Mystery of the Tempest Read online

  Mom and Henrik looked at each other.

  “We worry,” Mom said.

  Brian felt curiously like he was the parent and they were the children. “Nothing bad is going to happen. I promise.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Wake up, Dennis Andrew,” said a familiar voice.

  Denny cracked open his eyes and gave Steven the stink-eye. “Go away.”

  “You going to just sleep all day?” Fresh from his morning run, Steven peeled off his damp T-shirt and threw it on Denny’s chest. “Enjoy your celebrity status while you can. I’ve got thirty-two text messages on my phone because of you. Apparently your phone is on the bottom of the ocean, goofball.”

  Denny pushed the disgusting T-shirt off him and closed his eyes again. For years he’d begged for his own bedroom. He’d offered to build an addition himself, or erect a tree house, or put an RV in the yard. Because it was a special kind of torture to spend eighteen years in a cramped room with someone who wouldn’t even let you sleep in the morning after you’d nearly gotten killed.

  Steven dropped to the floor and started doing SEAL-style push-ups. “Seriously. If you don’t get up and prove to Mom and Dad that you’re okay, they’ll drag you to the hospital.”

  “I’ll be up in an hour.”

  “Now, if you want to find out more about Nathan Carter.”

  For a moment, Denny’s mind was blank. Nathan who? Oh. The Greek god. Denny remembered only fragments of the explosion—a burst of heat, floating, hacking up half the ocean. Nathan Carter had saved him. Nathan Carter had pulled him out of the ocean and maybe even given him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

  “I’m taking a shower,” Denny said, pushing out of bed.

  “Me first!” Steven protested.

  “Nope.” Denny shut the door first. The shower was the only place in the whole house where he could get privacy.

  Thinking of Nathan Carter’s sleek body and handsome face meant Denny needed privacy right now. Desperately.

  Halfway through the shower he remembered Brian Vandermark, too—Brian without his glasses, his wet shirt clinging to him. Brian’s shy smile and floppy hair and the way he’d watched his boyfriend dance with other people.

  “Hey!” Steven pounded on the bathroom door. “Hurry up!”

  Denny finished up ten minutes later, turned the bathroom over to Steven, and got dressed. He found his parents in the small kitchen. Dad was already in his uniform, sitting at the table with a cup of coffee and a pile of computer printouts. Mom was still wearing her nightgown and was peering inside the refrigerator in despair.

  “How do you feel, kiddo?” Dad asked, giving Denny a close look.

  “I’m okay,” Denny said. He kissed his mother and reached past her for the egg tray. “How about some omelets?”

  Mom smiled. “I was hoping someone would say that.”

  She didn’t cook. Dad didn’t cook either. Well, not unless you counted microwave food and noodles. It was a miracle that Denny and Steven had survived childhood long enough to learn to use the stove. “Any news on The Tempest, Dad?”

  “Lots of interesting stuff,” Dad said. “She’s some kind of classic, all right. Built in 1932 for a steel magnate. Won all sorts of awards. Sold a dozen times, had a bunch of different names. Last reported stolen from a marina in France four years ago.”

  The phone rang and Mom answered. As owner of the only bookstore on the Middle Keys, she was also president of the Chamber of Commerce and an aid society for Cuban refugees. She’d been born in Havana, a place Denny had seen only in old history books.

  He thought of Brian and his love of history. The Florida Keys had a lot of great stories and folklore. Maybe he could get Brian a book about it. A sort of “Sorry I nearly got you killed” gift.

  “Yes?” Mom asked, turning away. “Oh, hi. Yes. We didn’t get to talk much last night.”

  Denny stirred the eggs and milk together, then seasoned them with salt and pepper. He asked his father, “What about Nathan Carter?”

  “Honorable discharge from the Navy last year. Not sure why.” Dad shifted through his papers. “No current job, but he spent the winter down in Key West. He said last night he was training for a triathlon, but there’s no record he’s ever competed for one before.”

  Steven came out of the bathroom rubbing a towel over his head. “You said he was a SEAL, Dad.”

  Dad shifted through the papers again. “Yes.”

  “So maybe he’s just used to swimming around the ocean at night,” Denny said.

  “Yeah, but it’s a big coincidence,” Steven said. “Him being there just as it’s going up in flames.”

  “He might be saying the same thing about me,” Denny said.

  They explained to their father about meeting Carter out on the water, just as The Tempest was arriving.

  “Hmmm,” Dad said. “You think he used his demolitions experience to blow it up?”

  “If he was going to blow it up, he wouldn’t stick around to save us,” Denny said. “Better to have no witnesses at all.”

  Steven sat down across from Dad. “He said he saw someone else swimming away. Whoever brought The Tempest into the harbor, maybe.”

  “No one knows who that is,” Dad said.

  Denny poured the omelets onto the hot griddle. “Which way was the swimmer going?”

  Dad said, “Toward Beacon Point. But the Coast Guard went over there and didn’t find anything.”

  Mom hung up the phone. “That was Hannah Vandermark. Nice lady. She wanted to see how you were doing, Denny.”

  “How’s Brian?” Denny asked.

  “Still sleeping. He’s not used to that much excitement.” Mom leaned over the cooking omelets. “Yum. Cheese?”

  “Coming right up,” Denny said.

  After breakfast, Dad went off to the station and Mom got ready to open the bookstore at ten. Denny worked there as well, but today was his day off. Which was good, because he needed to go buy a new cell phone.

  “And maybe we could swing by and talk to Nathan Carter,” he said to Steven.

  “You read my mind,” Steven replied.

  They biked over to the city marina. The first thing Denny saw was The Tempest, which had been towed in by the Coast Guard. Yellow tape kept her cordoned off from a few gawkers. With her masts gone and deck in pieces, she was a sad, burnt shell of former glory. All that fine workmanship, destroyed. Denny wanted to weep.

  “Awful, awful shame,” said Nellie Hill, who was as much a fixture at the marina as the store, the fuel pumps, and the pelicans. In her younger days, she and her husband had sailed around the entire world. She was sitting in her folding chair near the main fence, a straw hat protecting her from the sun. “The things people blow up these days. It’s a tragedy.”

  “Do you know that boat, Miss Nellie?” Steven asked.

  “Wish I did,” Miss Nellie replied, sipping from her iced coffee. “Wish I’d owned it. No one would go blowing up a boat like that if I had my say.”

  Denny scanned the docks for Nathan Carter’s crappy fishing boat. Miss Nellie said, “Looking for that navy man, are you? He’s a good looking one.”

  “I didn’t notice,” Denny said.

  Steven said, “Have you met him?”

  “Nope. So don’t go asking me for gossip yet.” She laughed. “Give me a day or two, Steven.”

  They went down to The Tempest. Dad had stationed Deputy Lyle Horne to keep people outside the tape. Lyle’s uniform was sweat-stained already, and too tight over the belly. He’d gone to Fisher Key High and then the police academy, but everyone knew he was a lousy cop.

  A lousy cop with an uncle who happened to be lieutenant governor.

  “Heard you nearly got yourself blown up, Denny,” Lyle said. “You and some pansy boy.”

  “I heard you stayed home and read porn all night,” Denny said. “Still surfing for underage girls?”

  Lyle’s face hardened. “You watch your tone, boy.”

  “It wasn’t porn; i
t was slash fanfic,” Steven said.

  “Get out of here before I knock both of you into the water,” Lyle threatened.

  Denny didn’t believe the threat, but The Tempest was too depressing to look at anymore. He and Steven went over to the Idle, but Nathan Carter was either sleeping or out. They biked over to the Overseas Highway, where the road was lined with gas stations, cheap motels, marine stores, and old diners. At Sal’s Gas & Go, Denny looked over the cell phones while Steven eyed ceramic conch shells and cheap T-shirts.

  “Lost another one, hmm?” Sal sympathized. “Boys like you should buy stock in cell phone companies.”

  “It wasn’t my fault,” Denny said.

  “It’s never your fault,” Steven said. His own phone kept buzzing with messages. He checked some and said, “Jennifer O’Malley wants to know if you’re dead or alive.”

  “How touching.”

  “Eddie says he’s sorry for being a jerk.”

  “Tell him he’s an alcoholic lush,” Denny said.

  He’d forgotten about the fight in the game room, but now he was irritated all over again. Eddie knew better than to say crap about Sean Garrity. He definitely knew better than to make accusations about Denny.

  Denny got his new phone and shoved it into his backpack. He’d have to charge it at home. As they biked along the asphalt of the highway Steven checked his phone again. “Kelsey wants me to come over.”

  “So go.”

  “She’ll just want to have sex.”

  “Too much information.”

  “She wants to use an Indian book. The Kim Satre or something.”

  “And still the information keeps coming,” Denny said. “You don’t know what the Kama Sutra is?”

  Steven looked annoyed. “Should I?”

  “It’s a famous book about sexual positions,” Denny said. “She must be pretty adventurous.”

  He would have said more, just to irritate Steven, but instead stopped at the sight of a news van from Miami. It was parked in the crushed seashell lot next to the Li’l Conch Cafe, which served the best pizza on the island.

  “What?” Steven asked.

  “News crew,” Denny said. “I don’t want to talk to them.”

  “Then we won’t.”

  Denny focused on the car beside the van. “I think that’s Brian’s car.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “It’s got stickers from Fisher Key High and MIT on it. I hope he’s not getting pestered.”

  They circled around to the back dock, which overlooked an inlet and marsh leading to the Gulf of Mexico. Standing by the railing was the guy Brian had brought to the graduation party. Christopher someone. He was posing dramatically for the camera.

  “—we saw it explode and were worried, you know, that someone from school was on it,” he said. As if he even went to Fisher Key High. “Graduation night, right? It could have been this big tragedy.”

  The reporter beside him was Janet Hogan from Channel 7 news. She was taller than she appeared on television, with tightly coiled dark hair and coral-red lipstick. Mom hated Janet Hogan because she was anti-Cuban.

  “No one was injured, right?” Janet Hogan asked now.

  “My friend Brian was nearly killed,” Christopher said. “He was on the water. Got nearly blown out of it. He could have drowned.”

  Denny took a half-step forward. Steven snagged his arm and said, “Ignore him.”

  “He wasn’t even there,” Denny fumed.

  “So he’s exaggerating. Who cares?”

  The back door to the cafe opened. Louanne Garrity, Sean’s cousin, came out carrying a tray of sodas and French fries, oblivious to the news crew.

  “Hey there, Denny, Steven,” she said, her red ponytail swinging behind her. “Crazy about that boat last night, huh? I heard one of you nearly got killed!”

  Janet Hogan swung their way, her microphone poised for action.

  Chapter Eight

  “So how about it, boys?” Janet Hogan asked. “Spill it.”

  “No hablo inglés,” Denny said.

  “Ditto,” Steven said.

  Janet folded her arms. “Don’t be coy. After all I’ve done for you and your father?”

  “You nearly ruined the Harper case,” Denny told her.

  Steven snagged a French fry off of Louanne’s tray. “And blew our cover when we were trying to solve the Richardson murder.”

  “Freedom of the press,” Janet Hogan said sharply. “Now, don’t you want to catch whoever it is that blew up that lovely boat?”

  “Sure,” Steven said. “All we have to do is find out who stole it.”

  She looked intrigued. “Who said it was stolen?”

  “Police sources,” Steven said.

  “When?”

  “Not exactly sure,” Denny said, which was true. “But I bet a sharp investigative reporter like yourself could find out.”

  Janet Hogan stalked off on her black high heels to track down the lead. Denny turned to Christopher and said, “What are you doing, going on TV and talking about stuff you don’t know about?”

  “Who says I don’t know?” Christopher protested. “I was there. Watching from the boat ramp at Beacon Point.”

  Steven and Denny exchanged glances.

  “Did you see anyone in the water?” Steven asked.

  “What, swimming around? No.”

  Denny said, “What were you doing on the boat ramp?”

  “What do you care?”

  “Because our dad’s a cop,” Steven said. “We help him out. If you know something about a crime and don’t come forward, that’s obstruction of justice.”

  Christopher scowled. “We weren’t committing any crimes! A little drinking, so what? Nothing happened.”

  Steven said nothing. Denny scrutinized the light sheen of sweat on Christopher’s face, and the way he’d gone pale. Behind Christopher, some white egrets pecked at food in the marsh and the breeze pushed tall grass back and forth. Louanne delivered her food to a couple of tourists at the corner table and watched them all from the corner of her eye.

  “I think you’re lying,” Denny told Christopher.

  “Okay, fine,” he said. “A little drinking, and we smoked some pot. This girl Lisa found a duffel bag, but there was nothing in it. Some clothes and shoes. Maybe a set of keys. Some homeless guy’s stuff. We threw it in the water.”

  The only Lisa that Denny knew was Lisa Horne, Lyle’s younger sister. Nasty girl, and she smoked more than anyone Denny knew. She was also Eddie Ibarra’s on-again, off-again girlfriend.

  Steven said, “Who else was there?”

  “I didn’t catch everyone’s name,” Christopher said sullenly. “Look, are we done? I want to go check on Brian.”

  He said it as if he cared. But if he’d cared, Denny thought, he would never have been at Beacon Point in the first place.

  “The police will be in touch,” Steven said solemnly, and they left him there on the patio, scowling at the marsh.

  *

  The boat ramp at Beacon Point was at the end of a road branching from the Overseas Highway. They biked out there and searched for the duffel bag Christopher said they’d thrown into the water. The shoreline was all coral and wild mangroves, too rough to search on foot.

  “We’ll have to come back with the boat,” Steven said.

  The sun was high and hot by the time they got home. Steven made them both some BLT sandwiches. Denny was looking wiped out. Nearly getting killed could do that to a guy.

  “Take a nap,” Steven told him. “I’ll try to find Lisa Horne.”

  For once, Denny didn’t argue. He stretched out on their lumpy sofa and was asleep within minutes. Steven messaged Eddie but got no response. He called the Horne family at home.

  “Steven Anderson! Hello!” That was old Mrs. Horne, the grandmother who always drove around the island in her vintage Cadillac at a speed only slightly faster than a snail. “I haven’t seen you in the sports pages this week.”

  �
�The season’s over, ma’am,” Steven said. “I graduated last night.”

  “Congratulations! Are you the twin going into the Coast Guard or the twin going into the Navy?”

  “The Navy, ma’am,” he lied. “Is Lisa around? I wanted to talk to her.”

  “She went shopping,” Mrs. Horne said. “I should have such energy. Out all night with friends, and then she and Eddie just left for Miami. Shopping trip. Did you hear about that boat that blew up?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Investigating the crime, are you?”

  “Trying to,” Steven admitted.

  When he hung up he saw that Kelsey had texted him again, saying “Come on by,” and he figured he couldn’t keep ignoring her. He took his truck, a fifteen-year-old beater Ford pickup that he’d put a lot of time and money into. Other kids laughed at it, maybe, but they had parents who could afford to buy them cars.

  “Most Likely to Be Spoiled Rotten,” was how he thought of them—kids who’d never had to earn anything the hard way. The Keys were full of them.

  Kelsey’s father owned a three-bedroom glass-and-wood home on the Gulf side of the island. His Volvo was in the carport, a bad sign. Steven didn’t like seeing fathers the day after he’d slept with their daughters. He was sure they could see it on his face and would be reaching for their shotguns.

  “Hey, there,” Kelsey said, meeting him at the door. She was wearing a white tank top and pink shorts, her hair pulled back with pink headband. She gave him a quick kiss. “How’s your brother?”

  “Sleeping,” Steven said.

  Mr. Carlson came out of his office, a copy of The New York Times in hand. He was wearing a crisp white shirt with silver cufflinks and a black striped tie. The house was just as formal, with a lot of framed pictures of Manhattan and Paris. As far as Steven knew, Mr. Carlson had never been outside of Florida.

  “Hello, Steven. How was the party last night? I’m sorry I had to miss it.”

  “A boat blew up, Daddy,” Kelsey said.

  “Really?” Mr. Carlson looked intrigued. “On purpose?”

  Steven said, “Not by accident.”