I asked, “Is Jeth okay?”
“Wait, I’m trying to get a better angle. It’ll be dark in twenty minutes, but I can make out the kayak. Yep… dog’s headed for Woodring Point, going like a bat out of hell. But like a ghost ship, you know? No one aboard. Hey-what about this? We call him Sinbad.”
I had been looking forward to staying in Dinkin’s Bay but now genuinely regretted my decision to drive to Carnicero, a place that was frightening, not fun. Hoping Tomlinson would change my mind, I said, “Maybe I should turn around and help find the dog.”
“Not if Bertie’s in trouble,” he said. “Tell me what’s going on.”
When I’d finished, he asked a few questions, then complimented Birdy, saying, “I love the way that woman’s mind works. Most cops are outlaws at heart, but, god, I never thought I’d get naked with one. Yeah… you can’t leave her hanging out there.”
As we talked, I caught a green light at the intersection of Gladiolus and Tamiami Trail, traffic a stream of headlights in the pearly dusk. I planned to take Interstate 75 north across the Caloosahatchee and Peace rivers, then exit near Glades City. Thinking about the route reminded me of Joel’s warning to stay out of Sematee County, which I shared with Tomlinson because the coward in me was still looking for an excuse.
“Did they arrest the guy?” he asked, meaning Harris Spooner.
I had to admit I’d forgotten to ask Joel and then added a lie to my cowardice, saying, “I’ll call and find out.” I wasn’t going to do it-and not just because Birdy’s friend thought he was poison. Joel had said something that was stuck in my subconscious, a few troubling words or a phrase. The harder I tried to recall what it was, though, the deeper the fragment sank, so I knew it was best to leave it alone until it resurfaced naturally.
Tomlinson asked, “Do you have an address for the shrink’s clinic or the cemetery?” Then jumped ahead, saying, “Screw it-I’ll meet you there. The crazy dog doesn’t listen to me anyway. The only reason he minds Doc is because they both have tunnel vision. To the dog, everyone else is just frivolous background noise. Uhh… speaking of Doc-”
I said, “Wait a second,” because I was merging into traffic on I-75 and his sudden change of tone told me I was about to hear something important. It seemed to take forever before I was in a free lane and could put the phone to my ear. “I’m back,” I said, and realized the damn thing was still on Speaker. So tapped the button and asked, “Is Doc okay?”
“Far as I know,” Tomlinson said. “A letter came for you today. Doc’s handwriting-block printing, in other words. No return address.”
“But he has my address,” I said. “Why would he send it to Dinkin’s Bay?”
Now Tomlinson was uneasy. “Uhh… actually, it came in an envelope addressed to me. Your envelope was inside. Mine was typed, so I don’t know who sent it, but yours is definitely from Doc. No postmark, of course-but what’s new?”
“No postmark,” I said. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“Welcome to the wacky world of Dinkin’s Bay,” Tomlinson replied, then got serious. “I’ll be there in an hour, hour and a half, so don’t worry about it. I’ll bring the letter. We’ll talk then.”
“Not so fast,” I said. “If the letter’s not postmarked, it means…” What? I wasn’t sure, so shifted to what was worrying me. “Is something wrong with Doc? I don’t mind if you read the letter. In fact, I hope you did.”
“I tried,” Tomlinson said, dead serious. “Even held it up to a candle-you would’ve noticed the scorch mark. Thing is, Hannah… Well, what you should know about Doc is…”
I pictured the man tugging at a strand of hair while he edited his wording. Finally, he got it out. “There isn’t a more dependable friend in this world than Marion Ford. But his friends have to get used to dodging the same questions we can’t ask him. Understand?”
Of course I didn’t understand. The statement was so nonsensical, it seemed to be a plea for patience and understanding-either that or Tomlinson was a lot drunker than he sounded. I replied, “If you’ve been drinking, I don’t want you on the road. So the moment I hear from Birdy, I’ll call or text. Sound fair?”
I thought I’d let him off the hook, but he remained serious and no less cryptic when he replied, “I’ll give you an hour, then I’m coming. And Hannah? Remember what I told you about the dog-because it’s true.”
25
When Birdy texted again, I was only a mile from Glades City and the junkyard owned by Harris Spooner, so I was feeling tense and alone on this dark country road, until I read her message:
On way home, no luck. Will call when reception better. Sorry!!!
I felt like saying Yippee! a word I’ve never used, and my spirits, which had been low, rebounded. I checked my mirrors, engaged my flashers, and found a place to pull off the road. First, I texted Tomlinson, telling him there was no need to leave Sanibel. I checked mirrors and door locks again, then tried to call Birdy, but her phone went instantly to voice mail. It was 9:15 p.m., still early enough to rendezvous for a drink. We couldn’t be more than a few miles apart if she’d just left the cemetery. So I left a message, then replied to her text: Am near Glade City exit, how about glass of wine? Where U?
As I hit Send, I noticed car lights behind me and was relieved when I saw that it was an eighteen-wheeler. Even so, I put my SUV in gear and kept my foot ready on the accelerator until the truck went flying past.
When it was safe, I took a deep breath, telling myself, Relax, you’ll be out of Sematee County soon.
It wasn’t just the nearness of the junkyard that caused my nervousness. During the drive, the missing fragment of what Joel Ransler had said resurfaced-but only after I’d recalled another troubling remark.
Your friends at the marina don’t need to know, he had confided after asking me out to dinner. I’d been so preoccupied at the time, I had not only accepted his invitation, I had been oblivious to Joel’s easygoing sneakiness. Worse was his assumption that I was willing to lie to my own friends.
Rance the Lance is poison, Birdy’s friend had told her. I had been reluctant to pass judgment based on the opinion of a woman I didn’t know. Why would I? Joel had rescued me from a tight spot and he’d been kind to Loretta, had even won her loyalty-something few ever accomplish. He was flirty, true, and charming, but I liked the attention. I wasn’t going to deceive myself by pretending it wasn’t a factor. His attempt to lure me into lying to the man I was dating, though, had tainted my opinion of him. Maybe Joel wasn’t poison, but he wasn’t someone I would trust-not unless he had misspoken and brought up the subject on his own to explain.
There! I had at last retrieved the item nagging at my subconscious.
Wrong. Believing it freed my mind enough to allow a more sinister fragment to surface. I had been driving north on I-75 at the time and saw a digital sign that flashed Venice Exit 15-20 Minutes, a traffic update courtesy of Florida DOT.
Fifteen minutes… Fifteen minutes…
It was enough to jar the fragment loose. I remembered-remembered sitting in the Publix parking lot and defending Mr. Chatham when Joel had said, We can’t solve this on the phone and you have to be on Sanibel in fifteen minutes.