“I was the dockmaster for the Bonefish Key Inn back when every fisherman and boater on the waterway used to hang out at the bar. After the hotel got beat up by Hurricane Charlie, the owner went bankrupt. When the marine center bought the property, they fixed up the inn. Dr. Kane asked me to run the water taxi and carry supplies. I used to be pretty busy running staff people back and forth, but that’s all quieted down some.”
“Aside from staff, do you bring many visitors out here?”
“Nope. The folks at the lab aren’t the friendliest people . . . Scientists.” He shook his head. Then, realizing his faux pas, he added, “Oh, hell, you a scientist?”
“Yes, Dooley, but I’m a friendly scientist,” she said with her engaging smile. “And I know what you mean. I talked to Dr. Mayhew on the phone.”
“Preachin’ to the choir,” Dooley said with a grin like an old picket fence.
He reached into his work-shirt pocket and pulled out a worn business card that he handed to Gamay.
“I don’t live on the island,” he said. “Call me if you want to get off it. Phones don’t work there unless you climb up the water tower.”
“Dr. Mayhew called me from the island.”
“They got a radiotelephone setup for emergencies and for the mucky-mucks to use.”
The boat left the open water and wound its way through a green maze of mangroves. Gamay felt as if she were heading into Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. Eventually, they rounded a turn and headed to an island that was mounded higher and appeared more solid than its surroundings. The pointed top of the white water tower Dooley had mentioned rose above the trees like a coolie hat. He tied the boat to the small dock and turned off the motor.
A grassy slope rose up to a patio and the veranda of a white-stucco building. It was practically hidden in the sun-baked palmettos, the light breeze carrying their damp perfume to Gamay’s nostrils. A snowy egret waded along the shore. It was a picturepostcard perfect Florida scene, but the place gave her an uneasy feeling. Maybe it was the remoteness, the burned-up look of the vegetation, or simply the unearthly stillness.
“It’s so quiet,” she said, unintentionally speaking in almost a whisper. “Almost spooky.”
Dooley chuckled.
“The lodge’s built on an Indian mound. The island belonged to the Calusa before the white man killed them off or made them sick with disease. People still pick up on the bad stuff.”
“Are you saying the island is haunted, Dooley?”
“No Indian ghosts, if that’s what you mean. But everything that’s been built here seems to have come to a bad end.”
Gamay picked up her duffel bag and climbed up on the dock.
“Let’s hope that doesn’t include my short visit, Dooley.”
She had tried to leaven the gloomy mood with her joke, but Dooley wasn’t smiling when he followed her up on the dock.
“Welcome to paradise, Dr. Gamay.”
CHAPTER 18
AS DOOLEY ESCORTED GAMAY DOWN THE DOCK TO THE ISLAND, they encountered a young Asian woman coming their way.
“Afternoon, Dr. Song Lee,” Dooley said. “I got your kayak all ready for you before I made my run to Pine Island.”
“Thank you, Dooley.”
Lee’s eyes darted to Gamay, who assessed her expression as neither friendly nor unfriendly. Neutral, maybe.
“This is Dr. Morgan-Trout,” Dooley said. “She’s visiting the island for a couple of days. Maybe you two could go kayaking together.”
“Yes, of course,” Lee answered without enthusiasm. “Pleased to meet you, Doctor. Enjoy your stay.”
Lee brushed Gamay’s extended hand with hers, and continued along the dock.
“Has Dr. Lee been here long?” Gamay asked.
“A few months,” Dooley said. “She doesn’t talk much about what she’s doing, and I don’t ask.”