He stared at me some more, trying to figure me out.
“It’s none of my business.”
He looked hurt but I didn’t know what else to say. Before he could stop me I turned and left him standing in the streetlight.
He didn’t follow and I didn’t look back. Shit.
I tossed in my bed. Dalton. I didn’t want to think about him. I didn’t want to think about it. It. The thing. Between us.
It was just sex! Geez, why does everyone make such a big deal out of it?
Maybe a sleeping pill would help. The light in the bathroom flickered on when I flipped the switch. I looked into the rusty old mirror. “You look like hell.”
I knew it. I knew I shouldn’t have had sex with him. I knew it. Now everything was going to be weird. Plus the Alison thing did bother me and I did want to know what had happened. Why did I say I didn’t care?
“And now you’ve gone and hurt his feelings, Poppy. What the hell is wrong with you?”
The mirror-mirror-on-the-wall told me nothing in return, but the face reflected there looked forlorn.
I can’t believe I’ve screwed this up already.
My toiletry bag held the basics. There had to be some Benadryl or something in there to help me sleep.
I had to get some sleep. I had to be on my game. Focused. I’d already missed too much. Distracted. Not good.
It’s just the timing. That’s all. Bad timing. That’s why I just…I don’t know.
I leaned forward, looked into my own eyes. “How did you even know you hurt his feelings? This is Dalton you’re talking about. He shows no emotion. Ever.”
I closed my eyes. He wanted me to know.
Dammit!
Dawn finally came, welcomed, and a hot cup of coffee calmed my head.
No one was in the office when I arrived. I flipped on the window air conditioning to get rid of the stale night air and plopped down in the old, steel swivel chair.
Now what? I needed to swivel my head back on.
I stared at the pictures on the wall. The past interns. All smiles and youthful enthusiasm. Had they liked their job here? Who wouldn’t like swimming with dolphins? Sure, I had to do some boring computer work, but, otherwise, it was a dream job. Except maybe working with Kerrie. Though, I had the feeling she was under some kind of stress, and having me forced upon her didn’t help. She was probably a joy to work with otherwise. I bet the interns really liked her and—that’s it. The last intern. He or she might know something.
I found the folder labeled interns and sorted through the paperwork to find the most recent one. Skylar Molton.
I got Greg on the phone to track her down. Within moments he found her current whereabouts. Mississippi. Attending the Gulf Coast Research Laboratory at the University of Southern Mississippi.
“Her thesis is on the impact of underwater sound on dolphin distribution,” Greg told me.
Interesting. “I need to talk to her,” I said. “Can you find me an obituary?”
“A what?”
Ha. Caught him off guard. “I need a dead grandpa, one I need to fly home to the funeral for. Just for an overnight.”
“Oh, right. Gotcha. I’m on it.”
Within moments, Greg texted me the details for a funeral service in Brooklyn that matched the last name of my cover name.
I dialed my friend Chris. He’s been my best friend since we were kids. He’s a flight attendant and he could get me on a plane faster than the agency. Problem was, I never knew where he was on the planet at any given time and if he’d answer.
While it rang, I grabbed the rubbery ball that sat on the desk and gave it a squeeze.
“Hey girl,” Chris chirped. He’s the only person in the world who gets to call me girl.
“Hey. I hate to bug you on this, but I’ll get right to it. I need to be on a plane to Biloxi, Mississippi tonight. Can you get me on one?”
“Where are you now?”
“Oh yeah, I’m in Bimini, Bahamas.”
“What are you doing there?”
“Job. Something’s going on with the dolphins. We’re not sure what. It’s rather vague actually.” I switched the ball to the other hand, squeezed a few times.
“So, you’re there with Dalton?”
“Yeah.”
“What was that?”
“What was what?”
“You hesitated.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I asked about Dalton. You hesitated.”
“No I didn’t.”
He sucked in his breath. “You didn’t?”
“What?” Dammit!
“You did.” He drew out the word did. “You two finally did the deed. Oh, thank God. I thought I was going to have to get you two drunk and throw you into a hot tub naked together. Soooooooo?”
“So, nothing.” I switched the squeeze ball back to the other hand.
“Oh, no. That ain’t gonna fly, chicky. Spill. And I mean, spill.”
My stomach clenched. “There’s nothing to spill.”
“Don’t make me get on a plane and wring it out of you.”
“Okay, yeah, so, we had sex. So what? It’s not like I’m a virgin or anything. Geez. It was just sex. You don’t have to read anything into it.”
There was silence. Dead silence.
“You still there?”
“Poppy! What the hell is wrong with you? For months now, it’s been Dalton this, Dalton that. What do I do about Dalton? You’ve been a hot mess with the hots for that hotty Dalton. And now you say it was nothing?”
“Well, it’s not like—”
“Okay, listen. This is Chris you’re talking to. And I’m not judging. I know what’s happened. This whole development has scared the pants off you, hasn’t it?”
“There’s no development, it’s just, nothing really.” The ball got harder to squeeze. “Except…”
“Except what?”
“Well, I’m on this case. And the first day I get here, there’s a stranded dolphin. It had a satellite tracker attached to its dorsal fin. Then, when I met the researcher here, who could be a suspect, she told me their studies here are observational only. No physical contact whatsoever. I didn’t connect the dots. Someone else had to point that out.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“The tracker. If they don’t touch the dolphins at all, then—”
“What does that have to do with Dalton?”
“Don’t you see? My brain is slipping. I’m not paying attention to my job.”
“Your job? You just finally—and you think because—all right. I know how stubborn you can be. Sure, it’s nothing. It was just sex. I can go with that. Like you said, sex doesn’t have to mean anything.” Another silence. “I’m going to get that Biloxi plane ticket arranged for you.”
“Chris, don’t be like that.”
“Be like what? You said it was no big deal. Then it’s no big deal.”
“Right. It’s no big deal.” My hand clamped down hard on the ball.
“Other than it impacted your brain. Your job.”
“Right.”
“I’ll text you the flight numbers.”
“Okay.”
He hung up.
Dammit! I threw the ball against the door. It made a loud, satisfying bang.
Chapter Seven
Kerrie didn’t care one iota that I had to leave for a funeral. In fact, she seemed relieved.
As Chris had promised, I was on the afternoon flight. Boarding the pontoon ferry, which takes passengers fifty yards across the harbor to the south island, where the commercial airport is, I noticed the man who had been watching me and Alison at the Bimini Big Game Bar & Grill was also on board. He wouldn’t make eye contact with me, but when I turned away, I could feel his gaze. Was he following me? My gut told me yes. But I couldn’t sort out why he’d be following me, an intern.
After the five minute bus ride, the man quickly disappeared into the building. When I got on
the plane, he was already seated, five rows behind me. Maybe I was imagining it. The island is so small, not many commercial flights come and go. Could’ve been a coincidence. But then, if he was following me, he wouldn’t have to stay close. There was only one plane.
In Miami, as I made my way through the customs line, I noticed him again, ahead of me. If I had to keep my eyes on someone in an airport, I’d make sure I was ahead in line, so I could follow immediately once my target got through.
But as I exited the customs area, he was nowhere to be seen.
Hm.
During my two hour layover, I paced an irregular route around the airport, into shops, and back out again. If he was following, it would be hard to keep track of me in the crowd.
On the plane to Biloxi, there he was again. With no carry-on baggage. Just a newspaper rolled up in his hand.
What were the odds he’d be going to Biloxi today as well?
As soon as I got off the plane, I beelined for my cheap rental car and hightailed it out of there. Two miles down the road, I noticed I had a tail. A blue Ford Taurus. I took an off ramp, then, at the light, gunned it straight through. The Taurus followed.
At the next off ramp, I slowed and near the stop light, I pulled off onto the shoulder. As the Taurus went by, I turned to see the driver. It wasn’t the man. The Taurus made a right turn and disappeared in traffic.
Okay. What the hell? Was my imagination getting away with me?
I got back on the highway. The Taurus was long gone.
I drove to the campus in Ocean Springs, a fifty-acre peninsula surrounded by water with a tiny research lab, a few dorms, a cafeteria with a nice porch and surprisingly few classrooms. The research vessels, I learned, were docked fourteen miles away in Biloxi.
I hoped Skylar was on campus today, rather than out on one of the boats. Greg had sent her photograph, but was unable to acquire her schedule.
“My god, it’s hot here. I’m on my third iced tea,” I told Greg on the phone.
“So, you’re just sitting around?”
“It’s dinner time. I’m at the cafeteria. My best bet. But if there is any other way you can think of to get her schedule—”
“I could ping her phone for you.”
“What?” I sat upright. “You can do that?”
“Sure. Hold on.”
“Are you serious? Why didn’t you tell me—”
“She’s crossing the campus now. Heading right for the cafeteria.”
“Well, thanks.” I hesitated. “Hey, is there any chance you could track a phone without the number?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like, could you find a phone that was on Bimini, then here, now, in Mississippi? In other words, one that followed the same route as mine at the same time?”
“Not retroactively. Not without a subpoena.”
“What if my life’s in danger?”
“Is it?”
“I think I’m being followed.”
“Hm. I can identify the phones being used there now, then cross check that with phones used later on Bimini. Maybe.”
“Well, that will have to—holy crap, there he is.” The man sat alone at a table across the cafeteria, facing me. “This can’t be a coincidence.”
“What can’t be a coincidence?”
“That he’s here. But man, how did he do it?”
“What do you mean?”
“In the airport. How’d he know to get on the plane to Biloxi? And then, I was sure I ditched that Taurus. How’d he find me?”
“Okay, you need to take a breath.”
“This can’t be a coincidence. I’m being followed by someone with some serious connections. He’s a shadow.”
“Why do you think—?”
“I need you to triangulate, whatever, do the magic you do, and track him by his phone.”
“I’ll try. But like I said—”
“Yeah, whatever you can get. Do it.”
“Yes ma’am.” He disconnected.
And don’t ever tell me to take a breath again. Or call me ma’am.
A young woman walked into the cafeteria who matched Skylar’s description—long sandy-brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, a sturdy build, T-shirt and jeans shorts. A Nebraskan farm girl. She was with a young man. Maybe her boyfriend? They moved through the line and chose a table on the porch.
My shadow didn’t reveal any recognition of her.
Well, I needed to do what I came here for.
I had the choice of several approaches: tell her I wanted to try for an internship and ask her advice about her experience, tell her I was doing a follow-up survey on her experience there, or the straight truth, that I’m a federal agent and needed honest information. I decided I’d know which tack to take when I met her.
I moved from my spot, went right to her table, and pulled out an empty chair beside her where I still had a good view of my shadow.
“Hi, it’s Skylar, right?”
“Yeah,” she nodded. “Have we met?”
“No. I’ve been hoping to meet you, though.”
She seemed confused by this, but kindly gestured toward her friend. “This is JP.”
He nodded.
“Nice to meet you. What does JP stand for?” I asked.
He grinned. “I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you.”
“Ah, cute.” Flirting with me. Okay, not her boyfriend.
I turned back to Skylar. “I was hoping I could ask you some questions.”
Her cheeks turned rosy. “Gosh, you sound like a cop.”
“Actually—” I pulled my badge from my purse and held it under the table where only she could see it. “I am. I’m a federal agent.”
JP leaned over her to see the badge and gulped.
Skylar’s eyes grew large. “Is there something wrong? What’s happened?”
“Well, that’s what I’m here to find out.”
“Have I done something?” Her voice had a hint of panic.
“No, no.” Maybe that wasn’t the right approach. “No worries. I just think you might have some information that can help me on a case.”
“I don’t know how I can help, I mean, with whatever it is you need help with, but, sure, whatever. Ask away.”
“Why don’t you start by telling me about your thesis project.”
She cocked her head to the side, genuinely taken aback. “I’m studying the impact of underwater sound on dolphins. Nothing illegal. Just…unfortunate. I mean, I wish it were illegal, but…”
“Is that what you were working on during your internship in Bimini?”
“No, not then. But I was inspired by the noise generated by the building of the pier there over the last few years.” She looked at me more shrewdly. “The research team already has a ton of data that I can catalog, instead of having to collect new data.”
“And what have you found?”
“Nothing yet, I’m still working on the funding. I did get approval to go ahead with it though. But you know, time is money. So it’s barely started. I’m not sure I’d have any information to help you.”
“All right. I have a few other questions, okay?”
She shifted in her chair. “Okay.”
JP held his fountain Coca-cola cup with two hands and chewed on the straw.
I glanced at the man. Still there.
“So, you must be aware of the mass stranding a few years ago, the one caused by the Navy,” I said.
“Yeah,” Skylar said with an exaggerated nod. “Everybody knows about that. It was a big deal because the Navy actually took responsibility. Like, formally took responsibility.”
“You mean that it was their sonar that caused the problem? The sound?”
“In that case, yes. Sonar is devastating to whales and dolphins. The Navy is basically pushing extremely loud waves of sound across wide swathes of the ocean. Whales react in the same way they would in the presence of an enormous predator. They go silent, stop foraging, and abandon their ha
bitat. Worse, the sound can actually burst their eardrums and cause hemorrhaging in their brains. Military sonar has caused mass strandings all over the world. It’s not a mystery. The whales are trying to get the hell away from it.
“But it’s not just Navy sonar that’s a problem. The ocean is getting more and more noisy everyday. Commercial vessels create a cacophony of noise. The cavitation from their propellers sounds like gunshots to a whale. And their engines make a perpetual rumble. Then there’s the industrial noise. The oil and gas industry uses seismic airguns, the modern form of exploratory dynamite, that discharge extremely intense pulses of sound toward the sea floor. During seismic surveys, acoustic explosions can continue for days or weeks on end. Reports say things like”—she held up fingers and made quotes in the air —“‘The blasts disrupt critical behavior and communication among whales.’ But my god, can you imagine? These whales, in their lifetime, have gone from a silent world, where they could call out, ‘Hey Bob,’ for miles and miles away, to not being able to hear their own voice amid the unbearable, incessant noise.”
She was obviously very passionate about this issue. I said, “I imagine with commercial, industrial, and even military activity, there are a lot of people who don’t want to see any science about the problems all the noise is causing. Are you concerned about pushback or even threats?”
“Me personally? No. I mean, it’s just a study. It’s not in-your-face like the Sea Shepherds or something.”
“What do you know about training dolphins?”
Skylar crossed her arms. “Other than I don’t agree with it?”
JP slurped the last of his Coca-cola, but held the straw between his teeth as he said, “Especially the part where they’re captured and kept captive, for sure.”
“Have you ever heard of anyone training dolphins outside a captive facility? Like dolphins in the wild?”
Skylar shook her head. “No. And I don’t see how that’d be feasible. I mean, dolphins are usually trained with operant conditioning. You’d have to find a pretty significant reward system.”
“What’s operant conditioning?” I asked. I thought I knew, but hearing a scientist’s explanation would be helpful.
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