Break No Bones Read Free

maritime forest between Lake Timicau and the Atlantic Ocean.
    Not a chance of scoring a cel phone signal.
    Leaving Topher in charge of the site, I hiked up the beach to a wooden boardwalk, used it to cross the dunes, and hopped into one of our half dozen golf carts. I was turning the key when a pack hit the seat beside me, folowed by Winborne's polyester-clad buttocks. Intent on finding a working phone, I hadn't heard him trailing behind.
    OK. Better than leaving the twit to snoop unsupervised.
    Wordlessly, I gunned it, or whatever one does with electric carts. Winborne braced one hand on the dash and wrapped the other around an upright roof support.
    I paraleled the ocean on Pelican Flight, made a right onto Dewees Inlet, passed the picnic pavilion, the pool, the tennis courts, and the nature center, and, at the top of the lagoon, hung a left toward the water. Puling up at the ferry dock, I turned to Winborne.
    "End of the line."
    "What?"

    "How did you get out here?"
    "Ferry."
    "And by ferry thou shalt return."
    "No way."
    "Suit yourself."
    Mistaking my meaning, Winborne settled back.
    "Swim," I clarified.
    "You can't jus—"
    "Out."
    "I left a cart at your site."
    "A student wil return it."
    Winborne slid to the ground, features crimped into a mask of poached displeasure.
    "Have a good day, Mr. Winborne."
    Shooting east on Old House Lane, I passed through wrought iron gates decorated with free-form shels, and into the island's public works area. Fire station. Water treatment facility. Administrative office. Island manager's residence.
    I felt like a first responder after an explosion of one of those neutron bombs. Buildings intact, but not a soul to be found.
    Frustrated, I recircled the lagoon and puled in behind a two-winged structure wrapped by an enormous porch. With its four guest suites and tiny restaurant, Huyler House was Dewees's only concession to outsiders needing a bed or a beer. It was also home to the island's community center. Bounding from the cart, I hurried toward it.
    Though preoccupied with the grisly find in three-east, I had to appreciate the structure I was approaching. The designers of Huyler House wanted to give the impression of decades of sun and salt air. Weathered wood. Natural staining. Though standing fewer than ten years, the place resembled a heritage building.
    Quite the reverse for the woman emerging through a side door. Althea Hunneycut "Honey" Youngblood looked old, but was probably ancient. Local lore had it Honey had witnessed the granting of Dewees to Thomas Cary by King Wiliam III in 1696.
    Honey's history was the topic of ongoing speculation, but islanders agreed on certain points. Honey had first visited Dewees as a guest of the Coulter Huyler family prior to World War II. The Huylers had been roughing it on Dewees since purchasing the island in '25. No electricity. No phone. Windmil-powered wel. Not my idea of beach ease.
    Honey had arrived with a husband, though opinions vary as to the gentleman's rank in the rol of spouses. When this hubby died Honey kept coming back, eventualy marrying into the R. S. Reynolds family, to whom the Huylers sold their holdings in '56. Yep. The aluminum folks. After that, Honey could do as she chose. She chose to remain on Dewees.
    The Reynolds family sold their acreage to an investment partnership in '72, and, within a decade, the first private homes went up. Honey's was number one, a compact little bungalow overlooking Dewees Inlet. With the formation of the Island Preservation Partnership, or IPP, in '91, Honey hired on as the island naturalist.
    No one knew her age. Honey wasn't sharing.
    "Gonna be a hot one." Honey's conversations invariably opened with references to the weather.
    "Yes, Miss Honey. It surely wil."
    "I expect we'l hit ninety today." Honey's "I"s came out "Ah"s, and many of her sylables took on lives of their own. Via our many conversations, I'd learned that the old gal could work vowels like no one I knew.
    "I expect we wil."