Satisfied, he left.
Doug Tolliver stood up and she caught his eye and nodded at the dive gear and he made the okay sign.
She looked back to the diver. He sure wasn’t okay. Looked unconscious.
She wasn’t the only one watching. Half the passengers crowded around, like this was part of the show. Whales and birds and squid and whacked-out crabs — and a goddamn rescue as a grand finale — wasn’t that enough? Nah, let’s stick around and see if the victim’s gonna croak.
And Lanny was beside himself. Hands clapped over his mouth. The way he looked when he’d done something wrong.
What had he done? She sighed. Had to be something. It was always something. And he was going to get himself in trouble. If he wasn’t there already.
There was a time, Sandy thought, when she knew control, when things went her way, just as easy as putting her hands on the wheel.
But that was over five years ago, before The Shitstorm.
Now, she was drifting sideways toward the rocks.
The paramedics lifted the diver onto a gurney, jacked it up, and rolled it into the back of the ambulance.
She headed over, racking her brain for a way to get a minute alone with the diver. She’d read his name on his tank, written in black marker — John Silva. He’d been babbling in Portuguese when the paramedics offloaded him. The Portuguese for John was Joao. She knew that; read it somewhere. So he’d anglicized the name. So maybe he spoke some English. If she ever got the chance to talk to him.
Lanny saw her coming. He did his herky-jerky thing, arms and legs starting to move before he knew where he wanted to move to. He sure didn’t want to move Sandy’s way, that was clear. Now he decided. Up the dock to shore. He wore his duffel with the sling across his chest and the bag snugged against his hip.
The ambulance door slammed shut.
She broke into a jog and cut Lanny off.
He gave her the big smile.
She gave him her glare and it wiped the smile off his face. Always so easy. Sometimes, that made her heart turn over. Sometimes, that pissed her off. Now, pissed, she said, “Where are you going?”
He looked at the ground. “I don’t know.”
“We’ve got the afternoon trip. You don’t have time to go wandering.”
He nodded.
“Your sandwich is in the office.”
He nodded.
“You know who that diver is?”
He looked up. Wide eyes. “No.”
“You sure you haven’t worked with him? In your dive job.”
“I didn’t dive since two weeks ago.”
“I’m not asking when you last had a dive job, I’m asking if you ever worked with the diver we pulled on board.”
“I never did.”
“Then why did you take something out of his dive bag?”
He pressed his lips together, tight as a seam.
“Lanny.” She waited. “Lanny.”
“I didn’t!” It burst from him.
She was stunned. He never lied to her — never. But she’d seen with her own eyes, him with his hand in the dive bag, something red in there, and then passengers blocked her view, and then when she could see him again he was stuffing something in his duffel bag. And then Cassie-something interrupted and then Lanny got real busy coiling the Lifesling rope. And Sandy hadn’t had a moment alone with him all the way back to the dock. She’d been on the radio calling the ambulance. She’d been steering the boat. She’d been dealing with Doug Tolliver. She’d been dealing with the damn doctor. And now, finally, she was face to face with Lanny. Sandy clenched her hands. She’d never in her life been afraid to face hard facts, even facts she hated. She hated the facts that were now in her face. Lanny stole something, and lied about it. She pointed to his duffel. “Empty it.”
He saw that she was calling his bluff. Tears started in his eyes.
She said, steely, “Show me what’s in your duffel.”
He hugged the bag tighter against his hip. He was breathing hard, snorting through his nose. He unsealed his lips and said, “I have to go to the bathroom,” and turned and skedaddled up the dock.
There were bathrooms in the café at the end of the dock. True.
But he could have used the head on board the Sea Spray.
She set off after him. Not running. Trudging, heart heavy as an anchor.
Lanny reached the end of the dock, looked back at her, then dodged into the café.
“Whassup, Sandy?”
She jumped. She’d been so focused on Lanny that she hadn’t noticed Jake coming up on her right. Jake like a crab, always coming at her sideways. She turned to face him full-on. “What?”
“What?” Jake threw up his hands. “That’s what I came over to ask you, Sandy.” He jerked a thumb at the ambulance, the crowd. “You finally gaff one of your paying passengers?”
She gave Jake her glare. Never worked on him, he just threw a shit-eating grin right back at her. She said, “Don’t you have a business to run?”
“Near runs itself,” he said.
She looked past him, at the next dock over, at the racks of kayaks, at the couple and their two kids all puffed up in life vests. Waiting.
He said, “I only have one tandem on dock. Other’s due in soon. If I had the ready cash I’d invest in more boats. Alas.” He lifted his palms.
She stared at Jake, his ridiculous green hair. He’d showed up one morning last month and told everybody on the docks that he was going green. Captain Kayak, eco-friendly boats for rent. And damned if business didn’t pick up. But he didn’t fool her, she knew the only green he cared about was the kind in his wallet.
She said, “Don’t cry to me. I’m out ten thou thanks to you and Robbie Donie.”
“Ah,” he said, “that’s another matter.”
She waited, wondering if he was going to say anything more on that matter.
He didn’t. “So,” he said, “what happened between you and Lucky Lanny?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing sure took off like his butt’s on fire.”
“He had to pee.”
Jake’s eyes narrowed. “Gee, let’s count. First, we’ve got one victim carried off the Sea Spray. Wearing dive gear, which is curious because I swear you took off this morning with a load of lookie-loos, not divers. Second, we’ve got one freaked-out Lanny. Third, we’ve got one upset Captain Keasling.”
“I’m not upset.”
“Then why are your hands behind your back like Captain Bligh?”
She fought the urge to unlace her hands.
“One, two, three,” Jake said. “Adds up to something.” He looked over at the Sea Spray. “Oh, and number four. We’ve got some geeky babe inspecting your boat. What’s going on, Sandy?”
“You tell me, Jake.”
“Tell you what?”
“Somebody goddamn took my boat out and brought it back with some weird scratches. That you, Jake?”
Jake’s eyes widened. His fake-innocent look.
She wasn’t going to let him off the hook. “And Doug Tolliver wants to know if that happened around the time Robbie went missing.”
“Doug’s finally got himself a big case. He’s the man, now, full of questions.”
“You’re dodging the question, Jake. What’s going on?”
“You tell me, Sandy.”
She turned her back on Jake and looked out at the ocean. What’s going on? She’d like to know. Anchovies and sardines and mackerel and sauries treading water like they were drunk, and lanternfish up from the deep and Humboldts following them, and crabs hauling ass out of the water. And a diver with a jelly sting and no boat.