Harsens Island (8 page)

“This good Earth, this good, green Earth...”

“…And if it takes a decade to negotiate and move her from Harsens to Walpole, I would say it was time well spent.”

Sam paused to let her thoughts gather. She heard laughter, saw food being consumed, and inhaled the scent of cigars and cigarettes.

“And what does Moon want?”

“The highest price. And to escape, of course.”

Sam smiled at Redsky in a friendly way.

“You’re not telling me everything.”

Redsky’s voice dropped to a raspy purr.

“And what have
you
shared?”

Sam stood to leave; she spoke irritably.

“This has been great. Thanks.”

“Don’t be a pill. Sit. Eat. Enjoy the night.”

Sam remained on her feet.

“What’s her real name?”

“I can’t pronounce it,” Redsky said. “And by the by, before you dash off, I have to say that you didn’t fall from the tree. You share your mother’s cheekbones and lips, although they aren’t quite as full as hers were. And you have your father’s eyes. He had such beautiful, sultry eyes. He was such a
handsome
man.”

Sam faltered.

“You see?” Redsky said. “You did have something to share.”

Sam picked up a napkin, wiped her hands, and said, “What’s your point?”

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice? We were of a certain generation, your parents and I. They kept to themselves, but I had the pleasure of doing business with your father on two different, complicated occasions. I met you once when you were a young woman, no more than – how long would you say? Fifteen years ago?”

“I don’t recall,” Sam said.

“You were always beautiful.”

Sam fell into silence.

Redsky spoke without excitement.

“I was thinking you might join us in an advisory capacity or, if you’d like, as a direct hire. Your dust up with Clayton demonstrated the qualities we occasionally employ. I imagine you possess additional skills which could prove useful.”

“I’m not interested, Chief.”

“So what do you propose to do? Sit in that tiny cottage for the next fifty years? Become a bitter old woman?”

“Good night, Chief. I’ll find my way home.”

Chef Angelo arrived, teetering a fraction, brought off center by more than the weight of a large pizza.

“Order ups!” he slurred loudly, and placed the meal on the table. “Sits and eats,” he said to Sam, wobbling. “Don’t cost you nothing! Sweet thing like you, eats fors frees. So let it be written! So shalls it be! Hail to the chefs!”

Then his head lolled, he folded at the knees, and collapsed into blissful sleep. Tourists gasped and the locals laughed.

The second server reappeared, carrying Sam’s glass of water, and stepping around the fallen chef yelled out over her shoulder.

“Kitchen’s closed!”

Then she asked Redsky the obvious questions.

“How we doin’, Chief? Everything copasetic?”

Without warning, hands grabbed at Sam’s shoulders. She twisted from under them, wheeled, brought her left fist chest high and her right fist to her hip.

The firefighter named Jagger was glaring at her.

“
Watch it
,” he snarled. “Whataya doin’ with her?”

He was reasonably cute when he was sober, but drunk he was remarkably ugly.

“Fuck off, Mickey,” Redsky said. “Go find a fire to piss on.”

“Jagger,” Sam said without inflection or derision.

He ignored her.

“My name’s
Mick
. Fuck you,
Chief
.”

“Jagger,” Sam repeated.

“
What
?” the firefighter barked.

“Go home.”

He regarded her contemptuously.

“
What
? You
like
Injuns?”

“Go home and nobody gets hurt,” she responded.

“What if I don’t want to?”

He grabbed her and tried to kiss her and Sam leveraged him, making him fleetingly airborne before he landed with a resounding thump. 

A boisterous roar erupted from the tables, gazebo, and bystanders – laughter, applause, and sharp whistles. A woman leapt from the table next to them, drunk and unafraid, and raised Sam’s left arm.

“The winner and new champion!”

Rowland emerged from behind a wall of bystanders, catching Sam’s eye immediately.

He was smiling, shaking his head, comfortable in worn Levi’s, cowboy boots, and a loose fitting white tee shirt. He was carrying a red plastic cup.

Oh, for god sakes
, Sam thought, realizing with a soppy weakness she was suddenly thirteen years old.

The sheriff looked down at the firefighter – whose eyes were blinking open – and shook his head, whistling two short notes.

“This is unexpected. Bad night, Mick?”

He addressed Sam.

“Why am I not surprised?”

Sam responded with her own humor.

“He started it!”

This prompted another wave of laughter.

Redsky spoke to the server, placing one slim, manicured hand on the girl’s forearm.

“Sally, I think we’ll take this to go.”

Sam didn’t press charges. Jagger, at Rowland’s behest, apologized publicly to both her and Redsky. When Rowland was satisfied justice had been served, he confiscated Jagger’s car keys, tossed the keys to the front seat of the firefighter’s Mustang and locked its doors.

“If I hear you’ve come back for it tonight, I’ll impound it. If you behave yourself, I’ll have it unlocked in the morning on my dime.”

He summoned a deputy and had Jagger driven home. Redsky departed, leaving the boxed pizza and a tip. The server, in her last magic act of the night, reappeared to collect the tip and give Sam the message she needed to get a ride home. This was delivered in Rowland and Jagger’s presence – whether it was intended as a final slap to Jagger was never decided.

When he offered, Sam agreed to leave with Rowland. As they exited the bar, Sam motioned to Rowland’s red party cup.

“You good to drive?”

“Water,” he said. “Want a sip?”

A few moments later, as he reversed the cruiser from its parking spot, she said, “You use the cup is to blend in?”

Rowland grinned sideways.

“Professional curiosity?”

“Pardon?”

He didn’t respond. His eyes narrowed on the road and his head moved slightly as he checked his mirrors. He drove rapidly. A mile passed before he spoke again.

“I don’t know what you are or were, Sam, but if I had to bet I’d say you’re ex-FBI or Army intelligence, maybe one of those Blackwater contractors we set up in Iraq, something along those lines.”

His eyes remained focused on the road.

“Wow,” she said without sarcasm. “I’m flattered. What makes you think that?”

“Seriously?” he asked.

“Seriously.”

He slowed and turned onto her road.

“You purposely sank a sports car for reasons unknown, blew up a microwave – which still puzzles me, but that’s beside the point – and you pay for everything with cash, even up to this day, despite my warnings. You tussled with our very own Thurston Howell the Third, dove into a river to rescue a woman – your lawyer as it turns out – who died under suspicious circumstances, and just now, without breaking a sweat, you flattened a local regarded as a seriously tough drunk. Add your choice of dinner companions to spice things up, and I’d say you’re professional grade. How am I doing so far?”

He steered into her driveway, bringing them to a fast, smooth stop. He parked and doused the lights. The radio squawked but he ignored it.

“You added up the facts but the total is wrong. Do you want some pizza? I can’t eat all of it.”

He looked at her, drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, and killed the engine.

“Alright, fair enough. It’ll give us a chance to talk.”

**********

Leaning against the cruiser, they ate warm pizza. From two houses down came the sounds of music and laughter.

“This is really good,” Sam said. “And I’m not big on pizza, either.”

“You know, I hear people complain about that place, and every time, every one of them is from some other town that’s bigger, faster, and louder. You know, towns and cities where people think Papa John’s is a delicacy.”

“That’s funny,” she said. “And probably about right.”

Finishing a third slice he said, “Which of the Catanzaro’s do you think is funnier?”

“Funnier?”

“You know, humorous.”

“That’s a tough one. I think it’s a tie.”

“I gotta go with Bill. He has that dry humor, hippy vibe, you know? He’ll make a crack that can make you double over.”

“He strikes me as being pretty sweet.”

“He is. If someone asked me to sum him up, I’d tell ‘em how, a long time ago, when I was in a bad way, he came over, you know, to talk, give me a little cheering up. And I don’t know what got into him but he did this – this handspring, sort of a cartwheel, end over end, and landed on his feet like he was an Olympic gymnast...”

“…I can see it…”

“…tumbling like a circus clown. I’m skipping the context, but it was his way of telling me to move forward.”

Sam paused for a moment, and when it was apparent he was done, she spoke.

“He’s a friend?”

“He is. And he’s a good spirit.” He gestured to the pizza box. “More?”

“No, I’m stuffed. Please, take the rest home. I won’t eat it.”

“Alright,” he said, “I hate to see food go to waste.”

There was the sound of water roiling as another freighter slid through the water, lit up as if it was a pleasure cruise. The music and laughter from two doors down was louder.

Sam shifted to business.

“Has anyone talked to Hunter’s husband?”

“Depends,” Rowland said. “Are we exchanging confidences? One hand washes the other?”

Sam briefly stared at the water.

“Tell you what. Let’s do this. Let’s both go as far as the law and common sense allow.”

Sam extended her clenched left fist, Rowland mirrored her with his right, and they fist-bumped.

“MPD’s in the loop,” Rowland said, “and of course there’s Houle. I asked him to contact the husband to let the daughter know, but I couldn’t tell you if he’s made headway either. For all I know he hasn’t bothered. And for all anyone knows the husband’s dead.”

“There’s a hell of a thought.”

“Murder-suicide.”

Sam considered it for a few moments.

“I think it’s doubtful.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I just doubt it, that’s all. Intuition.”

“You heard she came over with someone, right?”

“Yeah, as a matter of fact,” Sam said. “I chatted with Dan Mule this afternoon and he said someone came with her but nobody knows who.”

“So you see what I’m saying? He came over with her, did what he did, and left.”

Sam shifted her eyes from the river to him.

“You’re checking Mule’s tapes?”

“You bet. As well as all points from LaGuardia to Detroit Metro.”

“If what you said is right, it would explain the missing car.”

“Exactly,” Rowland said.

“Could the car be on the island?”

“We’ll do an aerial search of the island now that the rain has passed. And yes, we’ve checked all the public parking spaces.”

She tilted her head to look at him fully.

“You knew I was thinking that?”

He gave her a mocking smile.

“You’re a professional, right?”

The right corner of Sam’s mouth rose; she went down another path.

“What do you think of Snake?”

Rowland was slow to respond.

“Elon ‘Snake’ Adams.” He whistled. “Boy, I tell you, he’s a curious one.”

“Nosy?”

“No, I meant he’s a curious case. He’s been on the island for maybe a year, less than, and fits in well enough but he’s too odd and too enthusiastic for my taste. Then there’s his bullshit nickname. Who gives themselves a nickname?”

“I heard he’s with Homeland Security.”

Rowland said, “You heard that from Lauren?”

“Yeah. She thinks most people aren’t aware of his badge. Or perhaps don’t believe it.”

“Most everything he claims is more or less verifiable except for the stuff I pick up through the rumor mill.”

The answer neither confirmed nor denied what Redsky claimed; she prodded him.

“Such as…?”

“Low-rent misdemeanors. Bill gets along with him, if you catch my drift. I know he barters, let’s say, goods and services, with a mainland crew, but he keeps his nose clean on the island. Do you know anything besides the Homeland speculation?”

“No, nothing else, unfortunately. What about this girl they call Moon?”

“Ah,” he said with a sigh, “there’s a goddamn mess from one end to the next.”

“Lauren had a long story about her, but I didn’t know what to think of it. What happened?”

“The gist is people travel to Canada and cross the river from Walpole illegally. Moon and her family tried to cross last winter. Their boat sank and Moon was the one survivor. What did Lauren say?”

“Mostly the same,” Sam said, deliberately avoiding any further detail. “Did they ever find the bodies?”

“No, not a one. The river devoured them. Who have you worked for?”

“I’m not affiliated with anyone but me. What about Houle?”

“He seems more concerned with you than his dead associate. What brought her here?”

“Supposedly she came to see me. Do you know where she went or what she did before she died?”

“I assumed you’d met her,” Rowland said.

“No. Like I said during the interviews, she said she was coming in Sunday.”

“You had no direct phone contact or texts from her?”

“No, nothing. Do you think she was murdered?”

He shrugged.

“We’ll find out eventually. Right now, it’s all theory. And I’m no scientist. The coroner said she drowned.”

“A girl at the ferry thinks I killed her.”

“Let me guess. Coiner?”

“Exactly.”

Rowland shook his head.

“Shit – she claims she wrote the Harry Potter series, too. Besides, the coroner confirmed she was dead before you dove in. You really didn’t see the boat?”

“All I saw was the water and her. Nothing else.”

“It’s a fast current. You could’ve easily drowned.”

Then there was the inevitable beat of time punctuated by the sound of the river caressing the shore.

“Seriously. What about you?” he said. “What’s your story?”

“There’s not much to tell,” she said.

“Ah, that’s not right,” Rowland said.

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, come on, Sam...”

They were standing close to each other, arms crossed, and without thinking she lightly swatted his left arm with her right hand.

“What?”

He spoke, his voice slightly above a whisper.

“You have no history. Everything leads to dead ends. You exist, but then again you don’t. I couldn’t find a picture of you beyond the one in the DMV database. That FBI agent the other morning – I never saw one arrive so fast and leave so quickly.”

“Maybe they were in the neighborhood.”

“What’s the expression? You’re a mystery wrapped in an enigma.”

His voice and words were increasingly tender.

“Who are you, Sam? Who are you, really?”

She liked the angularity of his jaw and nose, his musk; his eyes were bright and curious; there was vigor in his actions and thoughts. She liked that he wasn’t using his past as a way of seducing her. She liked the way he fell into and joined her humor.

Then, without hurry or recklessness, they embraced. He did not whisper entreaties of love. He held her in silent acquiescence, a simple and humble gesture of desire. She said nothing, wanting him only to hold her, wanting to feel his strength, his warmth.

Their lips met, holding for a long moment, and then she pressed her face against his neck as he pressed his face into her hair.

**********

Later, a soft, cool wind drifted through her open bedroom windows, causing the curtains to flutter. She watched them as she listened to Rowland’s gentle, sleeping breath, her hand resting on his naked chest as it rose and fell. She felt his heartbeat. And for a fleeting moment, as she wandered into dreams, she wished the sun would not rise.