flash further away from the dock, gliding underwater like a bird. Only its wingtips broke the water. âStingray.â
Right again. Sly Mantooth knew a stingray when he saw it. Soon enough, Michael would, too. In the meantime, all three of them watched its flat, undulating body pass by.
Joe was irritated with his fatherâs constant chatter, no doubt. It had been his understanding that ex-cons werenât talkative, not when the wrong word might put them in life-or-death trouble with their fellow prisoners, but maybe prison didnât mark everyone in the same way. If anything, Sly was chattier now than heâd ever been when Joe was a child. Leave it to his dad to do everything backwards.
Still, Joe watched his father with a flicker of interest. Looking at Sly lean easily over the side of the dock and riffle the silty water with a relaxed hand, Joe thought that maybe there was some hope that he himself wouldnât move like an old man before his time, either.
As always, the fish rose from the darkness, fluttering their pectoral fins and piercing the surface of the water with their gaping mouths, and Michael talked to them as if they were familiar playmates. Joe supposed that they were. Bending his head toward the bag hanging from his belt, he reached a hand in to fetch some bread before Michael started to whine for it, so he missed the moment when Sly flung himself headfirst off the dock.
Michael had left the dock, too, intent on following his grandfather into the water, but Joe reached out a long arm and plucked the boy from midair. Caught off-balance, he nearly toppled over the edge himself. When he gained his footing, Joe found himself on the dockâs edge staring down at Liz. Ten feet from the dock, she floated below the murky waterâs surface with her arms outstretched through circling schools of minnows, catfish, and pompano. Her hair, iron gray and faded red, snaked through the water as if reaching out for air.
Joe was as much a man of action as Sly and he needed to be in the water. He needed to be doing everything in his power to save Liz. He looked reflexively for Faye, so that he could hand their child to her and dive in, but she wasnât there. Sly, burdened by nothing to stop him from yielding to the impulse of the moment, had already wrapped both arms around Liz and yanked her to the surface. He was shaking her, slapping her, doing anything to rouse her, but she hung slack in his arms.
It was no accident that Joe was a strong swimmer. His father had made time to teach him very few things, but Sly had ensured that Joe could handle himself in the water because he himself swam with the power of a killer whale. Joeâs father turned Liz on her back, wrapped one big arm around her chest, and struck out for land.
Joe paused only to dial 911, then sprinted up the dock while carrying a struggling child and barking information at the emergency dispatcher. Sly was already dragging Liz onto the muddy shoreline before Joe got there. It was littered with soda cans and candy wrappers that had held snacks sold by Liz herself.
Sly checked her airway and started CPR. Joe wondered if they taught emergency resuscitation in prison these days.
Chapter Four
Faye was using her phone to take a picture of her latest pointless excavation. Sheâd dug down to groundwater, which wasnât very deep on Joyeuse Island, and sheâd uncovered exactly nothing. Taking a picture of the wet hole seemed like a waste of electrons and pixels, but she was trying to at least go through the motions of working like a professional archaeologist. As she aimed the phone at the ground, it rang.
Joeâs number was displayed on the screen and she heard his voice as soon as she put the phone to her ear.
âSomething bad happened to Liz.â
âTell me.â
âWe found her floating off her dock. Shot in the back. Drowned, too, maybe, if she wasnât dead when she went in the water. We
Right again. Sly Mantooth knew a stingray when he saw it. Soon enough, Michael would, too. In the meantime, all three of them watched its flat, undulating body pass by.
Joe was irritated with his fatherâs constant chatter, no doubt. It had been his understanding that ex-cons werenât talkative, not when the wrong word might put them in life-or-death trouble with their fellow prisoners, but maybe prison didnât mark everyone in the same way. If anything, Sly was chattier now than heâd ever been when Joe was a child. Leave it to his dad to do everything backwards.
Still, Joe watched his father with a flicker of interest. Looking at Sly lean easily over the side of the dock and riffle the silty water with a relaxed hand, Joe thought that maybe there was some hope that he himself wouldnât move like an old man before his time, either.
As always, the fish rose from the darkness, fluttering their pectoral fins and piercing the surface of the water with their gaping mouths, and Michael talked to them as if they were familiar playmates. Joe supposed that they were. Bending his head toward the bag hanging from his belt, he reached a hand in to fetch some bread before Michael started to whine for it, so he missed the moment when Sly flung himself headfirst off the dock.
Michael had left the dock, too, intent on following his grandfather into the water, but Joe reached out a long arm and plucked the boy from midair. Caught off-balance, he nearly toppled over the edge himself. When he gained his footing, Joe found himself on the dockâs edge staring down at Liz. Ten feet from the dock, she floated below the murky waterâs surface with her arms outstretched through circling schools of minnows, catfish, and pompano. Her hair, iron gray and faded red, snaked through the water as if reaching out for air.
Joe was as much a man of action as Sly and he needed to be in the water. He needed to be doing everything in his power to save Liz. He looked reflexively for Faye, so that he could hand their child to her and dive in, but she wasnât there. Sly, burdened by nothing to stop him from yielding to the impulse of the moment, had already wrapped both arms around Liz and yanked her to the surface. He was shaking her, slapping her, doing anything to rouse her, but she hung slack in his arms.
It was no accident that Joe was a strong swimmer. His father had made time to teach him very few things, but Sly had ensured that Joe could handle himself in the water because he himself swam with the power of a killer whale. Joeâs father turned Liz on her back, wrapped one big arm around her chest, and struck out for land.
Joe paused only to dial 911, then sprinted up the dock while carrying a struggling child and barking information at the emergency dispatcher. Sly was already dragging Liz onto the muddy shoreline before Joe got there. It was littered with soda cans and candy wrappers that had held snacks sold by Liz herself.
Sly checked her airway and started CPR. Joe wondered if they taught emergency resuscitation in prison these days.
Chapter Four
Faye was using her phone to take a picture of her latest pointless excavation. Sheâd dug down to groundwater, which wasnât very deep on Joyeuse Island, and sheâd uncovered exactly nothing. Taking a picture of the wet hole seemed like a waste of electrons and pixels, but she was trying to at least go through the motions of working like a professional archaeologist. As she aimed the phone at the ground, it rang.
Joeâs number was displayed on the screen and she heard his voice as soon as she put the phone to her ear.
âSomething bad happened to Liz.â
âTell me.â
âWe found her floating off her dock. Shot in the back. Drowned, too, maybe, if she wasnât dead when she went in the water. We