“No shit.” The background noise grew louder. Phil shouted at someone, then said, “Well jeez, Cass, I—”
“Don’t fuck with me, Phil.” I leaned against the wall and wiped sweat from my cheeks. “She had no clue about any of this. She never even knew there was an interview.”
“I—”
“You said there was some guy up here you knew.”
Silence. Car engines droned into the bass thump of a radio.
“Phil! Who was it?”
“The guy I used to do business with,” he said at last. “Guy named Denny Ahearn.”
“Denny Ahearn.” I stared across the room at the shelf with the bowling trophy and the turtle shell. “Did you ever talk to her at all? Aphrodite?”
Another silence.
Then, “No. I mean, I couldn’t, I didn’t have her number or anything. I emailed Denny, we went back and forth a few times. We started batting around names of people who might go up there to see her, and I mentioned I knew you, and suddenly he got all hepped up. So I figured I’d do you a favor.”
“Goddam it, Phil! Why’d you fucking lie to me?”
“Listen, Cassie.” He sounded aggrieved. “I woulda suggested you anyway—”
“I don’t care about that! I don’t know who this guy is! Why did he ask for me? What did he say?”
Phil sighed. “Well, okay, let me think. He said he liked your book—he said you were very simpatico. I guess he’s an artist or something these days. And he knows her—Aphrodite. He just wanted you, that’s all. I thought he was like doing you a favor, huh? He said he wanted you to see his work. He said he thought you’d see eye to eye.”
Eye to eye.
“Fuck,” I said. I hung up.
“Hey, Cass?” I turned and saw Suze’s face framed in the doorway. “You okay? I need the phone.”
“Yeah, sure.” I handed it to her. “I’ll be right down.”
She left. I dug out the Jack Daniel’s and drank until my hands steadied, walked over and picked up the turtle shell.
S.P.O.T. That crudely carved eye.
And, on the other side, the letters ICU.
Not a set of initials, not the intensive care unit.
“I see you too,” I whispered, and put it back.
I went downstairs. Suze was alone again.
“Why doesn’t he go off that island?” I knew I sounded wired and drunk, but I didn’t care. “Denny. And how would anyone know if he did or not?”
Suze stared at me curiously. “I hardly see him. Once or twice a year, he’ll come over to get supplies. Toby always brings him. Toby says he’s gotten kind of, I dunno, just weird, I guess. Like an agoraphobe. And he and Aphrodite, they kind of hate each other. So in a place as small as this, you just keep your distance, you know? But I don’t think Denny could hurt someone.”
“I have one word for you, Suze: Unabomber.”
“Really, that’s not Denny.” She sounded pissed off. “He’s more like—”
“Charles Manson? John Wayne Gacy?”
“No! He’s more—well, spiritual. The commune, it wasn’t just smoking dope and stuff. After it busted up, I was, what, sixteen? Denny organized this guerrilla street theater, we’d go around and protest. Down to Bath Iron Works where they built those battleships; we threw pig blood on them and got on TV. After that Denny really got into the mystical shit. He was reading all these books, eating a lot of acid. You’re about my age, you remember what it was like, right? He was playing the mirror game once, he thought he had a vision or something. Like a vision quest.”
She turned to shove a carton of cigarettes onto a shelf. “So then we all had to get spirit guides. Totem animals. We made these beautiful masks out of papier-mâché—they were amazing. I still have mine, up there—”
She looked at the ceiling. “In my apartment. You want to see it?”
“Maybe another time.” I started for the door. “I really have to find Toby.”
“Boy, you’re suddenly in a hurry.” She cocked her head. “You think you might be back?”
“I doubt it. I couldn’t afford the taxes.”
“Cheaper if you share,” she said and grinned.
At the door I paused. “So what was your spirit animal?”
“A dolphin. Fun in the sun, endless summer. What about you?”
“DeeDee Ramone,” I said, and left.
I took a few steps toward the harbor, then stopped. I searched the road until I found the sea urchin I’d set down the day before. I looked around, saw no one, put my boot on top of the shell and pressed until it cracked.
The keys were there, glinting in the drab light. I nudged them with my boot’s pointed toe then kicked them so they landed near the Island Store’s stoop.
“Be more careful next time, Tyler,” I said. I headed for the water.
20
It was late—past noon. A ragged cloudbank hung above the mainland. The wind shifted, smelling more of smoke than the sea. I turned down the narrow alley that led toward the Mercantile Building.
It was like a northern ghost town. Dead ivy covered a wall made of granite. Near the water stood three clapboard houses, abandoned and falling into disrepair. All had for sale signs on them. Abutting them was a wooden structure, shingles flaking off like fish scales. bouldry’s chandlery was painted in white letters on the side. It had high, narrow windows, most of them broken, empty doorways that opened onto a cavernous space that smelled of turpentine. Next to this was the Mercantile Building.
I walked quickly, bent against the wind. The alley was so narrow it seemed like a building might fall on me, if someone gave it a good shove.
“Junkie bitch.”
Two figures stood in an empty doorway of the Chandlery. Robert’s cronies. One took a drag on his cigarette then tossed it at me. I flinched as it struck my arm.
“You’re going the wrong way,” he said. “If you’re leaving.”
I had no time to run before they surrounded me.
“Did you hear that?” said the guy who spoke first. “You’re going the wrong way.”
They weren’t much taller than me, but they were heavier. And there were two of them. The bigger one, a guy whose Carhart jacket read Dewey’s Garage, pointed at my bag.
“That your stash in there?” He reached for it.
I stared at him, holding his gaze; drew my foot back and with all my strength smashed it into his shin. My boot’s steel tip connected with something hard as he shouted then crumpled, yelling.
“Oh shit oh shit oh shit.”
“What the fuck!” His friend stooped beside him.
“I’m not a junkie,” I said.
I took off for the Mercantile Building. The back door was off the alley. Tacked to the wall was a yellowed index card with Toby’s name on it.
I hammered on the door. “Toby!”
The guy I’d kicked had gotten to his feet. He clung to his friend, both of them staring at his leg.
“Toby!” My knuckles hurt from pounding. “Open the door!”
I could outrun these guys, but could I outrun the whole town if they got their friends after me? “Toby, goddam it—”
The door swung open. I pushed past a bleary-eyed figure and shoved it closed.
“Two guys just jumped me out there. Can you lock that?”
Toby turned a deadbolt and looked at me. He wore a Motorola T-shirt and wool pants, a pair of slippers.
“Good morning.” He rubbed his eyes, yawning. “Is it early?”
It would be hard to tell if it was—we might have been in a cave, or a subway tunnel. There were no windows that I could see, nothing but stacks of lumber and old furniture.
“Noonish,” I said. “Thanks for letting me in.”