Fox Island (3 page)

Melody pulled sunglasses and mints out of
her purse. “Thanks for asking. I think Mom’s feeling pretty good
this summer. But, there’s been a little change in plans.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I’m not exactly staying with Mom. You
see, I moved my stuff over there three days ago so I could bring in
some professional cleaners and really have Grandma’s place first
rate for you. And Mom and I got in this sort of argument, and I
decided ... we decided... actually, she told me I’d better find
other arrangements.”

“If we’re causing you any problems, we can
go to a realtor and find something else,” Tony plugged in.

“That might be difficult at this late
date,” Price mumbled. Was the whole housing thing falling apart?
They really didn’t need any complications now.
Please, Lord, just a smooth, peaceful summer.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Melody said. “I have it
all planned out. See, I’m going to spend the summer with my friend,
Kim. She’s an artist, a really good one. Not as good as Grandma, of
course, but she has this thing about angels. Even her seascapes
have them.”

“Oh... that’s nice,” Price said.

“A struggling artist, if you know what I
mean. Anyway, she lives in a cabin out on Gibson Point.”

“Well, I’m glad it all worked out for you.”
Tony parked his briefcase next to the baggage claim carousel.

“Actually, it hasn’t quite worked out. Kim
has this sort of boyfriend living with her. He’s a jerk. Really.
That’s what even Kim says. And she’s going to kick Amigo out this
weekend.”

Tony raised his eyebrows. “Amigo?”

“That’s the guy’s name.”

“Then, when he’s gone, you’ll stay with
her?” Price questioned.

“Yep. It’ll be cool. I’ll write in the den
and she’ll paint on the deck. We’ve got it all planned out. She’ll
do all the cooking and laundry and I’ll do the rest. Did I tell you
I’m working on a book of short stories?”

Tony examined the bags revolving on the
carousel. A whiny voice on the loud speaker droned flight
information about a flight to Anchorage. “Eh... no, I don’t think
you mentioned it.”

“Well...” Melody rocked back and forth
on her black Velcro strapped sandals. “See, I call it
Endangered Species,
but it’s not
about animals. It’s about people. People whose occupations are
being phased out by the unrelenting technological progress of the
late twentieth century. My first piece is called
The Last Hot Dog Stand in America.
Isn’t that title great? It came to me in a dream one
night.”

Price scooted the two briefcases to the side
as Tony fished out a large blue suitcase from the carousel. “So,
you’re not staying with your mom, or Kim, for a few days. Where
does that leave you?”

“Well, here’s what I thought... and you two
feel perfectly free to squelch the idea.... Grandma has this small
apartment above her garage. Mainly just storage, but it’s really
quite comfortable. Has a little balcony and everything. So, if it
would be all right, I’d like to stay there until Kim’s place opens
up. It’ll just be for a few days. Now, I know you paid for the
whole place for all summer... but I thought I could spend the
weekend driving you all over the Island and introducing you to the
people you’ll need to talk to. You know, sort of in exchange for
bunking in the garage loft?”

N-0. Absolutely
not!
Tony mouthed to Price behind Melody’s
back.
No, no, no.
This was
the summer he and Price got reacquainted. No emergency runs to the
hospital for injured kids. No pizza wedged behind the couch
cushions. No one busting into their bedroom early in the morning
because they thought they heard them talking. Just the two of
them.

“What do you think, Dr. Shadowbrook?”

“Well... I think...” Tony shook his head at
Price. “Just for a few days... I suppose that would be... but we
really must have privacy in order to complete this project. I think
I explained all this in our correspondence.”

“You got it. Believe me, you won’t even know
I’m there.”

Tony huddled the suitcases between them.
“Melody, why don’t you get your car and we’ll wait out front. These
are too heavy to carry to the parking garage.”

“Oh, sure. Wow, you really have a lot of
baggage. I’ve just, you know, never been around famous writers
before.”

“Do you have room?” Tony asked. “We could
rent a vehicle.”

“Oh no. We’ll make it. VWs hold a whole lot
more than most people think.”

Melody scurried out the front door of the
terminal and disappeared in the confusion of cars, taxis, hotel
vans and temporary Seattleites.

“A Volkswagen?” Tony sighed. “This doesn’t
look good. We can’t load this in a little car. And then she’s going
to stay with us? It’s not fair. We had this all planned out. What
will we do with a girl in our garage?”

“She isn’t a girl. She’s twenty-five years
old, in case your old eyes didn’t notice, an attractive young woman
who spent entirely too long holding your hand.”

“Whoa! I feel a shoot-out scene coming on.
But I’m not the one who told her, ‘Oh, sure, stay at the house for
the weekend.’”

“What could I say? But she’ll be out of the
garage by Monday, or we’ll make other arrangements.”

“I don’t think it would hurt to start
searching for an alternative immediately.” Tony pulled off his
cowboy hat and ran his fingers through his dose-cropped sandy brown
hair. He took a deep breath. “Then again, maybe we’re getting
worried over nothing. Let’s get to the Island and set up camp. I’m
anxious to get started on that book.”

“Tony, they’re calling your name.”

“Who?”

“The public address system.”

“Really? How can you hear that?”

“Because I’m not nearly as old as you
are.”

“Three years, that’s all, kid. Where’s the
house phone?”

“One of those white ones over there. But who
would call you here?”

“Probably Miss Mason. She lost her way and
can’t find her ’55 Bug.” Tony scooted across the polished tile
terminal to a wall phone. “Tony Shadowbrook... is there a call for
me?”

“Are you the writer?”

“Eh, yeah... who is this?”

“Are you the one who wrote
Lonesome Dove
?”

“No, that was Larry McMurtry.”

“I know I’ve heard of you. What did you
write?”

“Who is this?”

“One of the airport operators.”

“Did I have a phone message?” Tony
asked.

“Yes, just a minute. Say, you
wrote
Talking God,
didn’t
you?”

“That was Tony Hillerman. What about my
call?”

“Your daughter wants you to call home, Mr.
Shadowbrook. Come on, now, what did you write?”

“My latest novel is called
Shotgun Creek.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Yeah... well... it’s pretty new.”

“Mr. Shadowbrook, is it true you know Tom
Selleck?”

“No.”

“Oh... well... good day.”

With the scent of strong espresso drifting
through the terminal, Tony retraced his steps, lizard cowboy boots
pounding over the sounds of passing loafers, tennies, and hiking
boots.

“Sorry for the delay. I got waylaid by a
fan... well, sort of a fan.”

“What was the urgent message?”

“One of the girls called.”

Price slumped her shoulders. “I can’t
believe they’ve already had a spat. I’ll bet it’s about that
cow.”

“No, it’s not. Well, maybe. Let’s scoot the
bags to the pay phones. You’ll probably have to mediate.”

The phone rang four times before he heard a
familiar voice. “Hi, Pop, how was your flight?”

“Fine. What’s the emergency?”

“Wait, Kit wants to talk, too. She’s out in
the garage.”

“What is it, Tony?” Price prodded.

“Kath went to get Kit.”

“Hey, Pop, how’s the world famous
writer?”

“Kit, what’s going on?”

“About an hour ago a man named Terrance
Davidian came by the house to see you.”

“I don’t know any Terrance Davidian.”

“We know. Terrance Davidian used to work for
Michael Ovitz.”

“Who?”

“Oh, Pop, you know, the Hollywood
super-agent who’s now at Disney. Disney... as in Walt, as in Mickey
Mouse, as in megabucks.”

“Okay, so what?”

“Well, get ready for this. Davidian
said he thinks
Shotgun Creek
is one terrific western. He wants to take it to the
studios.”

“What?”

“To make a movie out of
Shotgun Creek!
Can you believe it?
And... there’s a chance of sequels for the rest of the River Breaks
series. Daddy? Are you there?”

“What studio did you say he’s from?”

“I didn’t. I think he’s an agent.”

“Well, then, he’s looking for his cut.”

“Pop, this is serious. He’s got your address
on Fox Island. I think he’s flying up to see you.”

“Flying here? When?”

“It sounded like today. Didn’t it, Kit?”

“Yeah, but, don’t trust him too far,
Pop.”

“Oh, Kit, come on. He really, really likes
your book, Daddy. He said you were the next Luke Grey or Zane Short
or something.”

“What’s the problem, Kit?” Tony asked.

“Look, the guy drives up here in an old
beat-up Datsun. Come on, even our paper boy can afford a better car
than that.”

“Who’s coming to Fox Island?” Price
demanded.

Tony waved her away. “Is that all,
girls?”

“Yes, aren’t you excited? I know Mom will
be. This could be that big break you’ve always talked about
needing.”

“Speaking of big breaks,” Kit broke in, “I
busted a bolt off the block. Do you have any Easyouts in your
toolbox, Pop?”

“No, but why don’t you buy me one?”

“Okay. Bye, Pop.”

“Hey, Daddy...”

“Kath?”

“Kit’s off the phone now. You’ll never guess
what she’s got in the backyard.”

“The calf, right?”

“Yeah. How did you...?”

“It’s okay, Kath. Thanks for telling
us.”

“Bye, Daddy.”

“Talk to you later, sweetheart.”

Melody Mason, all five feet one inch of her,
beamed innocence and cheer beside a pouting Price. “Well, what are
those two up to?” his wife asked.

“Besides raising a calf in our
backyard?”

“I told you!”

“Also, some alleged Hollywood agent
stopped by to talk about a scheme to make
Shotgun Creek
into a movie.”

“Really? Oh, wow, this is terrific,” Melody
blurted out. “I’ve always thought Keanu Reeves would make an
excellent Jake Houston. Can’t you see that? He’s a natural.”

“Let’s get to the Island, ladies. We can
talk on the way. Where’s your car, Melody?”

“The green VW bus. Over there with the
Deadhead poster covering the broken window. I’m going to get that
fixed before winter. But it kind of gives it character, don’t you
think?”

Chapter 2

Indians called the Island ‘Bu Teu,’ which
means ‘sea person.’ Fist-sixed clay pebbles washed ashore on the
west end of Fox Island often resemble the shapes of birds, fish,
animals, and even infants. Legend labels them Mud or Clay Babies.
According to Indian legend, a beautiful princess spurned her own
kind and married the handsome son of the Old-Man-of-the-Sea.
Underwater lifestyle so changed her she could no longer visit her
parents on land. So, when she is homesick for her former people,
she tarries near her favorite beach, forming small clay figurines
that wash ashore. She leaves her artwork behind to be found by
adventurous pilgrims who scout along the sand and mud.

But then, not everyone sojourning on Fox
Island has time to explore the beaches.

Tony burst through the kitchen doorway,
still dressed in his all-black running gear. Sweat streamed down
his face. “What time’s that interview?”

Price glanced up from her Hannah Whitall
Smith devotional book. “So what do you think of this? ‘Man’s part
is to trust, and God’s part is to work.’”

Tony grabbed a red-and-yellow striped beach
towel and twirled it into a twist. “Of course, that depends on the
context,” he shrugged. “If you’re talking about salvation, it’s on
the money. But if someone uses it as an excuse never to do
anything, to just sit on his duff and wait for his ‘welfare
blessings’ from the Lord, then it’s kind of shallow.”

“Thanks for the theological lesson of the
morning.”

“Do I hear a twinge of sarcasm?” Tony
briskly wiped his free and neck. Tufts of hair stood up, making him
look like a middle- aged light heavyweight boxer after a tough
first round.

Price sighed deeply. “For as long as I’ve
been a Christian, I feel like I do so little for God. I do a lot of
busy work for the church, but I never seem to talk about Him to
others. I guess I keep looking for some grand God-given task.”

“I’m not sure we all get something grand,
spiritually speaking. But we keep busy, that’s for sure.” He tossed
the beach towel across the deck railing. “Is that interview at
10:00?”

“What are you going to wear today?”

“What difference does that make? It’s on
radio.”

“But we’re going to the Yacht Club luncheon
benefit. I don’t want us to clash.”

“Honey, I absolutely don’t care. You pick
something out.” He flung open the refrigerator door and stared at a
half-empty gallon of nonfat milk and a dozen radishes floating in a
container of water.

“I’m going to wear my teal skirt and silver
blouse... and maybe my silver boots,” Price informed. “How about
you putting on that teal green shirt with the southwest design and
your silver Apache scarf?”