After Tomlinson read the letter, he looked at me and said, “You know what he’s doing, don’t you?”
We’d walked outside, putting some distance between Dunn and ourselves so we could speak privately. The three of us standing in the shade of a big oak, Spanish moss hanging, Mango Bay holding blue light beyond, its islands undefined, ledges of black and gray.
“Taking one last opportunity to manipulate people,” I answered. “He could have trusted his attorney with the letters, the photos, the coins, everything. But that just wasn’t Tuck’s way.”
Tomlinson was shaking his head, his arm over Ransom’s shoulder, telling me I was wrong. “No. You don’t see the pattern? It’s for Ransom. All of it. And you. What he’s doing is making sure the daughter he never really got to know sees the Florida he loved. Tucker had his quirks, I don’t argue that, but he was crazy about this country. That’s what this is all about. He figured out a way to get you two together, a way so you’d have to take her around to the places he cared about, the places that made him the man he was.”
Ransom found that touching. I could see it in her expression as she said, “You really think that it?”
“I’d bet on it. I didn’t know Tucker well, but there was always a reason for his goofy ideas. Everything on separate levels. You think about it, Doc, the man’s whole life is a metaphor for all kinds of stuff. With some people, their only attempt at art is the way they live their lives.”
I had my hands on my hips, indifferent, not the least bit interested in hearing it.
Ransom sniffed and touched a finger to the corner of her eye. “Back when I was a little girl, I used to pray he’d come take me away. And when my sweet boy, Tucker, disappear in Horse Eatin’ Lake, I prayed even harder. Now he done it. My daddy found a way to come take me.” Then: “What that stuff about Koreshans mean? He talkin’ about that crazy man who burned up with all them people awhile back?”
Tomlinson took the letter again, rereading it, as I explained that no, there wasn’t a connection. At the turn of the century, Florida attracted-and continues to attract-odd religious splinter groups. The Koreshans had been led by a New York physician, Dr. Cyrus R. Teed, who convinced his gifted followers to come to Florida and found a New Jerusalem in the wilderness. They’d built a beautiful, functional little town on the banks of the Estero River. Teed had also preached celibacy, which is probably why his sect hadn’t lasted beyond the lives of its followers.
Not that requirements of celibacy intimidated Tuck. Joseph Egret had once told me that my uncle kept a boat at the Koreshan docks because of all the love-starved women who lived in the female dormitory there. He’d pole his boat in quiet, at night, and leave a little lantern on for ladies watching from windows to see.
Tomlinson folded the letter. “Isn’t there an Ingraham Bay down below Shark River? That whole Cape Sable area, it’s beautiful. No roads, no houses for thirty, forty miles. That’s where he wants us to go next.”
I told him, “You two find the Koreshan music hall, I’ll go to Shark River alone. I’ll either rent a boat in Chokoloskee or run the Maverick down. Depending on the weather.”
Chokoloskee is an island south of Everglades City. There’s a boat ramp there, a few rental skiffs, and a small marina.
I thought about it for a moment. How much delay should I allow the Colombians? There had to be sufficient time for logistics to be arranged. I thought about the guy in the Taurus, the guy who’d try to tail me, telling me about the three men in the Chrysler. I thought about Dunn describing Clare and Izzy-not that there was any reason to expect Clare and Izzy to react, anticipate, or understand, nor could I rely on their behavior. After a moment, I said, “Tomorrow afternoon, that’s when I’ll go. I’ll head down there right after the guides leave and the fuel pumps are open.”
“You don’t want company? Amigo, it just so happens I got the whole weekend free. I’d love to go.”
“Nope.”
I am rarely so short with Tomlinson and he was taken aback. “You seem undecided-hah! Kidding, just kidding.” Then: “What’s the problem, Doc? You don’t buy my theory that the old cowboy-Tucker I’m talking about-that Tuck came up with a way to get you two together. Ingenious. It really is. So you at least ought to take Ransom, plus it’s been more than a year since I poked around Shark River myself. I wouldn’t mind going back.”
I was shaking my head, walking away. “Another time. I’ve got my reasons.”
I listened to Ransom say, “See? Didn’t I tell you something had him very scared? He a very frightened man, though he won’t admit it,” as I opened the door of my old truck, removed the cell phone off the dashboard, slipped it into my pocket.
19
That afternoon, I finished work around the lab and made phone calls. I tried to contact Hal Harrington at the numbers he’d given me, but his secretaries in Cartagena, San Jose, and D.C. told me he was away from the office. The secretary in D.C. said that he was not expected back until morning.
To each, I said, “Tell him that tomorrow I’ll be leaving for Cape Sable, just below Shark River. I’ll probably camp on the beach there. He can call me on the cell phone.”
If they found the long message odd, they gave no indication.
I told the same thing to Lindsey, who did seem puzzled. “That sounds like the place you told me about. And you’re going there without me? I’m jealous. I wish you could wait a week. Last night, when I was talking to him, my dad said he thought it’d be safe for me to be on my own, it wasn’t likely the kidnappers would try again, but just give it five or six more days.”