Dead in the Water (5 page)

I had told him where I wanted to go, simply describing the place as the one where the other airboat company visited the resident gator. I didn't have to provide anything more in the way of directions. My guide nodded. “I know the place. It's the one where the Hardy boy likes to annoy Mathilda.”

“
Mathilda?”

“
Mama gator.”

“
He told us they were all mamas.”

“
Yeah, well, he's dead wrong or will be when he chooses one of the big ones to hassle during mating season. What that boy knows about gators wouldn't fill a shot glass.”

We flew down the canal and took a sharp left, coming upon the place where Winston had done his swamp walking earlier.

“
I don't understand how you knew this was exactly where I wanted to go.”

“
It was where the cops were not long ago. From your attitude I guessed you had similar business.”

He stopped the boat and pulled up to the shore.

“
Is it safe to get off?”

“
What are you looking for?”

“
Clues, I guess.”

“
Of course. Like the cops.”

“
Maybe.” I was beginning to rethink my trip here with my pilot. Was I being too trusting? He seemed to know a lot about what had gone on earlier today.

He scanned the area, then stepped off the boat and held out his hand to help me. “I think our mother gator is gone for the day.”

Not only was Ms. Reptile gone, but so was much of the other swamp traffic. No kayaks, canoes or airboats here. When I glanced back in the direction of the rim canal I could see few boats there also. It was getting late. Shadows lengthened over the small path leading into the vegetation. I hesitated.

“
Scared, are you?”

“
Not at all.” I hopped off and my boot slipped a bit on a rotted log, but he caught me from falling. I looked down at the brown hand holding my arm. It was huge. I looked up at his face. His expression was masked in the deepening twilight.

I steadied myself and withdrew from his hold. I thought I caught him smiling, just the flash of white teeth in the deep purple of the swamp as he turned and led the way.

We walked several feet into the still, deep green vegetation. The path came to an abrupt end, a downed palm tree blocking our way farther in.

There were no duffel bags, no hat. What did I expect to find? Some clue about why my uncle was murdered. If anything had been here, Frida and her deputies would have taken it.

“
Nothing.”

“
Well, that's the second time you're wrong.”

“
What?”

“
If you know what to look for, there's a lot here.”

“
Okay, Mr. Know-It-All. What do you see?”

“
You hired me as an airboat pilot, not a tracker.”

I was about to offer him more money when I bit back my words. This was a test, a kind of right-of-passage for me, the white woman in his world.

“
How foolish of me. Take me back. I'll need to find someone who can read sign.” I turned to retreat to the boat.

He crossed his arms and blocked my path, then stepped closer to me, so close I could see his black eyes clearly and smell a mixture of sweat and something primeval, not unpleasant, but unsettling somehow.

He pointed to an indentation in the ground. “Something heavy was there.”

“
Like duffel bags?”

“
I can't tell you that.”

“
Can't or won't?”

He ignored my jab. “Many people have been here. You can see their boot prints have disturbed the ground. And the branches overhanging the path are broken.” He moved back toward the boat and touched a branch at eye height. “Something hung here.”

“
Like a cap?”

He smiled.

“
I know. It's just something else you ‘can't tell me.' ”

“
Most of the tracks have been wiped out by something heavy traveling across the area.”

“
You mean, someone tried to intentionally wipe out these footprints?”

“
Probably not. I think the gator came in here after everyone was through tossing the area. She was curious. Hardy boys bothering her has given her an attitude. Usually she keeps away from people, but I think she's mad. And unpredictable. She's probably watching us now.”

I barely caught his last words. I was back down the path in a flash and sitting in the airboat, shaking, when he sauntered out of the brush. It was difficult to tell from his expression whether he was just fooling with me or serious. I didn't care. I'd had enough of swamps, airboats, murder, and Seminoles, er, Miccosukees for one day.

Before we parted company at his dock, I decided to pry some information out of him. It was clear he didn't like me much, but I also got the feeling he liked the Hardy brothers even less. I was pretty certain he just plain didn't care much for white folks, but I thought, what the heck.

“
You've got a small operation here. Just you? No one to help you?” I circled my way into the subject.

“
My grandfather sometimes comes by.”

“
And he helps? I mean, you certainly could use someone to give out information and let folks know when you'd be back if you were out on a tour.”

He just stared at me.

“
The Hardy brothers have quite a business going, but there must be room for more rides around here. People come in from the coast looking for a tour of the swamp.” I waited. He simply looked at me. Or through me. I wasn't sure.

“
Why are you asking so many questions about what I do here? You some kind of inspector from the state?”

“
Me? Gosh, no.”

He smiled, his teeth showing white against his brown skin. “Someone you knew was on that airboat ride, right?”

“
My uncle. He got off the boat. I think he left something. I wanted to find it.”

“
The cops already looked for it. I thought I pointed that out to you.” Now he sounded contemptuous as if I weren't paying attention or didn't believe him.

“
I know. I had to see for myself.”

“
Now are you going to investigate the place where the killer took the shot?”

Ah, so he knew about that too.

“
Of course. I would have had you take me by, but it's the other direction on the canal from here.”

He crossed his arms and leaned back against the chickee support. “I guess you could always use the Hardy brothers. They're right across the canal from the spot.”

Why did he know so much about what went down earlier today? It made me suspicious. And uncomfortable.

“
I'm not real crazy about the two of them,” I said. He continued to stare at me. Again I waited for him to say something. He didn't.

“
And you. How come you know so much about what happened to my uncle?”

“
I didn't know he was your uncle.” He shifted his weight then leaned back against the support once more.

This was like having a conversation with a stretch of concrete. Maybe I'd play at the game too. I leaned against the counter, my head propped up by my fist.

He looked beyond me toward the lake. Was something out there more interesting than I was? He probably found most of his world more interesting than me.

“
Sun's getting low.” He shifted his eyes back to me.

I gave up. The man could out-silence a mime. I needed to move this along or move on. “I get the feeling you don't think much of them, either. You know, the Hardy brothers. Am I right?”

He turned his gaze again on the canal then raised it to the lake beyond. “Time to close up for the day.”

Ten minutes of a one-sided conversation, and I get tossed out of the place.

I moved around the counter and stepped up to him. “I think you've got lots to say about their operation, things you'd prefer saying to someone like me.”

That got a laugh out of him. “You? Why you?”

“
Because I think you can tolerate me better than most folks, most non-native folks, that is.”

“
You could be wrong.” He reached into a beaten-up bait bucket and pulled out the metal box where he'd put the twenty dollar bill I'd paid him for the ride.

“
Good hiding place. I didn't even see you put the box there before.”

“
Of course not. You're about as observant as the other white folks that come in here.”

“
But it's true what I said. So talk to me. I'm a quick learner. Maybe I can learn to be more observant.”

He extracted a single twenty from the box and held it up before he stuffed it into his pocket. “You were my only ride today.”

“
I know.”

“
So you saw the box was empty when you paid me?”

“
Nope. I'd say you haven't had a tour out for some time. The pathway to your boat is overgrown with grass, and it would have been packed down if people had walked it recently.”

“
So I guess you can learn.”

It was a lucky guess based upon my concern when I walked to the boat about what might be hiding in all that grass. I'd only braved the journey because I had on my high boots.
And Madeleine thought the boots were too fashionable for an airboat ride. Silly girl.

He closed the already small distance between us and stared long and hard at me. Then he seemed to have decided something. He grabbed me and spun me around. “C'mon. You look as if you could use a drink.”

We walked side by side toward the small parking area, but just as I headed toward my car, he took my arm again and steered me down a path running parallel to the water. Soon the palm trees and small live oaks closed around us. “Where are we going?”

“
For a drink.”

“
There are no bars around here.”

We stepped out of the trees and into a clearing, where a small house stood on cinderblocks. Its siding was unpainted and made of roughhewn lumber. A porch ran the entire front of the building. Several chairs and a rocker sat on the porch.

“
My house. It's about time for tea. My grandfather usually brews a pot about this time. I think he'd like to meet you, and you might find him interesting.”

“
Oh.”

“ ‘
Oh.' That's all you have to say after chattering on all afternoon like a mockingbird in mating season?”

“
I do not chatter like some bird.”

“
I hope not. Since you asked about the Hardy brothers, I thought I'd give you their résumé according to me. You won't like what you hear.”

As I prepared to step up onto the porch, an elderly man, his long white hair plaited into two thin braids, stepped into the doorway. On his head he wore a red hat. It was familiar.

“
That hat!” I spun on my heel and looked back at my guide. What game was he playing with me?

T
he old man swatted a fly away from his face and gestured for us to enter the house.

“
Just a minute. I'm not going a step further until you explain about that.” I pointed to the cap on his head.

The two men exchanged looks too opaque to read. It might have been caution or merely amusement at my anger.

“
Well, she's kind of skinny, got no shape whatsoever, but I guess she's a woman. That might account for her lack of manners.” The old man's eyes twinkled as he spoke.

“
Hey, I'm as much a devotee of Miss Manners as anyone. I just don't like to practice my skills with someone who's stolen from me. Or taken advantage of one of my relatives and then ….” The memory of my uncle lying on the dusty path dead overwhelmed me once more. I tried to choke back my grief, but tears spilled from my eyes. “Oh crap.”

“
The person killed today was her uncle.” My Miccosukee airboat pilot said these words with reverence in his voice.

The older man came forward and held his hand out to me—the gesture so filled with sympathy and care that I grasped it and held on. He put his arm around my shoulders and walked me up the steps and into the tiny house. The room I entered was high-ceilinged with the supporting beams and roof rafters reaching upward toward a central peak. They were made of logs stripped of their bark. A kitchen was to our right, table and chairs in the center of the room, couch and two upholstered chairs across from one another. Simple but welcoming. He pulled out a kitchen chair and helped me into it. I felt comforted by his touch.

I suddenly remembered I did not know the name of my guide or his grandfather.

“
My name is Eve Appel.” I held out my hand to him.

My guide stooped over and took my fingers in his. “I'm Sammy Egret. This is my grandfather, Harold.”

Grandfather Egret had by now placed cups and a tea pot on the table and cut slices of thick brown bread, which he spread with jam from a canning jar.