LC 04 - Skeleton Crew (25 page)

"Boote's a grieving old man. He's no danger. Ramirez isn't even
sure he's the one who cut the oil line. And if he did, he thinks he
only meant to inconvenience someone from the university-not to
strand anyone in the ocean."

"You're going anyway, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"And if I asked you not to, for me?"

"I'd fold my arms and tell you I don't play emotional games
with men I'm involved with."

John sighed and looked over at the other dock where the barge
was anchored. The timber crew was offloading the artifacts of the
day and storing them in the warehouse. His face was set in a grim
frown. Lindsay was sure he was trying to think of words he could
say that would stop her.

"What was it you called me when you first met me-a highmaintenance girlfriend?"

His frown melted a little. "Yeah, and I was right. You worry a
man to death."

Boote lived on the mainland across from St. Magdalena on the
edge of a brine marsh. His house was a little dingy yellow shack
amid a row of similar shacks that looked like they should have
blown away a long time ago. As Lindsay and John approached the
paint-worn door, it burst open and a man in a ski mask came running at them, pushing John backward and knocking Lindsay to the
ground before either of them could react.

"What the ... Lindsay, are you all right?" He helped her to her
feet.

"I'm fine."

John turned to give chase, but the man was already in his car
and speeding down the one-lane road.

"Boote!" Lindsay exclaimed. She raced into the house.

The front room had been trashed. It had a strong smell of cinnamon, or peaches, or flowers; she couldn't tell. Lindsay called out
for Boote. They heard crashing about and grumbling in the
kitchen. Boote was in the middle of the kitchen floor next to an
overturned chair.

"Crazy son of a ... who're you?"

"I'm John West, old man. You remember me?"

"The Indian. Yeah, I know you. What are you doing here?"

"Are you all right, Mr. Teal?" Lindsay asked.

"Mr. Teal? Who the hell are you?" With John's help, he stood on
shaky legs, squinting at Lindsay. He smelled like alcohol and had
about five days' worth of beard on his wrinkled face.

"Do we need to take you to a doctor? Did that man hurt you?"

"Pissed me off. Kept asking me where it is. Wouldn't tell me
what he's looking for. What kind of stupid thing is that? How'm I
gonna tell 'im where it's at if I don't know what it is? Stupid bastard."

"We need to call the police," said John.

"No, we don't. Don't want no police around. They can't do nothin'. That's what they've been telling me for days now. I reckon
I believe 'em."

"Do you know who he was?" asked Lindsay.

"No, he had his face covered. Didn't ya' see 'im?"

"Did you recognize his voice?"

"No, I didn't, and who are you anyway, lady?"

"This is Dr. Chamberlain," said John. "She was with Bobbie and
Harper when they got stranded in the ocean after their motorboat
quit working."

"Oh. You here about that?" Boote lowered his head. "Look, I
didn't mean-"

"I'm not here about that, Mr. Teal."

"Call me Boote, missy."

"Boote, I wanted to say I'm very sorry about your son."

"Why? You didn't do it, did you?"

"No, Boote, I was expressing my sympathy. But I'd like to find
out who did do it."

"I'll tell you who. One of them people you work with on the
island, or that man-made island in the ocean."

"Why do you say that?" Lindsay asked.

"Let's go out on the porch. That damn woman next door thinks
smells cure everything. You know, she sneaks over here when I'm
gone and leaves bowls with smelly wood shavings and dried
plants." He nodded. "She does. Says it has healing powers. Calls it
roaming therapy. She wants me to marry her and thinks that'll
work. Crazy, ain't she?"

"I'd say so," said John.

They went out on the concrete porch, etched with years of
cracks that looked like drawings of dead trees. Boote sat on the
steps made from cement blocks. Lindsay and John stood on the
sandy walkway.

Lindsay saw a few pieces of mail scattered on the lawn and she
picked them up.

"I'd like to find out what happened to your son," she said,
handing the papers to Boote. She glanced at a post card. There was
something familiar about it.

"Keith sent that to me last year," said Boote.

Lindsay turned it over and looked at the picture of Daytona
Beach. What, she wondered, was it? "Can I keep this a while?" she
asked. "I'll give it back."

"Go ahead, if you think it'll help." Boote put his head in his
hands. "I know what happened to him. Somebody killed him."

"Did the police tell you how he died?"

"No. Police don't know nothin'. They can't go to the island anyway. Said I have to talk to the FBI. Some foreign fellow. I didn't
know they had foreigners in the FBI."

"Agent Ramirez."

"Yes. That's the one. Ramirez."

"Did he tell you anything?"

"Said somebody stabbed my boy Keith and dumped him in
quicksand. They weighted him down with a chain. Hey, you one
of the girls that found him, ain't you?"

"Yes," Lindsay replied.

"Least I can bury him. He won't be coming over on Sundays no
more. I always looked forward to that."

"Do you know if he knew Hardy Denton?" asked Lindsay.

"Who? Hardy Denton? No. Never heard of him."

"How about Eva Jones?" Lindsay asked.

"Now that sounds familiar. Eva Jones. He said something about
her once. Talked about her and her expensive equipment. He said
you don't need expensive equipment."

"Equipment for what?" asked Lindsay.

"I don't remember. I don't think he ever said."

"Do you know if your son was ever threatened?"

"Keith? Who'd threaten him? He got along with everybody."

Not everybody, thought Lindsay. "Did he ever talk about anyone who was mad at him?"

"No. He didn't tell me his business much."

"Did Keith have a best friend? Or someone he dated a lot?"

"Keith stayed in Savannah a lot. He knew a lot of guys at the
bars there. He liked to talk to the sailors from different countries."

"Do you know which bars he liked?" asked Lindsay.

Boote shook his head. "I'm not much of a social drinker
myself."

"How about a girlfriend?"

"There's a girl in Atlanta he liked a lot. I don't know her name."

"Did he have any friends here?"

"Sure, everybody liked Keith, I told you."

"Do you have a name?"

"Sure, missy, I told you my name is Boote."

Lindsay took a deep breath. "Can you name one of Keith's
friends?"

"No. He didn't bring his friends around much."

"Do you have any idea what that man was looking for?"

"No. I ain't got nothin' much."

Lindsay couldn't think of anything else to ask. The trip was
probably a waste of time.

"Are you sure we can't take you to the doctor?" she asked.

"He just shoved me around and made me mad. I'm okay. He
ran when he looked out the kitchen window and saw you two
coming."

"You need to call the police. He might be back," said John.

"He comes back, I'll be ready for him."

Boote rose to go inside. When he opened the door, Lindsay
noticed something she hadn't seen when they first went in. A
mason jar filled with quarters had spilled out onto the floor. She
went in with Boote and picked up several. All of them had holes
drilled in the middle.

"Boote, what are these?" Lindsay asked.

"Those? They belonged to Keith."

"Why did he put holes in them?"

"I don't know. He's been punching holes in quarters since he
was in his twenties and working on a fishing boat. He says that
some fish like shiny things. But-" He shrugged his thin shoulders.

"He used them for bait?" asked John.

"I reckon. I ain't never heard of it, but then I'm not much of a
fisherman, neither."

Lindsay put the coins in the jar and said goodbye to Boote.

Lindsay climbed in the boat and put on her life jacket. "Well, I
suppose that was a waste of time," she said, sticking the postcard
in her notebook next to Dr. Rosen's list of bone diseases. She
tucked the notebook in the backpack she had stored in the boat
locker. "I hardly learned a thing."

John waited to start the engine. "Lindsay, you aren't going to
canvass the bars on Savannah's waterfront. The kind of places
Keith would frequent are not the kind of places for you to be asking questions. I'm sure this is not what Lewis had in mind for you
to do. He meant for you to just use your brain. I'll go to Lewis; I'll
lock you up in my barge if I have to."

"Are you finished?"

"Yes."

"I have no intention of going to bars or interrogating sailors, as
romantic as that sounds."

"Good. You want to go get something to eat?"

"Sure. You pick the restaurant," said Lindsay.

He took her to a small, quiet restaurant with French cuisine on
St. Simons Island. Lindsay had a cheese souffle and John a
bacheofe, and they both had a glass of a cabernet sauvignon.

"Nice," said Lindsay. "I like this."

John nodded. "I've eaten pretty well on this job since you got
here." He took a sip of wine. "Why did Lewis ask you to investigate Keith?"

"He didn't. He asked me to investigate Hardy Denton."

"Then what were we doing at Boote's?"

"I believe the two deaths are related. And if I can discover how
they're related, I'll have made some significant progress."

"What makes you think one has something to do with the
other? There's nothing that connects them."

"Yes, there is. Both were found dead on St. Magdalena. Just
what do you think the murder rate is on that island?"

John made a face and shrugged. "I imagine it used to be zero."

"I assume so. And we have two bodies found just days apart. I
don't believe in coincidences of that kind." John was silent.
Lindsay took that to mean that he'd like to disagree, but couldn't.
"Another thing. Hardy Denton was working with Eva Jonesshe's a treasure hunter. We know that Keith had more than a passing interest in finding shipwrecks-he found at least three several
years ago."

"And you think they are both interested in your ship?" This
time Lindsay was silent.

"Is there something you aren't telling me?" he asked.

"Yes, and I can't tell you now. But I think you should know
since you provide security for the dam, and I'm going to ask Trey
to tell you when we return."

"Am I going to like this?"

"Probably not."

"Does it involve you?"

"Not in the least. No more so than anyone else on the dig."

John smiled. "Thank heaven for that. This place has a great
caramel custard for dessert."

Lindsay lay in her bunk trying to think of where she could get
information about Hardy Denton. Ramirez would interview all the
pertinent people. What she needed was for Ramirez to confide in
her. She'd have to work on that. There was Isaac. She could ask
him if he found anything unusual around his work area. There's
the security guard that guarded both the lab and the warehouseshe could speak with him. She knew Ramirez was asking questions of the people staying at the lab. She could find out what
questions he was asking-she might find a clue there.

Lindsay turned over on her stomach, hypnotized by the wafting of the barge. Her eyelids grew heavy as sleep approached.
What she really needed to do was the work she was hired for: analyze the skeletal remains and excavate the ship. Lewis could solve
his own mystery. John would like that. John liked her a lot. How
did she feel about that? Good. She felt very good about John. That
was her last thought before she succumbed to sleep.

Lindsay worked at the dam in the morning, helping Gina and
Juliana finish their burial. She had missed getting down in the
sandy mud, even missed the sound of the waves against the bulkhead. Darn Lewis and his political machinations. Agent Ramirez
was perfectly capable of solving this without her help.