The Missing Manatee (10 page)

He had listened to my story, and then he'd asked me if I wanted to go tarpon fishing with him.

At the time, I'd been too thrilled to ask myself why. But now I wondered: Why had Dirty Dan the Tarpon Man asked me
then,
on that particular day, when I'd been dying to go fishing with him for as long as I could remember? And why
me?
I'd figured it was because I was Mac's son, and had even dared to suppose it was because Dan liked me and thought I was finally a good enough fisherman to catch a tarpon.

But what if he was only trying to keep me from thinking about the dead manatee? What if he was trying to get on my good side, in case I did somehow discover the terrible thing he had done?

Of course that was it. Why would Dirty Dan spend a whole day poling me around after tarpon? What did he get out of it … except the hope that I wouldn't discover what a slimeball he was, or, if I did, that I'd be too awed or too grateful to do anything about it? He'd played me for a fool, and I'd fallen for it.

I sat in the skiff, my head in my hands, as alternating surges of anger and humiliation—and doubt—passed through me. What was I doing? I couldn't just condemn Dirty Dan, who was Mac's good friend and who had helped me catch my first tarpon on a fly. I had to be sure.

Then I thought of a way. I reached into my pocket for my penknife. Trying not to gag, I leaned close over the manatee's body and cut the rope from around its neck. Sawing through the line several times, I made eight small pieces. I pocketed both of the end pieces, one of which Dan—
or someone else,
I reminded myself—had cut from a larger coil. Then, at each turn that I came to as I worked my way back out toward the river, I tied a piece of rope onto a branch of a mangrove tree. Like Hansel and Gretel's bread crumbs, the scraps of blue rope would mark my path back to the manatee. I wasn't going to lose my proof again.

There was just enough high water so that I made it to the river without getting stuck. Motoring up to Larry's, I prayed that I wouldn't run into Dirty Dan there. I didn't know what I'd do if I came face-to-face with him. I had to be sure before I saw him. Then, when all my suspicions turned out to be wrong, maybe I'd tell him about it and we'd have a good laugh.

I tied up my own skiff, and looked over at Dan's slip. His boat was there. Looking around again, I saw no sign of Dirty Dan, and, thank goodness, for once Blink wasn't around, either.

Feeling as if
I
were the criminal, I crept down the dock and into Dan's boat. I opened the front storage compartment. The molded plastic gun case and the gun were gone. But the coil of rope was there. From my pocket I took the two pieces I'd cut from the manatee's neck.

I held one up to the end of the large coil. The strands met where they had been cut with a knife. They matched perfectly.

Thirteen

At home, there was a note
on the refrigerator from Memaw. It was hanging right next to the menu from the Golden Moon Chinese restaurant, which I saw every time I got a snack or a glass of milk. The sentence “
THE CUSTOMER IS BOOS
” always caught my eye and cracked me up, but not now.

Memaw's note said that she was shopping and would be home soon, and that Mom had to work late because somebody was sick. In a way, I was relieved that I didn't have to talk to either of them—or to anybody—yet. But I could hardly stand being alone with my thoughts. I paced from the living room to the kitchen and back, Dirty Dan's treachery burning in my stomach like a hot stone.

I went to my bedroom and took out my backpack, where I'd put my still-life objects for art class. I dumped them all out on my bed, and examined the tennis ball closely. It looked as if it had been chewed on, but I couldn't be sure.

Staring blindly at the pile of stuff on my bed, I wondered how the man I'd seen tenderly releasing a tarpon back into the water could be the same man who put a bullet into the head of a harmless manatee.

None of it made sense.

When Memaw came home, I was glad to have a break from my repetitive, useless thoughts. I helped her bring the groceries in from the car. “Your mama's madder than spit that she's ended up having to work extra on a day when you've got vacation,” she said as we were putting away the food. “She said to tell you she's sorry.”

“It's okay,” I murmured.

“It's that new employee, Veronica,” Memaw declared. “She calls in sick every time she has a hangnail, I swear. Now, what shall we make ourselves for supper, Skeeter? Are you in the mood for tuna fish, or maybe your Memaw's world-famous macaroni and cheese?”

I tried to rouse myself and pay attention. “What? Oh. I don't know.”

“Well, if you don't know, who does?”

I shrugged. “Either one's fine, I guess.”

Memaw put her hands on her hips and gave me a penetrating look. “Either you've gone and fallen in love or something's troubling you. Which one is it?”

I looked up at her, surprised.

“Your mind is a thousand miles away, Skeeter. You think I can't tell when I'm talking to a fence post?”

“Sorry,” I said. Then I thought about her question. “
In love?
Who would I be in love with?”

“That's what I was hoping you'd tell me,” Memaw said, lifting her eyebrows and grinning. “Now that I've got your attention.”

I shook my head and grinned back. “Sorry, Memaw, it's nothing like that.” Then I felt my smile fade.

“So, something
is
wrong.”

“Yeah.”

“Is it that paper for your English teacher?”

“No. Way worse than that.”

Memaw's expression grew serious. Before she could ask, I blurted out, “I found the manatee.”

“Well, good for you, darlin'!” she exclaimed. “That's wonderful!” She looked at me again and asked uncertainly, “Isn't it?”

I let out a big sigh. It seemed I talked more to Memaw than to anybody else these days. Which was okay. I mean, Memaw was good to talk to, and whatever she had to say, she always gave it to you straight, and I liked that. But in a weird way, I didn't want to tell her what I'd found out, because telling her would make it really true. Even while I knew Dan had to be the killer, part of me couldn't accept it. I wanted to go back to not knowing, but that was something I'd never be able to do.

“Dirty Dan did it,” I said at last. It came out as a whisper. I said, louder, “Dirty Dan is the killer.”

Memaw looked surprised. Then her expression grew grave. She pulled two stools from under the kitchen counter and sat on one. Still looking at me, she gestured for me to take the other.

My legs suddenly felt too weak to hold me up, and I fell gratefully onto the stool. My shoulders slumped, and I leaned forward, my face in my hands. “I can't believe it,” I said as hot tears slipped from between my fingers.

Memaw didn't say anything right away. She waited until I'd got hold of myself. When I raised my head and wiped my shirtsleeve over my face, she said, “Tell me what happened, Skeeter.”

I told her everything, not even caring that now Mom would find out about the gun being in the boat, and all the rest of it. Because it turned out Mom had been right about Dirty Dan. No, that wasn't exactly true. She didn't know the half of how truly dirty Dan was.

After I'd finished, Memaw was quiet again for a while before she finally spoke. “What are you going to do?” she asked.

“I don't
know,
” I said. “I'd tell Mac, except he's down in the Keys.” After a moment I said, “I guess I could tell Earl.” As soon as I'd said it, it seemed to be the obvious answer. Let the police handle it.

Memaw nodded. “Telling Earl's one possibility,” she agreed. “Or…” She paused before continuing.

I looked up, the question in my eyes.

“You could talk to Dan first.”

I stared at Memaw, puzzled. “But—why?” I asked.

“To hear his side of the story, of course.”

“But what could he possibly say that would make a difference?” I said.

“Ask him,” Memaw said. When I looked at her in confusion, she said, “Look, Skeet, you liked Dan, right? You liked him a lot.”

“But that was before—”

“Just let me finish here. What about the things you liked him for? Did they all change?”

My head was spinning. “Are you saying because Dirty Dan is a great fisherman and helped me catch a tarpon, that makes it okay that he killed the manatee?”

Memaw shook her head. “No, Skeeter,” she said, and her voice was softer than usual. “All I'm saying is that if the man was your friend, you might want to go to him first, before you go to the law. I'd want a friend of mine to do that, wouldn't you?”

Well, yeah, I thought. I guessed I would. But I'd never actually thought of Dan as
my
friend. He was Mac's friend, and Memaw's. He was a grownup, an adult. I couldn't just go over to his house and accuse him, even though he deserved it. I didn't have any idea what to say to him.

On the other hand, I had to do something soon. The vultures would make short work of what was left of the manatee, and that was my main evidence, along with the rope and ball and gun.

“So you think I should go over there and—and say
what?
”

I wanted Memaw to tell me exactly what to do, but all she said was, “Up to you, Skeeter. It's only four o'clock, so there's plenty of time before we'll be ready to eat.” She began puttering around the kitchen, taking out what she'd need to make supper.

I sat there, and the more I thought about what Memaw had said about talking to Dan, the more it seemed the right thing to do. If I ran to Earl, I'd be tattling, something a mad, scared kid would do. Talking to Dan, man to man, felt more grownup.

“Okay. I'll go.” I said the words even as my mind was screaming,
But you
are
just a kid! And you
are
mad—and scared, too!

“Let me get my purse,” said Memaw.

“You're coming?” I asked in surprise.

“I believe you've made a good decision, Skeeter. But you don't think I'm going to let you go by yourself, do you?”

I was embarrassed by the flood of relief I felt.

“I've known Dan for a long time, Skeet, and I think he deserves to be heard,” Memaw went on. “But he might be a lawbreaker, and we know he has a gun, and I'm not taking any chances with my only grandchild. You ready?”

I nodded dumbly, and followed her to the car. I was so glad I wasn't going to have to confront Dirty Dan, after all. Memaw was going to be there, and she'd know what to say. She drove into the back lot at Larry's and pulled up in front of Dan's camper. I opened my car door and started to get out.

“Good luck, Skeeter, darlin',” Memaw said.

I stopped, stunned. “Aren't you coming?”

“I'll be right here if you need me,” she said brightly.

“But, I—”

“Talk to the man, Skeet,” she said, reaching over to squeeze my hand.

As I walked toward the camper, I imagined myself saying to Dan, “Now, don't try anything. I brought my grandmother, and she's right outside.” I pictured Memaw hitting Dirty Dan over the head with her purse. It might have been funny if I hadn't been so scared.

I stood at the door, thinking I wouldn't even have to knock because Dan could surely hear the pounding of my heart.

Fourteen

A moment later Dan was at the door,
his scar stretching wide with his smile. “Well, if it isn't the Tarpon Kid,” he said. “Come on in, Skeet.”

I almost found myself smiling back, the way I would have in the old days. But I caught myself, remembering that everything had changed. So I just stood there like a dope.

“Blink,” Dan called into the camper. “Come see who's here.”

Blink came running to the door, followed by Blinky. When he saw me, Blink's face lit up and his hand went for his pocket. We played a few rounds of our game right then and there, with me still standing on the cinder block they used for a step.

I'd noticed Dan looking out toward Memaw's car while Blink and I played flip. “That your grandma out there in the car?” he asked when we were done.

I nodded.

“She want to come in?” he asked.

“No.”

Dan looked puzzled and said, “Well, how 'bout you? No sense in us standing here letting all the air-conditioning out.”

The moment had come, but I was so nervous I was shaking. After taking a deep breath, I managed to say, “I've got to talk to you.”

“So come on in,” he said, stepping back so I could pass through the door.

I glanced toward Blink. I said quietly so he couldn't hear, “Alone would probably be better.”

Dan nodded. Calmly, he turned to Blink and said, “Could you eat a slice of that red-and-white cardboard Larry calls pizza?”

Blink laughed and laughed with delight. “It's not cardboard, Dirty Dan! Dirty Dan is silly! Blinky likes Larry's pizza and so do I. Skeeter, do you like Larry's pizza?”

I nodded, trying to smile back at him. I wished I could leave and go to Larry's with him, even if it meant eating a piece of the awful stuff that came out of Larry's microwave.

“Here,” said Dan, reaching into his wallet and handing Blink two dollars. “One slice for you and one for Blinky. Then come on home, okay?”

“Okay, Dirty Dan. One for me and one for Blinky. Thanks, Dirty Dan. Bye, Skeet.”

“See ya, Blink,” I said miserably. I'd suddenly thought of something. What would Blink do if Dirty Dan went to jail? I pushed the thought away.

Blink was gone and I was face-to-face with Dan. I didn't have much time. If Larry wasn't busy, Blink could get two slices of pizza nuked and be back in five minutes.