Barracuda Page 3

  Greene’s smiled faded. When it did, it seemed like the old man’s face collapsed in on itself.

  He coughed for another few seconds that to Webb seemed like hours. Greene was desperate for air. When he finished, he found enough energy to say, “Was hoping I might be in better shape for this conversation.”

  “Take your time,” David said.

  “That’s my point.” Greene’s voice was weak. “Not much left. And I need to fix something before I go. I’ve made a mess of my life.”

  “Doesn’t look like it,” David said.

  “That’s the thing about appearances. We all have our secrets.”

  Secrets, Webb thought. And thought again of the note. They are trying to steal everything. Help. I’m not safe in my own home.

  “Tell me how we can help,” David said.

  Greene tried to answer, but another spasm of coughing hit him.

  Again, when it was over, David reached for a tissue, but this time he gave it to Webb.

  Webb froze and didn’t take the tissue. He didn’t want to touch a dying man.

  David gave him an unblinking look, then wiped the spittle from Greene’s mouth.

  “Thanks,” Greene said.

  “Tell me how we can help,” David repeated.

  “Make sure everything I have goes to the charity that I put in my will. It’s called Operation Smile. Helps kids with surgery. I don’t have family, and maybe it will make up for the horrible thing I did when…”

  Greene coughed again. David wiped his face again.

  “Lawyers are there to make sure that your will is executed properly,” David said. “And if you want to talk, I’m here to listen.”

  “I only trust you to get the diamonds,” Greene told David. “Those need to go to Operation Smile. Anyone else would steal them. Once you find the first tin, I’ll tell you where you can find the rest.”

  “Diamonds?” David asked.

  Greene sucked in air and tried to find energy. He patted his chest.

  “I’ve hidden a letter here. Grab it, David.”

  Webb’s grandfather unbuttoned the pajama top, pulled a paper out and rebuttoned the top.

  “When you get back to the cottage, read it,” Greene said. “Let’s talk tomorrow.” He managed a sad smile. “If I don’t make it through the night, do your best to sort things out.”

  “That’s what we’re here for, my friend.” David patted the man’s hand. “I’m honored at the chance to help.”

  Greene began to cough again and waved them away. Webb’s last view was that expression again, the fear of a man about to sink beneath the waves.

  SIX

  The thunderstorm began just after Webb and David made it back to their cottage, with lightning flicking over the water and the rain coming in sideways.

  “Heat,” Webb’s grandfather said, glancing out the window. “Sometimes it just needs a release like this.”

  The frequent flashes of white came like a strobe light, and the peals of thunder like ominous drums.

  “Before I read Greene’s letter,” David said, “you should know something about the final days for a lot of people. Especially older people. They often become delusional because their brains stop functioning properly. They may babble. They deserve compassion and empathy, because it’s real to them. But that doesn’t mean we need to take what they say seriously.”

  “But I thought you came down because he needed help,” Webb said.

  “Yes, but not the help he thinks he needs,” David answered. “He has no family. A man shouldn’t have to die alone.”

  Thoughts of his own dad in the hospital hit Webb, and with them the anger that always came too. If his dad hadn’t died, Webb wouldn’t be stuck in a miserable life with a stepfather like—

  “No time like the present,” David said, interrupting Webb’s thoughts.

  David was sitting on the end of the couch near a lamp. He flicked it on, unfolded some reading glasses, then opened the letter.

  “Hmmm,” David said. It had not taken him long to read the letter.

  “Hmmm?”

  David opened his mouth to speak, and a crackle of lightning stopped him. The boom of the thunder was so loud and close that it rattled the windows of the cottage.

  “Hmmm?” Webb said again.

  “Read it for yourself.”

  Webb scooted closer to the lamp and took the paper from his grandfather.

  Lightning flicked a few more times before he reached the end of the words.

  I need the pills because everything hurts so bad. But when I take the pills, I go into dreams where I’m awake. It’s like being in a fog. I hear voices, and the voices ask me questions again and again. About the diamonds.

  To put the note into the book that I sent, I had to pretend to take those pills so my mind was clear. I glued the note so she wouldn’t find it. But the pain is unbearable. So I take the pills, and the fog and the voices return.

  This morning, I threw the pills away so I could write this letter.

  Stop the voices for me.

  Find the box of diamonds and bring it to me so that the voices will let me die in peace. In the bathroom of your cottage, behind the toilet, find the cinder block that’s loose. The box is hidden in the hollow center of the cinder block.

  “Diamonds,” Webb said to his grandfather. “In this cottage.”

  “He’s owned the resort for decades,” David answered. “I suppose this would be as safe a place as any. If the diamonds exist.”

  “Might be a delusion?”

  The rain abruptly stopped rattling the windows, and Webb felt less spooked by the situation.

  His grandfather gave a grin. “One way to find out. I’ll let you do the work though. My knees aren’t what they used to be.”

  Webb forced himself to walk slowly to the bathroom. Diamonds.

  His grandfather followed.

  Webb was wearing shorts. The tile floor was cool to the skin of his knees. The bathroom was against the outside wall of the cottage, which was made of cinder blocks. Webb began pushing at the blocks.

  One moved.

  The light was dim behind the toilet. Webb could see there was no way to wiggle the block out. Then he noticed a small hole in the center of the block.

  “Hmmm,” Webb said.

  “Hmmm?” his grandfather asked.

  “If there’s a mouse nest hidden back there, I hope I don’t lose my finger,” Webb said.

  He pushed his index finger into the hole and was able to curl the finger against the back side of the cinder block. It took effort, and the edge of the hole put painful pressure against the inside of his finger, but he was able to slide the block out.

  His grandfather was leaning over Webb’s shoulders.

  “Hmmm,” his grandfather said.

  “I agree,” Webb said. Inside the hollow part of the block was a small tin cigar box.

  Diamonds.

  Except when Webb opened it, the box was completely empty.

  SEVEN

  In the first groggy moments of coming out of sleep, Webb thought the tap-tap-tap sound at his bedroom window came from rain.

  Moonlight, however, showed the shape of shoulders and a head, and Webb let his thoughts clear without moving his body. He wanted to figure out what was happening before he let whoever it was realize that he was awake. He could feel his heart rate accelerate as he fought his fear.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Webb’s heart rate leapt to any entirely new level. But not because the person at the window was a threat. She’d shifted slightly, and the moonlight had given him enough detail to recognize her face.

  Kristie. Kristie McCullough.

  Webb was glad he usually slept in sweat shorts and a T-shirt. He slid out of bed, moved to the window and opened it.

  “Hey,” he whispered.

  “Hey,” she whispered back.

  “How did you know I was here?” Webb asked.

  “Small island,” she said. “Easy to find out. W
ant to sneak out?”

  “Huh?”

  “Come on out,” she said. “Walk along the water. I owe you an apology for today.”

  “Um…”

  “Good. I’ll wait by the water.”

  She stepped away and seemed to flow into the shadows.

  Webb wondered if he needed David’s permission for this. Probably. A glance at the alarm clock on the bedside table showed that it was 2:18 AM. Late night, early morning. But if David said no, then what? Maybe better just to go for a walk and tell David after. That way he could be honest with his grandfather and still be able to spend time in the moonlight with Kristie.

  Moonlight. Florida waters. Wow.

  Webb was tempted to go out the window. But he decided he didn’t like being a sneak. He’d go out the cottage door, enjoy the walk and in the morning tell his grandfather about it.

  Good plan, Webb thought. Nothing can go wrong.

  He threw on blue jeans but stayed in the T-shirt he’d worn to bed. He slipped into sandals and opened his bedroom door. He could hear snoring coming from behind the other bedroom door.

  He told himself it would be rude to wake his grandfather. Webb was thirteen now, old enough to walk at night.

  Webb was still quiet about unlatching the door to the outside patio. And quiet about shutting it. He knew he was trying to fool himself. It was sneaky. But he would do it anyway.

  With the thunderstorm long passed, the moonlight was bright enough to cast shadows, and the edges of the palm leaves etched onto the sand looked like saw blades.

  Webb walked over those shadows, his sandals crunching on the tiny shells of long-dead crustaceans mixed into the sand.

  For a moment he didn’t see Kristie. For a moment he wondered if this was a trap. After all, what if the threats in Jonathan Greene’s letters were not the fevered imaginings of a man close to death?

  It was a little late for those thoughts, Webb told himself.

  Kristie’s voice reached him.

  “Over here,” she said.

  He turned. There she was.

  Moonlight. Water’s edge. Wow.

  He walked to her, and she reached out a hand. He’d never held hands with a girl before. Never.

  It messed with his head. He hoped his palms wouldn’t sweat.

  She pulled his hand, and he followed and they began to walk. Beyond the mangroves, the view of the bay under the moonlight was spectacular.

  “Sorry if I woke you,” she said. “I’m a night owl.”

  “Me too,” Webb said, wondering what power she had to make him blurt that without a second’s thought. He wasn’t a night person. He was usually awake and out of bed at 6:00 AM, which was weird for a teenager.

  “The water always puts me in a good mood,” she said.

  “Me too,” he said. Water was okay, but not something to swoon over. But if she liked water, he liked water.

  Moonlight. Florida ocean. Holding hands. Wow.

  “You should come by and play guitar sometime,” Kristie said. “Sylas was just in a bad mood today.”

  “He’s in your band?”

  “He’s in the band. He doesn’t have my kind of dreams. Someday I want to be in Nashville. Where the music is. He just wants to hang out in the Keys. Fish. Stay lazy. How about you? What do you want?”

  Webb shrugged. This was crazy. He was holding hands. With a G-I-R-L, but he still felt like he needed to keep his thoughts and feelings private. His grandfather was right. Webb was a guarded type of person. Maybe he did need to learn how to open up to other people.

  She didn’t seem mad that he hadn’t answered, but she changed the subject.

  “Someone at the bar said you and your grandfather are visiting Jonathan Greene,” she said.

  “Yes,” Webb said. This didn’t involve sharing anything like feelings.

  “He doesn’t have long,” she said. “Everybody says that.”

  Webb thought of how David had wiped spittle off the old man’s face.

  “Yes,” Webb said.

  “When he goes,” Kristie said, “I guess his secret will go with him.”

  “Secret?” Webb said, thinking of the empty tin in the cinder block.

  They were walking slowly.

  “Everyone says that when he was a kid, he found some kind of treasure. But instead of making some big claim, he kept it hidden and just took out a little at a time. That’s how he built up all his money. Think that’s true?”

  Webb said, “I just got here with my grandfather, so I don’t really know.”

  “Well, maybe he’s going to spill it on his deathbed. You know, like some kind of confession. Wouldn’t that be cool? I mean, did he tell you anything? Give you anything?”

  Before Webb could answer, he heard a loud snap somewhere behind him in the darkness.

  He turned, pulling his fingers away from Kristie’s. He saw nothing of danger among the trees. Still, it felt like they were being watched.

  Kristie just kept walking. He caught up to her. She didn’t reach for his hand, and he was too shy to reach for hers.

  “Well?” Kristie asked.

  “Maybe an animal or something,” Webb said. While the waterfront was cleared of mangroves, the rest of the resort had shrubs and bushes as part of the landscaping. Easy enough for a raccoon or something to hide.

  “Not well what was the noise. I mean about Jonathan Greene. You haven’t heard anything, have you?”

  “I just got here with my grandfather,” Webb said again. Guarded again. Like it was instinct.

  She let out a deep breath. “Well, thanks,” she said.

  “Thanks?”

  “You helped me clear my head with this walk. I’m ready to crash now. That was nice of you. So maybe see you at the Sandbar for Battle of the Bands?”

  She waved goodbye.

  Goodbye?

  Webb didn’t move.

  “You don’t need help getting back to your cottage, do you?” she said.

  “No.”

  “Good. Because I’m headed home.”

  Just like that, it was over. The moonlight. The water’s edge. And the wow.

  EIGHT

  When Webb’s alarm went off at 6:00 AM, he felt like he’d only had a few hours’ sleep. Then he realized that was because he had only had a few hours’ sleep, and the moonlight walk with Kristie had not been a dream.

  He hit the Snooze button but didn’t fall back to sleep. His feelings about Kristie were mixed up, and he wanted to try to sort them out. On the one hand, she had woken him up in the middle of the night to go for a walk. On the other hand, it seemed like she had instantly lost interest in walking with him. What had he done wrong?

  As he stared at the ceiling, trying to remember every moment with Kristie, his grandfather knocked on the door.

  “Jack England is on the patio,” David said. “He’s going to feed us breakfast on the boat. Time to catch a marlin.”

  Marlin. That would be one of those eight-hundred-pound fish. Webb could picture it jumping from the water as it tried to throw the hook. Very. Cool.

  Webb rolled onto the floor and was ready in the time it took to brush his teeth, run wet fingers through his hair and step into shorts, T-shirt and sandals.

  When he stepped into the humid air of a Florida morning, David was sitting in a patio chair, sipping tea. In the other chair, where Webb had sat the night before, was a man that Webb guessed to be in his late fifties.

  The man turned his head and gave Webb a smile. He was taller than Webb by a few inches. His face was deeply tanned. He was smoking a hand-rolled cigarette. He wore jeans and a faded denim shirt stained with salt. His feet were bare in rubber-soled shoes with canvas tops.

  “Jack England.” The man extended his hand. “England more than Jack.”

  Webb took it. The man’s skin was rough and his fingers strong.

  “Jim Webb,” Webb said. “Webb more than Jim.”

  “Webb, huh,” Jack said. He took a final drag from his cigarette, dropp
ed it on the patio stones and gave it a quick grind with his right heel. It left a swirl of blackened tobacco about the twice the size of a quarter.

  “Well, Webb,” England said, “we need to move. It’s a charter, and the others will probably be there waiting for us.”

  “Others?” Webb said.

  “Greene might be on his way out,” England said, “but he still runs a tight business. We’re happy to give the two of you a day on the boat, but we can’t run it without the paying customers. Don’t worry. It’s a big boat with lots of room. It has to be big. We won’t go into the Gulf Stream in anything under forty feet.”

  England stood up.

  “The Gulf Stream is like a river in the Atlantic,” he explained as the three of them walked down a path between the resort’s cottages to the marina. “It’s a few miles offshore, and when we hit it, the current is strong. Stretches about forty to sixty miles wide and over a half mile deep. Flows north at a good five miles an hour. You don’t want to be in the stream in a small boat, but if you want big fish, that’s where you need to go.”

  The sun was hot already as England talked. He seemed like a man who liked to fill silences.

  “I’m a believer that out on the water, problems come in threes,” England said. “One little thing happens and that sets off a chain reaction of problems. Say your bilge pump stops working because of a wire corroded by seawater, then—”

  “Bilge pump?” Webb asked.

  “Pumps out seawater that gets into the boat. Bilge pump maybe goes, and then an engine or two floods. You don’t want that when you’re in the Gulf Stream. I’ve seen it plenty. One loose wire and a couple hours later you’re hoping for a helicopter rescue at sea. If you’re lucky enough to still be floating.”

  England laughed and said, “I hope I’m not scaring you.”

  David smiled. “Webb doesn’t scare easily. And me, I figure if you’re part of Jonathan Greene’s team, I can trust you as much as I’d trust him.”

  England nodded. “You’re going to have a good day. I’ll be skippering the boat, so I can promise everything will be great.”

  Webb was prepared to accept that, except when they reached the marina, some men were gathered on a dock by the largest boat, a boom box at their feet, thumping out obnoxious country tunes.