She noticed Carver on the landing, smiled at him, then looked back at the tourists to make sure they didn’t hurt the starfish. Carver set the tip of his cane and descended the steel stairs. He was wearing moccasins as usual, since they had no laces to tie, and the only noise on the steps was the clunking of his cane. Down in the room now, he could hear the throbbing hum of a filter pump, or maybe simply the air-conditioning. It made him feel as if he were in a submarine.
He stood before the nearest display and stared at the largest snail he’d ever seen. The elderly woman got tired of the starfish, volunteered without being asked that she and her friend were from Canada, then left. Carver continued to stare at the snail. For all he knew, it was staring back at him.
The blond woman in the white smock said, “You can touch anything you’d like.”
He thought he’d better not touch the answer to that. He said, “Are you Katia Marsh?”
“You asking me or the sea snail?”
He turned to look at her. She was smiling. “You,” he said.
“You’re not really interested in the snail, are you?”
“Why do you say that?”
“I’m not sure. You don’t strike me as a tourist. Or a scientist.”
“Maybe I just like French cuisine.”
She looked slightly ill but her smile stayed.
“I’m a friend of Henry Tiller.”
“Oh.” She took a small step toward him. “How is Henry?”
“He’s doing all right. He’ll be in the hospital in Miami for a while, though.”
“I want to send him a card. Can you tell me what hospital he’s in?”
Carver told her, along with the room number. She carefully wrote down the information in a spiral notebook she’d removed from one of the smock’s big square pockets. Water flowing into one of the trays made a soft trickling sound.
“Now,” she said, retracting the tip of her ballpoint pen and slipping it and the notebook back in the pocket, “you’re Fred Carver.”
“How’d you know?”
“Word gets around Key Montaigne in a hurry.” Behind her the shark was circling, circling, easily ten feet long, and streamlined and deadly. “You’re staying at Henry’s cottage.”
“Sort of house-sitting,” Carver said.
“I thought you were investigating the hit and run.”
“My, my, word really does get around.” He used his cane to point to the circling shark. “Doesn’t he ever rest?”
“No,” Katiasaid, “they never stop swimming. If they do, they drown.”
“Drown?”
“The water forced through their system by their forward motion is what provides their oxygen.”
“Interesting.”
She brightened. “Really?”
“Sure. I know people who can only breathe during forward motion.”
She cocked her head and looked him up and down as if he were interesting sea life. Her gaze snagged for a moment on the cane and stiff leg, then moved on. “Would you like me to give you the tour?”
“That’s why I came here,” Carver said.
She smiled in a way that let him know she didn’t believe that for one second.
She stood next to him and they moved along the displays while she identified each sea creature, some of them by their Latin names. Most of them she merely pointed to, but a few she picked up so Carver could view them more closely, or look at their undersides.
“You’re a biologist?” he asked, when they’d made the circuit of the room.
“Oceanographer, actually. However, I’m interested primarily in the habits of sharks, which is Dr. Sam’s field.”
“Dr. Sam?”
“Dr. Samuel Bing. He’s very big in shark research. Dr. Sam’s what everyone calls him. He’s chief researcher and director of the research center and aquarium. When I graduated from college last year, one of my professors suggested I write him and ask if he needed an assistant. I was surprised when I got an answer, even more surprised when I got the job.”
“Why sharks?” Carver asked.
Katia crossed her arms, hugging herself as if chilled, but she was smiling. “Did you know there are sensory areas all over them that pick up distress signals of prey?, In fact, their entire bodies are sensors, with a compulsion to feed. They’re like living fossils, as primitive as anything on land or in the sea, yet so little is actually known about them. It’s the mystery that attracts me, I suppose.” The shark behind the glass glided close, gazing out with the round, merciless eyes that had seen the Paleolithic era.
“They intelligent?” Carver asked.
“Not in the way we think of intelligence. But they’re ideally suited for what they do.”
“Which is?”
“They’re perfect predators. They eat and eat and eat.”
“I remember that from the movie.” Looking at the shark’s torpedo-shaped, powerful body and toothy, underslung jaw, he could believe everything Katia told him, and almost share her fascination. Something about predators. “This Dr. Sam, does he live here at the research center?”
“Almost. He and his wife, Millicent, have a house about quarter of a mile down Shoreline. Practically next door.”
“She the woman in the brochure photo?”
Katia seemed confused for a moment, then said, “Oh! Right. That’s Dr. Sam and Millicent.”
“When I drove up,” Carver said, “I noticed this place affords a clear view of the Walter Rainer estate. Henry ever ask about that?”
She hesitated, carefully sizing up Carver before sharing. He liked that. “I’m sure Henry doesn’t want me spreading it around, but yeah, he wondered if I’d seen anything suspicious going on over there.”
“And had you?”
She looked down at a display of anemones. “I’m not sure. I live in town, but occasionally I stay overnight here. There’s a lot of activity over there some nights. Early mornings, actually.”
“What kind of activity?”
“Can’t tell from here. All I ever saw were lights, people moving around. And that big boat over there puts to sea now and then at odd hours.”
“Any of it mean anything to you?” Carver asked.
She laughed. “I thought you were the detective.”
“That’s why I asked. I’m a snoop.”
“No, it means little to me. But on the other hand, I haven’t given it much thought. My mind’s on my work.”
“Sharks,” Carver said.
“And my other duties. I’m a scientist, not a busybody.”
“You think Henry Tiller’s a busybody?”
She slid her hand into a pocket but wasn’t reaching for anything. Left it there. “No, Henry gets a little befuddled at times, but he’s not someone I’d take lightly.”
“But you’re not concerned about his suspicions.”
Her square chin jutted forward aggressively, though her voice remained pleasant. “I told you, I’m interested only in my work. That might sound cold, but it’s what’s important to me at this point in my life. It’s why I moved here.”
“You could never be cold,” Carver assured her. “I’d like to talk with Dr. Sam.”
“Can’t do that for a while,” she said. “He’s on his way to Mexico on the Fair Wind, to buy for the research center.”
“The Fair Wind his boat?”
“The center’s, actually. It used to be a fishing boat, but Dr. Sam converted it to a diving platform for research at sea.”
“You’re not one of those people who go down in metal cages and stir up the sharks, are you?”
“You guessed it,” she said. “Of course, we also use the Fair Wind to collect aquarium specimens. Tourism’s what keeps this place in the black.”
“Well, I’ll talk with Dr. Sam another time.”
“Millicent might be home, if you wanna talk to her.”
“I think I’ll do that,” Carver said. He took a step toward the exit, then stopped and leaned with both hands on the crook of his cane. “I appreciate the tour. I learned something.”
“About sea life?”
He smiled. “I’m single-minded about my work, too.”