by Chris Niles
As Chuck limped to the office, Kate ran out the door and up the back steps to the deck. She spotted an open table along the edge near the kitchen door and plopped into a seat. A moment later, when Chuck made his way up the steps with a rolled up navigational chart, Kate’s nose was buried in the book.
He unrolled the chart on the table and weighted the corners with an empty beer bottle, two conch shells, and an ashtray. She sent him back for sticky notes and paper.
Deep in concentration, she sensed rather than saw the people who’d joined her, their black t-shirts and shorts lurking in the corners of her vision.
“Look, here, he talks about fighting a blackfin tuna south of Sand Key Lighthouse on the same day as it looks like he went to Katherine K.”
Steve leaned over the chart and silently placed a salt shaker just below the marking for Sand Key Lighthouse.
“Wait, what?” Kate looked up at her friend, his face raw and swollen. “You shouldn’t…”
“Kate, I…” He coughed and wiped his eyes. “I can’t be anywhere else. Can’t sit at home feeling sorry for myself while you all push forward. I won’t let Susan’s death be for nothing. I have to help.”
Kate reached out with her free hand to squeeze his fingers. Then she flipped to the next entry. “Where’s Chuck with those stupid sticky notes. I need better bookmarks than my fingers!”
“Here.” Steve chuckled weakly and handed her a pile of napkins. She stuck them between entries then shook out her hand.
“Okay, here’s another. Marquesas Rock.” Another salt shaker.
“And here, put one two miles south of Half-moon Sho— These are all right in the same area. South of the quicksands, right?”
Steve dropped another salt shaker on the map. He took the book from Kate and flipped to the beginning, slowly turning pages and scanning the margins of each one carefully. “There are lots of other locations noted in here, but you’re right. It looks like every time there’s any mention of the Katherine K, the locations around it are out in this area.”
“Then let’s get more salt shakers!”
They started at the beginning of Thomas’s book, noting every location he mentioned and marking it on the chart. Kate read the entries while Steve and William raced to find the spots. If an entry coincided with a mention of Katherine K, they placed a salt shaker. If it didn’t, it got a pepper shaker.
“East of Raccoon Key, permit running. Caught four for dinner.”
“North of No Name Key. Fought huge tarpon five hours. Hook slipped and lost him just before sundown.”
“On the way to see Katherine K, saw a hammerhead south of Cosgrove in 60 ft of water.”
“Hammerhead, eh? I’ve seen a few out that way with divers from time to time.” Steve dropped a salt shaker on a sixty-foot notation. “Kate, did I ever tell you about the charter I did for Fisher Platt?”
“The news anchor?”
“That’s the one. It was maybe ten years ago. For the twentieth anniversary of Shark Week, his producers wanted a puff piece of him diving with sharks. I took him and his crew out to Hogfish Horseshoe. I had frozen a couple amberjack for bait, figured we’d see the usual black-tipped reef sharks who hang around waiting for the easy meal. So, I get them all settled down on the bottom, and then one of his cameramen wants to sit with a camera on top of the reef. On top of it. Can you believe that? I kept pointing up at the reef and shaking my head, then back down to the sand and nodding really big. The dude still shoved off, stirring up a cloud of sand and going for the reef anyway. I cut him off and led him to a little overhang near the top of the horseshoe, low enough to keep his back protected by the rock. It took him a while to figure out how to hover without letting his breath pull him up and down. And I was still worried he was too close to the bait pulley, so then I had to put Jonathan— Chuck do you remember Jonathan? I wonder what he’s up to?”
“Oh, yeah. He had a way with the lady divers, didn’t he?”
“That, he did. Anyway, Jonathan had to hover next to him and try to watch everyone else below … I don’t know what I was thinking not taking at least three extra dive masters to wrangle that bunch. Live and learn, I guess. So, Jonathan is up there, and I do a final okay for all the guys on the sand, then I tug the bait line for Susan—” Steve’s voice hitched, but he took a breath and continued the story. “She drops the amberjack shawarma over the side of the boat, and I start pulling it down. Damned if the biggest scalloped hammerhead I’ve ever seen didn’t show up. I think Platt pissed himself right there on camera. It was the BEST!”
“Oh, no. The best one was that kid — the son of a dive shop owner from like Wisconsin or somewhere. Remember him?”
Steve burst out laughing. “The octopus kid? How could I forget?”
“Guys. Pepper in Jewfish Basin west of Coon Key, please?”
Steve pulled a shaker from the box then dropped it on the chart. “It feels good to laugh.”
“Then let’s laugh, my friend.” William squeezed his shoulder as he readied himself with another set of salt and pepper shakers.
After three hours of fish stories, they reached the final page of the book.
“Gentlemen.” Kate laced her fingers behind her head and kicked her feet up on the chair beside her. “I think we have a search area.”
The chart was covered in dark containers, except for a four square-mile area of white salt shakers south of the Marquesas Keys, right at the boundary of the National Marine Sanctuary.
Michelle joined them, bringing with her a huge bowl of cut pineapple, mango, and watermelon.
“Tomorrow morning, we search from this salt shaker here” — William tapped on the shaker closest to Chuck then the one farthest east — “to about here.” He popped a chunk of pineapple into his mouth.
“These salt shakers are making me want a Margarita.” Kate glanced over at the empty bar, then at her watch. “It’s a little early, though.”
“It’s five o’clock somewhere.” Chuck bounced up toward the bar.
William looked perplexed. “It’s four o’clock here. How is that early?”
Kate tried to stop Chuck. “I was kidding.”
“Margaritas are no joking matter. And if my crew of heroes wants a pitcher, then I’m happy to oblige. Besides, if this all goes south, we’ll be happier if we drank through the whole stock before that rat bastard Baumann gets a chance to lay his hands on a drop of it.”
A few minutes later, he returned. The thin redhead who was staying with her son in Michelle and William’s tent followed him with a sweating pitcher and tray full of frosty, salted glasses.
Chuck turned to the newcomer. “Thanks for helping out. I’m a little short-handed today”
“It’s the least I could do after you’ve been so kind.” She set the tray on the table. “Hi, y’all. I’m Tina, and I’ll be around all night. Just let me know if you need anything.” She wiped her hand on her narrow black apron then shook hands with each of them.
Chuck poured a round of margaritas, and over the next hour, the deck began to fill with friends.
William snapped several photos of the marked nautical charts before returning the shakers to their carriers. Then he and Michelle helped Tina distribute salt, pepper, hot sauce, and silverware to each table on the deck to get ready for the dinner crowd.
On her way past, Tina patted Chuck on the shoulder. “I’ll drive Babette up in the golf cart so she can join you guys, and my boy is gonna help in the kitchen. You just stay with your friends and relax tonight, okay? We’ve got dinner covered.”
“Thanks again.” He reached for the empty pitcher. “When you get a chance, can you whip up another pitcher?”
The afternoon faded to evening. Branson Tillman, the guitarist, joined them. He wasn’t scheduled to play that evening, but he pulled his guitar out and started to strum a few chords. Justin dropped into a chair beside him after he cleaned up from the day’s dive charter and tapped out a beat on the picnic table. Kate and Michelle sang along,
and soon the whole deck was working the through the entire collection of songs every islander knows by heart.
Chapter Forty-Four
Tina rolled over and pressed her thumbs against her temples. She’d skimmed enough from bar sales the night before to get a nice hotel room and a hot shower, but why pay for it when there were tourists willing to share? The party had gotten rowdier than she thought laid back island folks could get, especially considering the circumstances, but of course they’d started drinking in the middle of the afternoon. Cousin Chuck regaled them with stories of the Keys in the seventies and eighties, and a few from his grandfather, but as much as she tried, and no matter how many margaritas he put down, he didn’t leave a hint of what they thought they’d find when they found the wreck of the Katherine K.
She crept out of bed, slipped on her shorts and tank, then felt around for her phone. The battery was dead, so she stuffed it in her back pocket and looked around the room. The guy, she thought maybe his name was Joey, snored loudly. She pulled three twenties from his wallet before slipping out of the room.
Outside, she looked up and down the road, trying to remember where Joey had driven when they left Shark Key. She was on the north side of the island, standing in front of one of the new hotels finished not long before the last hurricane passed through. She remembered hearing about them all filling up with FEMA residents until they got thrown out in favor of paying tourists. Mother nature’s a bitch.
The sun was already climbing above the trees. Tina headed toward it. The airport was just around the bend on the south side of the island. It would be easy enough to turn up there and offer her services as a spotter for Chuck and his friends. He had seemed a little wary around her last night, and if she just happened to be around again, he might grow suspicious. Instead, she’d have to rally what little patience she possessed.
She hopped aboard the island shuttle bus. “This goes up the road, right?”
“Ayup.”
“To Shark Key?”
The driver shrugged.
“Shark Key. You know where that is?”
The driver shrugged again.
“It’s up the road just a few miles. You go there?”
“I go up Highway 1. If it’s on 1, then I go past it, yeah.”
“Well, which stop is it?”
The driver pointed at a faded route map. “You off or on, lady? I got a schedule to keep.”
Tina handed the driver a twenty.
“I don’t make change.”
“Are you kidding?”
His third shrug really pissed her off. She dug in her shorts pocket then pulled out three crumpled singles.
“It’s four dollars.”
Clenching her teeth to keep from screaming, she pulled out a fistful of coins, dropped them in the driver’s lap without counting them, stomped to a seat near the back of the bus, then stared out the window. The bus passed the hospital, community college, and a golf course her Fort Lauderdale clients wouldn’t set foot on. When it turned back onto US 1, Tina felt like she’d been transported back to the center of the mainland. Scrubby trees. Sandy lots. Hand-painted concrete block buildings surrounded by chain link fences. Broken-down cars in various states of disrepair. But only if central Florida was surrounded by clear, turquoise water that stretched to the horizon.
The bus passed the Navy base at Boca Chica to the right, then the glittering water filled the view on both sides of the bus. After driving through a small town marked Big Coppitt, they stopped at a Circle K gas station with a wide wooden front porch. It looked like it was trying hard to be a house instead of a run-down convenience store. The bus continued on across a short causeway, then Tina spotted the entrance to Shark Key on the left. She stood up, but the bus continued on down the road as nothing but shallow ocean spread to either side of the road, and then filled the space below it, too.
“Hey!” Tina shouted to the driver. “That was my stop.”
The driver pointed to a sign above his head. DRIVER MAY NOT SPEAK WHILE THE BUS IS MOVING. The bus continued across the bridge.
“Hey! Stop this thing!”
An elderly black woman about the size of a key deer tapped Tina on the arm. “Honey. Ain’t you never ride a bus before? You gotta go to the next stop at Sugarloaf. And you gotta pull this before your stop so he knows you want to get off.”
“But I just told him I want to get off now.”
“That ain’t how the bus work, baby. Bless your little heart.” The woman pulled the chain and the STOP REQUESTED light lit up at the front of the shuttle. A few minutes later, the bus rattled to a stop just past a tiny bus hut on a barren strip of land in the middle of the ocean.
Tina stormed up to the driver. “I need to go back to that last stop.”
“Next southbound shuttle will be here in maybe forty-five minutes. It’s another four dollars, though. And he can’t make change, either.”
“This bus sucks.”
“You might prefer walking, then.”
“Take me back there.”
“I’ll be back to that stop on my southbound run in about three hours. But it’s another four dollars if you ride it back south. “
“What?”
“I’ll stop long enough you can go buy a Gatorade and get change at the end of the line if you want. But I gotta keep moving. Off or on?”
“For the love of all that’s holy … I’ll just walk.” Tina climbed out of the bus then stomped down the path, the sun at her back.
Chapter Forty-Five
Kate parked her Civic next to Chuck’s Waggoneer in front of the General Aviation terminal. Two years in the Keys without setting foot in this place and now she’d been there twice in a week. But the excitement of looking for the Katherine K overshadowed the worry Kate had about losing the home she’d come to love.
Kate strode across the tarmac toward William’s airplane. The little single-engine Cirrus gleamed in the sun as William polished its hull while doing his pre-flight inspection.
“Your baby is seeing a lot of sky this week.”
He turned his back to the sun and propped his sunglasses up on the bill of his hat. “Better in the sky than sitting on a sweltering tarmac.”
“Hot as hell, for sure, but no wind means calm water and clear visibility. We might have half a chance of finding this wreck before lunch!”
“Don’t count your chickens, young lady.”
“Anyone wants to count chickens, they just need to go down to the post office. There were at least seven standing in the parking lot when I went by the drop box this morning. Pretty soon, they’ll declare independence and incite an avian revolution.”
“Fish is a healthier meal, anyway. Hey, I’m about done and ready to fire her up. Chuck and …”
Kate waited for William to finish his thought, but all she got was a shrug. “Vince? Yeah, I’m still not okay with all this. But Chuck of the Second Chance wants his help, so what can I say?”
“He seems sincere, I suppose. And if we can’t give him a second chance, then are we really any better than the folks we’re fighting against? So if his answers were good enough for Chuck, they’re good enough for me. Anyway, they’re inside with the cooler. Do you mind letting them know we’re ready to roll?”
Kate sucked in a deep breath then counted to five while slowly releasing it. Then she plastered a smile on her face and skipped back to the small terminal building. Chuck was rattling through all the native Conchs he knew, trying to find someone he and Vince had in common.
“Guys. The plane’s ready.” She twirled her finger in the air and pointed out toward the airplane.
Chuck pushed up out of the torn vinyl chair then pointed to the handle of his rolling cooler. He tipped his head to Vince, letting the younger man follow behind him with the supplies.
Vince’s bright green polyester shirt screamed as he emerged from the shade of the terminal. Palm leaves and bright parrots painted a random pattern across his torso. The light-hearted shirt did nothing to
soften his sharp features, and his slicked black hair practically dripped New Jersey on the Florida collar.
William helped Chuck up to the right seat and directed Vince across the back, thrusting a pair of binoculars into his hands. Then he and Kate loaded the cooler behind the wide seat. Kate climbed in beside Vince, and pulled another set of binoculars from her bag. She strapped in as William boarded. Moments later, they were taxiing down the runway and then climbing into the morning sky.
William banked the plane and set a heading west toward the outer Keys. “I want to find the east end of the grid and start a creeping line search from there so we’re working away from the sun. We know the Katherine K is resting somewhere along the narrow drop-off between flats and the deeper straits, so I can keep the pattern pretty tight. I’ll fly two-minute arcs, which will cover the whole area and give you two in back a chance to rest your eyes during the turns. It’ll use a little more fuel, but we’re not in a rush. I’ve got it all programmed into the GPS, and it says we’ll be on station in about five minutes.”
“I can’t thank you enough, William.” Chuck’s voice shook. “I always thought this was something I could look for more as a hobby when I got older. Now that I’m running out of time, I don’t know what I’d do without you. Without any of you, really.” He looked back at Kate, and his eyes filled with tears.
“It’s a good thing I’ve got the binoculars, old man!” Kate waved them at him, winked, and patted his shoulder. “Now, let’s saddle up and find this girl!”