Fox Island

by Stephen Bly

  “A book agent in New York City. Liz admits she doesn’t know anything about Hollywood.”

  Tony slammed his hand on the table. “I’m not going to run around tossing my novels to the wolves to be destroyed and rejected.”

  “You might be right.” Price sipped on the Earl Grey. “Of course, if you had waited until a publishing house beat down your door, you’d never have gotten that first novel in print.”

  “That’s different. That’s the publishing business. Sure, you have to keep sending your manuscript until you find the right house. But now they can pick up the book, check out my publishing record.”

  “How are they going to get a copy to look at unless someone shoves one in their face?”

  “Not by Davidian. He’s a windbag. I don’t trust him.”

  “I wonder what type agent it does take to get Hollywood’s attention? Besides, behind all that wind and the Vuarnet sunglasses seems to be a guy who’s well connected. And he sure has an air of confidence about him.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Price crunched into the toasted bagel smothered edge to edge with melted butter and wild black cherry preserves. “So, let’s move to a more enjoyable subject. Did you get a chance to look at my work on chapter one?”

  Tony flipped open his portfolio and yanked out twenty-five double-spaced typed pages. “I think it’s starting to take shape, don’t you?”

  “Yes I do,” she nodded without lifting the manuscript. “What do you think about my idea to open each chapter with an italicized section on geographical description, and transition into the text?”

  “We talked about that. Like I said, it doesn’t seem right. Nice idea, though. Maybe I’ll use that sometime in a novel. I just deleted those openings.”

  “You did what?” Price picked up the first chapter and stared at the front page.

  “Look, honey, that idea was a bit distractive. I think keeping in pattern with our other…”

  “You deleted the entire opening paragraph?”

  “Only the stuff in italics.”

  “That stuff in italics was my part. What was wrong with it?”

  “It was nice enough. You always do a superb job. But it’s the concept.”

  “It didn’t meet your present needs? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

  “Babe, look…”

  “Don’t ‘babe’ me. Just exactly what was wrong with those openings, Mr. Famous Author, other than the fact you didn’t think of it yourself?”

  “Surely you don’t think…? It was just…”

  “Just what?”

  “For one thing…” He drummed his fingers on metal. “…the transitions were rough.”

  “Then rewrite the transitions. The opening is what gives me ownership in that chapter. Take it out and I’m nothing more than a copy editor.”

  Tony stood up and walked to the deck railing. The fog seemed cold and heavy, rather than restful. “I thought we solved all of that last summer. Remember those long talks we had? Now, you’ve got to trust me on this. I’ve written a number of books and…”

  Price slammed her hands on her hips. “I am well aware of your book list. I was working under the assumption this project would be co-written.”

  Tony gently placed his hand on her shoulder. “Hey, there’s no reason to get in such a tiff.”

  Shoving his hand away, she stormed toward the house. “I am NOT in a tiff! And I don’t want to talk about it.”

  When the sliding glass door slammed shut, Tony peered into the fogbank for some sign of life. He was surprised to see the pelicans moved far down the inlet. The shroud of silence shut him into his own private world of thoughts.

  Why couldn’t they just calmly talk about it? They were both adults and professionals. Why did Price have to take it so personally? He was a reasonable man. All she had to do was logically explain, step by step, line by line.

  He gathered up Price’s tray and tiptoed into the house. “Honey, let’s talk this out,” he called out.

  “We did,” she answered from the bedroom. “I’m going to take a shower.”

  The bathroom door slammed. He could hear the turn of the lock. “Priscilla?”

  “Whoa! I’ve never seen Dr. S. so upset.” Melody stood at the front door clutching a large yellow plastic basket. “Maybe this isn’t a good time to do my laundry. I’ll do it this evening.”

  “It’s just some … eh, creative differences.”

  “Is Dr. S’s name Priscilla? I’ve never heard anyone call her that before.”

  “Well, I don’t normally call her that.”

  “Only when you’re mad?”

  “Something like that.”

  “At least you’re human. For a while I figured you two were the last perfect Christian couple.”

  Tony took a deep breath. “I’m afraid we’re a long way from perfection. But that doesn’t mean we’re not trying. Just a little artistic misunderstanding. You see, she mistook my…”

  “Hey, you don’t have to explain to me. I’ve often wondered how two literary masters can get along in the same household at all. Kim and I get into hairy arguments all the time over our pieces, and she’s an artist and I’m a writer, and we don’t even live together. Tell Dr. S. I’ll be over at my place whenever she’s ready.”

  “Oh? More interviews?”

  “Mrs. Nelson’s mother is visiting this week. She lives in Spokane. But in the thirties she worked at the Longhouse.”

  “Then maybe she could tell us something about the type of guests they had. Make sure you two ask her about the Thirty-sixth Avenue Slayings.”

  “When that Chinese restaurant was shot up?”

  “One account I read said it might have been planned at the Longhouse on Fox Island. Also, find out if there are some other people from those days we can interview.”

  “Why are you telling me? Shouldn’t Dr. S. know this?”

  “Communication isn’t too strong between the Shadowbrooks right at the moment.”

  “Harvey Peterson flagged me down yesterday. He’s really anxious to have you come visit him. Says he has information that will knock your socks off. But he insists you be the one to do the interview. It’s a man thing, he says.”

  “Does anyone take Harvey seriously?”

  “Harvey does.”

  “I tell you what would knock my socks off … if a fake Japanese invasion of Fox Island was staged by Tacoma mob bosses to cover up a great escape of prisoners from McNeil Island. Now, that would be a story.”

  “Wouldn’t that be cool? Maybe you could write a novel about Fox Island someday.”

  “Well, don’t line me up with Harvey just yet. I want to do a little more investigating before I take him on.”

  “Mrs. Mackay got back from Ohio on Saturday. She’ll have the museum open today.”

  “I know. I have an appointment with her at 10:30.”

  “Seems funny you’ve been on the Island three weeks and haven’t seen the museum. Are you going to look through all the documents and stuff filed in the back room?”

  “Most definitely.”

  “Well…” Melody waved, balanced the basket on her knee, and shoved open the screen door. “Hope you get it all worked out with Dr. S.”

  Tony and Price dressed without a word.

  He ought to ask Price if the tan pullover Henley shirt was too casual for the museum assignment, but he didn’t dare. Maybe they were right. Two authors in the same family, the same marriage, didn’t really work. Maybe he should let her do whatever she wanted with the manuscript. But it had to be right. How long was this going to last anyway?

  This is ridiculous.

  Price slipped on her fuchsia nylon jacket, grabbed up her briefcase and tugged her purse strap over her shoulder. “You’ll have to make your own lunch,” she finally said.

  He stretched his arms out to block the doorway. “We’ve got to work this thing out.”

  “What’s there to work out? Obviously, you�
�ve already made up your mind.”

  He put down his arms and backed up a few steps. “No, I haven’t, but I have my reasons for wanting to keep the same format.”

  She didn’t move. “And I have my reasons for wanting to change.”

  “So, let’s sit down and rationally talk this out right now.”

  “Tony, in case you have forgotten, you don’t operate on reason. You fly by instinct. You shoot from the hip, like most of your heroes. And, like them, you are usually quite good at it. But this time you missed the mark.”

  “Give me one good reason to open each chapter with an italicized section.”

  “Because the contrast in both style and form gives warmth and closeness to your part of the text, that’s why.”

  Why did the crow’s-feet always disappear around her blue eyes when she was angry ? Those deep azure eyes. “Oh, well, you could be right. But that surely doesn’t mean…”

  The phone jarred them.

  “Tony, baby, it’s me, Terry Davidian. Say, I was double-checking on…”

  “I’m busy. Call me later.”

  “How about five-ish?”

  “How about August-ish?” He hung up the receiver. “Now, where were we?”

  A smile creased across her face. For some reason, Tony imagined the first time he ever saw her. She was a summer tour guide at the Grand Canyon, and he lead a string of mules. That incredible smile snared him. Everything about her seemed to glow. That’s all he could think about all the way down the Canyon and back.

  “You were about to tell me I was completely right.”

  Tony rubbed the back of his neck. “What I meant was…”

  The phone rang again.

  “If that’s Davidian…” He pounced on the phone. “Shadow brooks.”

  “Daddy, it’s me. You’ve got to do something with Kit.”

  “Darlin’, slow down. What’s the matter?” He motioned for Price to grab the phone in the kitchen.

  “Mother, it’s about Kit.”

  “What’s up, Kath?”

  “She didn’t come home last night.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She went to a drag race out at Quartzite, and she didn’t come back.”

  “Who’d she go with?” Price asked.

  “Who else? Travis. He asked her to be on his crew.”

  “She’s still not home?”

  “She walked in the door a few minutes ago. Meanwhile, I’ve been awake all night worried about her.”

  “Put her on the phone.”

  “She’s in the shower.”

  “Take the portable to the bathroom and put her on. You listen in, too.”

  “She’s going to be mad that I called you.”

  “Yes, she will.”

  During the long pause, Price paced around the kitchen. She told Tony they were not mature enough to be left alone. One of them, sure. But together? No way. They should have brought them here.

  Tony traipsed back and forth the length of the phone cord. Surely she didn’t do anything dumb. Kit was a smart girl. They were both smart girls. But Kit was a lot like Tony.

  Surely she didn’t do anything dumb.

  “Hi, guys, I can’t believe Kath called you.”

  Price answered first. “She called because she was worried. Where were you all night?”

  “I went to the drags, that’s all. Travis kept winning, so we stayed late. He finished second and won $145. Isn’t that cool?”

  “You were there all night?”

  “No, the tow car broke down on the interstate. It took us until almost daylight to get it fixed.”

  “Who’s we?” her father quizzed.

  “Travis, Ken, Brad and Punky.”

  Price gasped. “You spent the night with four boys?”

  “I spent the night underneath an ’82 Chevy pickup while four guys held the light.”

  “Why didn’t you call Kathy?”

  “Mom, there wasn’t a phone for fifty miles. You know how deserted that part of 1-10 is.”

  “Well, when you got it fixed, you could have called her then.”

  “I thought she’d be sleeping. I didn’t want to wake her. How was I to know she was having a private all-night swim party?”

  “A what?” It was Tony’s turn to gasp.

  “That’s not true,” Kathy said. “I asked Bryson to come over and wait with me because I was worried sick.”

  “You waited in your bathing suits?” Kit sneered.

  “It was a hot night, so we went swimming. Just for a little while. We didn’t go in the house, Mother. We sat out in front and waited. That’s all. We were right out front on the patio when you got home, Kit.”

  “Sure, underneath a blanket.”

  “A what?” Tony sputtered.

  “Look, Mom and Pop, I have no idea why Kathy had to call you. I won’t be late next week. I’ve got Travis’ rig repaired, so I’m sure it won’t break down again.”

  Price broke in with her lecture voice. “Kit, if you don’t get home at the pre-arranged time, you will have to find a phone and check in, without exception.”

  “Take your mom’s cellular phone next time.”

  “Really?”

  “But only make emergency calls. Any other calls listed on that phone will come out of your paycheck. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Katherine?”

  “Mother?”

  “When we said no male company after dark, we meant in the pool, in the yard, in the driveway, or at the curb.”

  “Oh, is that what you meant?”

  “Is that what you meant?” Kit mimicked.

  “Kit!”

  “Sorry, Pop. Can I finish my shower? I’ve got to get to work in less than an hour.”

  “How can you work after being up all night?”

  “I could lube cars in my sleep. Bye.”

  “Mother and Daddy, I’m sorry if I disappointed you.”

  “Kathy, you call us whenever you need to. Now, you and sis try to get along.”

  “We’ll be fine. Bye.”

  Price strolled into the hallway and found Tony staring out the back window at a pot of hanging geraniums. “It’s going to be a long summer,” she said with a sigh. “Do you think the two of them will ever become friends?” She stopped to check his attention. “Tony? Tony, what are you thinking about?”

  “I think you might be right.”

  “Right about what? About Kit and Kathy becoming friends?”

  “Oh, that, too. I was just thinking that you’re right about opening each chapter with an italicized descriptive passage.”

  “Really? You like it?”

  “I think so. It does tend to highlight the rest of the chapter, doesn’t it? I say let’s leave it that way for the whole book and then evaluate it when it’s done.”

  Price whirled around, her hair whipping against Tony’s face. “Great. I really do think it’s creative and … hey, wait a minute, Shadowbrook.”

  “What?”

  “You aren’t just trying to placate me and then toss the whole thing out later on?”

  “Nope.”

  “Prove it.”

  “Well… “ He pondered. “I promise we won’t delete any of the opening paragraphs unless we both agree on it. How will that work?”

  “Splendid!” Price leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

  “And,” he said with a wide smile, “you promise you won’t delete any of my sections of the book without my approval, right?” He kissed her lips, long and full.

  She finally pulled away and winked. “Dream on.”

  Price padded across the carpet toward the hall, then turned around. “You should change that shirt. It’s too plain. You really ought to cowboy up a bit for that museum visit.”

  Dressed in beige shorts and a forest green sweatshirt shoved up to his elbows, Tony straddled a redwood bench on the deck, his laptop in front of him, and reworked the opening two pages of chapter three. After ham
mering away on a single sentence for the fifth try, he stared at the fog hovering lower than ever above the water, his sandal-clad feet freezing.

  What if the Davenport sisters were runners for the mob, carrying great sums of money between Seattle and the East Coast? And maybe the car wreck in Iowa wasn’t an accident, but payback for skimming off millions. Jessica had been hiding out waiting for…

  Relax, Shadowbrook.

  This was nonfiction. Historical tidbits, a traveler’s delight. Flowers, fauna, wildlife. Annual mushroom festival. He wished they did have a mushroom festival.

  He thought he heard the doorbell. He started into the house, then stepped to the side of the deck and hollered, “Around back. I’m back here.”

  The man who sauntered toward Tony wore an apologetic smile and silk gray stripe on gray suit that fit like a seasoned tailor studied his every move. Yet his face was thin, almost gaunt. Bald on top, white hair cropped close to his head, his eyes and mouth formed identical slits, friendly but appraising, tentative. He leaned over one of the blooms, reached down as though to pluck one, then patted it instead. “Such a lovely pompon,” he commented. “I’m so glad to find someone at home. I’m Lloyd Bennington… from Chestertown, Maryland. I’m looking for Jessica Davenport. I mean, I’m sure she’s … I think her married name is Reynolds.”

  Tony stared at the man’s starched white shirt. The tight collar seemed to scrape his neck a raw red. “Jessica is living in a retirement community now.”

  “Are you her son?”

  “No, we’re leasing the place for the summer.”

  The man stuck a finger into the neckline of his shirt and gently rubbed. “Oh dear, I was so hoping to speak to Jessica.”

  “She’s not more than five minutes from here. Are you a friend?”

  “I’ve never met Jessica. I’m really looking for her sister, Jill. It’s been a while since I’ve seen her. I didn’t know her address and was hoping to get it from Jessica.”

  “You’re looking for Jill Davenport?”

  “Yes, do you know where I might find her?”

  “Mr. Bennington, Jill Davenport was killed in a car wreck in Council Bluffs, Iowa, on June 2,1942.”

  The half slits in Lloyd Bennington’s eyes closed, his head dropped, and Tony noticed a shudder. “Would you like to come around and sit on the deck?” Tony offered.