah? So?”
Walter and I had discussed this, the fact that to learn something we were going to have to explain something. He was leaving it to me, now, to explain my logic.
“On the Sea Spray,” I said, “that diver you rescued had a dive bag, and I believe it contained a similar float, only red, and...”
Lanny made a gasping sound.
Sandy abruptly snatched up a trowel and thrust it at Lanny. “Go dig.”
Lanny looked at the trowel. At me. Frozen.
There came a big wave and seawater flooded the trench.
“Goddamn it Lanny protect the castle.”
Lanny was rooted.
I said, “This will just take a minute.”
Sandy whirled on me. “Whatever you think you’re doing, leave Lanny out of it. He has nothing to do with your business.”
Walter stepped in. “He might.”
Sandy slapped the trowel into Lanny’s hand.
“This is getting good,” Jake said. “Anybody bring popcorn?”
Very slowly, Sandy turned to Jake. “Deal’s off, brother,” she said softly. She circled the castle, to the seaward side. She stepped over the trench and stood in front of a creature carved in sand.
Some kind of sea-monster, I thought.
She kicked it and the head came off.
Lanny gasped and dropped the trowel.
She came back to face Walter and me. “You talk to me. Up at the house.”
She stalked off toward the stairway, yelling over her shoulder to tell her brothers to stay put, turning once to see if Walter and I were following.
We were.
CHAPTER 17
Sandy led us from the top of the stairway across the bluff to the seaward side of the house. The place was nothing less than a Spanish-style manor and it spanned a long slice of oceanfront. We crossed a browning lawn that led to a red brick patio whose bricks, here and there, needed resetting. The house, like the grounds, needed tending. Peeling stucco. Wrought-iron trim with patches of rust. I guessed a place like this must be worth a fortune but maybe there wasn’t enough money to keep it up.
We went inside through a sliding glass door that wanted to stick.
Inside was dark planked flooring and white walls and white ceiling with heavy wood beams and sparsely-furnished rooms that led onto rooms as far as I could see in each direction. The room we stood in was furnished in cracked leather couches and a huge oak table, well scuffed.
Walter said, “Your house bests the castle.”
Sandy said, curtly, “It’s inherited.”
“Is that how you were able to fund your brother's business?”
She stopped in her tracks. “Who the hell told you about that?”
“Your brother.”
“Lanny has a big mouth.”
“I was talking about Jake,” Walter said. “The kayak business. But I take it that you also funded some enterprise of Lanny's?”
Her eyes narrowed. “We were talking about Lanny. So why bring up Jake and his business?”
“Keasling businesses appear to be entangled in the case we're working.”
“The hell,” she said.
“Jake told us about the proposed charter business, squid hunting. Using your boat.”
She took a long moment. “So?”
“So, considering the fact that Robbie Donie was doing squid charters, considering the feud he had with Jake—the ink incident—I find squid charters a topic of interest.”
“What are you saying? Spit it out. You saying Jake had something to do with Robbie going missing?”
“I’m simply wondering if Mr. Donie’s animosity extended to you—since it’s your boat that might be used to compete with him. Your investment.”
“You saying I had something to do with Robbie’s death?”
“There's no proof of death, as of now.”
“Too bad.” Her hands went to her hips. “I’ll be the first to send up a cheer when his body is found.”
“Oh?”
Her face hardened. “Robbie’s a punk. He got pissed at Jake, he dumped the ink on Jake’s dock. It’s old news—Robbie getting pissed and throwing a fit.”
I said, “He did more than just throw ink. He sabotaged your boat, or so Doug Tolliver suggests.”
“Doug’s a talker.” She scowled. “Look, I don’t know who sabotaged my boat. And if I could have proved it was Robbie I’d have sued the little shit for compensation. And I've got nothing more to say on the subject.”
“Then let's return to Lanny,” Walter said. “You thought I was referring to you funding his business.”
“He doesn't have a business.”
“He works for you, and for Fred Stavis—we ran into Mr. Stavis this morning and learned about Lanny's employment. Is that what you were referring to? Perhaps subsidizing his work with Stavis?”
“You doing an audit on the Keaslings?” Sandy pulled off her ball cap. Her hair bushed out. Her face hardened. “I make investments. With inherited money. It came from my grandparents, Keasling side. They had this place built. They made their money from real-estate investments. That didn’t stop my folks from earning a living fishing. Doesn’t stop me and my brothers making our own way. We work. We don’t throw our money around. But if there’s a sound investment, I invest. Dive Solutions was a sound investment. Fred agreed to hire Lanny. And Lanny earns his paycheck with Fred. Just like he does with me.”
I said, “That diver you rescued. Did Lanny know him?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Lanny seemed awfully upset.”
She glared at me. “He gets upset if somebody gets seasick.”
“I wondered if Lanny worked with the diver on one of Fred Stavis’s jobs.” Stavis had denied that; but I wondered if Sandy thought that.
“You do a lot wondering.” Sandy Keasling grew that dolphin smile. “But you don't know much, do you?”
I held up my cell phone and clicked on the photo of the yellow float. “Trying to.”
She started across the room. “Let’s finish this in my office.”
We followed her through three more sparsely furnished rooms and then into a small office. Battered wood desk and cheap office-supply chair. Tall filing cabinets, a shelf of books, a shelf of knickknacks. One wall of photos. Family photos, it seemed, and sea scenes. Walter paused to look. He pointed to one, a colorful shot of blue sky and a big blunt-nosed boat with a sun-streaked blonde leaning on the railing, smiling into the camera. She wore a ball cap with Captain stitched over the bill. A younger Captain Sandy Keasling. Walter said, “That’s a tugboat, isn’t it? Your boat?”
She nodded, brusque.
“What caused you to switch to tour boats?”
“None of your goddamn business.” She brushed past Walter to her desk and sat in the chair with her back to the window. The window overlooked the sea. Sun streamed into the room, haloing her hair, highlighting the orange-tinged dye job.
There were no other chairs so we stood facing her, squinting against the sun.
“Talk.” She leaned back in her chair. “Talk fast.”
I said, “Two days ago, on your boat, after you rescued that diver, I thought I saw Lanny take something red out of a black mesh dive bag and put it into his own duffel bag. What I glimpsed looked pretty much like this.” I again held up my cell phone, showing her the photo. “The only difference being the color.”
She was silent. Rigid.
I said, “As Walter explained on the beach, we found the yellow float in a place possibly associated with Robbie Donie.”
She stared at the photo as if trying to commit it to memory.
I said, “We believe Donie collected the yellow float, out at sea.”
She snapped, “People collect things. Including me.” She jerked a thumb at the knickknack shelf.
I noted the glass bowl full of round white disks. Sand dollars, I thought. Even her seashells were money.
She said, “You collect photos of floats, do you?”
“We have a coincidence,” Walter said. “A missing fisherman and an injured diver. Each, possibly, had possession of similar floats. And that’s why we’re interested in the red float from the diver’s bag.”
She said, “I got three things to say to you. Number one, Lanny didn’t take anything from the diver. Number two, I don't see why two floats, in the possession of two watermen, is so surprising. Number three, my family has nothing to do with either one of them.”
I asked, “What about number four?”
“There is no number four.”
“I think there is. We’ve got two watermen with two floats meeting with two traumas in the same general area, more or less, within a few days of one another. The same area, in general, where your boat took us to Birdshit Rock where the fish were half-dead and the crabs were on the run. The same area, in general, where both the Outcast and the Sea Spray encountered something that scraped their rub rails. So, number four.” I squinted past her sun-haloed head, out to sea. “What’s going on out there?”
Captain Keasling said, “The ocean’s the ocean,” and then she rose and shooed us out of her office, so abruptly that we surprised Lanny just outside her door, now pressing himself flat against the wall as if that would render him invisible.
***
Sandy was ushering us out of the house, out the patio door, when we heard the shouting.
We rushed across the salt-browned lawn to the edge of the bluff where a thigh-high white fence was all that stood between solid ground and thin air.
Up the beach, Jake knelt over the still form of a man in jeans and sweatshirt. For a moment I thought it was Fred Stavis. Then Jake’s green-haired head shifted, to shout again, and I saw that the man’s hair was blond.
CHAPTER 18
Sandy got there first, trailed by Lanny, trailed by Walter and me. She bulldozed Jake aside and knelt beside the unconscious man on the beach.
Skeleton Sea Page 9
