Firefly Island (30 page)

But there were so many voices. How could anyone ever know which one was God's and which ones you were creating yourself?

Stay. Go. Worry about your own problems. Take on everyone else's. Love. Resent. Forgive. Withdraw. Be suspicious. Be trusting. Uncover lies. Leave them be. Be nice. Be forceful. Don't offend anyone. Be honest.

Where are You? Where are You, really? What do You want from me?

What if what You want isn't what I want?

Am I always supposed to give in, let other people walk all over me . . .

“Mommy?” I felt Nick's hand tapping my shoulder. When I turned to look, all eyes at the Docksiders' table were turned my way. I realized that someone must have just asked a question.

“What?” I blinked, brought my mind back. “I'm sorry. I was out of it for a minute there.”

Nester lifted a fishing fly. “Okay if we take the little guy down to the water with us to try out these new flies? We'll keep a good eye on him, I promise.”

“Pleeee-ase?” Birdie added, and pressed her hands together, begging.

“Sure.” Down the hill, the dock was drenched in late-day sun, the weathered picnic tables waiting for fishermen to happen by. Maybe a little time by the water would clear my head, since I couldn't seem to do it for myself. “Sure. I'll be down there in a minute, as soon as I finish my hamburger. Nick, don't you want to eat your ice cream first?” Few things could separate Nick from his Bluebell Homemade Vanilla.

Pushing his food away, Nick shook his head. “I gotta fish!”

“He's a boy after my own heart,” Burt Lacey cheered, then stood up and leaned over my table to retrieve Nick's ice cream. “Here, I'll tuck this in the bait cooler.” He winked at Nick. “When you grab it back out, young fella, just make sure you grab the one with ice cream in it, not worms.”

“Eeewww!” Birdie squealed, and Nick clapped his hands, delighted by the idea.

A moment later, the group was proceeding toward the door, fishing supplies in hand, their booth still littered with newspapers, feathers, and assorted bait-making tools.

Len hesitated by my table. “W-what's all them ubb-boats out at F-firefly Island fer? They ubb-been f-fishin' out there in the li'l ubb-bay?”

Nester paused in the back doorway, holding up the rest of the party. “I been wonderin' that myself. What's all the hullabaloo out there? Everything on that island's been locked up for years—well, except for a few old fellas who
might
sneak on the place at night with their lantern lights to hunt coons once in a while—and now all of a sudden these last couple weeks, there's boats in and outta there like Grand Central Station.”

“Really?” The swallow of soda in my mouth suddenly tasted strange.

Nester nodded, heading off Birdie as she and Nick tried to sneak by. “Been a houseboat anchord up for over a week now, right in the bay there by Firefly. Real nice rig. Saw a couple guys goin' back and forth to the island on a little skiff. I've got a pretty good view of the other side of Firefly from my back porch. Those fellas don't look like they're here to fish, but that's what they
say
they're here for. Burt and I motored out there one day, just to snoop around, and it looked like there was several fellas havin' a business meetin' and sharin'
cocktails up there on deck. We hailed the boat and asked 'em how was the fishin', and they said it was real good. Everybody knows there's no fish in that cove off Firefly Island this time a' year.”

“And you've been seeing boats come and go from the island for a couple
weeks
?” The wheels in my head were turning—peeling out and laying down skid marks, actually.

“A couple. Maybe three.”

Ever since Mason arrived.
Yet, as far as any of us knew, Mason's visit here was simply a reunion, a time to reconnect with his father. So, who was the man Chrissy's husband had seen with Mason, driving through the ranch? Why were boats coming and going from Firefly Island?

I raked my food trash into a pile and pulled my phone out of my purse. “Nick, you hold somebody's hand. You be good down there and do what Nester, Burt, and Len tell you. I'll be watching from here, and I don't want to see you near the water by yourself, okay?”

Nick nodded solemnly, then clicked his heels together and saluted me. I couldn't imagine where he'd learned that. “Ho-kay!”

“We'll watch him, Mama,” Burt promised.

As they disappeared out the door, I brought up the browser on my phone. Time to do some pawing around on the Internet and see if I could find any clues as to what Mason was really up to out there on Firefly Island.

You don't create your mission in life—you detect it.

—Viktor Frankl
(Left by Jenny Guilliam, retired from lifelong English teaching)

I
needed to get myself onto that island. Tonight, while Mason was still occupied at the hospital. Something was about to happen. Something big. But so far I hadn't been able to put all the pieces together. Maybe some clue in the cabin on Firefly would tell me why Mason was really here and what he was up to.

Exhaling a breath through my fingers, I studied the sticky notes I'd written and pressed hastily to the dining room wall after returning home from the Waterbird. The bits of information from my Internet research were seemingly disconnected, but they had to add up to something.

Business meetings on Firefly Island.

Mason's return to the ranch.

Jack's accident.

Ties between Mason and Senator Reirdon.
Reirdon's son and Mason had been more than just fraternity brothers in college. They'd quietly supported various business ventures and political action committee agendas in order to please wealthy constituents and to benefit one another's interests.
They'd acted and interacted and done business together to the ragged edge of what was legal. There had been ethics complaints in the past, but nothing stuck.

Mason had made himself a very rich man in the last several years. In interviews and on campaign materials, he'd even boasted of the fact that he was a self-made man—that he hadn't gotten the money from his father. He'd gone so far as to say that he didn't want his father's money.

But now here he was, schmoozing Jack West and taking time to play the devoted son. Why?

The soft strains of
The Lion King
wafted in from the living room, echoing the theme of family betrayal. I tapped a fingernail to the tabletop, absently keeping time with the “I Just Can't Wait to Be King” song. Nick wasn't even in there watching it. He'd gone home to play with McKenna after Tag and Chrissy had stopped by to tend to the milk cow.

There was something skimming the surface of my thoughts like one of Nester's fishing flies—something I couldn't quite pull in. What was it?

My cell phone rang, and I jumped, then pressed the button and left it on speaker, since no one else was home.

Corbin was on the line. He'd called to relay some additional information about Mason West's history—mostly things I'd already figured out. Ethics complaints, accusations of influence pedaling. Suspicions about some of the money he'd made in big real estate deals. Mason was a shrewd businessman who knew how to dance along the line between morally questionable and outright illegal.

“He likes big utilities,” Corbin pointed out. “Their PACs are some of his major supporters. The last ethics complaint came from an environmental group accusing Mason of paving the way for ten new coal-burning power plants whose PACs had been generous with the political contributions. The
legislation was pork-barreled into some bill about economic stimulus money and funding for low-performing schools. Pretty dirty trick.”

“I just can't figure out what he's up to here in Moses Lake,” I confessed. “I know so little about this area—what the issues are, or what he might have to gain. I've been taking shots in the dark all afternoon, just pawing around on the Internet to see what I can learn. I did hear in town that he's been having some kind of business meetings in the cabin out on Firefly Island. I'm going out there tonight to see what I can find.”

“Hold on. You're doing what?”

“I'm going to the cabin on Firefly Island—tonight, while Mason is still at the hospital with Jack.” At least as far as I knew, he was. I'd have to call Daniel and check before I went to the island. What would Daniel say if I told him what I was planning? “There may not be another chance.”

The line crackled with hesitation. I could almost see Corbin rocking back in his chair, holding the smartphone away from his face, making bug-eyes at it. “Okay, now just wait a minute. Don't you think that's a bit too Magnum, P.I.? As in, a little risky? What if he finds out you were there?”

“He won't. I'll tell Daniel to call me if anything changes at the hospital, and it's no problem getting onto Firefly. There's a pegboard in the lab with keys to everything on the ranch. I can just grab the key to the causeway gate. If I go across in the dark, and come back in the dark, nobody will even see me.” Unless the men from the houseboat happened to be there. Who
were
they? Was the boat still anchored in the bay? Were they coming and going from Firefly when Mason was gone, or only when he was at the cabin? “Anyway, I'll be careful.” I wasn't sure whether I was trying to convince myself or Corbin.

There was rustling and shuffling on Corbin's end of the
phone. “You know what, just let me see if I can get a flight. I'll come out there, and . . .”

“No, Corbin. I need to do it now. The sheriff's deputies questioned Mason at the hospital, and so did one of the first responders. He knows that Daniel is suspicious. If there
is
anything at the cabin, he'll clean it up the first chance he gets. I'm going tonight.”

“At least get Daniel to go with you. You shouldn't be out there alone, Mallory. You're not super-sleuth Scarpetta, you know. You're pregnant, for heaven's sake. Do you have any idea what Carol would say if she heard about this? Or your mother?” His voice wavered, implying a shudder on the other end of the phone.

“Don't you dare tell Carol. Or Mom. And for heaven's sake, don't say anything to Trudy. She's practically put herself on bed rest, she's so worried about not jeopardizing this in vitro, and she's halfway convinced that I should do the same. I'll be fine, Corbin. If anyone sees me and asks what I'm doing, I'll just say I thought I should bring some clean clothes to the hospital for Mason.” What if Mason decided to return home for clean clothes . . . tonight?

He wouldn't. Of course he wouldn't. He was more concerned about what Jack would say when he woke up. “I'm just driving across the causeway and driving back. It's not like I'm going to swim over to the island, Corbin. I'll be fine.”

“You need to promise me you're not going out there alone.”

“Okay. Okay. I won't go by myself. I'll get someone to come with me.” Who? Who in the world could I get? I couldn't imagine involving Keren in something like this. If any of the ranch hands got caught helping me trespass on forbidden territory, they'd be out of a job. The rest of our friends in town were more like casual acquaintances we'd met at the church or various stores. I couldn't just call one up and say,
Hey, want to help me do a little breaking and entering?
What if Mason did find out . . . or even Jack at some point, and they decided to press charges?

“I mean it, Mallory.” Corbin was clearly on the verge of calling my mother. On the other end of the phone,
protective brother-in-law
was struggling to trump
curious reporter.

“Yes, really. I hear you.” Al. Al was the person I needed. Al would go along on this little mission in a heartbeat. She would relish it, even. The risk of future prosecution wouldn't mean a thing to her, and if there was one person she seemed to dislike even more than Jack West, it was Mason.

“I don't know about this. . . .” Corbin's inner angel and devil continued their wrestling match.

“Just think if there really
is
a story, though.” I baited the hook, tossed it my brother-in-law's way, pictured one of the Docksider's brightly colored fishing flies trolling slowly over the water . . . so tempting. . . . “What if there really
is
something juicy going on?”

“That's what I'm worried about.”

Outside, the dog barked at a peacock flying over. The birds were moving into the trees, selecting their roosts for the night as the sun sank toward Chinquapin Peaks. By now, all the ranch hands would have finished feeding cattle in the pastures and gone home. I needed to start moving. “I'll be
okay
.”

“Call me as soon as you're back, and remember, you promised. You're not going out there to some island in the dark by yourself.”

“Aye, aye, cap'n.” I copied Nick's salute, though Corbin couldn't see it.

“Very funny. Keep me informed tonight, all right? Now I'll be on pins and needles.”

“I'll stay in touch.” My mind spun ahead, making plans.

Al. I wanted to call her—not the angry, stone-faced Al
from this morning, but my friend, Al. I wanted to tell her everything that was going on, and have her say something like,
Well, c'mon, cowgirl, let's go. I've been dying to get on that island for years now, anyway.

But it was entirely possible that I'd severed that relationship forever, and even if I hadn't, how could I be sure that, by inviting Al into Mason's secrets, I wouldn't be bringing more trouble on Jack than he already had? What if Al really was after a story? What if Jack woke up and the headlines were splashed with smarmy details about Mason? I couldn't imagine the depths of Jack's heartbreak if he were to learn that Mason was responsible for the accident—that Mason had come here to take advantage of Jack, rather than to reconcile with him. The last thing he needed was a reporter offering up his family drama on the front page. Corbin, I could control, but I had no idea what Al, with her intense dislike for Jack, might be capable of.

How could I be sure?

“Hey, Corb?” I caught him just as he was starting to sign off. “Did you remember anything else about Alex Beck? I mean, I know my dad used to practically spit at the TV when she was on, but did you remember anything about the reason she quit?”

“Why do you want to know?” With Corbin, there was no such thing as an idle question.

“I just need to, okay? I think she's my neighbor, but she doesn't go by Alex Beck anymore. I'm trying to figure out why.”

“Your neighbor . . . Al? The cowboy-woman?” Corbin choked. “The one with the goats? Trudy sent Carol your blog about milking goats with her. Did you, really . . .”

I'd forgotten how well the family telegraph worked in the Hale clan. “Hey, Corb, I'm kind of in a hurry, you know?”

“Okay, hang on. I can probably find out some information for you.” I heard his computer keyboard clicking. “This have anything to do with the whole Firefly Island thing?”

“I'm not sure,” I admitted. “I just want to know why she'd be here in Moses Lake, going by another name, living such a . . . different kind of life. And why she's been so interested in spending time with me here on the ranch. I mean, I kind of remember Alex Beck on TV. She was this rabid reporter, chewing up whoever she had on her show to interview. That doesn't seem anything like the Al I know, but when I mentioned the name to her, she didn't deny it.”

“Whoa,” Corbin breathed, and the note of gravity in his voice concerned me.

“But don't say anything to anyone, okay? Don't go making your next big story out of it, or anything.”

“No, I mean,
whoa
.” Corbin's voice lowered ominously on the last word, the sound almost grief-stricken. “I'd forgotten all about this. No wonder she dropped out of sight and doesn't want to be recognized. I'm sending the article to your phone.”

“Corb, just tell me. I don't have time for all the cloak-and-dagger stuff, all right?”

“Man, yeah,” he breathed. “I was back in school getting my master's then. It was during the House impeachment proceedings against that district judge from Colorado. Don't know if you remember that. You were probably still pretty young. A federal judge had been handing out some pretty favorable rulings benefitting oil and gas companies that were big contributors to members of the House Energy Committee. There was a lot of supposition that some powerful names might come out if the indictment was handed down and the thing went to trial in the senate. Alex Beck was on that case like a dog on a bone. I mean, she was all over it. My journalism
professor loved her. Your dad absolutely hated that she was getting so much coverage, digging into the background on the judge and his friends. Anyway, she was covering the proceedings that summer, just back from maternity leave, and—I don't know, I think the nanny quit or something—but Alex Beck forgot to stop off at day care, and it was ninety degrees the last morning of the thing. Her baby was found dead in her car four hours later by a city policeman. It was all over the news, and of course she had plenty of enemies, so the DA came after her full force.”

An icy, horrible chill walked up my arms, a recollection. “Ohhh . . . I remember that now—not the name, but I remember them finding the baby and all the footage on the news. My mom was so sick about the whole thing, she wouldn't even let us talk about it. Maddie was just tiny then, and after that story, Mom was scared to death that you or Carol would forget her in the car when you went somewhere, remember?”