Throughout this pristine part of the island, a diversity of indigenous life forms existed that was remarkable in its adaptations to the extremes of temperature, salinity and moisture it had to endure. The primary dune was stabilized by a variety of pioneer plants, the slender sea oat with its long and narrow leaves curled to prevent water loss being the most common. There were also stately clumps of tall panic grass, low sea elder shrubs with their bright green succulent leaves, clumped stalks of sea rocket, so named because its flowers resembled little rockets, spreading mats of seaside evening primrose with its fuzzy leaves and yellow cuplike flowers, the fragrant croton, and the flat, radiating doily-like branches of the dune spurge.
The secondary dune they'd earlier passed, a back dune partially protected from the ravages of the sea and its salt, was able to support the beach morning glory with its pink trumpet-like flowers, the prickly sandspur, catbriar, and taller species such as the broom-like broomstraw rush, salt meadow hay, and the sword-like yucca, or Spanish bayonet, which could grow as tall as nine feet.
Between the primary and secondary dunes, in the low area called the swale, the temperature was significantly higher during the day than on the dunes themselves because the sloping sides of the dunes reflected the heat inward. The only plants that could survive there were the beach pea and the prickly pear cactus. The cactus was low-lying and could be quite painful when stepped on or nosed at, so Ketch and the dog both avoided walking in the swale whenever possible - as they largely had today, having opted to cross the dunes at the old haulover site.
Back across the road on the sound side he could see some of the salt marsh that defined much of the western shore of the island. Despite the wide variations in salinity that occurred there, even the marshes contained a variety of plants. Shimmering waves of cordgrass or spartina predominated, but there'd also be the sea oxeye with its yellow sunflower-like flowers, the marsh rosemary whose tiny lavender flowers would bloom later in the summer, black needle rush, cotton bush, marsh elder, salt meadow hay, wax myrtle with its distinctive bayberry aroma, and the yellow flowers of the seaside goldenrod, among others.
The island harbored a surprising abundance of animal life as well, aside from the many cetaceans, fish, turtles, crustaceans, mollusks and so on that could be found in the waters of the ocean and the sound that together surrounded the island. Several common species of insects existed across the island, dragonflies being prevalent in the marshes. Small translucent ghost crabs, seen mostly at night, frequented the front dunes and strand line, as did the sand hopper or beach flea, a tiny shrimp-like amphipod. Some of the forest animals, such as the meadow mouse and cottontail rabbit, foraged on the dunes at night. The forest also sheltered raccoons, and the yellow rat snake and an entertaining lizard called the six-lined racerunner.
The watery marshes, aside from their important role as a nursery for juveniles of many species of shrimp and fish, supported blue crabs, fiddler crabs, marsh crabs, the diamondback terrapin, clams, oysters, mussels, and several types of snails. On the tidal flats, anaerobically pungent and sometimes broad expanses of detritus-blackened muddy sand that were exposed at the marsh's edge at low tide, could be found a variety of mollusks including scallops, clams and oysters, several kinds of shrimp, hermit crabs and blue crabs, corals, sponges, and bryozoans, and the occasional squid and horseshoe crab.
The beach itself had its clams, ghost crabs, mole crabs in the surf zone, and other bottom dwellers such as starfish, sand dollars, and urchins, washed in from deeper water, and seasonal visitors like the endangered loggerhead turtle, which laid its eggs above the high tide line.
And of course there were the birds. Common terns, herring gulls, willets and sandpipers frequently scavenged along the shoreline, and Ketch had seen laughing gulls, oystercatchers, skimmers, an occasional cormorant, and several other types of tern there and toward the sound. There were sometimes brown pelicans, ibises, egrets and herons in the marshes, including the great blue heron which stood over four feet tall, and once he'd seen a seahawk dive to the sound for a fish from what must have been a height of a hundred feet.
Ketch contentedly took it all in as he descended to the beach and started hiking south along the high tide line, envisioning the island and its myriad natural inhabitants as the synchronized entity it truly was, the whole dependent on all of its parts and each part ultimately dependent on every other. If he had to believe in something, he thought, he could believe in being a part of this. As he strode on, alone in this better world except for the dog, it pleased him to imagine that it all belonged to him.
But of course, it didn't. And soon neither would even his humble abode back in town. He walked for a while longer, loathe to exit his lucid dream, then reluctantly called to the dog. They'd gone more than halfway toward Buxton Woods, the largest remaining stand of maritime forest on the Carolina coast, and he wanted to hike its trails again sometime - but not today.
He removed his canteen and the collapsible dog dish from his backpack and gave the dog a drink, and then started retracing his steps. It was time now to begin the unavoidable devolution back to reality.
It was still early when they arrived back at the house, early enough to catch the paperboy delivering the morning newspaper. The boy stopped and dismounted his bike when he saw the dog get out of the truck, and the dog's tail started wagging furiously.
"Jack? Hey Jack!" the boy called. The dog glanced at Ketch for permission, then assumed he had it when he didn't hear otherwise and ran to the boy. "Hey, Mister Ketchum!"
The sun was in Ketch's eyes. He shaded them with a hand, then said, "Henry?" What was he doing delivering newspapers? Wasn't he on vacation?
"Yes sir," Henry replied. Before Ketch could inquire, he said, "We're here for the summer, me and Mama and my sister. My dad still has to work some, so he comes when he can."
"So you decided to get a summer job? Where are you staying?" Ketch asked.
"In a house down by the canal." Still petting the dog, Henry said, "Yeah, I want to make some extra money this summer. My allowance isn't that great. I'm savin' up for somethin'."
"Are you? Well, good for you, Henry."
Ketch already admired this boy for the way he'd handled himself on the Captain's boat earlier this week, and now he was even more impressed. Unlike many nowadays, this one wasn't wasting his time playing video games, he was respectful, and it looked like he had a good work ethic. His parents must be teaching him well.
"How old are you, Henry?" he asked.
"I just turned twelve, sir. Say, do you need your grass cut or anythin'? It's okay if you don't," the boy quickly added.
"Well, now that you mention it, it could use a trim." Another thing he was falling behind on, and he doubted he'd have time to do it himself today or tomorrow. "Do you know how to run a power mower? Is it okay with your mother?"
"Oh sure! I've done it at home, and for a couple neighbors. She doesn't mind."
"You're sure?" Ketch pressed. "Should I talk with her about it first?"
"You can, but she'll be okay with it. Want to use my cell?"
Ketch shook his head. "No, that's all right. How much would you charge?"
The boy named a figure and Ketch said, "That's way too low. If you charged twice that, you'd still be cheaper than the pros. So that's what I'll pay you." He saw the boy's face light up. "I have to go out later, but I'm not sure when. I'll leave the mower out behind the house, and I'll pay you now. You come back later and do the job, and if I'm not here leave the mower in the shade when you're done. How does that sound?"
"That sounds great! Thanks, Mister Ketchum!"
Ketch gave the boy his money and sent him on his way. Before he went inside, he got the mower out and filled its gas tank, then wheeled it around to the back of the house and parked it where it would remain shaded. Then he and the dog went into the house.
"Hey, you!" Kari called from the kitchen, where the dog immediately headed. Not only did he need another drink, the woman was co
oking as well. "How was your walk? I waited breakfast for you. Go on and wash up, and then get back in here. Everythin's just about done except the eggs, and they won't take long."
Ketch returned to find a plate of scrambled cheese eggs, bacon, orange slices, and biscuits waiting for him. "You're going to spoil me," he said, "and probably make me fat, too."
"Nah, I'll make sure you work it off," she said. "Who were you talkin' to out there?" He told her about meeting Henry on the fishing charter, and what the boy was up to now.
"Huh, sounds like a good kid. It's nice of you to help him out," she said. "So what are you doin' today?"
"Oh, you don't want to know. Chores and errands. I have some things to do on the computer."
"That reminds me!" she exclaimed with a mouthful. She swallowed and said, "I wasn't snoopin', honest, but I saw some papers on your desk and I couldn't help but notice. Are you writin' a book or somethin'?"
"Well," he said, looking away in embarrassment. "It's just some short stories I started fiddling with when I moved here, and now maybe it's turning into a novel, I don't know."
"A novel? No kiddin'! What's it about?" Before he could answer, she continued, "And you've been workin' on it for what, three years? It must be good!"
"It's a piece of crap," he said. "But it might be good someday, and meanwhile it's something I can relax with. I don't watch a lot of TV, as you might have noticed. I'll let you read it sometime, if you'd really like to."
"I would! But no pressure, I'll wait 'til you're ready," she said.
They ate in comfortable silence for a while. Even the dog, who sat on the floor between them, was silent as he patiently waited for the occasional scrap. That was when it occurred to Ketch that he might be in deep. He'd known this woman on a casual basis since shortly after he'd moved here, and now... As the Captain might put it, when two people were comfortable enough with each other to just shut the hell up, that was serious. To sit in silence once in a while without one or the other feeling the need to manufacture conversation, that meant something.
Toward the end of the meal she announced, "Well, I've got some paperwork at the shop this mornin'. It's almost dang tax time again! Every three months, I swear... But I'll clean up here before I go." He started to protest, but she cut him off. "I have time, and besides you have a dishwasher, silly! Anyway, if you can stop by the shop later, I'll have your tanks ready for you. Or I can just bring 'em with me tonight."
Ketch considered for a moment. "Thanks, but I should be able to drop by later this afternoon."
It sounded like she might be hoping to stay here again tonight, which would make the fourth night in a row. He wondered what she'd say if he inquired about that likely mythical exterminator, then thought better of it for the time being. Whether it was a deliberate strategy or just her nature, she wasn't demanding a lot or interfering much with his activities, and he didn't want her to go home yet.
In fact, he was tempted to ask her right now if he could help her move in here for good, or at least for the foreseeable future. No longer having to pay rent for an apartment would be a financial boon for her, and she didn't seem to mind cooking - not to mention the other fringe benefits. But then he thought of what could still be lying in wait in his and this house's future, thanks to that damned Ingram; he shouldn't be counting his chickens just yet. And who knew, maybe he'd change his mind after a while and regret what he'd set in motion. Remember what B.B. King advised, he told himself, and don't make your move too soon.
So for now he just bided his time and helped her with the dishes instead - and after he'd walked her out to her car, he went straight for his laptop.
He settled in at his desk in the extra bedroom, where the printer was, and transferred the pictures from his phone and his underwater camera to the computer. Genuine photographs might arguably make more of an impression, but he didn't have a photo printer and he didn't want to waste time taking the files somewhere to have prints made or ordering prints online - and in any case he didn't want anyone else to see them just yet anyway. Color printouts should serve the purpose for now.
It would take a while for them all to print. While he waited, he backed up the files to his external drive and to disk, then attached them to e-mails and sent them to himself. If something happened to his printouts or his equipment, the photos would still at least be floating out in the ether somewhere where he could retrieve them. The ones on the phone were automatically backed up to a phone company server as well.
Then he visited the home page of the New York Yankees. Yes, Saturday's game would indeed be televised. Since he'd be diving that day, he went to the living room and set up the DVR to record the game.
What next? The printer was still chugging away, so he considered trying to make a dent in his accumulating stack of newspapers - but no, another time for that. He decided to instead return to the laptop and his good friend Google. He started with ILLEGAL OCEAN DUMPING. It wouldn't hurt if he was a little better informed later.
Well, this was interesting... It looked like the kind of dumping he'd witnessed could be considered a felony under the Clean Water Act or the Ocean Dumping Act; he wasn't sure which. A federal crime, and perhaps with multiple counts, each carrying a fair-sized fine and possible imprisonment. And his criminals were U.S. citizens and hadn't dumped in international waters, which made things simpler.
It looked like they'd finally started getting serious about this issue back in the Seventies, and had ramped up the enforcement and the penalties beginning in the Nineties. It appeared the EPA was responsible for regulating ocean disposal of everything other than dredged spoils, which were handled by the Corps of Engineers; and the Coast Guard was responsible for surveillance of ocean dumping.
So he guessed he could report his crime to either the EPA or the Coast Guard - or easier yet, here was a link to something called the National Response Center where he could file a report online, or he could call their 800 number. The state also had similar laws and programs, but whether his concerns were founded or unfounded he was too paranoid now about Ingram's political reach to go to the state; and for a similar reason, the Dare County Sheriff's office, which covered all of the unincorporated settlements on Roanoke and Hatteras Islands, was also out of the question.
He read that during the past ten years, a federal initiative called the Vessel Pollution Program had generated over $200,000,000 in fines and a total of seventeen years in prison for ship officers and executives. Executives? Good, but had they themselves been imprisoned? That wasn't clear in most cases, and they definitely hadn't been in some. Also, that had mostly to do with ships discharging used oil and oily bilge water, and disposing of such wastes in violation of or without permits; but still, it was encouraging.
Permits - now that was disturbing. Apparently it was still possible to obtain permits for a limited range of ocean disposal activities. Could Tibbleson Construction have a permit allowing Mick and Mario to do what they'd done? Ketch decided that was unlikely, since they'd loaded the boat at an isolated location away from any working waterfront, and at night; or if they did have one, their methods would again indicate that they were probably violating its terms. Plus he remembered reading that dumping hazardous waste in shallow waters was no longer allowed.
He glanced at the printer's output tray and checked the time. The pictures would be done soon, and if he took a quick shower right now, he could easily make it to the offices of HatterasMann Realty before lunch hour. Not that Ingram would necessarily be there, or would be available if he was since Ketch didn't have an appointment. But he figured Ingram would agree to see him if he thought Ketch had decided to sell; and if it turned out Ingram wasn't there, maybe he'd find out where he was and track him down.
He thought he might have a shot now, and he wanted to take it without further delay, partly because of the suspense and partly because his conscience was bothering him. He should have immediately reported the illegal act he'd witnessed, and under ordinary circumstances he thought
he would have done just that, the potential reactions of those involved be damned. But those drums weren't going anywhere, and he didn't think they were leaking, so they could wait a bit longer. The main reason he felt guilty about putting off reporting them was that he was about to try to leverage the sordid situation for personal gain. However, he didn't feel at all guilty about how he intended to do that, nor about whom he intended to do it to.
And why should he? He was certain things like this happened all the time in Ingram's world, and probably usually to Ingram's personal advantage. So Ketch figured there was no harm in his dabbling in that game as well. It was just business, right? That was undoubtedly Ingram's take on what he was trying to do to Ketch. Maybe he wouldn't be needing those foam blocks after all; could he sell them on eBay? He'd seen pontoons for sale there.
When he got out of the shower, he quickly dressed and gathered his printouts into a manila envelope. He let the dog out, apologized to him yet again, gave him another bone, and hit the road.
HatterasMann Realty was at the south end of town, so he was parking the truck there in just a few minutes. Another reason the north end was better, he thought, though he hadn't known of this particular reason when he'd bought the house. It was an attractive building in its way, he noted, a tastefully sided and appointed example of modern sterile beach architecture; and it had a club associated with it for the vacation rentals the realty managed, with tennis courts, a playground, and an outdoor swimming pool for the rentals that didn't have private pools. But he wasn't impressed by any of this today, and he marched into the reception area without giving the club a second look.
Port Starbird (Storm Ketchum Adventures) Page 15
