The Best American Mystery Stories 2015 (39 page)

The plan was for the crew to work at the camp—scrubbing algae off harvested shells, repairing equipment—for a day or two while waiting for the storm to pass. I kept to my room, sleeping on and off the whole day, listening to the wind and rain, going stir-crazy.

Overrested, I was still wide awake after midnight when I heard muffled voices filtering through the wall my room shared with TIER. Was it normal to work around the clock when a new batch of oysters was brought in? I wasn’t sure.

As quietly as I could, I slid headfirst onto the floor and belly-crawled closer. I felt silly, pressing my ear against the wall, but I was determined to find out more about BSSP’s operations. The water-tank filters next door gurgled loudly and distorted the voices. I readjusted my head as much as I dared and listened.

“I’m out,” a male voice said.

Another male voice answered, but his words were muffled. The aquarium tanks splashed and babbled, and I guessed he was standing farther away from the wall between us.

“That bloody pearl was worth a million. Now we’ve lost it. The coppers have it,” the first man continued. “Then you couldn’t even make sure her body didn’t wash up on shore. ‘Take out what you take in,’ you insisted. Bloody hell, now there’s a murder investigation. And the sister? You promised she wouldn’t make it up from that dive alive. I told you, I’m out of it.”

Again I couldn’t make out the reply. I heard the door open, then slam shut. I returned to the makeshift cot. I always told myself I could handle anything. Now I wasn’t so sure. The rupture of my air hose had been no accident. The break-in at my bungalow, I realized, wasn’t just some random act. My heart took off running, and the room started to pitch.

I’d recognized the one voice I heard. It belonged to Crowe, a marine biologist responsible for overseeing TIER. Originally from Sydney, he’d transplanted himself to Broome thirty years ago. A pioneer in the cultured pearl industry. And now, at the very least, an accessory to murder.

I pulled the covers over my head and wanted to hide like I did the night I came home after getting a hundred stitches. Back then, I understood that Shinju had slashed my face to destroy my looks. I’d shivered under the sheets and wondered how my life would change. But this was different. This time I’d be dead if Crowe and his accomplice had their way.

The cheap mattress drilled a wayward spring into my kidney, but I was afraid to move, to make a sound. Too weak to stomp down the memories, my mind raced back to the day Shinju cut me.

On that Saturday morning, Tom and I planned to trek out to the flying boat wrecks in Roebuck Bay. We’d figured out we fancied one another, as much as fifteen-year-olds can know such things, and planned to spend the day sloshing the two kilometers to the wrecks and back. Two or three days a month low tide exposes the remains of three WWII Royal Dutch Air Force flying boats buried in the mud. Not very romantic, but I think we both realized it would give us a reason to hold on to each other as we hiked through the mudflats, and we were both keen on that idea.

But as Tom was backing out his dad’s truck from the driveway, Shinju popped open the passenger door and squeezed in next to me. I remember the expression on Tom’s face. Surprise at first, then obvious irritation. I gave Shinju a fierce look that spelled “Push off!” She ignored it, reached across me, and fiddled with the radio, chattering about the wrecks. Did we know that in 1942 Japanese Zeros raided Broome and destroyed fifteen flying boats in Roebuck Bay?

“Everyone knows that, Shinju.” Tom yanked the shifter into reverse and squealed out of the driveway.

How many times since the Lafroys moved in across the street had Shinju and I talked late into the night, wondering what it would be like to kiss Tom? But after two years of playful flirting, Shinju didn’t win him. I did. Tom and I had more in common, I suppose. We both loved to dive, trek the nature reserves, walk along Eighty Mile Beach. Shinju and I didn’t realize it then, but the day he chose me, Tom Lafroy made the first slice into the one heart my sister and I seemed to share.

Determined to salvage our outing to the wrecks, we ignored Shinju. As we stumbled through the mangrove swamps, Tom held my hand. To keep me from injuring my feet on buried mussels, he lifted me over suspicious pitted mudflats. He wrapped his arms around my waist whenever possible, even though doing so sometimes made it even more difficult to walk. He slipped his fingers through the bikini ties at my hips, and I clung to him whether I needed to or not.

At the wreckage site, an aircraft engine covered with soft coral had settled into the flats. A lonesome jetty post left for posterity angled up from the exposed sea floor. Locals milled about, along with tourists who’d arrived in hovercrafts.

During the war, Dutch refugees from Java, mainly women and children, were evacuated to Broome. Since no accommodations were available in town, flying-boat pilots were instructed to keep their passengers onboard. Aircraft were to be refueled, then continue on their way. But at 8
A.M.
on March third, Japanese pilots strafed the moored planes, believing them to be war targets, unaware that innocent civilians were onboard.

The morning Tom, Shinju, and I were there, an elderly Dutch tourist started to retell the story of the strike. Tom and I weren’t interested. We’d heard it enough times in school. We moved on and investigated a different plane some distance away. Shinju, I found out later, gave the man her full attention.

“The Nips are a cruel race,” he told her. “My grandfather was a pilot for the Dutch Royal Air Force. He was burned alive here in Roebuck Bay when his fuel tank caught fire. His charred body was one of the few recovered.” He pointed a finger at Shinju. “You people deserved Hiroshima and Nagasaki.”

Although I was nowhere near my sister, I sensed something was wrong. I ran back and found her collapsed in the mud, surrounded by tourists. Tom was right behind me. He picked her up. Her eyes fluttered once and then she nuzzled her head into his neck. A woman told us what had happened, apologizing for the man, who’d returned to the hovercraft.

How Tom carried her the entire way back, I have no idea. By the time we reached the shore, she was able to walk. In the truck cab, she lay down with her head on Tom’s lap, her body between us and her sandy feet on my sunburned thighs. Once or twice on the way home I thought I saw her hand snake up Tom’s leg, but I couldn’t be sure.

Tom carried her to the bedroom Shinju and I shared, laid her on her bed, then backed out without a word. Mum and Pop weren’t home, so I stayed with her. She explained what had happened at the wreck site. A slight smile crept across her face when she apologized for ruining my date with Tom. Then she fell asleep. But I wasn’t so sure she was sorry.

I showered, towel-dried my hair, and pulled on a thin camisole top and shorts. A hint of lipstick and I was out the door and on Tom’s doorstep. I didn’t know what Shinju was up to, but I wanted to make sure I didn’t lose him.

Captain Lafroy was sitting on the sofa, reading the newspaper. He asked if Shinju was feeling any better. I assured him she was. Tom was in his room, he added, indicating the direction with a tilt of his head.

I was a virgin and Tom said he was too, but I didn’t believe it. I was right. He knew exactly what to do. He locked the door, turned on the radio, and lit a candle. What happened that incredible night I’ve never experienced again.

Sometime in the night, a knock on the door and his mother’s voice woke us. I hid in the closet while she asked him questions—did he have a nice time, would he ask me out again, did he remember to take the rubbish to the curb. After she left, he kissed me one last time and I crawled out his bedroom window.

I floated across the street until I heard Pop’s angry words through our front door. I slipped inside and saw Mum lift her arms to protect herself. Pop swung his fist, but Mum ducked. Not making the expected connection, he spun with the momentum and lost his balance. When he crashed to the floor, I grabbed Mum. We raced down the hallway, Pop’s threats not far behind. I had just pushed Mum through her bedroom door and heard the lock click when Pop spun me around. I was focused on that crazed look in his eye. I didn’t notice Shinju holding our grandfather’s oyster knife, sharp as broken glass.

Over ten years have passed since that night, and that knife’s long gone. But every once in a while, when I look in the mirror, I still feel its razor sting.

The next morning anxious thoughts woke me. Tom believed Shinju was into something over her head. The previous night’s partially garbled conversation coiled itself around my stomach and pulled tight. A nutcase was loose on the island, and now his sights were set on me. But then I reminded myself that the reason I left Broome was to find Shinju’s killer. Hiding in a storage closet wasn’t going to solve this mystery.

Rummaging through my shore bag, I found my dive knife and strapped it above my knee. Then I stuck my head into the hallway. Lab techs scurried in and out of TIER, but I didn’t see Crowe. I rechecked the sheath buckle, then quietly shut the door behind me.

I snuck out of the building and ran to the makeshift showers. While fresh water rinsed the scaly salt from my body, I wondered what to do next. I hated acting like a hunted animal, but I wasn’t sure who I could trust. Crowe wanted me dead. Who else was my enemy?

I toweled off using the sarong I wore, then rewrapped myself in it. Sticking around a crowd seemed a good idea, so I walked to the small, open-air dining hall, where some of the crew sat on benches taking a coffee break. I saw Cody, my longtime diving buddy, and squeezed in next to him. He apologized several times for not watching me more carefully during the dive, but I couldn’t tell him I now knew my broken hose had been no accident. I sipped my tea, wondering who I could confide in.

Freshly shaven, Captain Lafroy entered, ordered a cup of coffee, and was about to have a seat next to the first mate when he saw me. I waved him over.

He gave me a big smile. “How you feeling?” He tugged my hair.

I swatted his hand away playfully. “Did Tom tell you I almost got my oyster quota? Didn’t drop a one on the way up.”

Captain Lafroy laughed, his crooked smile turned upward in delight. “What’s really important is you’re alive.”

I looked at him carefully. The paunchy middle, the sun-damaged skin, the graying at the temples. This is what his son would look like in another thirty years. But there was one big difference: Captain Lafroy was a man I could trust.

The hall had cleared out some; even my dive buddy had taken off. I wondered if Captain Lafroy would believe me. Crowe wasn’t a favorite among the ships’ crews. He tossed out what he claimed to be questionable, sickly oysters, which decreased divers’ counts. And more importantly, paychecks.

“I need to talk to you. Right away,” I said.

Just then Crowe sauntered into the room. He saluted the captain with a tweak of his hair, but when he saw me, he stopped short. His eyes narrowed and his mouth tightened into a thin line. He walked to the counter, ordered, then turned back to stare at me while he waited for his food.

Captain Lafroy looked at his watch. “Sorry, no time. The
Adelaide
suffered some damage from the storm.”

I leaned in closer. “It’s about Crowe.”

The captain laughed again, but this time more heartily. “Do you think he’s fudging your oyster count numbers? Look, he’s a stickler for keeping the harvest healthy. Cut him some slack.” He glanced at Crowe, who was still glowering, then back to me. “Wait a second. What’s going on here?”

“I need your help,” I whispered. “Can we talk? Somewhere private?”

He sighed. “All right, I’ll give you a wee bit of time. How about Sunset Point in thirty minutes?”

I thanked him and left. As I walked back to my room, Crowe and the oyster counts preyed on my mind. If Crowe was stealing pearls, how was he doing it? I needed evidence to convince the captain. The only way to find out was to sneak into TIER.

Once in the building, I tried the lab door. It was locked. I heard no voices inside, only the gurgling of the water tanks. A blast of cold air hit me and I looked up at the overhead vent. I hurried to my little storage room and turned the bolt. I climbed the shelves, unscrewed the vent cover, and hoisted myself up. The ventilation shaft was a tight fit. Luckily my destination was close by.

After checking to make sure I had no company, I dropped through the vent opening and onto a lab table. A photo of Crowe with the BSSP president sat on the largest desk in the room. On Crowe’s computer screen, the
Adelaide
’s latest haul was entered on a spreadsheet. I minimized the document, watching it shrink to the bottom of the screen. I found the file from the
Indian Princess
, the ship connected with the pearl found in Shinju’s throat, and couldn’t make sense of it. I needed more time, but knew my luck was ticking away. A jpeg file entitled
Simms
saved on the desktop caught my eye. I’d worked with a diver named Simms once. I clicked on the file and felt my jaw drop as soon as the photo popped open on the screen. I knew that hand as well as I knew my own. In her palm, Shinju held the pearl that had killed her.

My mind was in a fog as I clambered my way through the vent back to my room. Tom was right about one thing. Shinju was in way over her head. Even so, she didn’t deserve to die. I needed Captain Lafroy’s help.

The sandy path to Sunset Point ended at a rock outcropping that rose high above the crystalline blue water. The tide was in, covering the craggy formations below. I leaned over, judging the height to be about twenty feet. Shadowy box jellyfish dotted the surface. I sat on a wet rock and turned my face to the sun clambering to get out from behind a cloud. I had just closed my eyes when I heard the rustling of scrub brush. I turned and shaded my eyes from the glare. Because his lip was hiked up in its familiar crooked grin, my first thought was that I was looking at Tom Lafroy, Jr. What was he doing at Sunset Point?

“Your sister loved this spot too. Pity to stain its natural beauty a second time.”