Body Search

by Jessica Andersen

  “Bull or not, that’s the way it is.” He gestured Trask and a reluctant Hazel out the door. When they were gone, the room was silent, save for the sigh of the wind outside. Dale stood in the doorway, the yellow light of Eddie’s makeshift hospital room lighting one side of him, the flickering, parking lot neon lighting the other. The anger in the room dissipated quickly, leaving another energy behind.

  After a long moment, Tansy turned away. “Why don’t you check on the other patients? I want to set up another run on the chromatograph.” They still hadn’t confirmed the nature of the toxicity. Too many other things had interfered. She tried for a smile. “If we make it out of here, this outbreak should be written up for the journals, at any rate.”

  “You’re right,” he answered quietly. He crossed the room to stand behind her, a breath away, and she knew he wasn’t talking about the experiment now. “You’re right about all of it. I should have told you about this place a long time ago. I should have told you about my parents, and about Trask and Churchill.”

  Tansy concentrated on donning a pair of surgical gloves and preparing a sample of Eddie’s blood for testing. Part of her leaped gladly that he was talking to her, finally talking to her. But the smarter part of her said it was too little, too late. “Why didn’t you?”

  He blew out a breath, but he didn’t move away. “I don’t know. It was just…easier to tell myself that you wouldn’t understand Lobster Island.”

  “Because my parents had money.”

  He turned her to face him, and the familiar warmth radiated from the place where his fingers touched her skin. “Be realistic, Tansy. You deserve marble bathtubs and silk sheets, not this place.” His gesture encompassed the paper-thin walls and the surplus carpeting.

  She didn’t bother to point out that he was fifteen years and two university degrees removed from the poverty, nor did she remind him that they’d spent most of their time together on assignments in sorrier places than the motel. She simply linked her hands around his wrists, where they rested on her shoulders. “We’ll never know, will we? You never gave it a chance.” Seeing cool wariness creep into his eyes, she sighed. “No, don’t worry. I’m not asking you for more. I’m finally accepting that you can’t give it to me.”

  “Meaning?” His eyes were chilly, but behind the mask, she thought she might have seen a hint of panic.

  No, that was her imagination, Tansy decided over the knell of her heart. This is what he wanted. She stuck out her chin. “Meaning I’m done. You’ve made it clear you want nothing to do with the sorts of emotions that Trask has gone through. Fine. You’ve got your wish. As soon as HFH can get a plane here, I’m gone. I’ll tell them to find you a new partner—preferably a man.”

  His eyes darkened. “Tansy, I never meant to—”

  “I know,” she interrupted quickly before her resolve could give. “It’s okay.” And to show just how okay it was, she leaned up on tiptoes and pressed her lips to his, intending to show him that it was truly over between them.

  The action was a terrible, terrible mistake.

  Her mind was trying to say “goodbye,” but her body gave a great, joyous cry of welcome when their lips touched. Dale started in surprise, and the sweep of heat warned Tansy that she had wandered back into her mother’s world of chemistry over common sense. She started to pull away, but was too late. Dale’s fingers dug into her shoulders once before he slid his hands down to gather her close.

  In an instant, her goodbye became the sort of hello that had blinded her to reason so many times before. When his quiet, desperate groan shivered through her, she opened her mouth to him, and tried to keep her heart locked tight.

  His taste brought memories that were instantly swept away by the newness of it. The coarse wool beneath her fingertips was unfamiliar, as was the faint rasp of stubble across her cheek. Unfamiliar, and wildly erotic.

  She murmured something needy. Her head shouted for her to push him away, though her arms urged him closer. His tongue swept inside her mouth and desire swirled, fierce and fiery, only fanned higher by the gusting wind outside and the grumble of thunder overhead.

  Or perhaps that was her heart.

  In the field, Dale had been an inventive, uninhibited lover. At home, less so. But the man she kissed now was neither of those people. He tasted of primal, uncivilized urges. She murmured agreement when his fingers dug tighter into her shoulders.

  And a small voice behind her said, “Ma? Pa? DJ?”

  IT TOOK PRECIOUS SECONDS for Dale’s eyes to focus on the boy in the motel bed and comprehend that— wonder of wonders— Eddie was awake. It took longer for him to force himself to let go of Tansy.

  Ever since he’d realized, in the middle of an earthquake relief effort four months earlier, that he’d go mad if anything ever happened to her, he’d tried to hold her at arm’s length. Then she’d kissed him, and all rational thought had fled, and with it, all of his reasons for keeping her away. His heart still beat a heavy tattoo, and his chest still swirled with a poignant combination of greed and regret. It wasn’t just lust. No, that would be too easy.

  It was Tansy. And that was the most complicated thing in the world.

  “Ma?” At the sight of two near-strangers, little Eddie’s face crumpled. “Pa?” He darted blue-eyed glances at the shabby motel room, with its plywood covered windows, and cringed away from the respirator, which sill rested near his bed. Finally, he locked wide, frightened eyes on Tansy and whispered, “You’re the ghost lady. Am I dead?”

  “No, Eddie, you’re not dead.” Tansy dropped her arms from around Dale’s neck. Dull red climbed her cheeks. “You’re fine.” She perched on the edge of the boy’s bed and brushed a strand of blond hair off his forehead.

  “Where’s my ma and pa?” the boy demanded, his voice growing rapidly stronger. “Where’s DJ?” Worry clouded his face. “They’re okay, right?”

  “They’re fine,” Tansy assured him. “They’ll be here in a minute.”

  Her gesture sent Dale for the door. He was glad to escape the room, and the pressure on his chest. He had always been strangely unsettled to see how good Tansy was with children and to think that she must want her own. Once, he’d told himself it worried him because he didn’t like kids much. But in all honesty, he loved the little monsters. He just didn’t want his own. It had been hard enough to lose his parents.

  He didn’t want to imagine losing a child. Or a wife.

  He took one last look back at Tansy, who was bent over Eddie, listening to him while checking his vitals. Then he turned and walked out into the rising storm, and shut the door behind him.

  A voice spoke from the shadows near the jeep. “Dr. Metcalf? Is everything okay?”

  Dale jolted and spun, remembering Hazel’s attack and knowing that Tansy was alone in the motel room with a sick little boy. “Who is it?”

  A figure stepped into the washy neon light and held out a hand. “We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Nat Roberts.” He was wearing a white shirt atop navy trousers and black shoes. A dark blue zip-up jacket was slung over his shoulder.

  He was dressed in black, Hazel had said. Or perhaps navy?

  Dale ignored the hand. “No, everything’s not okay. Dr. Hazel was attacked about an hour ago. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

  Roberts scowled. “Not you, too? And here I thought since you’d spent some time on the main land, you’d be above the islanders’ conviction that I’m the boogeyman.” He snorted. “It’s not my fault the lobstering’s gone bad. I’m their ticket off this miserable rock, not that any of them will thank me for it.”

  Dale wondered at Roberts’s lack of surprise. Then again, given the island grapevine, it was just as likely he’d heard of Hazel’s attack secondhand, even this late at night. Still, the developer had said it himself—anything that was bad for the lobstering business was good for him. The storms. The disease. All of it.

  Apparently taking the silence for suspicion, Roberts sighed. �
��I have an alibi. I was visiting a few of the more stubborn holdouts.” He patted his back pocket. “I have signed agreements from two of them. Three others slammed their doors in my face, but they’ll come around. Face it, this island’s dying.”

  A week earlier, Dale might have cheered to learn that Lobster Island had sunk into the ocean. Now, he narrowed his eyes. “Nobody and nothing is dying on my watch.” Except maybe the mayor, who was reportedly one of Roberts’s biggest foes at the town meetings that had been called to discuss the buyout. “Who signed tonight?” When Roberts hesitated, Dale ground out, “This is your alibi, buddy, not mine.”

  The developer muttered an unkind word and offered the signed papers. Dale flipped through them and froze at the second signature.

  Walter Churchill.

  “This is a fake,” he snapped, unable to believe that Walter would sell out.

  Roberts didn’t even bristle. He grinned. “It’s real. It seems the tycoon of Lobster Island is having more financial troubles than he’s letting on. Besides, I think he’s ready to escape this smelly excuse for an island and get back to the real world. Our offer was more than generous, and it locks up the forty percent of the island he controls.”

  Forty percent. Damn. Churchill must’ve bought out every islander that had left in the past decade. He’d finally burned out his resources. Dale fought the urge to crumple the contract, instead returning it to Roberts. “Fine. But don’t go anywhere. I’m going to have a few more questions for you later.”

  Roberts shrugged. “Where would I go? Haven’t you heard? There’s a hurricane coming. Until it’s past, we’re all trapped here.” And he was gone, slipping eel-like through the door to Unit 1, the only one the islanders hadn’t boarded up.

  After a brief, intense internal debate, Dale knocked on the door to the small cottage beside the motel. Once a sleepy lobster sorter agreed to fetch Eddie’s parents, Dale returned to the motel.

  There was no way in hell he was leaving Tansy alone there with Roberts around.

  BY THE TIME DALE RETURNED, Tansy had herself back under control. It did her no good to make grand, sweeping statements about her independence, then practically crawl inside his skin when she tried to kiss him goodbye.

  She frowned, then consciously smoothed her expression as she sat down beside Eddie once more. “How are you feeling, sweetie?”

  “Okay, Miss Tansy,” Eddie replied with a sleepy half smile. They had established an uneasy bond once she’d assured him that she wasn’t a ghost, and that he was in the motel, not heaven. The kid had an imagination, she’d give him that.

  “How’s he doing?” Dale asked. Since returning from the parking lot, he’d been prowling the little room, adjusting dials that didn’t need adjusting.

  “He seems okay. Are the others coming?” She slid over when Dale crouched beside the bed and his leg brushed against hers.

  “They’re on their way.” He turned to the boy. “Hey, Eddie. Before your family gets here, can you tell us where you were before you got sick? It’s pretty important.”

  So far, Eddie was the only patient to regain consciousness. Maybe he could provide them a badly needed clue as to the source of the toxicity. Tansy held her breath.

  Eddie scrunched his face up, concentrating, but it was clear that his strength was already fading. “I was at the ghost house with DJ.”

  She patted his hand. “Yes, we saw you there. But your tummy was already hurting, remember? Where were you before you started feeling sick?”

  “I was looking for the river.” His eyelids eased shut. “The river where I found the pretty ring.” Like turning out a light, he was asleep in a breath. His body needed the rest after its prolonged fight.

  Tansy checked his pulse while she processed the new information. She didn’t like the conclusion she came up with. “He found the ring in or near a river, right after one of the big storms.” She glanced at Dale to see if his mind had wandered in a similar direction as hers. The tense set of his jaw suggested that it had.

  “They said they were going for a walk that night,” he ground out. He stood and walked to the doorway, stared out into the night.

  A quick chill skittered through Tansy. “Your parents and your aunt?”

  He nodded. Pain etched sharp lines across his forehead and beside his mouth. “There was no reason for them to go out on the boat. My mother hated being out on the water after dark. But there was something she wanted to show my father—something she and Suzie had found that day.” He swallowed. “Inland. Near a river.”

  “Maybe she dropped the ring while they were walking,” Tansy said, feeling goose bumps march up her arms and wishing she could spare him from the other conclusion, the obvious conclusion. “Maybe the rains washed it down from where it fell.”

  His lips flattened to a thin line. “Or else it washed down from something else.”

  A grave.

  Chapter Nine

  The mayor died at midnight, the sheriff not long after.

  Tansy felt the failure like an open wound. They should have done more. Been faster. Figured it out sooner. Ever since they’d arrived on the island, she’d felt two steps behind the pace. Two steps behind the outbreak. Two steps behind the faceless shadow that wanted them dead.

  Sitting beside her on the cracked sidewalk outside Eddie’s room, Dale muttered a curse.

  Like the wind and the grumble of thunder that had moved far offshore, Tansy had felt frustration building in him through the night. He was so angry, so unhappy, so worried for her and for the people he was—maybe—coming to see as his family. Wishing she knew how to help him, wishing she didn’t feel the need to help him, Tansy touched his clenched fist and was surprised when he grabbed her hand and held on tight.

  Warmth invaded her chest at the thought that he needed something from her, but she quickly ban ished the soft emotion. He’d made it plain that he neither wanted nor needed what they once had together.

  A faint beeping from Eddie’s room brought her to her feet before she recognized the tone. It wasn’t one of the boy’s monitors—he was sleeping peacefully now, not hooked to a single machine. No, this beep came from the chromatograph. It had finished running the sample of Eddie’s blood.

  Dale rose. “Now we’ll know for sure.” But neither of them moved.

  If the chromatogram showed a series of jagged peaks, there was a good chance the poisoning came from a natural source. Each outbreak of PSP showed a different blend of toxins, with a few core molecules that caused the main effects. But if, as they had come to suspect without really saying it, the outbreak was man-made, it seemed likely that the killer would use purified saxitoxin—the most deadly of those core molecules.

  One peak or many? Suddenly, Tansy was reluctant to find out for sure. While the experiment would answer one question, it would pose so many new ones, including the most important one of all: who had poisoned the islanders, and why?

  It had to be someone on the island. Roberts was the obvious suspect. He was an outsider, and they could even stretch to give him motive. But Tansy wasn’t sure.

  It didn’t quite feel right.

  “You ready?” Coming to her out of the darkness, Dale’s voice slid along her nerve endings and caressed her storm-cooled skin.

  She nodded, and they walked into the motel room together, interrupting the quiet vigil of Trask, Hazel and Mickey, who sat around the boy’s bedside, watching him breathe. Waiting for him to wake up again.

  Trask and Dale traded glares. Little had been settled between the two, and they had lapsed into a wary standoff that Tansy found just as exhausting as their earlier battles. Then again, she thought, little good came of families, feuding or otherwise. Just look at her parents, and—

  And she was stalling. Beside her, Dale hadn’t moved either. It was as though neither of them wanted the final confirmation of what they all knew.

  She blamed exhaustion for the fine tremble of her fingers when she ripped the printout from the chromatograph. There was
silence in the room as she scanned it. Even the wind and the thunder had gone quiet.

  Finally, Dale asked, “One or many?”

  The single large peak looked like a mountain, or maybe an accusatory finger. A grave marker. Tansy shuddered and handed the paper to Dale. “One.”

  He cursed. “Then it’s murder.”

  Murder. It shouldn’t have been shocking, but the word cut through the little room with scalpel sharpness.

  “But who?” asked Hazel, reaching for Trask’s hand.

  “My bet is on Roberts,” Tansy replied.

  After a moment, Trask nodded. “The people he works for want the island, one way or the other, is that it?”

  “Perhaps,” Dale agreed, staring down at the paper. “But it still feels as though we’re missing something.”

  Tansy wasn’t surprised he felt it, too. She touched his arm. “Do you think it has anything to do with your parents?”

  He shifted away. “No.” He shot a glance at his uncle, as though daring him to contradict. “That was then, this is now. The attempts on Tansy’s and my life—and Hazel’s attack—have been to keep us from solving the outbreak, nothing more. Nobody cares about—” his voice caught on the words “—about three people who died fifteen years ago. That’s ancient history. We need to focus on what’s happening here and now.”

  The fading breeze sighed through the open door, a sad, lonely sound that gathered beneath Tansy’s breastbone like a weight.

  “This is the here and now, boy.” Trask stood and squared off against Dale. “Your parents are the here and now, and my Suzie. What’s happening now is because of what happened back then, I’d swear to it.”

  “You’d swear to a lot of things,” Hazel snapped, rising from her chair and facing the older man, “not the least of which is that Suzie was the best part of you. Well, I know better than that, Trask, but I’m also figuring out that you know it, too. It’s just easier for you to dwell on the past than it is to figure out the future. Well, to hell with that. And to hell with you.” She stalked out of the room and into the night, which was still and silent. Waiting.