by Sam Cameron
“Do you know who owned it? He might need a lawyer.”
“Daddy,” Kelsey complained.
Mr. Carlson grinned. Legal jokes. “Are you looking forward to boot camp, Steven?”
“Yes, sir. Every day.”
Kelsey pulled Steven down the hall to her blue-and-white bedroom decorated with school pictures and teddy bears.
“Door open!” Mr. Carlson called out after them.
Kelsey pushed Steven down on her bed. “He doesn’t know it’s too late.”
The lacy edges of her bra poked out from under her shirt, which made Steven happy. He couldn’t understand why Denny didn’t like women’s breasts. Big, soft, round breasts. Kelsey kissed him enthusiastically and rubbed her hips over his, friction he could only stand for a moment before he moved her aside on the quilted bedspread.
“Don’t start anything we can’t finish,” he warned.
“We can finish if we’re quiet.”
“And I’ll be dead before we’re done. What kind of gun does your dad have?”
“Just a little silver one.” Kelsey pouted. “I don’t think there’s any bullets in it. Besides, you owe me. You ditched me last night.”
“My brother nearly got killed.”
“You didn’t know he was in trouble,” she reminded him. “You just like explosions. But I forgive you.”
She rolled off the bed and then pulled something out from under it. She placed it squarely on his chest. “Look. Here’s what I was talking about last night.”
Steven glanced at the cover. It was gold and red and had some kind of drawing on it. A man on a swing? What? The title said The Kama Sutra for Young Lovers.
He pushed it aside. “Not now.”
Kelsey dropped onto the mattress beside him. “Why not?”
Steven rolled onto his side to face her. “Because it’s a long way to a cold shower. Did you see Lisa Horne at the party last night?”
She sighed. “With Eddie, sure. Is this about that boat?”
“Sort of. Did she stick around?”
“I don’t know. She was dancing with that guy Brian Vandermark brought. I think that’s why he got mad and picked that fight.”
Which made sense. Eddie didn’t usually go around insulting homosexuals, and he’d been very out of line with Brian and Denny.
Kelsey said, “Are you sure you don’t want to take just one little look at the book? One or two pictures?”
“Maybe later,” Steven said. Much, much later. Later as in never. Never, as in not while he still had breath in his body. Steven Anderson didn’t need any Indian book of love to tell him how to do something he was already good at. The sooner Kelsey realized it, the better their relationship would be.
Chapter Nine
Denny’s nap was rudely interrupted by someone knocking. After banging his shin on the coffee table, he swung the door open to see Brian standing on the porch. Brian’s hair was loose and shaggy, his arms crossed over his chest. His wide blue eyes matched the blue of the sea behind him.
“What did you tell Christopher?” Brian asked.
“Huh?”
“He said you told him he was in trouble for lying to the police,” Brian said unhappily. “That you were the sheriff’s sons.”
Brian was cute when he was upset. Denny remembered Lyle Horne’s sneering words—you and that pansy boy—and told Lyle to get out of his head.
“The sheriff is down in Key West,” Denny said.
“Not the point.”
“Do you want to come in?”
Brian hesitated. “I guess.”
Denny let him inside. He felt embarrassed, though. Obviously, the Vandermark family had money. They’d bought the second-biggest house on the island back at Christmas, and no doubt had filled it up with flat screen TVs, a home theater system, who knew what else. Meanwhile, neither of Denny’s parents cared much about furniture. They bought stuff second-hand. Even their dishes and silverware came from thrift shops. The living room walls were covered with old fishing nets and Great-grandpa Clark’s army medals, and the kitchen floor was nothing but cheap green linoleum. Usually Denny didn’t care, but now he worried that it all looked shabby and cheap.
“You want a soda?” Denny asked.
Brian sat in a torn armchair. “No.”
“Are you mad?”
“Not really. Well, not at you. He came in stoned last night, got my parents upset.”
Denny grabbed a bottle of water and drank down half of it. “He’s a good friend of yours. Christopher.”
“Yeah.”
“But he acts like a jerk.”
Brian sighed. “I know.”
“So why do you hang out with him?”
“I don’t ‘hang out’ with anyone,” Brian said. “He’s just here until Monday. As a favor. And he wasn’t always like this. He’s just—well, never mind. Just don’t talk to him, okay? We’re going to Key West tonight for the weekend, and then he’ll be out of here.”
Denny said, “If you take him to Key West he’s just going to ditch you on Duval Street.”
“He won’t—” Brian started, then stopped. “Maybe he will. But that’s my problem, not yours.”
Denny didn’t answer. He’d figured out long ago that sometimes it was better to shut up than say things people might misinterpret. Things like, “You deserve better” and “He’s just using you.”
“He was my first,” Brian blurted out. “And I guess that makes a difference.”
Jealousy pinged through Denny like a submarine sonar blip—deep, clanging, impossible to ignore. Brian had done it with Christopher? Long-haired, shy, awkward Brian? While Denny was still the island’s most frustrated virgin?
“You’re turning pink,” Brian said.
“Am not.”
“You can ask questions if you want. My parents do.”
Denny was mortified. “Why do your parents ask?”
“To make sure I stay safe,” Brian said.
“I don’t need to know anything,” Denny said. So not true, though. He was pretty sure years of watching gay porn still wouldn’t make him an expert when it came time to actually perform.
Christopher and Brian, though.
Brian deserved so much better.
“Forget I mentioned anything,” Brian said. “What does it matter if Christopher and some others were at Beacon Point?”
“They found a duffel bag,” Denny explained. “The guy who might have blown up The Tempest swam that way. Maybe it was his bag. If we find it, we might know more about him.”
“Christopher says they didn’t see any swimmers,” Brian said. “Only Nathan Carter saw him. Maybe he’s lying. Maybe he blew up the boat and then saved us so he wouldn’t get charged with murder or something.”
“Nathan Carter wouldn’t need to stash a duffel bag at Beacon Point,” Denny said. “He’d just swim back to his boat. Besides, someone piloted The Tempest into the harbor yesterday. That duffel bag is our only clue so far.”
Brian’s phone buzzed with a message. He skimmed it. “Christopher wants to get on the road to Key West.”
“You don’t have to go.”
“Sure I do.” Brian stood. “In case I didn’t say it, last night was pretty awful.”
Denny nodded.
“But awesome, too.” Brian smiled. “When I leave for school, I’m going to remember last night more than anything else.”
School, right. Brian and his nerdy friends at MIT, while Denny froze in the drafty halls of the Coast Guard Academy.
It occurred to Denny that this was the first and probably only time he’d be home alone with a gay guy. Mom and Dad were both at work, and Steven was probably off with Kelsey. It was the perfect time to admit the truth, throw himself on Brian’s nice shoulder, and surrender everything.
Instead he watched Brian drive off, thought about how lucky and stupid Christopher was, and went to take his second shower of the day.
*
Steven swung by the marina on his way
home from Kelsey’s. Nathan Carter was washing down the deck of his run-down boat. He was wearing a sleeveless T-shirt that showed off his muscles and a pair of long cargo shorts.
“Hey,” Steven said from the dock.
Carter’s eyes were hidden behind sunglasses. “Afternoon.”
“Can I talk to you?”
“Sure. Come aboard.”
There wasn’t much for seating, just a padded bench and some folding lawn chairs. Carter pulled two ice-cold orange sodas from a red cooler and passed one over. A gift basket of chocolates and fruits was sitting on the cooler.
“Gift from the Vandermarks,” Carter said.
“Nice,” Steven said.
Carter said, “You’re not the kid who nearly drowned. You’re the brother.”
“That’s pretty good. People who’ve known us for years can’t always tell us apart.”
“They’re not paying attention.” Carter took a long drink from his soda. “They say you’re going into SEAL training.”
“Who says?”
Carter nodded toward the distant figure of Miss Nellie, still parked in her chair by the fence.
“Don’t listen to all the town gossip,” Steven said. “Did the police talk to you about The Tempest?”
“Sure. Last night and this morning. Maybe they think I had something to do with it instead of being a witness.”
The boat rocked gently underneath them. Two seagulls whirled in search of food, maybe eyeing the gift basket. Steven drank his soda.
“Did you?”
Carter grinned without humor. “Sure. I thought she was so pretty that I wanted to blow her up. You know those ex-SEALs. Mentally unstable, no logic to them at all.”
Steven’s face burned a little. “Maybe there’s logic we just don’t know yet.”
“Revenge?” Carter asked. “I knew the guy from way back and wanted to kill him. Money? Maybe somehow I get a cut of the insurance, if there’s any insurance at all. Come on. Give me a motive.”
Steven said, “The police have to ask.”
“Sure they do. But they don’t have to be stupid about it. If you’re going to quiz me, kid, at least make it intelligent.”
“I’m not going to quiz you. I don’t think you did it.”
Carter asked, “Why not?”
“Because you were a SEAL. If you did it, you would have been miles away when she blew up—not sticking around to rescue two kids.”
“Good point.”
Steven stood, leaving his half-empty soda behind. “But you still might be hiding something. Thanks for the drink.”
He swung down to the dock, aware of Carter watching him. Steven got six feet away before Carter said, “Hey, kid.”
“Yeah?”
“How come you don’t want to know what it’s like to be a SEAL? No questions at all? About BUD/S or anything?”
BUD/S was the special training school that Steven had been reading about for years. It was rigorous. Brutal. Designed to exhaust a man to the very inside of his bones, and still make him perform under pressure.
And it was totally out of Steven’s reach.
“Today I just have questions about The Tempest,” he said.
Carter leaned one foot on a railing. “I’ll tell you about that boat. Leave it alone. If anything, that explosion was a message. It wasn’t meant for you.”
The breeze picked up, flapping lines and flags. Steven asked, “Was it meant for you?”
“I don’t think so.” Carter squinted off at the distant horizon. “But I’ve been wrong before.”
Chapter Ten
Denny said, “Let’s go to Key West tomorrow.”
Steven squinted at the clock. Just after midnight. The noisy old air-conditioner wasn’t doing much to cool their bedroom. Steven was annoyed, as usual, at how his feet hung over the end of his too-short bed. He needed a new bed. He needed to figure out what to do with his life.
“Why Key West?” he asked.
“Celebrate graduation. And we can go to karate class.”
Just in general, Steven was never opposed to a trip down to Key West. Still, he said, “We both have to work on Sunday.”
“Mom’ll let me switch, and you can get someone to cover you.”
Steven worked as a lifeguard at Fisher Key Resort, which he privately called “Hotel Most Likely to Overcharge You in Any Way Possible.” The very nice sprawl of cottages and landscaping was the biggest resort between Key Largo and Key West. He really didn’t understand why anyone would want to swim around a chlorinated pool when the entire Gulf of Mexico was just a few steps away, but the job paid well and the girls wore great bikinis.
“What about finding that duffel bag?” Steven asked.
“We can look for it first thing in the morning.”
They rolled out of bed at sunrise and rowed over to Beacon Point to search among the mangroves. The crystal water was bathwater warm around Steven’s ankles, with small silver fish darting around his every step. Denny had brought some garbage bags and they collected plastic bottles, soda cans and other trash as they waded along.
Steven could see the city marina from where they stood. The Idle was at her berth, but Nathan Carter didn’t show himself.
“I still think he knows more than he’s saying,” he told Denny.
“Who?”
“Carter.”
“I can’t believe you went over there without me.”
“You’re just mad you couldn’t lust over him in person. Forget it, Romeo. He’s not gay.”
“I never said he was.” Denny scooped up a crushed plastic bottle. “How do you know?”
“I can tell.”
“You can’t always tell.”
“Ninety-nine percent of the time, I can tell.”
“Did you know about Brian Vandermark?”
“That’s different. He never came to school. What, are you lusting over him now, too?”
“No,” Denny said too quickly.
Steven wished he’d brought some coffee along. Or that he’d just stayed in bed. “You are. I can tell. Idiot. He has a boyfriend.”
“It’s not a boyfriend. It’s an old friend.”
“If you hang out with Brian all summer, people are going to gossip even more than they do right now.”
“I don’t care,” Denny said, blatantly lying.
A glint of metal caught Steven’s eye. He bent and fished a soggy green mess from under some roots. The duffel bag was about twenty inches long, nothing special about it, with a blank luggage tag and sturdy zipper. Nothing was inside it.
“Keep looking,” Denny said.
Another hour of diligent searching produced nothing. Back home they hosed their legs down with a garden hose and hung the duffel bag up to dry. Their parents were in the kitchen, still in their bathrobes, kissing passionately against the sink.
“Morning, boys,” Dad said when they were done. “Where’ve you been?”
“Fishing,” Steven said.
Mom reached for her coffee. “Catch anything good?”
“Maybe,” Denny said and explained the duffel bag while Steven made breakfast for everyone.
“Even if it belonged to our mystery swimmer, it’s still a bag full of nothing,” Dad said when Denny was done. “Unless we can ID it somehow, it can’t lead anywhere.”
Steven served up plates of golden-fried French toast with butter and syrup. “We’ll keep looking for a tie.”
Denny fetched silverware from the drawer. “Do you guys care if we go down to Key West today?”
“You’re supposed to work tomorrow,” Mom said.
Denny flashed her a smile. “I’m hoping the boss will let me off.”
“What are you going to do in Key West?” Dad asked.
Steven said, “Drive responsibly, be helpful toward the elderly, and avoid underage drinking.”
Dad rolled his eyes. “Or are you going down to dig around in this case? You know what I’ve told you about leaving the police work to the police.”
“Not that it seems to sink in,” Mom observed.
“You tell us that all the time, but then we catch the bad guys and everything turns out well,” Steven said.
“True,” Dad said. “Where will you stay?”
Denny poured orange juice for himself. “Sensei Mike will let us sleep in the dojo.”
Mom wrinkled her nose. “That hard floor.”
“Good for the spine,” Steven said.
Dad said, “I suppose it’s okay. Remember, Mom and I are going up to Tallahassee next week for that state conference. Get your wild oats in now. But promise you’ll stay out of trouble.”
“Promise.”
“Double promise.”
“And one more thing,” Dad said.
“Yes, Dad?” they asked in unison.
Dad held out his plate. “More French toast, please.”
*
The road to Key West was a straight shot across the Seven Mile Bridge and down the Overseas Highway. They had driven it enough times to do it blindfolded, but every small town had a stoplight or two, and every bridge required a drop in the speed limit, and an afternoon squall drenched the two-lane road. They drank soda and argued over the radio station for two hours.
“Tell me why we’re really on this road trip,” Steven finally said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.
Denny wasn’t about to admit anything about Brian Vandermark. “To celebrate. Nothing else.”
“You’re hiding something.”
“Says you. You’ve been hiding something since that freak-out at graduation.”
“I didn’t freak out. It was claustrophobia.”
“You better get over that before BUD/S.”
Steven didn’t answer.
Denny swiveled in the passenger seat and said, “That’s it. You’re freaking out about BUD/S!”
“Keep saying I’m freaking out and you can walk the rest of the way,” Steven threatened.
Denny smirked. “I’m totally right.”
“You’re totally a moron.”
By the time they reached Key West the rain had tapered off, but traffic was slow because of waterlogged roads. New Town was Denny’s least favorite part of the island—concrete and strip malls, cheap motels, and liquor stores. They followed a tourist trolley for a half mile, then got stuck behind a tour bus. The sun came out and made the pavements sizzle.