by A W Hartoin
“What is it about August?”
Aaron shrugged and went into the kitchen. Even Aaron wasn’t talking and he had chronic diarrhea of the mouth. Usually, I couldn’t shut him up. But it was something about August. I walked back to the dive shop and went through every August in memory. Other than the year of sitting in the cemetery, I couldn’t think of anything that happened in August.
The Gmucas were already in the shop, making out in a corner. Everyone else filtered in after me. Colin kept trying to stand close to me and Joe and Andrew were annoyed with him. Mom was last and came in with her worried face. We loaded up our gear into the golf carts and got to take one of the resort boats out to Turtle Crossing. We had to sit on the edge of the boat and fall off backwards. Mauro straight up laughed at me as I waddled over in my penguin suit, the last one to go in. Everyone else was bobbing around like corks, waiting for me. I sat on the edge and was about to put my regulator in my mouth when Mauro stopped me.
“You’re worried about Lucia,” he said in that fabulous accent that I couldn’t quite place.
I bit my lip, not sure how much to say. I might come off like some conspiracy theory nut.
“She did get clearance from her doctor to be certified,” he said.
“I know,” I said.
“Is there something else?” His eyes were so brown and he smelled like Hawaiian Tropic.
Focus.
“Yes,” I said.
“You won’t tell me?”
“I have nothing concrete. Just stay close to her. Okay?”
“You have me worried. Scuba can be a dangerous sport.”
“That’s why I’m worried.” I put the reg in my mouth, but found I couldn’t make myself fall backwards. It’s so unnatural, falling backwards on purpose. Mauro shook his head and pushed my forehead with his finger and there I went. Under the water in a rush and then right back up again. Awesome.
Mauro came in and one by one we went down the guide rope to the bottom, forty feet down. Ten minutes later we were all exploring an open sandy area surrounded by high coral walls. It was breathtaking in its grandeur. I felt like I was outside myself on another planet. There was a whole world down there. One that was totally unconcerned about us. Mauro led us through our lessons, basically the same stuff we’d done in the morning. We all succeeded and then we fanned out to explore. I followed Lucia and Graeme around the perimeter. Discreetly, I hope. Mauro stayed close, but he had a lot of us to watch.
A school of little box-shaped fish went under me and I hovered around a clump of sea anemones and coral, watching them feed on lacy fan coral. Dixie swam up and pointed. It took me a second, but I finally saw something odd moving slowly along the ocean floor. It was bulbous and opalescent with narrow fins lining the side of its body. Oh, a squid. I looked back to signal to Lucia. She was thrashing around and making a slashing motion across her throat. Her primary reg was floating free in the water beside her. No air. I darted towards her, but Mauro shot past me. He took her spare reg out of her mouth, put in his spare, and cleared it. I came up beside them and watched Lucia’s sides heave. Her brown eyes were huge and focused on Mauro. He gave her the okay sign and she gave it back. Then he pointed at me and gave me a thumbs up. Go to the surface. I okayed back.
Graeme swam up and wanted to know what happened. Mauro indicated a problem with Lucia’s tank. Lucia gave him the okay sign and he relaxed. Mauro told him to stay down and we slowly ascended. My ears were not loving it. They creaked and popped painfully, despite our slowness.
We surfaced five feet from the boat, blew up our BCD vests, and removed our regs.
“Are you okay?” I asked Lucia.
“I think so.” That’s what she said, but she was still huffing and puffing.
“Slow down. Mauro had you. You were never in any danger.”
She nodded, her eyes darted around.
“Look at me,” I said. “You’re not having an attack. This is just panic.”
Lucia focused on me.
“Blow out a breath with pursed lips.” I demonstrated and she imitated me. Her face relaxed into its normal soft lines. “Better?”
“Yes. Does this mean I fail?” she asked Mauro.
He laughed. “No. Equipment failures are not your fault. You did exactly what I want. Spare reg and then signal. Perfection.”
She smiled. “Oh, good. Graeme would be so disappointed.”
Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?
We swam over to the boat and the captain, Alex, helped Lucia on board.
Mauro asked me, “Will you stay with her? I must go down.”
“Sure,” I said.
“Is this what you were worried about, Mercy?”
“I didn’t know it at the time, but yes.”
“We must talk.” Mauro went under and Alex helped me on the boat.
Lucia sat on a side bench and wiggled until her tank dropped in the storage hole. I waddled over and sat opposite her, dropped my tank, and took off my vest. Alex helped Lucia off with her vest and disconnected her regs. She stretched and went up to the prow to her beach bag. Alex tested both Lucia’s regs, his forehead creased. Then he connected a fresh set of regs and tested each one.
“Tank’s good?” I asked.
“Yes. It is problem with regs,” said Alex in his heavy Honduran accent.
“Both regs were bad?”
“Yes.” He rubbed the graying stubble on his chin.
“How often does that happen?” I glanced toward Lucia. She was digging around in her bag and not paying attention.
“Never.” More stubble scratching.
“Did you hear what Mauro and I were talking about before I went in?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see anyone messing with Lucia’s equipment?”
“No one touched it.”
Lucia called over. “Well, it’s a good thing I didn’t have an attack.”
“Why’s that?” I asked.
“I forgot my inhaler.” She paused and rooted around again. “And my wallet. I don’t know where my head is.”
“Seriously?” I glanced at Alex and he raised an eyebrow at me.
“I could’ve sworn I put them in here, but I must’ve left it in the room,” she said. “Do you want some chocolate?”
Lucia, Alex, and I shared a Bissinger’s milk chocolate bar. Lucia chatted away how crazy it was that both her regs failed while Alex and I nodded. I wasn’t sure what to say. Hey, Lucia, maybe somebody’s trying to kill you. The missing inhaler didn’t make things any better. I leaned on the edge of the boat. It would be so easy to get the inhaler out of her bag and drop it over the side, never to be seen again. We were all so busy getting our equipment squared away, the whole bag could’ve been tossed over and no one would’ve been the wiser.
Twenty minutes later, everyone surfaced and got in the boat. There was little discussion about Lucia’s regs. She was fine and everyone seemed to accept the failures as the price of doing business, everyone except me, Alex, and Mauro. Mostly the talk was of the five sea turtles everyone saw. Lucia apologized to me a thousand times for making me miss it. I couldn’t have cared less. If someone was really trying to kill the niece of Calpurnia Fibonacci it was bad. Very bad.
Back at the dive shop, the manager, a grizzled old diver that went by the name of Spitball, took apart Lucia’s regs. It was just Spitball, Mauro, and me in the equipment room standing over a small table made from driftwood.
“Well, that’s a new one,” said Spitball.
“What’s wrong with them?” I asked.
Spitball held up reg number one. “The first stage spring failed.” Then he picked up the spare. “The diaphragm’s gone.”
“So they were tampered with.”
“Not necessarily. The spring could’ve failed with age.”
He was blowing me off. Freak accidents are easier to believe than murder attempts, I guess.
“What about the diaphragm? Where’d that go?”
Mauro to
ok the reg from Spitball. “It could disintegrate under the right conditions.”
“What conditions are those?”
“No servicing for years. It could happen. But all our equipment is checked daily,” said Mauro. “I did the work myself.”
“Someone could’ve switched the regs, right? All our bundles were sitting on the bench while we were at lunch. Anyone could’ve come in and done it,” I said.
“Marcella was here,” said Spitball.
“All the time? Every minute?” I couldn’t keep the sarcasm from my voice. He didn’t believe me. I hate that.
“Does the diver want to continue in the class?”
“Yes,” I said. “She doesn’t suspect anything.”
“It could be a freak accident.”
“Or not.”
Mauro set down the reg. “I will test her equipment before each dive. There will be no repeat.”
I threw my beach bag over my shoulder. “I’m guessing you won’t have to worry about it.”
“Why not?”
“He’d have to be an idiot to try the same thing again.”
“Who are you really?” asked Spitball.
“Just another tourist.”
“Right. We get tourists that look exactly like Marilyn Monroe, who think someone’s trying to murder another guest all the time.” Spitball looked down at the regs, not seeing what I saw.
“The world is weird,” I said.
“And so are you, I think.”
“Speaking of weird, why are you called Spitball?” I asked.
“Call sign. I did three tours in Vietnam in an F4.”
“My grandpa did three tours in a helicopter.”
“What battalion?”
“I have no idea, but he’s still tough as nails. He once beat up his brother over who got the last burrito.”
“When was that?”
“Last year.”
Spitball rubbed his chin. “I punched a guy over cheddar cheese once. It was worth it.”
Spitball and I laughed, but Mauro looked confused. I guess he didn’t have a lot of contact with crazy Vietnam vets.
“Does your grandpa go to reunions?”
“Hell, no. He wants to forget.”
Spitball nodded slowly. “You’re sure about this whole murder thing?”
“Pretty sure.”
“Well, Mauro will do whatever you want. We’ll keep that girl safe.” Spitball threw the broken regs in a backpack and went out the back door.
“I need a drink,” I said, going out the front door into the waiting area where someone—probably Graeme, but I wasn’t saying that out loud—tried to kill Lucia.
“You should go to your room first.” Mauro gave me an odd smile. Was he hinting that he’d like to come with or what? He kept looking at me and for a second I almost considered it.
Remember Pete. Remember Pete.
“I’d like to, but I better just get a drink,” I said.
Marcella walked in and said, “Oh, wow.”
“What?” I asked.
She pointed at a mirror hanging behind one of the tubs where divers rinsed their masks and snorkels. I went over and shrieked. I actually shrieked out loud, not in my head or anything, but a big shriek. Something terrible had happened to me. My hair had gone bat shit crazy. It was all piled on top of my head. I don’t know how it got up there or stayed for that matter. It was frizzy electrified straw. My face wasn’t any better. I had big red lines between my brows, giving me the world’s worst angry eyes. And there was a mask ring around the upper half of my face and for some reason my nose was pushed to the right.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I yelled at Mauro.
“I said you should go to your room. You have to fix that, if you can.” Mauro got thoughtful. “What did you think I was doing?”
“I thought you were hitting on me.”
He lifted his upper lip in distaste. “No.”
“That happens, you know. Men hit on me all the time,” I said.
“Not today they won’t.”
Marcella had her hands over her mouth and her body shook so much that she had to brace herself against the wall. I put my crooked, red nose in the air and stomped out.
I trotted back to the room as far off the regular paths as possible, hoping no one would see me. But the person I really didn’t want to see me, Mauro, had already seen me, so I don’t know why I bothered. I went around the back of the last bungalow and saw Aunt Tenne jogging down our stairs. I’ve never seen her run anywhere in my entire life. She was singing and wearing a flowing green sarong. She looked down the main path and then hung a right in between two buildings. The coast was clear. I sprinted for the stairs and jumped in the pail to rinse my feet. Then Mom came out of nowhere.
“Mercy, have you seen Tenne? I’ve been looking for her everywhere.”
“Mom, why didn’t you tell me I look like…like this?”
“Oh, you’re fine. Where’s your aunt?”
“I’m not fine. I look like someone attacked me with perm solution and something’s wrong with my nose.”
“Your nose looks the same as it always does,” said Mom.
“No, it doesn’t.” I thought for a second. “It doesn’t, does it? OMG.”
Mom rolled her eyes. “Where’s Tenne?”
“I think she went snorkeling,” I lied. Whatever Aunt Tenne was up to, it was her private business. Not that Mom would agree. The word privacy wasn’t in her language.
“Are you sure? Did she look okay? Was she crying or anything like that?” Mom wrung her hands and looked around like Aunt Tenne might drop out of a palm tree.
“Why would she be crying on vacation?”
“No reason.” Mom tucked her sleek blond hair behind her ears.
Fine. Don’t tell me anything. Two can play at that.
“Hey. Why’s your hair all nice?” I asked. “And you don’t have any marks on your face at all.”
“Good genes. Let’s go to the bar.”
“I have your genes. I’m a carbon copy of you.”
“I put conditioner on my hair before I went. It keeps the seawater off,” said Mom.
“Why didn’t you tell me to do that?”
“I assumed you knew.”
“How would I know that?” I asked.
“Well, I knew it.”
Groan.
Mom hooked her arm through mine. “Let’s get some Monkey Lalas. Dixie says she’s going to do the limbo tonight.”
“Pass. I can’t be seen like this.”
“Mauro’s already seen you.”
I made a face at her and ran up the stairs, flung open the door and felt the rush of icy air-conditioned air. Ahhh.
“Hey, Mercy.”
Shriek. Aaron sat on the sofa, still wearing his hairnet.
“How’d you get in here?”
He shrugged.
“Ewww. It smells like a taco shop.”
“You hungry?” Aaron held up a bulging bag with water dripping off the bottom onto the white tile floor.
I cringed. “What is that?”
“Lionfish. Mauro gave it to me. Let’s cook it.”
“How about you go cook it far away and I take a shower.”
“Nope.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Cause I got to help you.”
“What makes you think I need help?”
Aaron ignored my question and jiggled his fish bag. “Gotta cook it now, while it’s fresh.”
“I’m not cooking anything. Look at me.” I pointed at my head.
Aaron looked, but as usual I wasn’t sure if he actually saw me through his thick smudged glasses. He sat there, holding his bag, and for some reason I had the urge to tell him about Oz Urbani and the rest of it. But if I did, he’d call up Dad and tell him I’d gotten myself into a situation as he would call it. Oz was expecting me to take care of Lucia, whether I agreed to it or not. If she got killed…I didn’t even what to think about it. If Aaron told Dad t
hat Lucia was a Fibonacci, he would come to the rescue. She wouldn’t die, but I just might. Mom would kill me for ruining our girl trip and Lucia wouldn’t be thrilled when she found out about Oz trying to hire me.
I grabbed Aaron’s wrist and hauled him to his feet. I opened the door and booted him through. “Go fry your fish.”
“But Tommy said—”
I slammed the door and locked it. Then I propped a chair under the knob and wedged it closed. That should hold him for a while. I had to think and the best place for that was in a hot shower. But since my life is my life, the shower was luke warm and smelled like bad well water. I did what Dad called a sea shower and jumped out as fast as possible. The thirty seconds of conditioner didn’t do my hair much good, but it didn’t look quite so angry. My nose had moved back into its normal position and the red lines on my face had diminished. I fixed the rest with coverup and powder.
It was nearly six o’clock and time for the limbo contest. I picked up my purse and got one of Dad’s cards. Lucia had to be told about the regs. I didn’t expect her to believe me, but Dad’s reputation might make an impression on her, even if I didn’t. I put on my favorite cutoffs and a tank. For once, Mom wouldn’t be able to say they were inappropriate. I left the bedroom and got a whiff of smoke. I jerked open the front door and found Aaron squatting in front of a hibachi. There was a whole lionfish, complete with spines and eyeballs, sizzling on it. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could’ve been less appetizing than that fish. It was still orange and kind of looking at me.
“You ready?” asked Aaron, poking the side of the lionfish.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but no.”
I edged around him and ran down the stairs. The light was on in Lucia and Graeme’s bungalow. The sun had dipped low and there were shadows everywhere. I walked across the sand path. It was still warm from the heat of the day and I never wanted to wear shoes again. Lucia’s path was to my left. Time to tell her about the regs. I glanced over my shoulder as I swerved toward her path, but Aaron stood on the porch watching me. Fantastic. I went straight until I thought he couldn’t see me anymore and then doubled back. I was sure he’d be back to his fish, but he’d stayed at the railing.
Crap!
Maybe the bungalow had a back door. I stepped off the path and jogged between stumpy palms around the back of the bungalows. The shadows were darker back there and I kept kicking coconuts. Maybe shoes weren’t such a bad idea. I found a back path and practiced what I’d say to Lucia. Hopefully, she’d be alone. That would make things easier.