“That’s great.” Jennie had to work at trying to sound as though it didn’t matter. She must not have succeeded because in the next breath Gram said, “You sound upset. Is everything okay there?”
“Yes, I just wanted to talk to you about Sarah. It’ll keep until morning. Have a good time.”
Jennie hung up, fixed a cup of peppermint tea, and plodded upstairs. Disappointment settled around her like a black cloud. It had been a bizarre day, and she wanted Gram to help her sort through it all. “Debriefing,” Gram called it. She could call Lisa, but that would mean going back downstairs, and Jennie didn’t have the energy for that. Instead she climbed into bed, pulled out her diary and wrote a letter to her father.
Thirty minutes later she turned out the light and snuggled under the sheet and lightweight blanket. “God,” she murmured. “Help me to know what to do for Sarah. Please let her remember …” and at the risk of sounding just as crazy as Sarah had, she added, “and help little Sarah not to be afraid. Keep them both safe.”
Jennie fell asleep thinking not of Sarah, but of little Jennie, who held so tightly to the belief that Dad was still alive.
14
The next day Jennie fully intended to tell Gram about Sarah, but at six that morning, Samson brought Delilah back home. Everyone in the compound gathered on the docks to watch Ken, Debbie, and two of the other trainers slip Delilah into a specially-made stretcher for dolphins. They maneuvered her through the water into an enclosed tank where they could more easily care for her.
“Is she going to make it?” Jennie asked. Her question hung in the silence. It was a question, Jennie realized, that no one could answer.
Over the next couple of hours so many people invaded the small island, Jennie wondered if it might sink. Reporters, along with other researchers, marine biologists, environmentalists, friends, and enemies came to get what they hoped would be a big story, to help or to criticize. Melissa, Scott’s friend from the DPA, swooped in with a small band of demonstrators, reminding Jennie of a flock of vultures. They’d already prepared protest signs and flyers, and Jennie couldn’t help but wonder how they’d been able to put them together so quickly. She tried not to come to the obvious conclusion—that Scott had somehow been involved or may even have been the cause.
At ten A.M., Ken emerged from the tank and briefed them. “She’s dead. She was badly air burned and dehydrated. We did everything we could.”
“Any idea what caused this, Mr. Cole?” a reporter asked, pushing a microphone at Ken.
“I’m afraid I do. The autopsy will show for certain, but I found traces of methamphetamine hydrochloride in Delilah’s feeding pail.”
“That’s speed, isn’t it?” Melissa asked. “Are you telling us this dolphin was drugged?”
For the next few seconds the dock was so quiet you could hear the boards breathe. Then the crowd erupted, spewing questions and hurling insults. Jennie looked around for Gram and saw her up front with Debbie and Ken, probably trying to create order out of chaos. Feeling about as useless as a third shoe, Jennie pressed through the wall of bodies and headed toward the dining hall. At first she thought it was empty, then saw Sarah sitting in a chair, staring out the window.
Jennie hurried toward her. “What are you doing here alone?” She’d spoken softly, but in the large room it still seemed too loud.
“They figured I’d be safe enough here,” Sarah whispered. “They’re down on the dock with the others.”
“Did you hear about Delilah?”
Sarah looked up at Jennie briefly, then continued to stare straight ahead. “It’s my fault,” she said softly, her lips barely moving. “If I’d told them I was better, Delilah would be alive.”
“Don’t be silly. This had nothing to do with you.”
“You’re wrong, Jennie. The person who did this to Delilah either wanted to stop the therapy, or wanted to use Delilah to kill me. Why else would anyone hurt a dolphin?”
Voices filled the room as dozens of people poured into it. Carl and Maggie came back to collect Sarah, and Jennie escaped to the cabin. Gram was in her element—interviewing, collecting information, and researching. She probably wouldn’t surface until the last bit of information had been squeezed out of everyone there. Over a fruit and cheese snack, Jennie tried to decide what she should do while she waited for Gram to come back. You could lie around feeling depressed. Or you could keep racking your brain to figure out what’s going on.
On impulse Jennie suited up, stuffed a book, a towel, some sunscreen, a candy bar, and chips—which Gram had smuggled in the night before—into a bag and headed for the beach. At the door she paused, went back inside, and left Gram a note.
After spreading out her towel, Jennie mentally pulled up all of her unanswered questions and worries and tossed them one by one into the ocean. Then, after applying sunscreen, she stretched out on the towel and immersed herself in another kind of mystery—one that would be solved by the end of the book.
It was always the least likely person. Jennie shifted her focus from the novel to real life—who killed Delilah? Was it Tim Stanford? Tim was obviously against having Sarah in the program. But that in itself wouldn’t be motive enough to kill a dolphin. And Jennie didn’t think he’d harm Sarah, unless … unless he was trying to keep her from remembering who killed her father. Or was it Scott and his team of environmental extremists? No, think “least likely,” McGrady … how about Debbie and Ken … or Maggie or Carl … “Oh, no you don’t,” Jennie muttered. “The next thing you know, you’ll be suspecting Gram. Now read.”
Sometime later, Jennie set the book aside. The girl in the story reminded Jennie a lot of herself. She looked at the cover depicting the eyes of a murderer peering through some bushes, and shuddered. Winnie, the heroine in the book, had decided to solve her friend’s murder. The murderer turned out to be the guy who’d been working on the case with her. Scary stuff.
A lot of mysteries were like that. The killer was often someone close, a family member or friend. And they always have a motive. Why else would anyone want to kill a dolphin? Sarah had asked. That’s what Jennie intended to find out. Resolutely, she gathered up her things and wandered back to the cabin.
“There you are.” Gram had a worried look, and Jennie didn’t think it was for her. “I was about to come looking for you.”
“Did something happen? Is everything okay?”
“I’m not sure,” she said, handing Jennie a note. “I found this stuck in the door when I came in.”
Jennie,
I’ve got something to tell you about Delilah. Meet me at the lighthouse on Sanibel at eight-thirty tonight. Scott.
Jennie looked up from the note. “What should I do?”
“I suggest we meet him.” She glanced at her watch.
“In the meantime you’d best get dressed. Ken has called in the police to investigate. I’ve already given my statement, and you’ll have just enough time before dinner to talk to them.”
The “them” turned out to be Detective Angel Delaney, who Jennie decided had no resemblance whatever to any angel she’d ever imagined. Angel’s dark hair had been casually swept up and clasped in a wide leather barrette.
She wore a don’t-mess-with-me expression, and for a moment Jennie thought Angel and Tim Stanford would have made a perfect couple. From her stance and the questions she asked, Jennie had the distinct impression Angel had better things to do with her time than go after a dolphin killer.
“All right, Miss McGrady,” Angel said, her pen poised above a small notebook. “Tell me what happened … and try to keep it short.”
With Gram at her side, Jennie related the incident as best as she could, being careful not to mention Scott or the fact that Sarah could talk. She did, however, suggest that Delilah’s death might be connected to John Stanford’s murder. Angel raised her eyebrows. “What do we have here, a budding detective?�
�� She looked at Gram and for the first time since Jennie had met her, smiled. “Teaching her the tricks of the trade, Ms. McGrady?”
Gram winked at Jennie and smiled. “She learns quickly. As I mentioned before, the fact that Sarah was in the water with the dolphin may be more than coincidence.”
“Right. Well, if it will make you feel better, I’ll check it out. But I wouldn’t hold my breath. My bet’s on the kid who disappeared yesterday.” She flipped back a few pages in her notes and added, “Yeah, here it is, Scott Chambers. Which reminds me,” she added, scrutinizing Jennie. “You didn’t mention him. Any particular reason why?”
Jennie looked at Gram, who nodded. Reluctantly, she told Angel about the phone call and other things she remembered Scott saying. She finished with, “Scott wouldn’t kill a dolphin. I just can’t believe that of him.” After Angel left, Gram suggested they have dinner in town before meeting Scott. On the drive into town it occurred to both of them that they’d neglected to tell Angel about the note Scott had left. “It’s probably just as well,” Gram said. “This will give us a chance to hear his side … and if he is involved, encourage him to go to the police.”
Jennie took advantage of their time alone to tell Gram about Sarah. “She scares me,” Jennie said when she’d finished. “She really believes whoever killed her father is after her too.” Jennie sighed. “Sarah asked me not to tell, but I had to. I don’t know what to do for her.”
“You did the right thing coming to me. Obviously she’s convinced herself that she’s in terrible danger. It seems to me we have basically two possibilities. Either she’s built up this fear in her mind, or it’s real. Either Ramsey killed John Stanford or he didn’t. And if he didn’t, the real killer would want to be sure Sarah couldn’t make a positive identification. What I don’t understand is why the killer, if it wasn’t Ramsey, would wait so long.”
Jennie leaned her head back against the seat and sighed. “Maybe since she was so sick, the killer didn’t feel threatened. Or maybe he didn’t want to kill her, but now that she’s better …”
“I thought you and I were the only people who knew she was better.”
“I’m not so sure about that. It doesn’t seem like she’d be able to pull off an act like that without somebody figuring it out. I had a feeling something wasn’t right the first time I saw her. She’s got to have made some mistakes. Sarah told me she reads her father’s books a lot. Wouldn’t that make you suspicious?”
“You’re right. It would be hard to live with a person and not be aware of changes, no matter how subtle.”
“Then, it makes sense,” Jennie interrupted. “The person who killed John Stanford could be after Sarah and could have killed Delilah.”
“Like Angel says, it’s doubtful, but worth checking into. By the way, I got the information J. B. sent on the Stanford murder in the mail today. What with all the excitement, I didn’t get a chance to study it. We’ll take a look when we get back from our meeting with Scott.”
Gram maneuvered the car into a small parking lot on Captiva at a restaurant called the Mucky Duck. “The Mucky Duck?” Jennie grimaced.
Gram chuckled. “Maggie recommended it … says the food’s great.”
“Whatever, as long as they have french fries and real meat in their hamburgers, I’ll be happy.” Not only did they have the real thing, Jennie learned, they served large portions of it.
Gram insisted they talk about more pleasant topics over dinner than murder, and Jennie reluctantly acquiesced. A little later, she was glad for the change. Jennie enjoyed dealing with safe subjects like school, friends, and plans for the future. For the first time ever, Jennie voiced her thoughts about studying law. Maybe become a police detective, a lawyer, or a federal agent.
“Aren’t you going to try and talk me out of it?” Jennie asked. “Mom would.”
“Yes, I suppose she would. I tried to dissuade your father, but it didn’t work. He wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps as well.” Gram stopped to clear her throat. When she looked up there were tears in her eyes. She blotted them away. “I just hope you base your decision on what you want, not what you think your father would have wanted.”
After dinner they drove to Sanibel. The lighthouse, a historical landmark, stood at the east end of the island and it took them almost half an hour to get there. By the time they reached the lighthouse area and parked, it was eight-thirty-five. The sky had turned a dusky rose. In another twenty minutes it would be completely dark.
They walked to the lighthouse and wandered around the surrounding area. No Scott. After waiting fifteen minutes, Jennie said, “I don’t think he’s coming.”
“Perhaps he’s been delayed. We’ll wait until nine, then we’d better head back to the research center.”
At Jennie’s insistence, they waited until quarter after nine. On their drive back to Dolphin Island, Jennie wasn’t sure whether to be angry or worried. Why had he asked them to meet him and not shown up? Had something happened to him? She rested her head against the seat and closed her eyes. Questions and concerns about Scott swirled through her mind. She gave up trying to sift through them, choosing instead to pray for him.
“We’re almost there, Jennie,” Gram told her when they reached the bridge to Dolphin Island. “Were you sleeping?”
“No.” She yawned. “Just resting.” Jennie lifted her arm to shield her eyes from the glaring lights of the vehicle coming up behind them.
“Hold on!” Gram yelled the warning only a splitsecond before the impact. Jennie’s head snapped forward, then back against the seat. Their convertible swerved and bounced against the concrete guardrail.
“What’s going on?” She braced her hands against the dash.
The headlights dropped back, then raced toward them again. Gram gripped the wheel and pressed her foot to the floorboard. “I’m going to try to outrun him.”
“He’s gaining on us.” The words had barely escaped her lips when the vehicle bore down on them again. This time the phantom driver connected with such force, the rental car careened out of control, slammed into the side of the bridge, and flipped. Their car hung on the railing for an instant, then plunged toward the deep, dark water below.
15
Jennie heard herself scream. They were going to die. The car slammed into the icy water with a force that knocked the breath out of her body. Jennie’s scream died away, and she slowly opened her eyes. The car had landed upright and was bobbing in the water like a bathtub toy. “Are you all right?” Gram asked as she rubbed her left shoulder.
Jennie nodded. “I think so.”
“Okay, listen carefully. We have only a few seconds before this thing goes down.” Gram unfastened her seat belt and asked Jennie to do the same. With the top down on the convertible, this will be much easier than trying to escape through the windows. Now all we need to do is ease out and swim away before it sinks and sucks us down with it.”
She glanced over her shoulder toward the bridge. “We’ll use the lights on the bridge to guide us. Looks like we’re closer to Captiva, so head back that way.” She sucked in a deep breath and took hold of Jennie’s hand. “It’ll be a long swim and the currents between the islands are strong. Now, get out and swim like crazy. I’ll be right behind you.”
“But …”
“We’ll make it,” Gram said, grasping Jennie’s hand. “We have to. Now go.”
Jennie climbed over the door and eased herself into the water. She pushed off and began to swim. When she felt she’d gone a safe distance, Jennie turned to check on Gram. There was no sight of her or the car. “Gram! Where are you?” Her cry echoed on the still night air. No one answered. Jennie looked back toward the lights. Even stopping so short a time, the current had pulled her away from them. Panic coursed through her, turning her arms and legs to lead. Stop it, McGrady. Gram’s going to be fine. She’s in such good shape, she’s probably
on the beach waiting for you. Jennie righted herself and forced herself to swim. Arm up into the water, kick legs. Arm up … over. Fingers tight. You can do this, McGrady. You can do it. God, give me strength … and Gram. Please help Gram.
She didn’t stop again until she felt the sand beneath her feet. She relaxed and let a wave carry her in and deposit her on the beach. Gritty sand and shell fragments pressed into her face, hands, and legs. It smelled moist and earthy. “Thank you, God,” she panted. Jennie dragged her hands up beside her chest and tried to push herself up. She rose about an inch, then collapsed. No use. Every muscle in her body felt like rubber.
She lay there until her breathing slowed, then tried again. This time, she rolled onto her side and sat up. She felt dizzy. Shock … she was going into shock. Put your head down, McGrady. You know how it’s done. When the waves of nausea passed, Jennie took several deep breaths and slowly got to her feet.
She heard the sound of a car crossing the bridge. Jennie froze. The horror of the accident slammed back into her mind. Only it hadn’t been an accident. The driver of that truck had meant to kill them. The car stopped. A door slammed. Footsteps. Had he come back to finish the job? Jennie scrambled up the embankment and huddled behind a concrete pillar under the bridge. A flashlight beam darted over the water and came to rest on the sand where she’d been lying only moments before. Fear wound itself around her so tight, Jennie could hardly breathe.
Above the sound of her own heartbeat pounding in her head, Jennie heard another car approaching. Red, white, and blue lights flickered over the water like a strobe light. A police car. Another car door slammed. “What’s going on out here?” a woman’s voice penetrated the stillness. Delaney. “Mr. Layton, isn’t it?”
Layton? Had he been the one who’d hit them? For one horrifying moment, Jennie imagined him whipping out a gun and shooting Angel. Cool it, McGrady. It couldn’t have been him. The guy that hit you and Gram was driving a truck. Layton has a fancy Lincoln.
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