Lemon Reef (37 page)

To the ground, he said, “She always does this, makes me look like the bad one. She always comes out smelling like a rose.”

“Who?”

Eyes back to mine. “Del.”

My stomach clamped. I don't know if it was his pathetic expression or his referring to Del in the present tense, but I was sure that in a bizarre way it was news to him when I said, “Del's dead, Talon.”

He scrutinized me, his black, beady eyes scanning my face, taking in this information. He pinched his brows and pressed his lips together, concentrating, working to grasp it, deciphering it, as if communicating with someone who speaks a different language, sifting through the bits and pieces of common understanding to arrive at a shared idea: death. He knew not of it.

I left to see Beasley.

Crossing the grass, I asked, “Did Del's body test positive for cyanide?”

“I don't know yet.” She closed her car door. “I came to talk to her family, because I'm recommending a criminal investigation. I got to thinking after you left and decided to have the crime team take one more look aboard the boat. I went with them this time.”

We took a few steps in the direction of the house.

“I was struck,” Beasley continued, “by how spotless the boat was. Someone had definitely cleaned up. So I asked the next question: Cleaned up how? And that's when I noticed the vacuum cleaner standing right there against the wall in the cabin. We checked the bag in our first go over, and it was empty. This time, we took the whole machine apart, and we found a half-smoked cigarette in the brush roll. There were traces of cyanide in the filter, and we've got a partial print match on the paper.”

“Talon's?”

She nodded. “Adeline's DNA on the same cigarette gives us the murder weapon. With the stuff Adeline left in that box, Dr. Mansfield's analysis, and the cigarette, we're feeling pretty confident about talking to this gentleman.”

Two Weeks Later

It was two weeks before Beasley officially released Del's body. I had gone back home and now returned to Miami with Madison to attend the funeral. Much had already changed. Beasley's tests had detected cyanide, Talon had been charged with murder and was being held without bail, and Khila had been placed with Pascale. The district attorney had agreed to talk with Steve McCulick about Sid. When news got out that the police had a videotape of the murder, the guys who'd actually killed Thomas had begun racing each other to offer State's evidence against one another and Talon.

Pascale had given me some of Del's ashes, and I wanted to take them to Lemon Reef before the public funeral planned for that afternoon. We arranged to meet up on the bay side in the morning. Gail and I had already rented a boat and some diving gear by the time Katie arrived. As she pulled up to the dock, we were surprised to hear the Red Hot Chili Peppers' “Scar Tissue” blaring from her open windows.

“I think we've moved into the nineties,” I said.

Gail laughed.

Soon after, Ida and Nicole arrived with Khila shouldered between them. Madison and I had visited with Khila the day before when we'd gone by Pascale's to get the ashes. I'd shown Khila Del's wooden carvings and told her about each one. As was true for Del, Kurma was Khila's favorite. But this was the first time I was seeing Nicole or Ida since my last visit. Ida's bruises from her fight with Talon had healed. She seemed sober and solemn. She said hello to me and then averted her gaze quickly in apparent shame.

“Hey,” Nicole said, joining me on the boat. Her marble-sized dimples magnified her smile. She hesitated, swayed, punched me in the arm. “How are ya?”

I laughed, happy to see her, too. “I'm fine.” I lifted my chin at Khila. Her expression remained implacable, but she did return the gesture.

“Where's Madison?”

“At Gail's house. I thought it was just the five of us.”

“Khila insisted on coming,” Nicole said. “She wants to go to the reef with you.”

“Do you know how to dive?” I called out to Khila.

She and Ida were playing cat's cradle with a piece of string they'd found. Khila turned her attention from the game and stationed her sober eyes on me. After a few seconds, she nodded. Ida and Nicole were nodding, too, and smiling like a pair of proud new parents. I did get the feeling Khila would be the most backed-up person on the planet with these two beside her.

“Oh yeah!” Nicole said. “I can vouch for that. Del taught her. She's good at it. Even has her own gear.” Nicole gestured to the small tank and the mesh bag she and Ida had brought with them.

“How is she doing?” I asked more quietly.

“I'm not a shrink,” Nicole said irritably. She handed me Khila's stuff to secure. Then, “I don't know,” she conceded. “She doesn't talk very much. We're thinking maybe we'll get her a therapist or something. God knows, if we raise her, she's gonna need one.”

“Good.” My response, a mere nod, was nonchalant, but I knew what a huge concession that was for this family who never asked outsiders for help.

Then Nicole said quickly, as if to get it over with, “I'm going to one, too. A therapist.” She faced away. “I started this rehabilitation program—for crazy felons. It helps us get jobs and mental-health services.” Now she was looking at me again, seeking approval. I smiled, trying not to show too much enthusiasm in fear it would raise the stakes for her. “I was wondering”—Nicole moved foot to foot nervously—“if you'd write me a recommendation. I need a letter from someone who doesn't have a record for this training program. It's to be a welder.”

Of course I will.

*

We were off soon after, heading into the sun. The choppy water looked like icing on a cake, catching the light and giving the surface a silvery quality. Warm wind rushed against our faces, and sea spray covered us in a cool, misty cloud. I drove through the Haulover Bay Pass, opened up the engine, and headed for the ocean. The front of the boat rose and fell over the waves, pounding the water, making each landing louder and each lifting lighter than the last. There were sailboats marking the horizon. The sky still conveyed the tender, orange glow of morning; the air was salty-sweet and new.

Anchored on the reef, we sat in a circle along the edges of the small boat facing each other in silence, rocking with the waves. The plan had been simple and straightforward: place Del's ashes on the reef. But having Khila there made me want to do something more, to make it all last a little longer.

I said, “So, I think it would be good if each of us told one story about Del. Would that be okay?” To Khila, I said, “Would you like that?” Khila's eyes were filling with tears. Holding firmly to the side of the boat and looking down, she nodded. I turned to Gail and said, “You go first. What's your favorite story about Del?”

Gail addressed Khila, and in an uncharacteristically gentle and loving tone said, “We played soccer together—Jenna, Katie, your mom, and I.”

Khila turned in Gail's direction, her face slightly more open.

“Well! It was the last game of the season, and we were playing North Miami Beach for the regional championship. If we won,” Gail proclaimed, “we got to go to Tampa to play in the state tournament. We were ahead one to nothing, thirty seconds left in the game. The clock is ticking. All of a sudden,” to me and Katie, “that blond girl, the one with the red headband who we always had to double cover, broke away with the ball and started heading for the goal. There were only two people between the blonde and our goal. Our goalie and—well—your mom.”

Nicole clamped her hand to her head. When Khila looked at her, Nicole shrugged and said, “Del was good at a lot of things, but…”

“She sucked at soccer?” Khila asked.

Everyone nodded.

I was surprised to find myself laughing in that moment, my hand wrapped around the plastic container that held Del's ashes in it, which was hanging from my neck on a long string and resting against my chest.

Gail was running in place, the small boat rocking harder. “Our goalie runs out to intercept Blondie, and Del, not sure what to do, goes into the goal and just stands there. The goalie, Susan, twists her ankle and falls, and the blonde cuts around her.” Gail cuts, cranks her leg back. “And then Blondie shoots at this wide-open space all the way on the other side of the net from where Del was standing. I swear, Del threw herself, literally flew—I'm telling you, she must have been four feet off the ground. She took the shot right in her stomach. We won the game because of her.” Gail sat down, gave one reassuring nod in Khila's direction, and then stopped talking.

The waves cradled the boat, the air was still and warm, a seagull flew in close to us, let go a throaty
caw
, and then swooped upward.

Katie began, “My
favorite
story about your mom might be the time I saw her dancing at the Stevie Nicks concert.”

Katie glanced at me. It was the first time she had ever given any indication she had seen Del and me fooling around on the lawn that night. Khila was waiting for her to continue.

“Del was wearing this light gauzy tank top and this short jean skirt. She was barefoot and her hair was loose and a little wild. And she was watching the stage and dancing—kind of like she was dancing with Stevie Nicks. You couldn't take your eyes off her, Khi. I mean, your mom was so graceful and beautiful.”

Katie dropped her chin and shrugged to say she was done. Khila searched around, landed on Ida.

“I have so many stories about your mom,” Ida said, “but my favorite might be when I first came to live with Pascale. Del made me so welcome. She just started calling me her sister, and she shared everything she had with me. She let me wear her clothes, play with her games. She even let me sleep with her.”

“Yeah, for like the first year,” Nicole teased.

Ida took a deep breath to keep from crying. “I remember being so scared and Del hugging me and telling me everything was going to be okay, that as long as she had a house, I had a house.” She swiped at a tear, brought her arms in close to her body, and focused her sight on her own feet. “Nicole, you go.”

Nicole began crying and talking at the same time. “I guess my favorite story about your mom was a few years ago. I had a bad car accident and I was in the hospital.” Nicole paused, grimaced slightly, looked at Khila, and said, “I was with Angie. I don't think you ever met her.” Khila shook her head to say she hadn't. “Anyway, Pascale was pissed as hell at me for having a girlfriend, and she wouldn't let her visit me in the hospital.”

Ida said, “Angie was the one Pascale called the Refrigerator.”

Nicole nodded. “Yep.” Looking at Khila, she said, “She was a little thick around the middle.” We all laughed. “
Anyway
, Del snuck Angie in to see me, and then she stood guard, so I wouldn't get caught.” Nicole was sitting back on the edge of the boat, her hands holding on to the sides like she was on a wild ride. She shrugged, smiled a little, and said, “Del never talked to me about her and Jenna, even though she knew I saw them together. So that was the only time she made me feel like she understood what I was going through.”

Khila watched me now.

“My turn?”
A favorite story about Del?
“Well,” I said, “there was the time we went searching for Kurma.”

*

The currents had been unusually strong that day, visibility was poor. It was the last weekend of summer before tenth grade, and we had wanted to get in one more dive before school started. I wasn't sure about the plan, especially when I saw how choppy and dark—almost black—the ocean looked from the beach. Del was determined to make the dive. A guest at the motel had mentioned he spotted a sea turtle on the reef, and Del loved sea turtles.

“Let's go,” Del said, “before Kurma figures out it's not a real reef.” We were standing in waist-high water maneuvering to get our flippers on.

As we snorkeled out to the reef, I said a few times that the water felt rough. Del insisted it always felt rougher on the surface. We'd be fine, she said, once we went under. By the time we did reach the reef, I was already feeling the pull in my lungs and the burn in my legs. I had a cold, and on top of that, the tooth-grip in the regulator mouthpiece I was using was bitten through. I had taken it without really looking it over. Nevertheless, in search of Kurma we went.

Now I sat on the sandy bottom, cross-legged, communing with a yellow tang that seemed to find me interesting, while Del explored the submerged refuge. The tang came close to my face, turned a side to me, and watched me with its black marble eye. From where I was, I could vaguely make out Del by the bus, trying to get my attention with a wave. Then I realized she was signaling for me to follow her, I assumed because she wanted to show me some plant or animal she'd just discovered. Shaking off the ache in my temples and the pressure in my cheeks, I followed Del into the metal cavern. My mouthpiece swooshed around a bit, and I awkwardly used my lips to fix it in place, could feel the low-grade strain in my jaw.

I was moving toward the driver's door to exit, still in pursuit of Del, when I noticed a blue ribbon eel poking out from a hole behind the steering wheel, where the speedometer must have been at one time. I looped to get a better look, hit the regulator against the steering wheel and knocked it from my mouth. It should have been no big deal, but I panicked and chased after it—like a dog after its tail. When I twisted, I jammed the steering wheel between the tank valve and the tip of the tank harness. Then, hoping to free myself, I twisted further, and the steering wheel wedged under the valve. I couldn't move my upper body. Back then, tanks were held in place by bulky harnesses with shoulder and waist straps. So again, no big deal, pull the straps, take off the tank. But then there was the BC, which had its own set of straps, not easy to distinguish in a panic. I was confused, my heart was racing, my head was pounding, I couldn't breathe, and all I could think to do in the moment was try to grab around for my regulator, and when that didn't work, struggle to get unstuck.