ISLANDS

Victor Manden. Underwater Salvage.

I took a deep breath and knocked on the door of the Quonset hut office.

Inside, a muffled, “It’s open.”

He was leaning back in a swivel chair, feet up on a desk covered by a nautical chart held flat with leather work gloves, a conch shell, and an antique bottle. Grease smudge over one eyebrow, coffee mug halfway to his lips, he toyed with a pink spiral shell, thumb slowly tracing the inward-turning curves.

He dropped his feet to the floor and looked down at the shell. “You forgot it. Your present from the octopus.” He tossed it at me.

I caught it reflexively. Now. Say something. I had to find John’s glyph boulder soon, or I might as well pack up my PhD and head home with my tail between my legs. But all I could do was stand there holding the shell while he watched me with a face like a stone wall.

I walked over, set the shell on the desk, and turned for the door. “This was a mistake.”

He whipped out of the chair and put himself between me and the door, shoving it closed. “Let’s skip the hunt and chase. Tell me what you want.”

“Apparently there’s no point.” I made a motion toward the door.

He didn’t move. “Try me. You must want it bad, to come back here.”

I stiffened. “All right. I want you to take me to Ship Bay. I want to see where John drowned. I want to see the rock with the petroglyphs.”

“And no one else will take you there.”

“That’s right.”

“So now you step in where angels fear to tread, and prove I killed John. Got to admire your guts, Susan.”

“I’m not asking for your admiration.”

“No, you figure all you have to do is walk in here, smile pretty, and I’ll fall all over myself. You and your spoiled brother.”

It was ridiculous to stand by the door letting him trap me. I walked over to the desk and sat down. “Well? Will you take me to the cove?”

He returned to his side of the desk. “Tell me why I should.”

“It’s your business. I’ll pay you.”

He flushed angrily beneath the deep tan. “I don’t come cheap. Boat and diver for half a day, two hundred bucks.”

I gritted my teeth and nodded.

A mirthless smile. “Since you’re hiring me, I have to tell you I don’t know anything about a petroglyph rock. Knowing John, it could be on the moon.”

“Fine.”

“I always shake on a business deal.” He rose and reached across the desk, mouth pressed straight behind the beard.

I rose stiffly to shake hands. His palm was warm and dry, mine damp.

“Okay, let’s not waste time. If we leave now, the tide will be about right to make it over the entrance reef.”

“Now? But…. I need to rent an underwater camera.”

“No problem. I’ve got a good setup.”

“I can’t pay you today.”

“I’ll bill you later. Let’s go.”

“Wait.” Things were moving too fast. “Why did you agree to this?”

He turned abruptly, knocking the pink shell onto the floor. “Shit!” He scooped it up like it was alive and wounded. With an irritated gesture, he thrust it at me. “Can’t you hang onto this thing?”

I took it. “Are you going to answer my question?”

“I don’t trust you any more than you do me, so I might as well keep an eye on what you’re up to and save myself getting broadsided later. Does that make it all clear?”

I was looking at the gleaming smooth curves of the shell. “I guess so.” I stuck it in my pocket.

“Let’s go then. The tide won’t wait.”

“I have a lunch date.” I’d finally arranged a meeting with Shelli Carver. “I’ll call her and put it off.”

“Laura?” He sounded disgusted.

“No.”

He shrugged and pointed at the phone. “Be sure to tell them you’re going out with me. We don’t want any more unsolved murders, do we?”

“That’s a sensible suggestion.” I picked up the phone as he strode out the door.

Shelli’s laughter crackled over the line. “You are crazy, Susan! I’ll be waiting for a blow-by-blow.” She hung up.

I gripped the receiver like a lifeline. A beautifully preserved, unglazed terracotta jaguar head snarled at me from a shelf above the desk. Mayan. I hung up the wailing phone and headed outside. No sign in the yard of the antique anchor with the skull-shaped coral. I was still wondering about coincidences.

“Let’s go.” Manden strode between two rusted mounds, trailed by a shirtless native. He turned back to the man. “Go ahead and sort those cables. We’ll search for the hull section tomorrow.”

The man ran a hand over his close-cropped head, sweat gleaming. His eyes rolled from me to Manden. “Why you go dere? Why you mix it wi’ she? You jus find moh grief.”

“Gaylord, the customer is always right.”