Mystery of the Tempest

by Sam Cameron

  “I don’t want to go to St. Thomas,” he said slowly, as if that might help her understand. “I’m staying here.”

  “You can’t. We’re closing the house up. There won’t be any power or water.”

  “I’ll rent a place.”

  “Don’t be silly. That’s all I have to say about it. Please don’t argue any more. Now’s just not the time.”

  Despite the fact Brian wasn’t done with his food, she started clearing the table.

  He retreated to his room and texted Denny, who called him back ten minutes later.

  “So my mom’s gotten totally paranoid,” Brian said. “She wants us to go to St. Thomas on Thursday.”

  “It’s not paranoia if someone’s really out to get you.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “So am I.” Denny was silent for a moment. From the background came a strange flapping noise.

  Brian asked, “Where are you?”

  “On my boat.”

  “Where’s your boat?”

  “Heading toward Whale Island.”

  “Looking for Tom Sawyer’s cave?”

  “What? No. I needed to get out.”

  “Come get me,” Brian suggested. “I could use some fresh air.”

  Mom was on her exercise bike in the den, pedaling furiously in front of a TV screen showing a mountain trail. Brian left her a note and went outside in the humid evening to the dock. Denny’s sailboat was already drawing near. He brought it in close enough for Brian to step over.

  “Hey,” Brian said.

  “Welcome aboard,” Denny replied. He was wearing a dark green shirt and khaki shorts, loose and weatherworn. A bruise marked his chin.

  Brian asked, “How’s your jaw? I can’t believe someone hit you.”

  “He’s lucky I didn’t hit him back a lot harder.”

  “This is your boat, huh?”

  “It’s actually my dad’s. I grew up learning to sail it. Anywhere special you want to go?”

  Brian took in a deep breath of the salty air. “Wherever you want to go.”

  Denny steered them toward Whale Island. He was due for a haircut and the tips of curls blew back slightly from his forehead. His eyes were unreadable behind sunglasses and Brian wanted to reach over, slide them away.

  “How’s Douchebag?” Denny asked.

  “He’s bored and wants visitors. Want to go visit with me tomorrow?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  Brian thought about it and shook his head. “You’d probably drive up Christopher’s blood pressure just by being there.”

  Denny steered them away from land and northward along the coast. Brian liked watching his easy confidence, his suntanned face. He caught himself staring and forced his gaze away, determined not to make Denny uneasy.

  “Some stuff happened today with your case,” Denny said, and told him about finding the keys, discovering the portable hard drive, and figuring out the names from Shakespeare’s play.

  “The last owners of The Tempest were from Denmark,” Denny added. “I don’t know how that adds in.”

  “We’d need to ask Prince Hamlet. The Tempest was set near Italy,” Brian said. “I don’t know any Italians.”

  “Me, neither.”

  The sun was on the other side of the sky, below Fisher Key’s treetops as it sank into the Gulf. The clouds over their heads reflected pink and gold. Brian would miss the tropical sunsets when he was gone. Boston had a lot of great things going for it, but not sunsets.

  And no Denny Anderson either. Who was currently nudging Brian’s foot.

  “Huh?” Brian asked.

  “You zoned out on me.”

  “I’m enjoying the peace and quiet and the company.”

  Denny adjusted the sail and looked away.

  Brian watched the waves moving by underneath them and the birds flapping over their heads toward land. He didn’t want there to be awkwardness between them. He started to babble to fill the silence.

  “I told you I knew by fifth grade that I was gay,” Brian said. “But I didn’t tell anyone until a lot later. I couldn’t. Once you say it you can’t take it back. It’s like a nuclear explosion. There’s a flash and heat and then fallout for years. I was sure I’d tell the wrong person and they’d blab it all over school. Maybe everyone could tell anyway, but I walked around keeping it inside. Me and my secret in the halls of Jefferson Junior High.”

  “Eventually you told someone,” Denny said, sounding distant.

  “I went to a private high school. Governor Winthrop Academy. Big campus. Old ivy. The third day of school, I’m lost between buildings and can’t find my next class. I’m sure that everyone can see what a dork I am and that I’m going to fail out miserably. This other freshman comes up to me with his tie undone and jacket all crooked. He says, ‘I hereby appoint you a charter member of the Gay Club I’m starting.’ That was Christopher.”

  Adjusting the tiller, Denny said, “So you didn’t have to tell him. He figured it out.”

  “He claims to have excellent gaydar.”

  “Do you have excellent gaydar?”

  “Nope. Sometimes I need to be hit by the clue bus. You?”

  Denny shrugged.

  “I had to tell my grandparents. They didn’t believe me.”

  Denny snorted. “They thought you were wrong?”

  “They thought I was confused. Grandma eventually came around. Grandpa still doesn’t believe it. But being gay wasn’t something I could hide forever anyway, so I’m glad it’s out there.”

  Denny was quiet. Brian figured he’d pushed hard enough. You shouldn’t make someone else come out. They had to find their own way to do it, on their own schedule. But that didn’t stop him from wanting to kiss Denny right there, to lick the salt from his lips and throat.

  The weather was perfect for sailing, with a good breeze and calm sea. Brian didn’t know how to sail, which Denny told him was pretty tragic. He taught Brian how to tack and follow the navigation buoys near the marina. Brian began to get cold, but he didn’t want any of it to end—the wind and water, Denny so handsome, the two of them on a sturdy boat far from land.

  “Uh oh,” Denny said.

  Brian followed his gaze to a spinning red light on land. A police car was parked outside of his house, and rectangular white light spilled out of the open front door.

  “Mom!” Brian exclaimed.

  As soon as they reached the dock he leapt over and sprinted toward the house. Denny called out, “Wait for me!” but Brian couldn’t. When he reached the house he found Mom standing in the kitchen with Officer Lyle Horne taking notes beside her. Mom was crying again.

  “But he wouldn’t just leave—” she was saying.

  “Mom! What’s going on?”

  “Oh, Brian!” She flung herself on him despite his broken arm. “You’re okay!”

  “Of course I’m okay,” he said, grimacing as the sling shifted and pain raced up into his shoulder. “I went out. I left you a note.”

  She wiped her face. “I wasn’t sure it was real.”

  Denny had arrived and was standing behind Brian. He said, “Maybe you don’t need the police anymore, Mrs. Vandermark.”

  Lyle shot Denny a dark look.

  “Thank you, Officer,” she said to Lyle. “I appreciate your hard work.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said.

  Lyle let himself out. Brian said, “I can’t believe you called the police. I’m eighteen. I went out.”

  “You don’t know everything I’m dealing with,” Mom said.

  “Mrs. Vandermark, is there anything we can help you with? My dad’s really good at his job. He can be here in ten minutes if there’s something you want to tell him.”

  Brian wondered what Denny meant. Mom just dabbed at her eyes and wouldn’t look at him directly.

  “I’m fine, Denny. We’re all fine. Thank you, though. I appreciate it.”

  Brian pulled her close to his uninjured side. “Thanks for the boat ride. I’ll tal
k to you tomorrow, okay?”

  “Sure,” Denny said. “Good night, Mrs. Vandermark.”

  Brian wanted to walk him to the door. Thank him again. Look at him one more time before he went out into the night.

  Instead he stood and comforted his mother as she cried against his shoulder.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  When Denny reached home, Steven and Kelsey were swimming in the lagoon under the stars. Kelsey was wearing her bathing suit and Steven had on his jean shorts. They laughed and splashed at each other as Denny tied up the boat.

  “Come on in, Denny, the water’s fine,” Kelsey said.

  “Moonlight skinny dipping?” Denny asked.

  “Not enough moon,” Steven replied, kissing Kelsey’s neck, “But I could totally get into the skinny dipping part.”

  She laughed. “I bet you could.”

  Denny tried not to wish he and Brian were the ones slipping and sliding over each other in the water. Self-discipline really sucked.

  “I just came from the Vandermarks,” he said. “They’re leaving town on Thursday. Going to St. Thomas.”

  Kelsey hooked one arm around Steven’s neck. “Oh! I love the Virgin Islands.”

  Did she have to say virgin?

  “I think I need some ice cream,” Denny said and headed for the house.

  Mom was packing for the trip to Tallahassee. “What do you think, this dress or this one?” she asked Denny. She held up two equally flamboyant dresses that made her look like tropical birds.

  “You never ask Steven for fashion advice,” he said.

  “Have you seen what he wears?”

  Steven and Kelsey came up from the lagoon, lured by the idea of ice cream. There actually wasn’t much in the freezer so Steven said, “Let’s go to the Dreamette. Come on, Denny.”

  He didn’t want to be a third wheel, but the idea of soft-serve chocolate with caramel was too tempting. Besides, it was better to go out than mope at home over his total inability to ever kiss Brian Vandermark.

  Besides, he liked Kelsey. She was smart and funny, even if she had beaten him for valedictorian by the tiniest fraction of a grade.

  It wasn’t her fault that his love life was non-existent, but did she have to keep touching Steven?

  The Dreamette was a concrete building at the end of the island, near the bridge that spanned over to Pirate’s Key. Music spilled out of the parking lot speakers, and picnic tables filled the grassy lot near the cars. They ran into lots of kids from school there, including Sean and Robin. Robin hadn’t seen the bruise darkening on Denny’s jaw.

  “You want me to beat up whoever did it?” she asked.

  “Stand in line,” Steven said.

  Jennifer O’Malley was there, too, in her red Corvette. When Denny came out of the bathroom she was waiting for him.

  She threw her arms around his neck and planted a big sloppy kiss on his mouth.

  “I had a great time yesterday,” she murmured.

  He tried not to show how grossed out he was. “I’m not Steven.”

  “Oh!” Jennifer stepped back. “I couldn’t tell.”

  “Now you can.”

  She walked away without answering.

  Later, after they dropped Kelsey off at her house, Denny turned and punched Steven in the arm.

  “Hey!” Steven yelped. “What was that for?”

  “What did you do with Jennifer yesterday?”

  Steven turned his attention back to the dark road. Lamp posts were infrequent on this side of the island. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “She told me.”

  “She wouldn’t.”

  “She thought I was you.”

  “And now I’m insulted.”

  “You slept with her while you’re still seeing Kelsey!”

  “It was an accident!”

  “How do you accidentally sleep with someone?”

  Steven braked as they reached the Overseas Highway. “Because it just happened.”

  “Oh, it just happened,” Denny mocked. “Officer, I didn’t mean to rob that bank. It just happened.”

  “She tortured me all day with her tiny bikini and big breasts,” Steven said. “You don’t know what that’s like.”

  “No, how would I know, I’m just the idiot who can’t even kiss a guy. So not fair!”

  “I thought this was about Jennifer and me.”

  “It is!” Denny exclaimed and then looked past Steven into the parking lot of the Li’l Conch Cafe. “Oh.”

  “What is it?” Steven asked.

  Denny nodded. Nathan Carter and Agent Garcia were standing at the corner of the building, next to a white Ford that was probably Garcia’s.

  “They must be getting back together,” Denny said.

  “You don’t know that.”

  Carter and Garcia were both dressed casually, in long pants and short-sleeved shirts. Carter was a little taller than Garcia, Garcia a little wider in the shoulders. They made a good-looking couple, Denny thought morosely.

  “Drive,” he told Steven.

  “Don’t you want to see them kiss?”

  “I want to hold you underwater until you drown. Drive.”

  Steven turned onto the highway.

  Despite himself, Denny turned to watch through the back window. They were standing awfully close to each other, but they didn’t kiss.

  He forced himself to stop watching. “Did you ask Carter about the waiver?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not interested.”

  “That’s the biggest, fattest lie you’ve ever told,” Denny said.

  “Really?” Steven perked up. “You think?”

  “You don’t get an award.”

  “I should get something,” Steven said.

  “Karma’s on its way,” Denny promised.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Nathan Carter was sitting on the deck of the Idle with pieces of a bilge pump spread on the newspaper in front of him.

  “You’re up early,” Carter said. “Get an eyeful last night?”

  Steven had rolled out of bed at dawn, run five miles up and down the Overseas Highway, and was now dripping sweat and guzzling water on the dock beside Carter’s boat. He’d told himself he wasn’t going to come by, but here he was.

  “I don’t care about your love life,” Steven said. “Kind of a coincidence, though. Him being the FBI agent assigned to the case.”

  “Not a coincidence. I called in a favor. The FBI was coming anyway, but I wanted someone who was good at his job.”

  Steven walked back and forth, keeping his muscles warm. The planks creaked under his feet. “You told my brother there was a way to get a waiver. For someone who failed the color test.”

  “I served with someone who did.”

  “But what if he had to tell some colors apart on a map or a machine?”

  Carter wiped grease off his hands. “His vision was fine. Drop him in the middle of the Amazon, he could tell you a hundred different shades of green. The military test didn’t work for him.”

  Steven tried not to feel hope.

  “If you want it, don’t let one test and one doctor stop you,” Carter said. “Raise hell until your dying breath.”

  Steven drank more water.

  Carter picked up a wrench. “Or maybe your heart’s not really in it.”

  “Bullshit. I’ve been getting ready for years.”

  “Yeah? How many push-ups can you do right now?”

  “A hundred good ones.”

  “Prove it.”

  Steven dropped down and powered through his push-ups. The only sounds were the seagulls, his own breathing, and the occasional clink of metal as Carter kept working on the pump. The muscles in his arms and shoulders began to ache, then burn, then scream out a protest, but he wasn’t kidding. He’d been practicing long before Nathan Carter ever showed up on Fisher Key.

  He didn’t expect Carter to applaud him when he was done, but did he have to
look so bored?

  “What about sit-ups?” Carter asked.

  Steven did a hundred sit-ups. Sweat blinded his eyes and his abs protested the abuse but he powered through.

  “How fast can you run?” Carter asked when Steven had finished.

  “I can do the Seven Mile Bridge run in forty minutes.”

  Carter allowed, “It’s a start.”

  “A start! It’s better than that.”

  “Your form’s sloppy,” Carter said, unfazed by Steven’s indignation. “A good drill instructor would throw out at least twenty of those push-ups. You can run, but how fast is your mile when you’ve got boots on and fifty pounds in your backpack? I haven’t even seen your pull-ups or swimming.”

  “You’re full of it,” Steven said, which maybe wasn’t the most respectful thing to say to a guy who could kill him with his little finger.

  “Maybe. Only one way to find out for sure.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Get into BUD/S and pass the tests.”

  Steven pulled himself to his feet. “First I need that waiver.”

  Carter examined a piece of the pump. “Come back in a month, and if you can pass the PT test—my version of it—I’ll recommend your waiver to some people I know. They can help.”

  “I don’t need a month. I’ll be back in two weeks.”

  Carter snickered. “Hotshot.”

  Although it hadn’t rung, Carter picked up his cell phone. “Yeah, Carter here.”

  A woman’s fast, high voice blasted out of the phone loud enough for Steven to hear it on the dock—no exact words, but someone sure sounded upset.

  Carter said, “Okay, calm down. I’ll be right over.”

  He hung up. “Gotta go, kid. Why don’t you run on home and practice those push-ups?”

  Steven promised, “I’ll see you in two weeks.”

  *

  Denny made French toast for breakfast. Mom was rushing around, stuffing last-minute items into her suitcase. Dad sat at the kitchen table looking calm and firm.

  “I mean it,” he repeated to Denny.

  “But the FBI’s just going to mess it up,” he complained. “You never trust them.”