Night Swimming (2 page)

CHAPTER ONE

It was a long hallway. Sean’s secretary caught him at the top of the marble steps, in front of the town hall’s double doors. Evelyn Roemer was firmly convinced Sean’s responsibilities were far too pressing to wait until he was seated behind his desk. She walked abreast of him, talking a mile a minute as they passed the Florida and U.S. flags, the framed photographs of previous mayors, and old, oversized and slightly yellowed maps detailing Coral Beach and the surrounding county.

“I printed out your upcoming schedule, Sean. You’ve got two meetings this morning. The first is with the reps from the waste management union. The sanitation workers’ contract is up for negotiation. I highlighted in yellow the major trouble spots in your copy of the contract. Your next appointment’s at ten, with Chief Reynolds and the CPCB, the Concerned Parents of Coral Beach. The parent organization wants the police department to explore new safety initiatives for next spring’s senior prom. Roadblocks, compulsory handing over of car keys, etc. The folder’s label is highlighted in blue— just think blue for police. That’ll bring you to eleven A.M., just enough time to get to the airport for your flight to Atlanta. Your speech is in a folder on your desk. The label’s highlighted in . . . ,” Evelyn paused.

“Orange?” Sean hazarded a guess. Evelyn’s color theories were something of a mystery.

His secretary shook her head. “No, pink,” she corrected. “I got a new batch of pink highlighters yesterday. The old ones just weren’t doing the job.”

Evelyn Roemer had a real thing for highlighting. A few might even call it an obsession. Whatever it was, though, it was difficult to ignore. Someone, at some point, started a rumor that Evelyn had invested heavily in whatever company manufactured those thick, fluorescent markers. As rumors went, this one was just plausible enough to be accepted as Gospel.

As she walked, Evelyn’s index finger, its nail lacquered a bright fuchsia, tapped loudly against the sheet of paper. “Where was I?” she muttered under her breath. “Oh, right.” And lungs replenished, she dove back into her rapid-fire monologue. “You come back from the mayors’ convention in Atlanta on the first flight Thursday, which should get you back in the office by ten. The press will be ready and waiting. Then, at eleven-thirty, there’s a brown-bag lunch with the Department of Transportation. Should be a long one. Matt Jacobs wants to go over anticipated traffic reroutes due to upcoming construction. How the town will handle the extra traffic once the season starts is beyond me, but that’s your headache. The fun really begins at two-thirty. The high school’s holding a school-wide forum on civics this month. You, Sean, you lucky thing,” she chirruped brightly, “are delivering the keynote speech. You’re to speak for twenty minutes on what made you decide to dedicate yourself to public service. Questions and answers to follow—”

Here Evelyn was forced to pause once more. This time because the two of them had reached the door to the office suite they shared. Of solid oak, the door had “Mayor Sean C. McDermott” neatly stenciled in gold paint on its panel. Sean turned its brass knob, then held it open so Evelyn could precede him. He grinned down at her. “And good morning to you, Evelyn. That’s an extremely becoming shade of yellow.”

In fashion as well as highlighters, Sean’s secretary went for eye-popping. Although she often favored electric blue to offset hair dyed somewhere between a vivid scarlet and a delicate rose, today her couture color of choice was lemon yellow: tight yellow pants stretched over her pencil-stick legs, her shirt a matching hue, emblazoned with larger than life daisies.

“Thank you, Sean,” she replied, smoothing the vibrant daisies over her hips. “Now, tell the truth, did you hear a word I just said?”

“ ’Course not,” Sean replied amiably. “You know politicians can’t multitask. Let me sit down, then I’ll give you my undivided attention.” Sean followed Evelyn through her own office to the adjacent, slightly larger one, shrugging out of his jacket as he walked. He draped it over the back of his leather office chair, unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, and gave the knot on his tie a hard yank, feeling immensely better when it gave.

“All set now? Oxygen flowing properly? Oh, silly me, of course not, you haven’t had your morning shot. Coming right up,” Evelyn said, already moving toward Sean’s cherished espresso machine.

“Could you make it a double, Evelyn? Who knows when I’ll get a fix as good as yours over the next two days?”

“Flattery will get you reelected,” Evelyn quipped.

From day one of Sean’s term as mayor, they had established a standard routine in which he played the role of the bumbling politician, she the impatient secretary. It made for a casual mood in the office—something both of them appreciated when the phones were ringing off their hooks and the fax machines churning out reams of paper, irate citizens demanding that Sean right whatever recent outrage had befallen them.

“Here you go,” she said, as she set a small, white porcelain cup in front of him. “Double shot for you, green tea for me.” Evelyn had recently gone on an antitoxin kick.
Probably decided to restrict substance abuse
to her hair only,
Sean thought, lifting his cup to hide his grin.

Evelyn sat down in the chair facing Sean’s desk. She took a sip of tea, grimaced, and set it aside.

“Ready?” she asked, as she picked up her notepad and pen.

“Mmm, yes.” Quickly, he downed half the espresso in his cup. “Absolutely. Please, Evelyn, don’t keep me waiting; the suspense is more than I can bear. What thrills await me after I extol the virtues of public duty with this year’s teenagers?”

“Who, if you bore them to tears for too long, will get their revenge by voting you out of office at the next election.”

Sean grinned, remembering how deadly some of the “special” speakers had been back in high school. “I promise I won’t go a second over the allotted time.”

“Good, because after that, you’ve got the coral reef advisory committee.”

“What?” he asked in astonishment.

Evelyn pretended to consult her notepad. “Four P.M.: coral reef advisory committee,” she informed him with a wide, pink lipsticked smile.

“You mean Dave found a scientist willing to take over for Lesnesky?” Dave Cullen was the commissioner of Coral Beach’s Department of Parks and Recreation and Sean’s closest friend in and out of town hall. “When did this happen?”

“Late yesterday afternoon.”

“That’s fantastic,” he said. “I was beginning to lose hope. Who’d he find? Someone from around here?”

Evelyn shook her head. “It’s not a local team—no one was interested in taking on a project that was so close to completion.” She made a moue of disgust. “Dave had to telephone his way up the East Coast until he finally wrangled a
yes
. Took him several hundred miles . . .”

Sean’s eyebrows rose. “That far, huh? So who was willing to come to Coral Beach’s rescue?” He reached for his cup of espresso, bringing it to his lips.

“The Marine Center in Massachusetts.”

Sean replaced the cup, espresso untouched. “Did you say the Marine Center in Massachusetts? The one in Gloucester, Massachusetts?” he asked carefully.

This time Evelyn did check her notes. She gave a firm nod, saying, “Yes, that’s the one, Gloucester, Mass. Dave was positively ecstatic—”

“Who are they sending?”

“The head of the department himself—name’s George Hunt. He’s apparently some big muckamuck. And guess what else: The Marine Center’s offered to do the study
pro bono
. That’s two big pluses on our side.”

Sean hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until he sank back against the padded leather of his chair, expelling it with a whoosh of relief. “This is terrific news. And the Marine Center’s willing to waive its fee?”

“That’s right. An excellent PR move. All we have to do is supply the accommodations, research boat, and lab.”

“You’ll see to it?”

Evelyn nodded. “Dave gave them my number. I don’t know how many are coming with Dr. Hunt—I’m assuming he won’t be working alone.”

George Hunt could bring as big a team with him as he
liked,
Sean thought. Lily Banyon wouldn’t be doing the grunt work of an assistant; she was a senior researcher at the Marine Center. And besides, hadn’t May Ellen told him Lily would be in the Bahamas over the next month?
No,
he thought, his muscles relaxing one by one. Lily Banyon wouldn’t be coming back.

“Evelyn, can you contact the university and have them send us a copy of the report Lesnesky was preparing? I’m sure Dr. Hunt will need to refer to it.”

“I’ll ring them at nine, when the university opens.”

“Good. And make sure they understand we need it soon. We’re not on an academic schedule here—not with this development company breathing down my neck. I assume you’ve already notified the other committee members we’ll be meeting on Thursday?”

“Yes, I called them. Everyone will be there.” She paused, then added, “Pete Ferrucci, too.”

“Well, no meeting would be the same without him,” he replied easily.

“That’s for sure. I wonder what he’ll come up with this time.”

“Your guess is as good as mine. Ferrucci’s low enough to try anything. But I’m going to see to it that this reef gets a thorough and proper study, no matter how much Ferrucci protests.”

Evelyn cocked her head, regarding him shrewdly. “And what if the team finds no evidence that the reef is endangered?” she quizzed.

“Then, and only then, will I consider the development project more seriously. The reps are full of promises for this development and what it will do for the town. But I refuse to be steamrolled into anything.”

“Good for you.” She gave an approving nod. “Though not everyone is going to love you for taking this position. Especially with all the fuss Ferrucci’s been making about your emptying the town’s coffers in the name of preservation. Once word spreads about this development proposal, and all the money and jobs it will bring . . .”

“Hey, if these developers can guarantee the construction won’t damage the coastal area and won’t have a negative impact on the reef system, I’m all for enriching our town. But not if it means trashing the environment.” Sean glanced quickly at his watch. Damn, he had only ten minutes until his meeting with the waste management union.

Evelyn too, checked her watch. She stood, her eyes traveling down her page of notes. “Oh, one last thing, Sean. I’m afraid the town will have to negotiate a deal with Mr. Ferrucci so we can lodge Dr. Hunt and his team. With the season gearing up, there aren’t many vacancies right now—none that our budget can afford, that is.”

“That’s all right.” Sean grinned. “Having Hunt finish the study constitutes a major victory for us; we can be generous to Ferrucci. By the way, Evelyn, if I don’t have time before I leave for the airport—call Dave and give him my thanks. Tell him I owe him big-time for getting Dr. Hunt.”

CHAPTER TWO

Two constants distinguished Tuesday mornings at the Marine Center where Lily worked as a marine biologist: the weekly staff meeting and the massive consumption of doughnuts. Her boss, Simone Devaux, the director of the center, claimed she’d instituted the doughnut ritual as an inexpensive and surefire way of keeping some twenty-odd scientists dazed and happy—or, at the very least, with mouths too full to argue with her.

There’d been more than enough doughnuts to go around this morning. A number of the center’s staff were absent, on assignment in the field. The unconsumed Krispy Kremes rose from the plastic plates set in the middle of the row of tables like mountains of temptation. Lily had just succumbed to the persistent cry of a powdered cruller calling out,
Eat me.
It now lay on a napkin by her legal pad, a healthy bite taken out of it.

As Lily munched, she listened with half an ear to the easy rhythms of Simone’s Caribbean accent. Her boss was outlining an upcoming project that the center and NASA were embarking on early next year. Lily already knew the details of the joint venture. George Hunt, who was the Marine Center’s supernova as well as the head of Lily’s department, had talked of little else these past six months.

Taking another bite of the cruller, Lily picked up her pen. From the pen’s nib, a giant tsunami wave emerged, rushing across the paper toward a Disney World–like castle. Lily was adding the finishing touches—the foam of the wave’s crest, the pennants flying from the castle’s turrets—her mouth busy with powdered sugar and saturated fat, when Simone said, “One last item of business before we go. George received a call from Florida yesterday. We’ve been asked to finish a reef study down there.”

Lily’s pen stilled. She frowned at the castle.

“George?” Simone said. Her lilting voice pitched, so the name became an invitation.

George Hunt was sitting beside Lily. He cleared his throat. “That’s right. They’re looking for someone with an in-depth knowledge of Florida’s reef ecology. The scientist the town originally hired for the study fell seriously ill. The project’s been left only three-quarters complete.”

“What would we be dealing with?” Simone asked.

“It’s an Atlantic patch reef, a sizeable one, too,” George replied. “But as the reef is situated so far north of the Keys, it’s been pretty much neglected by the scientific community. The guy I talked to, who’s with the Parks Department, told me no one’s done a systematic assessment of this reef system in over a decade. I said we’d be happy to step in and finish the job for them; it shouldn’t take longer than a few weeks.”

“Thanks, George. Any volunteers?”

Stubborn silence greeted Simone.

The reaction was hardly surprising, Lily thought, as she glanced around the table at her colleagues’ closed expressions. Everyone here was swamped with work. She tucked a stray lock of her blonde hair behind her ear and lowered her head, avoiding Simone’s almond-eyed stare as it swept around the joined tables. Despite the fact that Lily knew she was safe—she was heading to Lucaya next week to start the second phase of a study on reef regeneration—she felt safer still with her eyes fixed on her pad. Since hearing the words,
Florida
,
patch reef
, and
north of the Keys
, a peculiar uneasiness had crept over her. Perhaps that was why the heavy wool fisherman’s sweater she’d donned this morning, though appropriate for the damp autumn bite of this gray, Massachusetts’ morning, now prickled unpleasantly against her skin. Needing a distraction, Lily resumed her doodling, the wave on her page growing higher and more menacing with each stroke.

“Come on, guys.” Simone’s voice held a rare note of impatience. “George has already accepted the job on the center’s behalf. I’m surprised at you—you all know how important it is to get the center’s name out whenever the opportunity arises. And we haven’t done any work down in Florida in quite some time. Now, who’s going to step up to the plate?”

George, who’d been watching the natural disaster on Lily’s paper take shape, leaned closer to whisper out of the corner of his mouth, “Hope Snow White can grab her surfboard in time. She’ll catch a wicked ride.”

Lily gave a snort of amusement, the sound loud in a room full of obstinate silence. Quickly, she tried to muffle it, shoving the last of her doughnut into her mouth.

The weight of Simone’s gaze landed on them nonetheless. “Where’d you say this reef was, George?” she asked.

George looked up from Lily’s drawing. “Sorry, guess I forgot to mention that.” He opened the folder in front of him. “Hey, kiddo,” he said, nudging her elbow with his own. “How about this for karma? The reef’s located off Coral Beach.”

Lily’s head jerked, as if someone had just slipped a noose around her neck.

Peter Sloane, another senior researcher in Lily’s department, was seated directly opposite her. Through the lens of his horn-rimmed glasses, Peter’s eyes met hers. He smiled, a broad smile of relief. “Coral Beach?” he repeated a shade more loudly than necessary. “Isn’t that where you grew up, Lily?”

Instantly, Lily became the focal point of twenty eyes. But it was only Simone’s gaze that caused her throat to close around the half-swallowed doughnut.

“There we go!” Simone pronounced happily. “A perfect match.”

It would be a long time before she heeded the lure of a Krispy Kreme doughnut again. Lily’s throat still ached from the violence of her coughing, from trying to expel powdered sugar from her windpipe. She took a tentative sip of the hot tea George had brewed for her, watching him and Simone warily over the mug’s brim.

The three of them were alone in Simone’s book-lined office. Simone was seated behind her desk, looking slender and elegant as she relaxed against the black webbing of her ergonomically correct chair. Elbows propped on the armrests, she regarded Lily with the patience of a sphinx.

“Feeling better now?” she asked. “I was worried we might have to try a Heimlich maneuver on you.”

“Yes. Thanks.” Lily rested her mug on her blue jean–covered thigh. She cleared her throat and looked at her boss, who just happened to be her closest friend. “Please Simone, can’t you get someone else?” Inwardly she winced at the pleading note that had crept into her voice.

Lily prided herself on her professionalism, her can-do attitude. It was these qualities that had helped her rise through the ranks of the still very much male-dominated field of marine biology. She was a respected scientist. Her work appeared in key journals, her presence was requested at colloquia and conferences throughout the country and abroad. Whining was as foreign to her as a panic attack. She wouldn’t succumb to either.

She took a deep, steadying breath and began again. “Everyone, everything’s set to go for Lucaya . . .”

Simone’s tightly curled brown hair brushed against the back of her chair as she shook her head. “Sorry, Lily. The Bahamas study won’t be affected if you delay it a few weeks. And Coral Beach needs the reef assessment completed as soon as possible. Isn’t that right, George?”

George had eschewed a chair, preferring to sit with a hip propped on the corner edge of Simone’s desk. With his bent leg swinging lazily, he looked every inch the marine adventurer. Jacques Cousteau meets Indiana Jones.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I’d fly down and do the study myself, Lily, but these next few weeks are going to be a killer. Fund-raisers up and down the coast for the NASA project,” he explained with an aggrieved sigh. “But truth be told, kiddo, you’re the best person for the job. You know those waters better than me—better than anyone at the center. You’re exactly what the committee’s looking for. And what could be finer than Coral Beach’s native daughter coming to its aid in its hour of need?” He crossed his arms over his broad chest and gave her a warm smile.

At George’s smile, Lily knew she’d been right to be wary. George Hunt could charm at will with his dashing good looks. She’d seen him use that cajoling smile at fund-raisers, seen him reduce CEOs to sentimental mush puddles. Very
generous
sentimental mush puddles, which, by the evening’s end, had written gratifyingly big checks. The man was a genius. But Lily was made of sterner stuff.

Listening to Hunt’s smooth delivery had sparked an idea. Lily leaned forward, almost overturning her tea in her eagerness. Impatiently, she set the cup aside.

“Don’t you see, Simone, George? That’s exactly why someone else should go. Florida’s
such
a territorial place. If word gets out that I’m a local, I might be accused of partiality. Which could cause real problems. For the sake of the center’s reputation, I think it would be better if you gave the project to someone else.” That last bit was an especially nice touch, selfless and altruistic.

Amusement lit Simone’s exotic features. She clapped her hands, applauding, her silver bangles clinking musically.

Lily scowled.
Damn.
She should have known Simone would be too smart to fall for it.

“Come on, Lily. You’ve handled studies and committees like this one before. Moreover, you’re an acknowledged expert in your field. No one on this advisory panel will be able to argue that.”

“That’s right. Nothing to worry about, kiddo,” George chimed in reassuringly.

“By the way, when was the last time you went back for a visit, Lily?” Simone asked.

“Oh, I don’t know.” She tried for a casual shrug. “Ten years, maybe.”

“Ten years?” Simone parroted, astonished.

“You know how it is with work.” At her boss’s look of blank incomprehension, Lily added defensively, “My mother’s newest husband lives in Palm Beach, my half brothers have moved away, too. So the only family I have left in Coral Beach is my grandmother.”

“And that would be the delightful Mrs. Farrady?”

Lily blinked at George. “Oh, yes, that’s right. I forgot I introduced you to her after your lecture on the Galapagos when she was in Boston.”

“Ten years,” Simone repeated. She was shaking her dark head in disbelief. “My God, Mother would drag me home by the ear if I dropped out of sight for more than two weeks.”

“My family’s not quite as close-knit as yours, Simone.” Indeed, Lily often marveled at her friend’s vibrant, loving, and supportive parents. Simone’s father was a geologist, a professor at MIT, her mother an art dealer, born and raised in Martinique. Lily had been invited to dinner at their home in Boston’s Back Bay several times over the past years. Long, marathon affairs, with wooden platters piled high with spicy food, torches and candles illuminating the brownstone terrace where they sat. While the Devaux and their guests ate, the conversation would turn to plate tectonics, global warming, and marine ecology. Heady stuff. The debates often lasted far into the night, ending only when the candles sputtered and died.

A far cry from the stilted atmosphere at Lily’s childhood home. If plates were ever mentioned, they were the ones on sale at Bloomingdale’s. Or how important it was to align one’s fork and knife just so on a china plate. Which, to a younger Lily, had been more than ample reason to turn deaf and dumb. After hurriedly gobbling her food, Lily would quickly mumble an “Excuse me,” and make her escape—either to race downstairs to her chemistry lab in the basement, or upstairs to the sanctuary of her bedroom and her biology books.

The sound of Simone’s voice broke into her thoughts.

“There’s no such thing as a perfect family, Lily.” Simone’s exotic eyes studied her intently. “Let me guess,” she said in a voice as gentle as her smile. “You were the quintessential science nerd. The proverbial square peg.”

“Yes.” Lily managed a light, unconcerned laugh. “And hideously ugly to boot.”

George’s laughter joined hers. His blue seaman’s eyes swept over her. Arms crossed, he leaned back as though in judgment, then gave her a real smile, one filled with frank, masculine appreciation. “Well, Dr. Banyon, I think it’s time to show the folks back home the woman you’ve become.”

Lily felt heat stain her cheeks.

Simone leaned forward in her chair and poked George in the side. “Quit it, Hunt. Or I’ll turn into a jealous shrew, and then Lily will be
really
embarrassed.”

George grabbed Simone’s hand and pressed his lips to her palm. “Never fear, love. Lily knows I, uh, admire her brains even more than her beauty. Right, kiddo?”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Especially when you want to sweet-talk me, George.”

“Ah, but I’m only doing it with your best interests at heart. Simone’s right. You can’t ignore family, Lily. Or your roots. This assignment is a wonderful chance to make up for lost time, and in the bargain do some valuable research on your hometown’s reef system. And you’ll be making a lovely old girl so very happy.”

“Just how long did you and my grandmother talk for, George?” she asked suspiciously.

George merely grinned.

Lily looked at him and Simone. The stint in Coral Beach wouldn’t last long. She’d be able to visit Granny May and then leave, with her suddenly troubled conscience clear. Resigned, Lily sighed. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

George’s whoop of triumph startled a laugh out of both women. With a wide smile, he raised his mug, as if toasting Lily. “Knew we could count on you, Dr. Banyon.”

Simone leaned back in her chair. She, too, smiled. “Thanks, Lily. As soon as you’re done in Coral Beach, we’ll get you to Lucaya without delay. I promise. Now,” she continued briskly, “we’ve got a lot to do before you leave Thursday morning. Let’s get cracking.”