Rolling the corpse over, breathing just a bit hard from the ordeal, Vernon almost didn’t recognize her at first.
She was more bloated than he’d thought, her face roundish and smoothed nearly free of the most familiar wrinkles. And the eyes he’d known had always flickered and danced; he’d never seen these cloud-gray dead eyes on this particular face before.
Strange as it was, the first thing he recognized was the smile. It was the same one he’d seen nearly every Sunday for ten years; the ready, thin-lipped smile that had brought them from being strangers to damn near being friends who shared only a love for the park. Friends enough that he’d warned her time and again about swimming out here by herself, a woman her age, old enough to be his mother. And friends enough that he had to swallow back hard and clamp his teeth shut when he realized that even though the smile was still there, his friend was long gone.
“Darn you, Marion,” he whispered, brushing a glistening gum wrapper from her matted hair. “What’ve you gone and done now?”
Fay didn’t want Britt to hug her too long, because then the comforting numbness of the shock might wear off, and she wasn’t ready for that yet. Right now, she felt like she was in the middle of an elaborate movie scene at the edge of the bay, and the stunt double for her grandmother, entombed in a black body bag inside of the ambulance beside her, was the victim of some freak accident on the set. That fantasy was almost keeping her from shaking at all.
“Kid, I’m so sorry,” Britt said. Then, instinctively, Britt knew she had to snap out of human mode and let her machinery take over. Poor Fay wouldn’t be any good to her if she crumbled into an emotional wreck. Marion McAlister Williams had been much more than Fay’s grandmother; she was the whole city’s surrogate guardian, its conscience, and now she’d been found dead as if she’d been choked by the trash she’d decried for so long. Everyone would want answers, and Britt had to find some fast.
Britt paused, her pen in midstroke from scribbling wildly in her notebook. Between the impending Castro visit and Marion McAlister Williams’s sudden death, she was juggling two huge stories, possibly three, depending on what was going on with those heads. Should she phone her editor for backup?
Yeah, right, she thought. “What did the police say to you?” Britt asked Fay, regaining her senses.
“They aren’t saying much,” Fay answered in a hollow voice. “All I know is, a fisherman pulled her out of the water about an hour ago. That guy over there. He’s giving a statement.”
“Do you think she went swimming?”
“Not with her clothes on. No way. She’s the one who taught me, ‘It’s naked or nothing.’ Britt, I’m thinking… ”
Britt nodded. “I know. It’s connected to the Castro heads. I’m thinking the same thing. So’s Jake. He’s already headed for her house. We’re all over this. Don’t worry.”
Suddenly, something broke through Fay’s frozen thoughts to bring her attention to the water. She’d seen something moving out there, something big. Another body? Had her grandmother’s murderers killed Phil, too?
But when she saw the dark gray head pop out of a wake, she realized it was only Booger. He was everywhere, like a swimming spirit guide. Booger had probably been witness to the whole horrible business from beginning to end. All of the answers were right there behind those doleful, dull black eyes. If only manatees could talk… At least Flipper could splash and make frantic chattering sounds, Fay thought. Eventually, the kid and his dad had always figured it out: Danger. This way. Hurry.
With Booger, nothing.
Then Fay felt the shock thinning. Her grandmother was gone. “Britt,” she said, barely a whisper. “I’ve lost her.”
Britt stared at her friend’s wide, wondering eyes, framed by strands of blond hair blown across her forehead. For the first time in a long time, Britt couldn’t think of a snappy comeback.
“Um… excuse me. Miss, are you Marion’s granddaughter?”
It was the black fisherman, shading his eyes from the glare of the sunset with one hand as he stood before them, his features grim. Gazing at the dark, tallish man with salt-and-pepper hair, Fay realized she’d seen him around, fishing with a bamboo pole.