Island of Bones

by P J Parrish

  “Yeah, Frank underlined it,” Landeta said.

  “And tonight, I found something else about wolves in another one of Frank’s books, something about a fertility rite where unmarried men dress up in wolf skins and beat the village women with animal skins and —-”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. I’ll show it to you tomorrow. The important thing now is that island.” Louis stopped pacing. “Mel, he went back there for a reason.”

  “Maybe he was from there. What’s out there besides the restaurant?”

  Louis was quiet, trying to remember. “I only saw the restaurant. But there could have been houses on the other side.”

  “Like what? A private community thing, like Useppa or North Captiva?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Or like out on Sanibel?”

  “I told you, Mel —-”

  “C’mon, Louis. What was your sense of it?”

  “Sense? What do you mean?”

  “What did the place feel like?”

  “Fuck, Mel. I saw trees. That was all!”

  “Think. Use your other senses.”

  Louis was quiet. “Okay, it was way the hell out in the sound. It felt isolated.”

  “Try again.”

  “It felt...forgotten.”

  Landeta was silent. “By who?” he asked finally.

  Louis ran a hand over his face. “Time? I don’t know,” he said.

  There was another silence. Louis could hear Landeta breathing.

  “What’s the name of the island again?” Landeta asked finally.

  “Away So Far.”

  “We need to find out more about the place before we go to Horton. Any ideas?”

  “You can only go there for lunch and they want you back on the ferry in two hours.” Louis was pacing and stopped abruptly, his eyes focusing on the baby skull sitting on his bookshelf.

  “Louis? You there?”

  “Yeah,” Louis said. “I just figured out where to get some answers.”

  CHAPTER 34

  The sun was still low and the morning air still cool as the boat sliced through the calm water of Charlotte Harbor. The old man let them off at Bessie Levy’s stilt house and Louis helped Landeta climb the ladder.

  Louis had called ahead and Bessie was sitting out on the porch, coffee mug in hand, when they came around to her front door.

  “Gonna be another scorcher today,” she said, taking her feet off the railing and rising. She looked up at Landeta.

  “Who’s this? Dr. Mid-Nite?”

  “Old comic book hero,” Landeta said to Louis and then extended his hand. “I’m Detective Landeta, Mrs. Levy.”

  Bessie wiped her hand on her trousers and shook Landeta’s hand “Take a load off,” she said gesturing toward the old aluminum lawn chairs. “You want some coffee?”

  “That would be nice,” Landeta said.

  Bessie went inside and Landeta folded himself into one of the chairs. Louis stood by the railing staring out at the silvery water. He was trying to figure out where Away So Far Island was, but there were a dozen green clumps out there, each with another one hiding behind it.

  Bessie brought out a tray, setting it on a lobster trap next to Landeta. “So what’s this about some island?” she asked Louis.

  “Away So Far,” Louis said. “We need to know about it.”

  Bessie arched an eyebrow as she poured coffee into a mug and handed it to Landeta. “Why you want to know about that place?”

  “Did you hear about the man who jumped off the ferry last week and drowned?” Louis asked.

  Bessie shrugged. “I don’t have a TV and I don’t bother with the papers anymore. But I heard them talking over at Cap’n Con’s. Some crazy tourist, right?”

  “No, he was local,” Louis said. “He was coming from Away So Far. We just need to check it out.”

  Bessie looked dubious but she finally gave a shrug and handed Louis a mug of coffee. “Well, for starters, that ain’t its real name,” she said. “It was originally called Isla de los Huesos.”

  “Island of...” Mel began.

  “Island of Bones,” Bessie said. “This whole place was crawling with the Spanish once and that’s what they called the island. Hueso is the word for bone and it sounds like ‘away so.’ Someone else added the ‘far’ I guess ’cuz it’s so far out there. Folks round here just always called it Away So Far.”

  Louis stirred sugar into his coffee. “Who owns it?”

  “A family named del Bosque,” Bessie said. “Nobody knows much about ’em really. They’ve owned the place for generations and they’ve always kept to themselves, living off their fishing and oystering plus what they could hunt and grow out there. The restaurant started out as a shack back in the fifties, just a tiki-hut up on the hill where local fishermen would stop in for a beer. But then the Topsider crowd starting showing up, looking for a place to slum, so the family figured they could make some money off ’em.”

  “It looks like a house,” Louis said.

  Bessie nodded. “Yeah, they built the restaurant sometime in the sixties.” She curled her lip. “Tourist trap, that’s all it is.”

  “So, no one from there has much contact with the mainland?” Landeta asked.

  Bessie just shook her head. Louis was sure Landeta had not seen it, so he asked, “Not even the kids? What about school?”

  “Home schooling, I hear,” Bessie said, sipping her coffee. “Poor kids. Can you imagine what their lives must be like?” She shrugged. “But then, lots of folks round here like to keep to themselves. I guess that’s why no one ever thought twice about Isla de los Huesos. As long as they pay their taxes and get their health department certificate approved every year, nobody gives a damn what goes on out there.”

  It was quiet for a moment. Just the gentle lapping of the water on the pilings below and the screech of a gull overhead.

  Louis was trying to connect the dots. Del Bosque was a Spanish name. Frank had that book on Asturias. Was he from the Island of Bones? Is that why he went back?

  Louis looked over at Landeta. He was staring out over the glittering waters of Charlotte Harbor. Louis knew Landeta couldn’t see what was out there, but he knew his thinking was on the same track as his own. But they still had no proof to take back to Horton.

  “Is there anything else you can tell us about the family?” Louis asked.

  Bessie shook her head slowly. “Like I said, they keep to themselves. They come over here or go down to St. James City for their supplies, but I never seen any of them myself.”

  She frowned. “Hold on a sec. Let me go check my library.” She got up and went inside, coming back out with a book. Louis recognized it as a copy of the same book he had checked out of the library that day he had first begun surveying Frank, the book about the settlement of the outlying islands in the 1800s.

  Bessie put on her glasses. “Okay...Isla de los Huesos. Well, says here it’s 125 acres and was originally nothing but mangrove forest. But the interior is man-made.”

  “How can that be?” Louis asked.

  “Back in prehistoric times, it was nothing but a flat oyster bar island,” Bessie said. “But when the Calusa Indians settled this area around a hundred A.D., they used it as one of their main camps. They started building it up with discarded shells, bones, pottery, and junk, mainly as protection against tides and hurricanes. And over the last two thousand years all the stuff piled up and the island grew higher and bigger.” She smiled. “Kind of like a big Indian landfill.”

  “How did the del Bosque family get it?” Louis asked.

  Bessie ran a finger down the page. “Here it is. A Spaniard named Marcelo Leon del Bosque and his wife, Bianca, came to Florida during the second wave of Spanish settlement, probably in the late 1800s. They got the island on a land grant thing. They were the ones who named it Isla de los Huesos because of the Indian mounds. They were from Asturias, a region in northern Spain.”

  “Asturias?” Landeta looked at Lou
is.

  They were both silent. Louis had filled him in on the Asturian lupercalia rite on the drive out. Louis noticed Bessie staring at him over the rim of her glasses.

  “Do they speak Latin in Asturias?” Louis asked her.

  “How the hell should I know?” Bessie said.

  “Latin was spoken in most of Spain at one time or another and survived for centuries in isolated places,” Landeta said. “I read that in one of Frank’s books.”

  Now Bessie was eyeing Landeta. “Okay, what is this all about? What are you boys really after?” she asked.

  Louis glanced at Landeta but said nothing.

  “C’mon,” Bessie said. “They’re just a little strange. Every town has a weird family. What do you think is going on out there anyway?”

  The sun was high in the sky now, blazing down on the stilt house. Louis felt the sweat trickle down his back.

  “I can’t say, Mrs. Levy,” he said. “All I can tell you is we’re investigating any possible connection between that island and Frank Woods.”

  Bessie pushed her fuzz of red hair away from her face. “Woods? That the dead man’s last name?”

  “Yes, Frank Woods. Why?”

  “Del Bosque. That’s Spanish for ‘of the woods.’” Bessie snorted. “Some detective you are.”

  Louis and Landeta exchanged a look, and then Landeta held out his hand to Bessie.

  “You’ve been kind. Thank you,” he said. “And thank you for the coffee.”

  “You’re welcome,” Bessie said.

  Bessie went to the railing, stuck her fingers in her mouth, and let out a shrill whistle. Louis could see the old man back on the dock at Bokeelia look up. The old man waved and got in his boat.

  Louis could hear the putt-putt of the boat as it slowly made its way out to them. He brought up a hand to shield his eyes and looked back out over the sun-silvered water.

  Far away, out on the very edges of the northwestern horizon, he could make out the ghostly gray green of the most distant islands. In the heat-hazed air, the islands seemed to be floating, like a mirage.

  As Bessie busied herself gathering up the coffee mugs, Landeta came up to Louis’s side. “Now we know why Sophie’s father thought Frank was Mexican.”

  Louis nodded slowly. “And why Frank went back to the island.”

  “Maybe it’s time to bring Horton in on this,” Landeta said.

  Louis squinted out at the water.

  “Louis, did you hear me? We need to talk to the chief.”

  “Not yet. We still don’t have anything linking Frank Woods to the other missing girls,” Louis said.

  Landeta let out a breath. “Well, we can run a background check for him under del Bosque, see what comes up.”

  Louis shook his head. “Diane told me she was born at home. Chances are her father was, too. Whatever past Frank Woods had is out on that island.”

  “Okay, any other bright ideas then?”

  “Yeah,” Louis said. “Let’s go get some lunch.”

  CHAPTER 35

  As the ferry neared Away So Far Island, Louis went up to the bow. He saw the same fringe of dark green, broken by tall palms, and the jut of a weathered wooden dock. As they drew closer, he could see the dirt path that led up the gentle hill, and a moment later the white clapboard restaurant came into view. It looked exactly as it had on his first trip. But this time, it was different.

  He was seeing things through new eyes, eyes that saw the dense mangroves with their claw-like branches, saw the thick tangle of brush, and saw —- for the first time —- how far out in the sound they were, how isolated the island really was.

  “The boat is slowing,” Landeta said. “Are we pulling in?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What can you see?”

  “Not much from here. Heavy mangroves, the restaurant, lots of brush,” Louis said. “There’s also a small skiff tied up at the dock.”

  The ferry docked and Louis nudged Landeta to his feet. A dark-haired man on the dock roped the boat in and the motor died. Louis and Landeta waited while the tourists filed off.

  Louis stepped off first, then extended a hand back to Landeta. But he ignored it, stepped over to the dock, and started away.

  “When I need a Seeing Eye dog, I’ll be sure to call you,” he said to Louis.

  Louis let it go, following Landeta up the dock.

  “Enjoy your lunch on Away So Far Island,” the man said as Louis passed. “The ferry back leaves in two hours. Please be prompt.”

  Louis and Landeta trailed the rest of the group up the path toward the restaurant.

  “Did you see any other place a boat could pull into?” Landeta asked as they walked.

  “No, it’s all mangroves. Why?”

  “Just wondering,” Landeta said. He stopped walking, catching Louis’s arm. He looked off toward the side of the restaurant. “What’s over there?”

  Louis started walking, angling away from the restaurant toward the water. “Nothing much, some more mangroves and a garbage bin. Wait a minute. I forgot that there’s a fence.”

  Louis went to the gate. Unlike his first trip here, it was now padlocked. The fence was a good six feet high.

  “Can you get a look over it?” Landeta asked.

  Louis climbed atop the garbage bin. On the other side, he could see what looked like jungle—twisted vines, rotting stumps, fallen trees, and a glimpse of a narrow dark creek. He tried to remember what he had seen on his walk in from the other side of the island but could recall only brush and mangroves.

  “Hey, you there!”

  Louis turned to see the man from the dock coming toward them. The man stopped, his hands on his hips. “That’s private property.”

  Louis jumped off the garbage bin, dusting his hands. “We were just looking for a nature trail or something. Thought we’d take a look around.”

  The man pointed to the restaurant, up the hill. “You’d better get up to lunch. There’s no time for walking.”

  Louis and Landeta headed back toward the restaurant. As they started up the wooden steps, Landeta caught his arm. “Did you see anything back there?”

  “Not a thing. It’s all brush and trees.”

  They were met at the door by the same young boy who looked up at them with long-lashed brown eyes. “How many?”

  “Two.”

  “Yes, sir.” The boy led them to the back of the restaurant, and laid the menus on the wooden table. “Can I get you a drink?”

  “Water, please.”

  Louis slid into the chair, watching the boy. “That was Roberto,” Louis said to Landeta. “The same kid Frank spoke to. You know, I didn’t see it the first time but the kid looks like Frank when he was younger, that same pale complexion, black wavy hair.”

  Louis looked around. The bartender was a tall man, about forty, with a bush of black hair. Louis could see two other men in their twenties, both dressed in white T-shirts and long white aprons. Back in the kitchen, his face barely visible in the small window, he saw another man who looked to be in his mid-forties.

  He leaned back toward Landeta. “They all look the same. Black hair, dark eyes.”

  “What about the women?” Landeta asked.

  “I don’t see any women.” Louis leaned over the table. “Come to think of it, I didn’t see any the first time either.”

  “Where do you think they are?”

  “They’re dead.”

  “The boy came from somewhere, Kincaid. He wasn’t hatched.”

  Louis could feel eyes on his back and he turned to see the two waiters staring at them. Roberto appeared with their water.

  “You’re Roberto, right?” Louis asked.

  The boy seemed surprised Louis knew his name. “Yes, sir,” he said.

  “Do you live here on this island, Roberto?” Louis asked.

  The boy blinked and took a step back. “Yes, sir,” he said.

  “Just you and your family?”

  Roberto grinned, his cheeks reddenin
g. “It’s a big family, sir.”

  “Really?” Louis said. “How many people?”

  Roberto looked at the floor. “There’s my father and Uncle Pedro and Uncle Orlando, and I have —-”

  “Roberto!”

  Louis turned to see one of the waiters motioning for Roberto to come away from the table. Roberto slunk away, and the waiter came forward, a dish towel in his large hands.

  “Can I take your order?”

  Louis glanced at him. No name tag. The man’s eyes, deep-set and black as coal, were fixed on Louis’s face. Landeta drew his attention by ordering the blackened grouper and a Diet Coke. Louis did the same and the man drifted away, disappearing into the kitchen.

  “That guy looks like he’s wound a little too tight,” Louis said. “He’s staring at us.”

  Landeta took a drink of his water. “Relax. We’re just tourists, here for some lunch and a little local color.”

  Louis looked out the window, trying not to stare back at the waiter.

  “You know, I was thinking we might be dealing with a cult here,” Landeta said.

  “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “When you were a cop, you ever have any experience with cults?” Landeta asked quietly.

  “No,” Louis said. “You?”

  “You ever hear of the Yahwehs?”

  “No,” Louis said.

  “It’s a cult of black racist extremists led by this wacko named Hulon Mitchell. He calls himself Yahweh Ben Yahweh and they have a headquarters over in Miami’s Liberty City called the Temple of Love. Before I quit Miami PD, I was one of the guys assigned to work the case with the FBI for a while.”

  Louis heard a note of pride in Landeta’s voice. “What was it like?” Louis asked.

  “We had all this shit on Mitchell, like he was forcing minors to have sex with him and that he had this squad he called the Death Angels, who were going around murdering white people. It was an initiation thing to get into the brotherhood, and you had to bring back severed heads or ears as proof.”

  Louis shook his head slowly.

  “The thing is, people think shit like that doesn’t happen in their nice little towns,” Landeta said. “They don’t want to believe it. Like Bessie Levy said, every town has a weird family. Question is, where does weird leave off and cult begin?”