I folded eggs and Parmesan reggiano with ricotta. “Any hint as to what he may have been involved in?” I asked as the mystery of the dead man deepened and unsettled me more.
“No, but he sure as hell seemed to be after something.”
“Or something was after him,” I said.
“He was scared,” Lucy spoke as if she knew. “You don’t go diving after dark and carry along a waterproof nine-mil loaded with armor-piercing ammo unless you’re scared. That’s the behavior of someone who thinks there’s a contract out on him.”
It was then I told them about my strange early-morning phone call from an Officer Young who did not seem to exist. I mentioned Captain Green and described his behavior.
“Why would he call, if he’s the one who did?” Marino frowned.
“Clearly, he didn’t want me at the scene,” I said. “And maybe if I were given ample information by the police, I would just wait for the body to come in, as I usually do.”
“Well, it sounds to me like you were being bullied,” Lucy said.
“I believe that was the overall plan,” I agreed.
“Have you tried the phone number this nonexistent Officer Young gave you?” she asked.
“No,” I said.
“Where is it?”
I got it for her and she dialed it.
“It’s the number for the local weather report,” she said, hanging up.
Marino pulled out a chair from the checker cloth–covered breakfast table and straddled it, his arms folded on top of the back. Nobody spoke for a while as we sifted through data that were getting only stranger by the minute.
“Listen, Doc.” Marino cracked his knuckles. “I really gotta smoke. You going to let me or do I have to go outside?”
“Outside,” Lucy said, jabbing her thumb toward the door and looking meaner than I knew she felt.
“And what if I fall into a snowdrift, you little runt?” he said.
“It’s four inches deep out there. The only drift you’re going to fall into is the one in your mind.”
“Tomorrow we’ll go out on the beach and shoot cans,” he said. “Now and then you need someone to give you a little humility, Special Agent Lucy.”
“You most certainly will not be shooting anything on this beach,” I said to both of them.
“I guess we could let Pete open the window and blow smoke out,” Lucy said. “But it just shows you how addicted you are.”
“As long as you smoke fast,” I said to him. “This house is cold enough as it is.”
The window was stubborn, but no more so than Marino, who managed to get it open after a violent struggle. Moving his chair nearby, he lit up and blew smoke out the screen.
Lucy and I placed silverware and napkins in the living room, deciding it would be cozier to eat in front of the fire than in Dr. Mant’s kitchen or cramped, drafty dining room.
“You haven’t even told me how you’re doing,” I said to my niece as she started working on the fire.
“I’m doing great.”
Sparks swarmed up the chimney’s sooty throat as she shoved more wood inside, and veins stood out in her hands, muscles flexing in her back. Her gifts were in computer science and, most recently, robotics, which she had studied at MIT. They were areas of expertise that had made her very attractive to the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team, but the expectation of her was cerebral, not physical. No woman had ever passed HRT’s punishing requirements, and I worried that she was not going to accept her limits.
“How much are you working out?” I asked her.
She closed the screen and sat on the hearth, looking at me. “A lot.”
“If your body fat gets much lower, you won’t be healthy.
“I’m very healthy and actually have too much body fat.”
“If you’re getting anorexic, I’m not going to have my head in the sand about it, Lucy. I know that eating disorders kill. I’ve seen their victims.”
“I don’t have an eating disorder.”
I came over and sat next to her, the fire warming our backs.
“I guess I’ll have to take your word on that.”