Firefly Island

by Lisa Wingate

  “Why do you want to know?” With Corbin, there was no such thing as an idle question.

  “I just need to, okay? I think she’s my neighbor, but she doesn’t go by Alex Beck anymore. I’m trying to figure out why.”

  “Your neighbor … Al? The cowboy-woman?” Corbin choked. “The one with the goats? Trudy sent Carol your blog about milking goats with her. Did you, really …”

  I’d forgotten how well the family telegraph worked in the Hale clan. “Hey, Corb, I’m kind of in a hurry, you know?”

  “Okay, hang on. I can probably find out some information for you.” I heard his computer keyboard clicking. “This have anything to do with the whole Firefly Island thing?”

  “I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I just want to know why she’d be here in Moses Lake, going by another name, living such a … different kind of life. And why she’s been so interested in spending time with me here on the ranch. I mean, I kind of remember Alex Beck on TV. She was this rabid reporter, chewing up whoever she had on her show to interview. That doesn’t seem anything like the Al I know, but when I mentioned the name to her, she didn’t deny it.”

  “Whoa,” Corbin breathed, and the note of gravity in his voice concerned me.

  “But don’t say anything to anyone, okay? Don’t go making your next big story out of it, or anything.”

  “No, I mean, whoa.” Corbin’s voice lowered ominously on the last word, the sound almost grief-stricken. “I’d forgotten all about this. No wonder she dropped out of sight and doesn’t want to be recognized. I’m sending the article to your phone.”

  “Corb, just tell me. I don’t have time for all the cloak-and-dagger stuff, all right?”

  “Man, yeah,” he breathed. “I was back in school getting my master’s then. It was during the House impeachment proceedings against that district judge from Colorado. Don’t know if you remember that. You were probably still pretty young. A federal judge had been handing out some pretty favorable rulings benefitting oil and gas companies that were big contributors to members of the House Energy Committee. There was a lot of supposition that some powerful names might come out if the indictment was handed down and the thing went to trial in the senate. Alex Beck was on that case like a dog on a bone. I mean, she was all over it. My journalism professor loved her. Your dad absolutely hated that she was getting so much coverage, digging into the background on the judge and his friends. Anyway, she was covering the proceedings that summer, just back from maternity leave, and—I don’t know, I think the nanny quit or something—but Alex Beck forgot to stop off at day care, and it was ninety degrees the last morning of the thing. Her baby was found dead in her car four hours later by a city policeman. It was all over the news, and of course she had plenty of enemies, so the DA came after her full force.”

  An icy, horrible chill walked up my arms, a recollection. “Ohhh … I remember that now—not the name, but I remember them finding the baby and all the footage on the news. My mom was so sick about the whole thing, she wouldn’t even let us talk about it. Maddie was just tiny then, and after that story, Mom was scared to death that you or Carol would forget her in the car when you went somewhere, remember?”

  “Yes, I remember,” Corbin admitted. “When I saw that story on TV, I just sat there thinking that could’ve been Maddie. I had my mind on a million other things every day—work, school, my next story. I never put Maddie in the car again without looping a little hair ribbon right there on the door handle so I’d be reminded. Anyway, if your neighbor is Alex Beck, I don’t blame her for wanting to leave all that behind. Her trial was a media circus that eclipsed anything happening in Congress—I’m sure that was their hope when they pushed the DA to bring it to trial. She was a pariah. People were standing outside every day, carrying signs, yelling at her, calling her a baby killer and that kind of thing. It was eventually ruled accidental, but what does it matter when your baby’s dead, you know?”

  A length of chain twisted tight in my belly, cold and unyielding. “Yeah.” I felt sick. I wanted to throw up.

  I wanted to call Al and take everything back. I shouldn’t have opened my mouth until I knew what I might be cracking into.

  “It makes sense that she decided to drop out of sight and become someone else. Really.” Corbin’s voice was a faint hum on the edge of my thoughts.

  “I’d better go.” I breathed in, breathed out. I wouldn’t blame Al if she never spoke to me again. No wonder her reaction was so swift and cutting when I brought up her past. She didn’t want any reminders, and now I was one.

  “I mean it about calling me,” Corbin reminded. “And about being careful. You don’t know what you might be dealing with. I could fly down there tonight, Mal… .”

  “I’ll be okay.” The last thing I wanted was to involve the family in this strange mess. I’d never forgive myself if I put Corbin in any danger. Aside from that, if Carol found out that Corbin knew something was amiss here and he hadn’t alerted her, she’d have a hissy that would only be surpassed by the one my mom would throw when she discovered it. I had to sort this out myself.

  I hung up the phone, considered dialing Al’s number, then lost my courage. Instead, I took Daniel’s key ring from the desk drawer and went to the lab to get the keys for the cabin and the causeway gate. The security system was easy enough to manage—I’d learned the pass code during my visits there with Daniel—and the rack inside the lab door was right where I remembered it, dozens of keys to padlocks and farm equipment all hanging on a meticulously labeled pegboard.

  I ran my finger along the rows, scanning the labels.

  Firefly Cabin. Check.

  Causeway Gate …

  Missing.

  Who had taken it, and when? Jack’s strict rule was that master keys were to be kept in the lab. According to Chrissy, he’d almost fired Tag for keeping a master key in his truck overnight.

  Was Mason hiding the key so that no one could surprise him on the island, or was someone else on the ranch planning to see what was happening on Firefly?

  My cell phone rang, and I jerked as the sound echoed through the office, rebounding off the locked metal door that led to the lab. Somewhere beyond the door, a piece of machinery clicked on and hummed.

  Chrissy was on the phone, asking if Nick could spend the night. “My little nephew’s here, and Nick and him are havin’ such a blast together. McKenna’s playing little mommy. Now they all want to build a tent in the living room and then later they want to watch a movie. Tag can bring him back to you on his way out to feed the cows in the mornin’.”

  Normally I would have been hesitant to let Nick spend the night away, but this time I quickly agreed. Nick was better off somewhere else this evening, and Chrissy might be annoying, but she kept an eagle eye on McKenna.

  I considered asking her if she knew who might have the causeway key, but then I decided against it. Nothing Chrissy heard remained secret for long.

  We said good-bye, and I thought again about Al. With no causeway key, a boat was the only way to get to the island. Al would know how to make that happen. I needed her now more than ever.

  My courage swelled and flagged as I left the ranch and drove the road to Al’s place. Dust billowed in my wake and swirled on the winds of a storm worsening over Chinquapin Peaks, propelling me down Al’s driveway in the deepening twilight. Within a few hours, it would be raining. Moses Lake was predictable, in its own way. I’d learned to understand it. The worst weather always came over Chinquapin Peaks, the storms dropping torrents of water as they traversed the hills, then settling into gentle rain on the lake, and finally whipping over the ranch, blowing through the flatlands and pastures in wild gusts.

  If I didn’t get to Firefly Island in the next couple hours, it wouldn’t happen tonight, and maybe not for a day or two. When a storm stretched over the whole of Chinquapin Peaks, it usually stayed awhile.

  My heart was in my throat as I slipped through the yard gate to Al’s house. A baby goat hobbling on a splin
ted leg trotted from behind a bush and bleated at me. It nibbled on my pants as I made my way to the front door, knocked, then stood there with a lump in my chest and heat burning over my skin. Inside the house, the television was playing loud, but no one came to the door. I knocked again. The goat butted my knee insistently. I scratched its head, waited. Nothing.

  Was she ignoring me or was the house empty? All the lights were on. Al wasn’t the type to leave things running when she wasn’t home. She was always lecturing me about the environmental load of every kilowatt of electricity, the number of years it would take to biodegrade a Styrofoam take-out container, the potentially harmful chemicals in shampoo. She’d already pointed out that I needed to buy BPA-free baby bottles when the baby came along.

  If I’d even taken a minute to think about those conversations and everything else Al had done for me, I would have realized that she had offered me something precious. She’d extended friendship in every possible way, but when I’d had the chance to do the one thing a friend should do, I’d failed miserably. Instead of thinking the best of Al, I’d cast a net of suspicion. I’d thought the absolute worst.

  I’d made everything about me, about defending myself, about making sure that, if Al had befriended me as a way of getting to Jack’s secrets, I came out on top. Success and protecting my own interests were all I could see.

  It hadn’t even occurred to me to believe that Al might have reasons for keeping her secret. That even Al might have fears and wounds beneath the hardened, weathered exterior.

  “What the devil are you doing on my porch?”

  Her question spun me around. My feet tangled with the goat’s, and it stumbled off the porch, bleating in protest and hobbling on its splinted leg.

  I came down the steps with my hands held out, whether to help the goat or plead with Al, I wasn’t sure. “Al, listen. I’m really sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know that … I didn’t realize why …” There were no right words to say. The lines I’d practiced on the way over seemed insufficient now. “I was wrong. I was so incredibly wrong. I shouldn’t have said what I did. I shouldn’t have even thought it. Working in politics, you get so used to being suspicious, to looking at everyone’s motives. I don’t want to be like that. I don’t. You’ve been a good friend to me, and I needed a friend. You’ve kept me alive out here.” I swept a hand to the wild, empty, beautiful expanse of land around us. Home, now. “I don’t know what I would have done without you, and I shouldn’t have assumed …”

  “Assumed what?” Her cheeks hollowed inward, her jaw jutting toward me. “That you knew what my motives were? Well, maybe you were right. You ever think of that? Maybe you were dead on. Maybe, when I moved here all those years ago and realized I had an accused murderer living next to my grandparents’ old place, I wasn’t one bit happy about it. Maybe if I could get rid of Jack West on my fence line, I’d use you or anyone else to do it.” Loose whips of salt-and-pepper hair slashed across her face, and she brushed them away impatiently, her jaw taut. “You hit it right on the head, Mallory. Congratulations. Now get off my porch and get off my place.”

  Despite the words, I knew the truth. Beyond the hard look, there was pain. Incredible, searing torment, brokenness I would never truly be able to understand. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose Nick, to have to go through the rest of my life without him, knowing I’d caused it, knowing I would continue to live in this world while he wouldn’t. To be prosecuted, tried in the court of public opinion. To lose everything, everyone. To end up hiding away for years, trying to escape the past.

  “Al, I’m sorry,” I tried again. “I shouldn’t have said those things. I understand if you don’t want to talk about it. We don’t have to. Ever. I mean, I’m here as a friend if you ever want to talk, but I understand if …”

  “No, you don’t, Mallory. You don’t understand a thing.” Her laugh snaked into the wind, sharp-edged and icy, out of place with the summer heat still radiating off the ground as the day dimmed. Lightning flashed so far away that the thunder was inaudible. “I took a chance on you.” The truth was coming now, closer to the surface.

  “I know that. I didn’t handle it well. That’s my fault. It’s one of those things I need to work on. I see my own point of view, and most of the time I don’t look for anyone else’s. What I said to you—I was way out of line. I was wrong.”

  Al angled her face away, regarded me from the corner of her eye. “I just agreed with you. You had it all right, Mallory. Congratulations. You’re smarter than you think you are. I’m after your boss. Why don’t you run along now and tell him that?” She fanned me away as if I were the goat, nibbling on her bootlaces.

  One thing was obvious. The rift between us wouldn’t be mended today, and maybe never. Overhead, the security light clicked on. While we were standing here arguing, time was slipping away. “All right, well, if that’s true, then there’s something you’ll want to know.” If I couldn’t get Al to go to Firefly Island with me one way, I’d try another.

  “If it comes from you, I don’t want anything to do with it.” She opened the yard gate to let me out, then she caught the goat, sweeping it under one arm as it tried to make a quick exit. “In fact, if you’re involved in any way, I’m not.”

  I steeled myself and plunged in. The question now was, did Al’s dislike for Mason West outweigh her anger toward me? “You’ll want to be involved in this. Mason West is up to something big. He’s been holding secret meetings the whole time he’s been in Moses Lake. I’m going to figure out why he’s really here, before he can get away with it. I’m going to Firefly Island. Tonight.”

  There is, one knows not what sweet mystery about this sea, whose gently awful stirrings seem to speak of some hidden soul beneath.

  —Herman Melville

  (Left by R. L. Jakes, writing a screenplay about the lake.)

  Chapter 24

  The storms were moving closer. Thunderheads boiled over Chinquapin Peaks, rising and churning, blotting out a heavy half moon that seemed to belong to a quieter, gentler night. Beneath the dock, Moses Lake frothed and churned, clawing at the wooden pillars and the rocky shore. The summer night had turned unusually cool, the air smelling of the coming storm, windy one moment, then silent the next, seeming to pause and wait, breathless.

  “Is it them?” I whispered, pulling the dark sweat shirt closer around my middle, feeling vulnerable and conspicuous as Al and I slipped from the cedars and moved along the swaying dock. Aged and abandoned, it listed in the water, the plastic barrels sinking lower beneath our weight.

  “Not likely anybody else would be out tonight.” Al’s answer was flat and short, letting me know that, even if we were partners in this strange mission, we were no longer friends. She pulled out a light and flashed it on the water twice, and the boat flashed twice in reply. The whole thing would’ve seemed comically cloak-and-dagger if I weren’t so nervous. With the causeway locked, I didn’t know how I’d explain our presence on Firefly Island if we got caught.

  We’d just have to make sure that we didn’t.

  The boat drifted to the dock, the motor idling softly. A sound, something like an owl hooting, skimmed over the water.

  “Nester, cut that out,” a gravelly voice replied.

  Laughter stole into my throat, and I snort-chuckled nervously against my hand. Of all the people Al might have arranged to get us to the island, Burt Lacey and Nester Grimland seemed like an unlikely choice, but Al had pointed out that, due to the low water levels this summer, there were obstacles close to the surface, especially on the side of Firefly Island opposite the bay where the houseboat had been anchored. The Docksiders knew this lake, every inch of it. They could get us there and back safely, even with the weather turning ominous.

  I was learning, once again, the most important lesson that my time in Moses Lake had taught me: You can’t always handle everything by yourself. Sometimes … oftentimes … you have to rely on other people. To survive, really survive well, you have to b
e willing to accept help and to give it. It was a hard lesson to internalize. I’d been fighting all my life to prove I could do it—whatever it was—all by myself. Without my parents holding my hand or my big sisters telling me how.

  But pride doesn’t go very far when you need to get across the water in the dark, and you don’t have a boat.

  Nester and Burt’s rig, a small aluminum fishing craft just large enough for four people, pulled up to the dock. Nester shifted fishing equipment and life preservers aside to make room, and Al and I climbed onboard.

  “Y’all just settle in there on the bench by the live well,” Nester instructed, his hat brim hiding all but his gray handlebar mustache and chin. “Put them life jackets on. The storm’s comin’ in quicker than we thought. We coulda brought Burt’s big boat, but it’s loud. With this little thing, we can troll in and outta there, and them fellas holed up on that houseboat won’t hear a thing.”

  “They’re still anchored there?” I was hoping the storm might have sent Mason’s associates elsewhere to anchor their houseboat.

  “Looked like it. We went by the other side of the island on our way here—made like we were night fishin’. Houseboat was there, and the lights were burnin’ below deck. Little skiff was tied up behind the boat, so they aren’t on the island tonight.”

  “Good.” I buckled my vest and pulled it tight. If Daniel could see me right now, he’d kill me. When I’d called the hospital to tell him I planned to go to Firefly tonight, I hadn’t exactly mentioned that the causeway key was missing. If Daniel knew, he’d be back at the ranch inside a half hour, trying to stop me from going. I needed for him to stay at the hospital, and to make sure that Mason stayed there, too.

  I could still hear Daniel protesting my plan. “This is crazy, Mal. It sounds like something out of Nancy Drew. And you’re pregnant, remember?” I knew he would say that—as if being pregnant rendered me incapable and incompetent. He sighed into the phone then. “Listen, Mal, I’m sorry for the fight earlier. When I told you to go home to DC for a little while, I was just … thinking of you and the baby and Nick. It’s not that I want you all leaving without me, but if I keep up the pressure on Mason, I can get him to crack. He’s worried about me, and the closer Jack comes to regaining consciousness, the jumpier Mason gets. Give me some more time.”