She wanted another Coke. She needed the caffeine. Her headache was starting up. The Shitstorm again. Always. She had to admit she was playing her own angles, juggling The Shitstorm and her tugboat license and her growing fear that Lanny’s latest mess was going to blow back on her. The diver wasn’t the only one playing dumb. She’d been playing dumb for five years. Keeping that secret from Lanny — at least she bloody well hoped it was kept. She was playing dumb now, with Jake. She needed to know what Jake suspected. What Jake knew. What Jake had done.
Maybe if she just told him everything. Honesty. And then he would tell her everything.
She regarded her green-haired resentful brother.
Honesty?
He'd missed that boat.
So play it the way it needed to be played.
She said, “What about you, Jake? Did you find Joao in the cave? Maybe it was you who poisoned him.”
“Me?”
“You’re a Keasling! Keaslings do anchovies!”
“Such a quick wit, Sandy.”
She regarded him. He wore that green T-shirt with the Marine Mammal Research & Rescue logo. “Been out saving the mammals today?”
He glanced down, as if he’d forgotten what he wore. “This morning. Another sea lion.”
She said, “Red tide? Toxic chovies?”
“Those of us in the know call it by its proper name. Harmful algal bloom. You interested in joining us?”
“No.”
“My bad. You don’t do volunteer work.”
“Neither do you,” she said. “Unless there’s an angle. What’s your angle?”
“I like sea lions. And pretty girls. Pretty girls like sea lions.”
“I like connecting the dots,” she said. “Joao Silva gets poisoned from eating anchovies. Sea lion gets poisoned eating toxic chovies. Jake Keasling joins the rescue group and learns all about harmful algal blooms and toxic chovies.”
“Learned about toxic chovies the same way you did, Sandy. Way back when. From Dad.”
“Who called a red tide a red tide.”
“Dad didn’t have the benefit of mammal-rescue training.”
“My point, exactly.”
“You’re missing a dot there, Sis.”
“No I’m not,” she said. “Your group has a research program and they rely on volunteers to collect red tide samples — and animals up the food chain that bioaccumulate the toxins. Quote, unquote. Like anchovies.”
“Whoa. Junior detective Sandy Keasling.”’
“They have a website. I wanted to find out who all can get their hands on toxic chovies.”
“Try the bait shop.”
“One option. Going out there and snooping around red tides is another. You do that, Jake? You on the collection team?”
“I've gone a couple of times. It's an on-call deal. You get called, you go.” He shrugged. “Me and about a hundred other volunteers up and down the coast. You want to grill them all?”
“Just you, Jake. You have access to toxic chovies.”
“Shit Sandy, what would poisoning that diver gain me?”
“Good question.”
“Are you really asking if I'm capable of attempted murder?”
“You asked me. About a minute ago.”
They stared at one another.
Finally Jake said, “So, Keaslings don’t do murder. I’m down with that. You?”
The sea snake in her head stirred. She wanted to walk away from this. The two of them talking murder. Who is and who isn’t capable. She'd heard it said that anybody's capable, if push comes to shove. Jake was waiting for her answer, without his normal smirk. She said, through the pain in her head, “Yeah I'm down with that.”
“Cool.” Jake turned to head for the door.
“Hang on,” she said. “I told you why I brought Joao to the cave. Now you tell me why you took my boat and got it scratched up.”
He stopped. Turned to her. “We talking about what we talked about on the dock last Tuesday?”
“We are. We’re talking about Doug Tolliver and your hot geologist saying the Sea Spray got scratched up the same way the Outcast got scratched up. Same time Robbie went missing.”
“Ah, that.”
“Yeah, that.”
Jake raised his dart hand. “Make you a wager. I miss the board, I tell you what you want to know. I hit the board, you don’t ask me again about it.”
“Deal,” she said, “only make it the bullseye. You hit the bullseye, I won't ask you again.”
“Christ Sandy, I'm a lousy shot. Give me a ballpark chance.”
She got off the billiard table and went to the couch and extracted the dart stuck in the cushion. She took position beside Jake. “Then let’s turn it around. If I hit the bullseye, you tell me what happened.”
“If you miss?”
She wouldn’t miss. “If I miss, you give me a good reason why you don’t know what happened.”
“That's a lose-lose, for me.”
“Think of it as win-win, for Lanny.”
“How so?”
“You and I figure out what he’s gotten himself into. We save his sorry ass, if need be.” She shot Jake a glance. “You down with that?”
“Yeah, shit, why not? Sea Urchins forever and all that. On one condition, though.”
“What condition?”
“You advance me the money for the new double kayak.”
She hesitated, for show. She’d regretted changing her mind about the kayak, yesterday on the beach. Now, she thought, wouldn't hurt to cut him a break.
“Okay, revised stakes.” She aimed. “I hit the bullseye, I buy you a new kayak. You tell me what happened to my boat. Lanny survives. Win-win-win.”
“You're a real hardass, Sis.”
She threw.
It was a bullseye.
“For the win,” she said.
Jake went over to the fridge and got himself a Coke, groaning for show. He took a seat in the stained beanbag chair. He stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles. He popped the lid on the can and drank. Made a face. “This stuff’ll rot your teeth.”
Sandy resumed her seat on the billiard table. “Beer rots your brain.”
“Story time!” He belched. “Last Saturday night I was at Pedro’s knocking back some brewskies and I saw a lovely lady go outside to the balcony and so I followed her out, just to be sure she didn’t fall into the water. Turned out she already had company. So I found myself a lonely spot at the rail. While I was brooding on my sorry love life, I saw a boat heading out into the channel. The Outcast. I thought, that little shit Robbie is going out after squid. I thought, he must know where they’re running. So I abandoned all thoughts of beer and chicks and ran to the parking lot and jumped in my Jeep and drove to our docks.”
Sandy said, in some disgust, “You drove drunk.”
“A little buzzed.” He drained his Coke and crushed the can. “I couldn’t follow Robbie in a kayak so I borrowed the Sea Spray.”
“Where’d you get the key?”
“Where you hide the spare. Taped to the underside of your Captain’s chair.”
She resolved to find a new hiding place.
“So I put-putted our boat up the channel and out the harbor, figuring the Outcast had a head start. I couldn’t find her with a visual in the fog so I switched on your radar. Another thing I don’t have on a kayak.” He grinned. “There was only one radar target right where I figured Robbie to be. I followed. When I saw the Outcast blip on my screen stop, I stopped. Shut off the engine. Not close enough to see what Robbie was doing. Couldn’t see shit through the dark.”
“You realize the Outcast would have radar too. Would have known you followed.”