Olivia, John, and I had gone out the night before at midnight, set the lines, and waited for five and a half hours without sighting a single shark, an utterly fruitless night. I dropped all of them off in the shallow waters behind the Conservancy, watching as they waded to shore in the darkness, then I turned toward the Ten Thousand Islands, heading to the marina to secure the boat.
With a dull ache pulsing behind my eyes, I decided to take a shortcut through the mangrove islands, the floating forests with their tangled exposed roots. Most people stayed away from the canals through the mangroves, but I knew them well. When Robin and I were teenagers, Marco had taught us to navigate them better than most fishing guides.
As I approached Sand Devil Island, the first traces of pink light appeared in the sky. I slowed in an effort not to create a wake along the eroding shoreline where the loggerheads nested. In the 1970s, three houses had been built on Sand Devil before Palermo halted development in favor of preserving the tiny island’s pristine environment. As far as I knew, the houses, which were accessible only by boat and mostly obscured now by palms, pines, and inkberry, had been abandoned since the 1980s. It was exactly the kind of place that lent itself to urban legends. It had alternately been a hideaway for Satanists, mobsters, and runaway lovers. Even the Skunk Ape had been spotted here, Florida’s smellier, weirder answer to Bigfoot.
Trawling past the southern end of the island, I made out one of the deserted houses through the foliage, a ripped screen hanging from a window, and then suddenly, there it was, tucked in a bend—the white boat with the tan canopy.
It was anchored at a battered dock beside a pontoon boat. I slowed the boat to idle speed, blinking at the name on the pontoon. Hotel of the Muses. My heart began to pound.
What was Marco doing here? It made no sense. If he was out fishing, he wouldn’t have taken the pontoon—he piloted it strictly for the hotel’s sunset cruises—and I couldn’t imagine he’d taken a casual spin in the pontoon at dawn. And why was it parked beside the suspicious boat that had followed me and Hazel? My mind refused to believe he could be associated with the men on the boat or mixed up in the shark finnings.
As I tried to order my thoughts and figure out what to do, I cruised past the island, then swung back, cutting the engine before reaching the dock, letting the boat slide in quietly next to the pontoon. Peering over into it, I saw nothing to indicate a problem.
I dug out my phone and dialed Marco’s number. When there was no answer, I dialed Sergeant Alvarez, getting her voice mail. “It’s Maeve Donnelly. I’m out on Sand Devil Island. The boat that was reported on the hotline, the one I had that encounter with a couple of days ago is tied up at the dock here. Could you come out or send someone?”
I didn’t mention the pontoon.
It would’ve been sensible to leave or to wait in my boat until Alvarez arrived, but that could be hours. I jumped ashore and started up the footpath that led to the interior of the island. It was edged with dense brush, barely wide enough for walking. At a fork, I kept straight, taking out my phone again and dialing Perri.
“I hope I didn’t wake you,” I said when she picked up. “Have you heard from Marco? Do you know where he is?”
“I haven’t spoken with him since yesterday. I assume he’s home in bed, like me. Why are you asking?”
“Did he say anything about taking the pontoon out today?”
“No. Where are you?”
“I’m on Sand Devil. It’s so weird, the pontoon is docked here.”
“Our pontoon? That’s odd.”
“You think it could’ve been stolen?” I said, the thought popping into my head for the first time. It brought a small surge of relief—perhaps Marco wasn’t here at all.
I could see the back of one of the old houses now. It sat in a clearing about thirty yards away, the paint nearly peeled off, and behind it, some sort of large makeshift tent rigged out of blue tarps.
“Maeve, if you think the boat’s been stolen, you shouldn’t be there,” Perri said.
“True,” I said, coming to a halt. The stillness, the hiddenness of the place, the fresh blue tarps—it didn’t feel right.
“Would you get out of there?” Perri said.
“Okay, I’m going.” I hung up and turned off the ringer.
I slipped from the tree line to the hanging blue tarps, unable to leave without looking inside the tent. As I pulled back the flap, I was hit by the smell of putrefying fish.
Hundreds of shark fins were spread out on a bloodstained oilcloth. Rows of gray fins lined up neat as gravestones. Peering through the opposite end of the tent, I could see another blue tent on the side of the house. My breathing grew rapid and shallow. I’m in real danger.
A door slammed at the house, followed by the sound of voices. Reaching down, I picked up one of the fins, then slipped out of the tent, ducking behind the tarp, gauging whether I could make a dash for the trees without being seen.
The voices belonged to two men, but they were too far away to distinguish the words. As they grew louder, I knew that if I was getting out of here, I had to go now. The place was ground zero for what looked like a huge finning operation, and I didn’t want to think what would happen if they found me.
Grasping the shark fin, I bolted into the edge of the woods, where I flattened myself on the ground and listened. The two men were on the opposite side of the tent, out of view, their voices pitched and angry. I struggled to make out what they were saying. If I left without being able to describe them, I would never forgive myself.
I stole along the periphery of the trees, hoping I might get a glimpse of them, feeling for the boat key in my front pocket, keeping my eye on the distance between me and the path.
“This isn’t what I signed up for,” one of the men said. “Find another guy!”
I knew that voice.
I could say my heart started to beat dangerously fast, or skip beats, or that it stopped altogether. None of that would be true. My heart broke.
Robin. The voice was Robin’s.
“You think it’s that easy?” the other man said. “You’re in it now. You know too much. You think you can just walk away?”
I dropped to the ground as they came into view. The other man was Troy. And there was a third person I’d never seen before. He was young, with blond hair to his shoulders.
“I want out!” Robin shouted.
Still clutching the fin, I crept back toward the path, then broke into a run. Brush and twigs snapped under my shoes. I looked back, afraid I’d made too much noise, but saw no one. As I reached the boat, though, I heard them running, thrashing along the path behind me. I tossed the fin into the stern, yanked the ropes free, and cranked the engine.
As I pulled away, hitting the throttle, I looked back.
Robin and the young guy stood on the crumbling dock, watching me speed away.
When Sand Devil was out of sight, and I was certain neither of the boats was following me, I called Perri and told her I was sorry to have worried her, everything was fine, hoping the unsteadiness in my voice didn’t give me away. “Robin and Mindy took the pontoon to Sand Devil for a sunrise picnic,” I told her.
I hated lying to Perri, but the truth was too unbearable. There was a pause.
“A sunrise picnic,” she said. “Who does that?”
At the marina, I wrapped the shark fin in an old towel I found in the trunk of my car and drove straight to the hotel. In the living room of our apartment, I laid the fin on Robin’s Sports Illustrated in the middle of the coffee table and waited for him. He would show. Eventually.
I tried his cell over and over. I called the front desk to see if he’d turned up there. I called Mindy’s. Damn it, Robin. Part of me wanted to go out and look for him, but I had no idea where to start.
I yearned for a shower, but I stood on the balcony watching the guests eating breakfa
st on the patio, scrutinizing the boats that were rounding the Cape, willing one of them to be the hotel pontoon, and trying to reassure myself that what I’d seen out there wasn’t as bad as I thought. But inside I was consumed with shock and churning with anger, confusion, and fear. I wanted to protect Robin and to throw him under the bus at the same time.
At 8:30, my phone went off, the screen flashing Sergeant Alvarez. I let it ring. I had to talk with Robin first.
She left a message saying she was sorry for the delay in getting back to me, and they were heading to Sand Devil now. I could only hope Robin was long gone by the time she got there.
I paced back and forth from the living room to the kitchen, unable to settle in one spot, and finally wandered into Robin’s bedroom, where I shamelessly poked about for some clue that would make sense of what had happened. Of course, there was nothing.
When I finally returned to the balcony and peered over the rail, I spotted the pontoon at the landing. So, where was he?
A half hour later, he came through the door looking shaken and sweaty, holding a bag from McDonald’s. He set it on the coffee table, peeled back the towel, and glared at the shark fin, drawing back from the smell before covering it again.
“You went to McDonald’s?” I said, enraged. “I saw you out there with the fins, and you know I saw you and you still went to McDonald’s?” I swung my arm across the table, sending the bag of food onto the floor. Hash browns littered the carpet. Two McMuffins rolled out, still bundled in their yellow wrapping.
“You were spying on me!” he yelled. “Why were you following me?”
“I wasn’t following you.”
“You just happened to be out at Sand Devil?”
“I was coming back from an all-night survey and saw the pontoon. I thought it’d been stolen.”
Robin combed his fingers through his hair.
“You have to turn yourself in,” I told him.
“Whoa, whoa. I’m not turning myself in.”
“Do you get that you could go to jail? The only thing that will save your ass is telling them everything you know.”
“Jesus, Maeve, is there anything you love more than sharks? Not even me? What about Perri? And Daniel? You chose Africa over him. You packed yet?”
He’d been caught. Now he was going to make me pay. I clenched my back teeth, but there was something about his attack that made me observe him coolly and calmly. It was our old pattern at work: someone had to be the grown-up. I was done throwing food. I resented that he got to play the rash, unfiltered child.
“You know,” he went on, gesturing at the fin, “I could never understand why you love these god-awful creatures. You almost bled to death because of one, but by all means, let’s devote our lives to them. Let’s cover the walls with their pictures and put their fucking teeth in jars by the bed.”
He walked over and picked up a hash brown off the floor. He took a bite, then walked to the door of my room and peered inside, where the monumental blue shark, the one I’d christened Mona Lisa, glared at him from above my bed.
Needing time to breathe, to restrain myself from slapping his face, I waited while he calmly chewed and swallowed. He seemed to have no awareness that he was drowning and I was the only one here to help.
I said, “Are you ready to talk? Because I need to know how involved you are in all this.”
Ignoring me, he stepped into my room. I got up and followed him.
“I don’t know how you stand it in here,” he said. “Look at this place—a shark over the bed, shark books, shark teeth.” His voice had risen, his anger boiling up again, and it frightened me a little. “You’ve even got Perri painting them,” he cried.
He went to my dresser and picked up the little painting she’d created of me with a shark fin growing out of my back.
I reached for it. “Robin, come on.”
He slammed the canvas back down, catching it on the corner of the dresser.
“Stop it!” I screamed. “What’s wrong with you?”
I yanked the painting from his hand and stared down at a one-inch rip near the bottom right corner. It seemed like a tiny sinkhole that threatened to swallow me. My eyes filled. Let him go to jail—I didn’t care anymore.
Robin stared at me a moment, then blinked incredulously at the torn picture before walking slowly back to the living room.
I ran my finger along the gash, hoping it could be patched, then placed the portrait back on the dresser, my heart hammering through my entire body. I didn’t know if our relationship would survive this or if things would ever be the same between us. His novelization of my life was bad enough, but at the moment there were more urgent matters and Robin was being his own worst enemy. I decided that today I would see him through this. Tomorrow . . . I didn’t know.
I found him on the sofa. When he saw me, a long exhale streamed from his mouth as if some terrible balloon had burst. He bent over, dropping his forehead to his knees.
“I’m so sorry.” He sat up and gave me an imploring and abject look. “It just feels like everything is closing in on me.”
I sat down across from him. “Enough, Robin. I need to know one thing. Did you fin those sharks?”
“No, of course not. I had nothing to do with that part of it.”
“How did you get mixed up—”
“Troy,” he said. “I saw him at Spoonbills a few months ago and he asked if I wanted to make some money, that it wasn’t entirely on the up and up. He told me it involved transporting fish. I figured they were illegally caught, that’s all, not the worst thing in the world. All I had to do was get them to Savannah. I didn’t know the shipment was shark fins. I needed the money, Maeve, and this opportunity was easy money. My book hadn’t been accepted at that point. And like I told you, I felt trapped at the hotel. I was trying to come up with enough money so I could leave.”
I tried not to react, not to show how sickened and furious I was. “So you found a driver?”
He looked away, unable to meet my eyes. “I drove them myself. But in my defense, I didn’t know until the last minute the truck was full of shark fins.”
“Illegal trafficking? God, Robin.” I stood and paced, needing time to think. “Who did you deliver them to?”
“I can’t tell you that,” he said.
“Well, who’s finning the sharks?”
“Maeve, no.”
“Is it Troy and that other guy I saw you with on Sand Devil?”
“Please, Maeve, the less you know the better.”
“Is it them?”
“Look, I was trying to get out of it,” he said, ignoring the question. “Last week right after I saw that shark you put in the freezer, Troy called, telling me there would be another shipment coming up in August and I would have to drive it. I’ve got no love for sharks, but to see what they did to it . . . it was horrible. I went out there to tell Troy to find somebody else to transport the fins, that I didn’t need his money now.”
“But Troy is not letting you out of this,” I said emphatically. “I heard him. Now listen to me, I know someone in the Sheriff’s Marine Bureau I can call—”
“No, you listen. Troy’s not a good guy. He said it would be in my best interest to finish the job and to keep my mouth shut and my sister’s mouth shut. I think we know what that means.”
“He knows it was me out there?” I asked.
“He suspects it was you. By the time he got to the dock, you were nearly out of sight. But the other guy, Harry—he saw it was the Conservancy boat. I told them it was likely somebody was doing a nest count on the beachfront. I doubt they believed that. They’re not stupid, Maeve.”
“Well, it’s only a matter of time before they’re caught. I left a message with my contact in the Sheriff’s Office. They’ll find the fins.”
He looked down at his hands, studying them. “
No, I don’t think they will.”
I opened my mouth to ask what he meant, then closed it. “They moved them,” I said. “After I left, they moved them. And you helped them.”
“I didn’t exactly have a choice.”
I closed my eyes. All that evidence. “Where? Where are they?”
He sprang to his feet. “I’m trying to protect you and myself. You’re going to get us killed.”
I didn’t know if he was being dramatic, exaggerating out of fear—Troy was a shark finner, not a killer, though it was a fine line—but Robin’s panic was contagious.
I said, “The other boat I saw out there—who did it belong to? Is it Troy’s?”
“Why?”
“It followed me and Hazel the other day, and someone on that boat threatened me on the Conservancy hotline. You think you’re protecting us by not talking, but we’re in danger either way. I won’t be bullied into doing nothing.”
I walked over to him. “Robin, I love you, you know that. But I have to call the Marine Bureau and report what I saw out there, and I have to do it now. I don’t want to go to them without you, but I will.”
He didn’t take his eyes from mine. I watched them fill with resignation. He nodded.
“You need a lawyer,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll call Sam.”
Sam Lovett had been the hotel attorney for at least two decades. Perri had called on him when Robin was arrested back in high school for peeing behind the Palermo Pub. Later, Sam had even managed to get his record expunged. This time Robin would be lucky to avoid jail time.
While he made the call from his bedroom, I filled the coffeemaker and waited for the drip to start. His words floated through the open door in disjointed pieces competing with the soft grinding sounds from the machine: Illegal trafficking . . . I didn’t know, I swear . . . Sand Devil Island . . . Hundreds of fins . . . His name is Troy Fuller.
Sam would have his work cut out for him. And Perri would have to know everything.
The call lasted nearly twenty minutes. I sat on a stool at the kitchen counter, leveled by fatigue, and sipped my coffee.
The Shark Club Page 22