“Did you touch it in any other way?”
“I pulled him to the bank and checked his pulse. His wrist. I was going to start CPR, but . . .”
Jack shuddered.
“You recognized the life jacket. Did you recognize the person?”
Jack thought back on what she’d seen. A mess of long hair. Dark pants. The bright red life jacket, the words “Kayak Shack” in faded spray paint across the back. Could she remember his face? Was she even sure he had a face? Jack saw her own arms, reaching out to the body, pulling away. She shook her head and tucked her hands all the way inside the sleeves of her sweatshirt.
“No. I mean, I didn’t take too long of a look. But I don’t think so.”
The detective nodded.
“How many people were on the eleven a.m. tour?”
“Ten. They’re all back at the marina.” Trying to hold down their hot chocolate, probably.
“And you were guiding them on your own?”
“Yes. I’m fully certified. I can take up to twelve on my own.”
“How old are you?”
“Fifteen, almost sixteen. I’m fully certified.”
“You’re sure this man wasn’t on one of your tours?”
Jack was feeling more confident now. These questions were safe. She was safe. She was Paul’s most reliable guide.
“No, Detective. Not one of my tours. This group was my first today. Moondog, I mean Jorge, Jorge Savila, he did the nine a.m. tour. I was supposed to do the two p.m. And Travis Whalen has the sunset today.”
“Those will have to be canceled.”
Jack nodded dully. The prospect of phone calls to angry tourists made her feel tired all over again. Hopefully Travis would handle it.
“We’ll take you back in the other boat. Follow me.” Ramirez nodded to her partner and took small steps to the starboard edge, lining herself up with the bigger boat. Nicoletti reached out and yanked Ramirez toward him. Jack ignored the man’s outstretched hand and leaped aboard on her own. The older detective stared at Jack for a long moment. Then he turned to the pilot and gave the nod to depart.
Jack and the detectives chugged back to the marina in silence. Jack kept her eyes on the water, resisting the urge to point out the baby seals, the pulsing jellyfish, the schools of anchovy swimming laps in the glittering midday light. They crossed under the highway bridge, cut the engine, and cruised up to the dock.
When they got back to the Shack, the sheriff’s deputies were talking to the tourists from Jack’s group. Paul was still nowhere to be seen. Ramirez wrote down Jack’s address and phone number and promised to be in touch. Then she told Jack she could go home. And to be safe out there.
Jack unlocked the shop and tried Paul one more time from the office phone. Nothing. She debated calling home. Prima would be there. Maybe her mom by now too. Jack stared at the phone receiver in her hand until it turned into a foreign object, something alien and forbidding. She realized she was not yet ready to talk, not ready to be bombarded with questions and concern. She put down the phone, locked the door, and headed outside.
Her bike was waiting for her at the fence, as if nothing had happened. She clipped on her helmet and took the back way around the yacht club, avoiding the people clustered at the picnic tables. She turned out of the marina and pedaled across the bridge. She didn’t look out at the slough to see what was happening at the motorboat. She didn’t care to see anything alive. No seals. No jellyfish. No bodies. She kept her eyes on the cracked gray asphalt, letting the thin winter sun bounce off and blind her to everything but the road and the wind.
Chapter Seven
Beth got home late again. Gigi Montero had an allergic reaction to the soup at lunch, and she’d insisted on Beth accompanying her in the ambulance to the hospital. By the time they got back to Bayshore Oaks, Rosa was on duty, Miss Gigi was asleep, and Beth had missed her chance to make it home in time for dinner.
She tossed the greasy foil from her burrito into the trash can on her way into the house. Beth opened the front door, expecting to see Jack on the couch with her head in her phone, texting with friends. But the kitchen and living room were dark. No sound anywhere in the house.
Beth slipped into her moccasins and glanced at the family calendar of school holidays, Kayak Shack tours, overnight shifts, and chemo appointments affixed to the fridge. Nada. Maybe Jack was at Kayla’s?
Beth popped open a beer and rolled out her shoulders. She headed to the back bedroom to ask Lana about Jack’s whereabouts, steeling herself for another ambush from her mother about remodeling the house. Instead, she walked into an improbable portrait of grandmotherly care. Lana was reading a book in her robe, which was normal enough. But Jack was curled up next to her on the comforter. And Lana was stroking Jack’s hair.
Neither of them noticed when Beth entered. Jack had her eyes open, but she didn’t seem to be looking at anything. She was turned away from her grandma, staring at the blank wall above the desk.
Beth watched for a moment, transfixed by the hypnotic, gentle motion of her mother’s hand over her daughter’s tangled hair. She didn’t recognize either of the women on the bed as hers. She felt like a clumsy interloper, as if she had stumbled into someone else’s family by mistake.
Lana looked up from her book. She spoke in a soft voice Beth had never heard before. “It’s been a long day. Can you get us some crackers and cheese?”
Strange feelings of confusion and jealousy rose in Beth’s stomach. Back in the kitchen, she took another swig of beer. Then she set out a box of Wheat Thins, some Swiss cheese slices, a Diet Coke for Lana, a real one for Jack. She put out place mats, seagrass hexagons she’d woven with Jack years ago. And waited.
“Can you two come to the table?” Beth called, feeling slightly ridiculous.
Jack slouched her way to a chair, the sleeves of her sweatshirt pulled down over her hands. Beth watched her daughter insert crackers into her mouth. There was definitely something strange going on. Lana wasn’t dominating the table with her opinions and pronouncements. She was sitting across from her girls, sipping a Diet Coke, eyes shifting from one to the other.
Beth tested the water, watching Jack out of the corner of her eye as she spoke.
“Well, I had a hard day. My patients get wound up this time of year. It’s cold outside and in their bones. The holidays are long gone, and family isn’t showing up with babies and presents anymore.”
No reaction from Jack. She was looking down at the table, eyes locked on the slice of cheese she was tearing into strips.
“February is tough,” Beth continued. “Some of them start misplacing pills or not taking such good care of themselves in the shower. I had one guy today who had a rash on his—well, you’re eating. Anyway. Mr. Rhoads, the gentleman from up here, with the ranch across the slough? He’s not doing well. He’s got one of those coughs that sounds like he’s pulling a rake up his throat. And I can tell he’s not getting enough—”
“Mom?”
“Yes?” Beth tried not to sound too eager.
“Do we have any cherry tomatoes maybe?” The girl’s head was still down, her hair forming a thick curtain Beth longed to pull away from her face.
Beth kept her hands to herself. She walked to the fridge, using the trip as an excuse to shoot a look at Lana, searching for a hint as to what was going on. Lana bugged her eyes at Beth in a way that meant either “Keep pushing her” or “Get the damn tomatoes.”
Beth placed the tomatoes gently in front of Jack. “Honey, how was your day?”
Nothing.
“Jack?”
Lana coughed. “Jack had a challenging day. There was a dead body found in the slough.”