Dead in the Water

by Lesley A. Diehl

  “What about me?” I held my ear protectors out to him.

  “You’ll be fine.” He continued to adjust Madeleine’s, and I held my breath just as I’m sure Madeleine did. Whenever it came to men and Madeleine, something bad always happened. The last time a man took an interest in her, my car blew up. I’m not saying it was her fault, but things seemed to always go awry when she was around.

  I sighed in relief as he stepped back and checked the red containers of gasoline on the dock. He shook his head, added gas to the boat, then flipped open his cell. I couldn’t hear what he said, but the call was brief. Good. I was anxious to get going. I was cold enough just sitting here in the boat. I couldn’t imagine what it was going to feel like flying down the canal with that wind whipping at my face. I wanted the ride to be over before it began.

  The pilot took his high seat behind the passengers. The boat leaped forward with much rattling, roaring, and shaking. He increased the speed, and the roaring grew louder as we flew out to the main waterway. Soon we were cruising down the wide expanse of the canal surrounding the Big Lake, its waters on the other side of the high berm to our left. The vibrating was so strong that I thought I’d chip teeth if I clenched my mouth closed. Mouth open, I risked bugs flying in.

  I was surprised at the number of boats on the canal—other airboats, canoes, bass boats—heading toward the locks and the lake beyond. Even a few kayaks. As chilly as the air was, I hated to think what it would be like if a person went overboard into the water. Instant hypothermia.

  Winston tapped me on my shoulder. I turned to look at him.

  “Having fun?” The skin around his eyes crinkled with humor as he grinned at me.

  He’d turned his cap around so that the wind couldn’t catch the bill and flip it into the water. I pulled the hoodie on my sweatshirt up over my head and tied it under my chin.

  “Uh, sure.” I smiled back.

  The cold wind rushed at us, flattening my face and making my eyes water. If there was anything to see, the tears in my eyes obscured the view. The boat raced through the water, swaying back and forth over the surface, making me worry it might swerve and capsize. Once I got used to the rocking from side to side, I settled back to enjoy the ride, noisy as it was. Abruptly the boat slowed and we pulled up to the shoreline; then, as suddenly as we’d lost speed, we took off again.

  “Hey,” the pilot called, “nothing here. We’ll go into the swamp and chase us some gators there.”

  Oh goodie, I thought. Here’s where we get lost.

  As we sped down a small waterway, the vegetation on either side closed in around us. The pilot took an abrupt turn to the left and almost mowed down two kids fishing in a small motorboat.

  The pilot cut the engine. “Hey, get the hell out of the way.” The wake from the airboat washed toward their tiny craft and rocked it.

  “Damn Indians. They think they own these swamps. Always in the way.” He shook his fist at them.

  “Well, they really do own this land, don’t they? Isn’t it part of the Miccosukee Tribal Territory?” I didn’t like the pilot’s arrogant attitude. The kids weren’t in anyone’s way. They were just fishing.

  He gave me a dark look and revved the engine. We headed back across open water with reeds and swamp grass, then into a small canal.

  We slowed, and the pilot again shouted, “Hey!” The boat headed toward the bank—dense with cattails, reeds and fallen logs—then nosed into land. Before us, not six feet away, was an alligator. It didn’t move, merely lay there eyeing us. The pilot stepped down from his seat and onto the front of the boat. He grabbed an overhead branch and shook it. The gator opened its mouth and hissed. Close encounters of the reptile kind. We all jumped. Cameras snapped pictures. The captain reached for Madeleine’s camera and got a close-up. She smiled her gratitude and her friendliness seemed to stir his need to show off. He grabbed the knife that was in a sheath at his belt and brandished it as if he was about to take on the creature. Some of us oohed. I yawned.

  “You’re not going to hurt that alligator, are you?” Madeleine’s eyes flashed a mixture of anger and concern.

  “No, ma’am, little lady.”

  Oh, for heaven’s ….

  “Sir, you need to get back in the boat.”

  Distracted by the scene of our macho pilot entertaining both us and the alligator, no one noticed Winston step off the boat onto the shore and wander back into the overgrown island.

  “Sir,” the pilot called again, “Come back here.”

  “Uncle Winston!” I said.

  “Oh, let him go. He’s just curious.” Darlene grabbed my shoulder as if to restrain me from getting off with him.

  “Did you miss something here? That’s an alligator right in front of us, and I’m sure it has friends and relatives out there.” I called Winston’s name once more.

  “Go get him.” Madeleine looked up at the pilot as if he was an action hero.

  “I’m right here.” Winston appeared once more out of the thicket of brush and stepped back onto the airboat, settling into his seat. “Nothing much out there, and it’s too thick to walk far.”

  The pilot gave Winston a stern look. “Don’t do that again, sir. If you want to help, grab that pole and give us a shove off. The boat don’t have reverse.”

  Winston complied, the engine started again, and we were off for another alligator sighting. I turned my head to look back at where we had been, wondering how that gator felt about airboats invading its sanctuary. I caught a spot of red just to the right of where we’d seen the gator, but before I could crane my neck for a better view, we turned a bend and started across a watery area, chasing mud hens as we flew across the surface. When I looked down I could tell the swamp was only inches deep here. Water flew at us and deposited leaves and other debris on our faces and in our hair. I pulled a small caterpillar off Madeleine’s sleeve. Looking down, I spotted a few of the crawly critters on my shirt.

  Okay, we got up close and intrusive with a gator. That should be enough.

  Three more gator sightings and a few more races at the poor mud hens and we turned back toward the dock.

  “Hey.”

  Hey yourself, I wanted to yell at our pilot. He said something I did not understand, but Madeleine translated for me.

  “He said to grab onto something.”

  What was this crazy man up to now? He throttled the engine up, and we raced by the dock at top speed; then he cut the engine and abruptly cut to the left, making the boat slide sideways through reeds.

  “When the water’s lower, I can do a 360 degree turn.”

  Oh gosh. What a shame we had to miss that.

  I was about to share my thoughts with Madeleine when I noticed her face had taken on a decidedly green tinge.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “Ulp.” She nodded, but not too convincingly.

  We headed back for the dock at a sane speed. The wide bow wave pushed the water lettuce and water lilies away from the boat. They seemed to duck under the surface as if they were trying to get away from us. I could understand why.

  “First airboat ride?” The pilot held his hand out to Madeleine once we were tied up. She got up from her seat and wobbled a bit, then took his hand. For the first time today, I was grateful he was behaving like a gentleman and helping her debark. His attempt at gallantry would have been successful, had Madeleine’s sneaker not come untied. As she stepped onto the dock, she slipped backwards into the boat, pulling the pilot with her. He let go, his foot missed the boat, and he plunged into the water. I looked at her, and she at me. Yep, she still had it.

  “It was bound to happen, honey.” I pushed her onto the dock and joined her there. The pilot floundered around in the three foot deep water for several minutes before he was able to pull himself out. One water lily in full yellow bloom perched on his shoulder, while other plants trailed their watery roots along his arms. He shook himself like a wet dog and smiled.

  “Have a nice day, folks.” He w
aved as we took the path back to our car.

  Darlene removed her scarf and patted her hair back into its helmet shape. “I’m gonna buy some strawberries. I love Plant City berries. And I gotta pee.” She started toward the building, catching up with the other passengers.

  “Oops, forgot.” Winston turned and started back to the boat. “I didn’t give him a tip.”

  I shook my head in disgust. “Here’s a tip. Stay away from ‘little ladies.’ ”

  A hurt looked crossed Madeleine’s face.

  “You weren’t really interested in him, were you?” I asked.

  “Of course not. It’s just that I feel as if all men who show any interest in me are cursed.”

  “In this case, it might be for the best. Think how you’d handle dating someone who smelled like swamp water even after he bathed and whose idea of fun is to do wheelies in an airboat.”

  The sound of raised voices drew my attention back to the dock. Winston stood with his back to us, the pilot in front of him. It looked like the two men were arguing. I made out the words “money” and “owe.” Was the pilot arguing about the amount of his tip?

  “What’s happening? I’m going back there.” I started toward the dock, but stopped when I heard a loud pop. I watched the two men drop to the ground. As I ran toward them, one man got to his knees, looked toward the opposite bank of the canal and rose to his feet, waving at me. It was the pilot. My uncle lay on the path. He wasn’t moving.

  Chapter 2

  “Call 911!” I yelled to Madeleine. I kneeled, gently touched Winston’s cheek and placed my fingers on his neck. I could feel no pulse. Winston was dead, his eyes staring up into the blue sky but seeing nothing. How could this be?

  “A heart attack?” Madeleine stood over me. I blocked her view. There was a dime-sized hole in his forehead and blood pooled under the back of his head. I shook my head, afraid to turn and look into her eyes, afraid she would see my horror, my grief.

  I took a deep breath and a sob worked its way up my throat. I swallowed it before it escaped my lips, but tears poured down my cheeks. I wiped them away then stood and turned toward Madeleine.

  “Don’t look. C’mon. We need to let the police handle this.”

  Madeleine’s face blanched, her tiny freckles standing out like dots on white paper. “Oh, Eve, Eve, Eve. What happened here?”

  “Go on back to Darlene. She’ll need someone, and you’re better at offering words of comfort than I am. Those kids ought not to see him either. Keep them away.”

  “Take charge Eve” did not feel anything like in control. I looked down at my shaking hands.

  Madeleine must have seen them too. She reached out and pulled me toward her in an embrace neither of us wanted to end. She drew back first. “Okay.” Her shoulders heaved, and she seemed to pull herself together. She headed back to Darlene, who appeared not to have heard the shot or noticed what was happening. She was still in animated conversation with the other airboat passengers in front of the building.

  I knew better than to tamper with anything around Winston, but I yearned to throw my jacket over his body. I wanted him to have privacy, even though I couldn’t say how I thought that might help.

  The pilot of the airboat had moved away from Winston’s body and boarded the boat. He seemed to be looking for something on its floor. The pilot’s movements drew my attention. What was he doing? I leaned down and touched Winston’s shoulder, then walked toward the boat.

  “What are you doing?”

  He jumped, too intent upon his search to hear me coming. “Ah. I just wanted to see if there was a hole in my boat.”

  “That’s your only concern? Your damn boat? I only heard one shot. What about you?” I looked around at the boat and the dock, then directed my gaze across the broad canal to the sabal palms lining the other bank.

  “Sorry. Is he …?” The pilot now looked embarrassed.

  “We called 911.”

  Fear drained the expression of shame from his face. “I could have been killed.”

  “You think someone was trying to shoot you?” I was no expert, but the bullet entered my uncle in such a precise location, he had to be the shooter’s target, not merely someone who got in the way.

  I shared my thoughts with the pilot, but he didn’t look reassured.

  Then it hit me. Who would want to kill my uncle? And why?

  I sensed someone behind me and spun around.

  “You’re supposed to be comforting Darlene.” But it wasn’t Madeleine. It was my friend Frida, a detective with the Sabal Bay police department. Frida’s brown eyes, usually so warm and soft, were flinty and hard. She was almost as tall as I was and slender. She dressed for the job—slacks, white shirt, and low-heeled shoes. She wore her dark hair pulled back and fastened in a tortoiseshell clip to keep it out of her face. As well-tailored as her jacket was, it didn’t totally hide the shoulder holster she wore as part of her detective’s gear.

  “I got the call on my way out to Deer Mound to check on a robbery there. And Eve, I can read your thoughts. Whoever is responsible for this, it’s my job to find them. Not yours.” She knew me so well. No wonder I couldn’t bluff her at girls’ poker night.

  “Of course. Why would I think otherwise?”

  Frida gave me one of her looks, the one that said she couldn’t trust me. Of course she couldn’t. When I’d gotten involved in a murder investigation last year—Frida’s first as a detective on the force—I’d almost gotten myself killed and nearly botched the case she’d been so carefully working. Yet the voice in my head kept repeating, my uncle, my uncle, my fault, my fault. I should have insisted we take the airboat ride another day. I knew it was too windy. I knew something would happen ….

  Frida and her new partner, Detective Tooney—Linc was his first name—bent over Winston’s body. I heard the wail of an ambulance in the background. Crime scene technicians arrived and were soon swarming the area. Frida turned her attention back to me.

  “You need to get out of here, Eve. This is a crime scene. We’ve got to seal it.”

  Detective Tooney took my arm and steered me away from Winston’s body and toward Madeleine and Darlene. Several emergency personnel had seated Darlene on the rear bumper of the ambulance and were talking with her.

  “She’s in shock, I’d guess.” Madeleine tucked my arm in hers. “How are you doing, hon?”’

  “Why would anyone want to kill my uncle?”

  “You don’t know he was the target.”

  I kept seeing the bullet hole planted neatly in the middle of his forehead.

  Darlene shook herself free of the EMTs and walked on wobbly legs toward me.

  “It was the mob. The Mob.” With that, she sank to the ground in a faint.

  After the ambulance took Darlene off to the hospital, and yet another arrived to remove my uncle, Madeleine and I stood behind the yellow tape strung around the airboat dock, the boat itself, and the spot where my uncle fell.

  “When you guys gonna be finished? I got a business to run here.” The airboat pilot and his weasel partner stood far to our right with Frida and Linc.

  “Hey!” The yell had worked on the ride, so I tried it on our pilot. It caught his attention. “Someone died here, you know. Maybe it could have been you. I’d think you’d want the authorities to do their job and the hell with your business, especially if you’re in danger.” I really didn’t think he was, but the man irritated me, playing macho with the wildlife and with my friend Madeleine. Or maybe it was death—violent death—that made me surly.

  Frida gave me another of her stay-out-of-this-Eve looks, finished walking the crime scene, then approached Madeleine and me.

  “You don’t like him?”

  I shared with her what I knew of the fight between him and Winston and his intense interest in the airboat following the shot.

  “Anything unusual about the ride? I mean aside from him?” Frida nodded over her shoulder at the pilot.

  “Winston tried to take a w
alk through the swamp.” I explained about Winston’s debarking when we spotted the first alligator.

  “Tourists sometimes think they can go where they want.”

  “I saw something odd when we left there.” I told Frida about the spot of red.

  Frida verbalized what I was thinking. “Winston left something there and marked it. We need to take a look at that place.”

  “I have no idea how to get back there.”

  “He does.” Frida signaled to the airboat captain. “Let’s take a ride.”

  When I started toward the boat, Frida reached out and placed a restraining hand on my arm. “Not you, Eve. You wait here.”

  I waited, and not with any degree of patience. I hated being left out, my brain eager to map out a plan of action and get—

  “You’re thinking loud enough to be heard across the canal.” Madeleine put her hand on my arm and tried to lead me back to the building where we’d purchased out tickets.

  My attention was diverted to the trees on the other side of the canal, where a patrol boat was pulled up on the shore and men in uniform were milling about. Soon I saw the airboat return from the swamp and turn toward the opposite shore. Frida debarked and talked with the deputies, who pointed out something on the ground. They marked it, took a picture and handed it to Frida. It was too far away to see what she held. She got back into the airboat and headed toward us.

  “Well?”

  I could tell Frida didn’t like my imperious tone, but she hesitated only a moment. “It looks like a number of people took a walk in that area of the swamp. And not too long ago, maybe just after the airboat ride left there.”

  “And …?” I wanted more.

  “And there was a shell casing over there.” She nodded toward the opposite bank.

  “One shot, only one. Some marksman,” I said.

  “It’s a doable shot if you’ve had some training.” There was something else on her mind.

  I waited.