Flush

  Mr. Shine had arranged for Dad to return to the jail and surrender himself. The sheriff couldn’t wait to send him back home, although a judge put him under “house arrest” until the Coral Queen case was settled. To keep track of his whereabouts, they clipped an electronic bracelet on Dad’s right ankle. If he stepped so much as three inches past our front door, a signal would beep at the sheriff’s station and they’d come after him again.

  For a week we were like a seminormal family, except that my father wasn’t allowed out of the house. One of us always stayed with him, not just to keep him company but also to make sure he didn’t try anything cute, like prying off the ankle bracelet.

  We played lots of video games and watched fishing shows on ESPN and didn’t talk at all about Dusty’s casino boat. Abbey’s new project was building an Olympic village for hermit crabs, and Dad really got into it. Abbey and I collected the crabs (there were scads of them in the woods along the Old Highway) while my father sat at the kitchen table working with his tools. Before long he’d put together a miniature track, a lap pool, a pole vault, even a hurdle run.

  Unfortunately, the average hermit crab isn’t particularly athletic, having to haul a clunky seashell around on its back, so the sports competition part of Abbey’s project sort of fizzled. Most of the crabs hunkered down and refused to budge. Still, it gave Dad something to do that kept his mind off the Coral Queen.

  Until Shelly showed up late one afternoon.

  Abbey watched her get out of the Jeep and said, “This oughta be good.”

  Shelly was dressed in her casino-boat bartender’s outfit, which was loud and skimpy. She wore high heels and stockings that looked like they were made from a mullet net. As I opened the door to let her in, I decided it was probably a good thing that Mom wasn’t home.

  “Long time no see,” Shelly said to my father, and gave him a brisk, businesslike hug. Then she introduced herself to Abbey, who was gawking at the barbed-wire tattoo on Shelly’s bare arm.

  “How about something cold to drink?” Dad offered.

  “Iced tea would be super. I can’t stay long,” Shelly said.

  We all sat down in the living room, Shelly crossing her legs and sipping her tea. My father was on the edge of his seat, looking like he was dying to pepper her with questions.

  “How you doin’, Noah?” Shelly said to me.

  “Great.”

  “Feelin’ okay?” She gave me a narrow look to let me know that she knew I wasn’t telling the truth. It was creepy how sharp her radar was.

  “So, how’s work?” I said, eager to change the subject.

  “Work is work,” Shelly replied. Then, turning to Dad: “Paine, what’s that thing on your leg?”

  My father explained about the electronic bracelet. “I’m on house arrest. You believe it?”

  “Boy, that really sucks,” Shelly said.

  Out of nowhere Abbey asked about the tattoo. That’s one thing about my sister, she’s not afraid to say anything.

  Shelly smiled and traced one finger along the dark blue links. “That’s a story for when you’re older,” she said. “It was a long night and a bad party.”

  “But why barb wire?” Abbey always called it “barb” wire.

  “To show the world how rough and tough I was,” said Shelly. “To be honest, I wish it was daisies instead. This thing’s gonna look mighty stupid when I’m eighty years old and my grandkids are askin’ how come I got a cow fence painted on my arm. Hey, Paine, can you take a bath with that ankle gizmo, or would you get all electrocuted?”

  Dad laughed. “Naw, it’s waterproof.”

  “Amazing,” Shelly said.

  “Any word from Lice?” I asked hopefully.

  She shook her head. “But I got some other news. That’s why I stopped over.”

  We waited as she glugged a long drink from her glass.

  “They’re at it again,” she said. “Dumpin’ the toilet tanks into the water. Last night I stayed late to restock the bar, and I saw it for myself. Dusty was already gone with the money, and I guess the crew didn’t know I was still there.”

  I noticed that my father’s fists were clenched on the arms of his chair. Abbey saw it, too.

  “They just hung the hose off the side of the boat,” Shelly went on, “like it was business as usual.”

  “What time was this?” Dad asked.

  “Between one and one-thirty. The marina was empty,” Shelly said.

  Abbey spoke up again. “That man is major scum.”

  “No doubt,” said Shelly. “And here’s what else. The big bald guy with the Z-shaped nose? The one who came to see Lice that night before he went missing? His name’s Luno, and he’s Dusty’s main muscle. I think he’s from Morocco or someplace like that.”

  I purposely didn’t look at Abbey. Neither of us had told my father that she’d bitten Dusty’s goon that night at the marina when he snuck up and grabbed her. Dad would’ve gone bonkers if he found out.

  And Mom, well, forget about it. We’d already be halfway to Saskatchewan by now.

  “What if they get suspicious and start hassling you?” I asked Shelly.

  “Why would they? Think about it from Dusty’s point of view. Why would I come back to work for him if I knew he and Luno were mixed up in Lice’s death? Heck, I’d have to be suicidal, right?” Shelly winked. “Naw, Dusty bought the whole sad story. He thinks I wanted my job back just because Lice left me broke. And I’ll be honest, the money’s not too shabby.”

  Dad stood up and started pacing back and forth.

  “Well, I’d better be off,” Shelly said.

  “How are things going with Dusty?” I asked.

  “Oh, don’t worry about that. He’s under control.”

  “You be careful,” my father told her.

  “Yeah, well, don’t go sinkin’ that boat again,” Shelly said, “especially if I’m on it.”

  Then she said goodbye and breezed out the door, leaving us in silence with a light sweet scent of tangerines.

  * * *

  That night Abbey barely touched her dinner. She said she didn’t feel well and asked to go to bed early.

  Mom tucked her in and returned to the table. “I think your sister’s got a touch of the flu. Are you feeling all right?”

  “Fine,” I said.

  “Paine?”

  “Never better,” said my father.

  “Did you call the taxi company?” Mom asked.

  “Tomorrow. I promise,” Dad said. He was supposed to make sure that they were holding his job for him.

  “Actually, I was thinking of trying to get my captain’s license back,” he said matter-of-factly, “so I could guide in the backcountry again.”

  My mother put down her fork. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Well, why not?”

  “After what you did to the casino boat, you honestly believe the Coast Guard will let you take customers back out on the water?” she said. “Honey, you’ll be lucky to get your cab back.”

  Dad stabbed at a green bean and let the subject drop.

  “Somebody from the Herald phoned while you were in the shower,” Mom said. “I explained that you won’t be giving any more interviews. Right?”

  “Yeah,” my father mumbled. One of the conditions for Dusty Muleman dropping the criminal charges was that Dad stop ranting to the press.

  “You know, he’s started flushing his holding tanks again,” Dad said. “It’s true. Ask Noah.”

  Mom looked at me, then back at my father. “How do you know this?”

  “We’ve got our sources,” Dad said mysteriously.

  “Someone who works on the Coral Queen,” I added.

  “I see,” my mother said. “Then this ‘source’ of yours should go straight to the authorities and make a report. That’s the way it’s supposed to be done. Noah, please pass the rice.”

  “But Dusty’s got connections with the Coast Guard and the cops,” Dad complained. “They won’t do diddly unless
somebody catches him red-handed.”

  “And maybe somebody will,” said Mom, “but whoever that ‘somebody’ is, they don’t live in this house. I’ve made my last visit to the jailhouse, is that understood?”

  That night I couldn’t sleep, so I dug out a stack of old skateboarding magazines. It was real late, well past midnight, when Mom peeked into my room and saw that I was still awake. She sat down on the bed and told me she was sorry that dinner had gotten a little tense. Everything would get back to normal, she said, once Dad’s legal problems were over and he was working again.

  It took every ounce of courage, but I had to ask: “Did you mean what you said to Grandma Janet about a divorce?”

  Mom took a short breath and pressed her lips together. “You heard me on the phone that night? I’m so sorry, Noah—I was extremely upset….”

  I could tell she wanted to give me one of those big smothering hugs, like she used to do when I was small. This time, though, all she did was reach over and touch my hand.

  “Your father is a very unusual and intense personality,” she said, “as I’m sure you’ve noticed. I love him dearly, but sometimes he drives me bananas. More than sometimes, truthfully.”

  “I know, Mom.”

  “Look, I understand that he gets terribly upset by certain things he sees in this world—greed and injustice and cruelty to nature. That’s one of the things that first attracted me, seeing how deeply he cared. But he’s a grown man,” my mother said, “and he needs to start behaving like one. I don’t care to be married to a jailbird.”

  “So you were serious,” I said.

  “I’d never bluff about something like divorce. It wouldn’t be fair to you and Abbey.”

  I didn’t need to tell Mom how worried we both were. She knew.

  “Speaking of your sister,” she said, “I’d better peek in and see how she’s feeling.”

  I said good night and turned out the light and pulled the covers up to my neck. I heard Mom open Abbey’s door and say her name. Abbey didn’t answer, so I figured she was already asleep.

  But then Mom started calling out for my father in a voice that didn’t even sound like hers, it was so choked up. Dad came running down the hall from one direction, and I came running from the other.

  When we entered Abbey’s room, my mother was standing there with tears in her eyes. Her knuckles were pale and pressed to her cheeks, and her shoulders trembled.

  “She’s gone!” Mom cried. “Abbey’s gone!”

  My sister’s bed was empty. The window was wide open, and the screen, which had been removed, was propped against the bedroom wall.

  “Okay, everybody take it easy,” Dad urged. I could tell he was trying to calm himself, as much as me and my mother.

  He tried to wrap his arms around Mom but she jerked away. “Somebody kidnapped her, Paine! Somebody broke in and took her!”

  “No, Mom, nobody took her,” I said.

  “How do you know? How?”

  What could I say? Sometimes I sneak out my bedroom window late at night to go bridge fishing or crabbing with Thom and Rado. One time I got back and Abbey was hiding in my room, watching me as I climbed in through the window and put back the screen. She never ratted me out to my parents, but obviously she’d remembered the trick.

  “A kidnapper wouldn’t bother to stack the screen against the wall,” I pointed out. “He’d just cut his way through with a knife.”

  “Noah’s absolutely right,” Dad said. “This is way too neat and tidy. It’s pure Abbey.”

  Mom wiped her eyes on my father’s sleeve. “So what you’re saying is, she ran away? Why in the world would she do that?”

  “I don’t think Abbey ran away,” I said.

  “Noah, get to the point.”

  “She probably just had something she needed to do.”

  “In the middle of the night? All by herself?” My mother turned to my father and froze him with one of her deadly laser-beam stares. “Paine, what’s going on here?”

  “I’ll be right back,” Dad said, and rushed out of the room.

  Mom spun back toward me and snatched me by the left ear.

  “Young man?” she said.

  She never called me “young man” unless she meant business.

  “Yes, Mom?” I was almost sure that I knew where Abbey had gone. And I had a feeling that Dad had figured it out, too.

  “Does this have something to do with the Coral Queen?” my mother asked.

  “It’s possible,” I said weakly.

  “Has this whole family gone completely insane?” She let go of my ear and called out: “Paine! You come back here right this second!”

  Moments later Dad appeared at the bedroom door. He had put on a ball cap, a pair of khaki trousers, and his old deck shoes. In one hand was the portable spotlight that he kept stowed on the skiff.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Mom demanded.

  “The video camera is missing,” my father said.

  “Answer my question. Where are you going?”

  “To find Abbey,” Dad replied evenly.

  “Paine, you’re under house arrest. Remember?”

  My father sheepishly pulled up the right leg of his pants to reveal a bare ankle.

  “Oh, that’s just terrific,” said my mother. She was not normally a sarcastic person, but she could be brutal when she was. “I’ll go pack your suitcase for state prison,” she said to Dad. “Will they let you bring your own pajamas?”

  “Donna, please. There’s no time to argue.”

  “Oh, really? Our little girl is roaming around alone in the dead of night, and meanwhile you’ve tripped off some fugitive alarm at the sheriff’s station, and any minute a dozen squad cars with screaming sirens will be racing down our street—”

  “I’ll go get Abbey by myself,” I volunteered. “Don’t worry, Mom, I can handle it.”

  “No, we’ll go together. All three of us,” she declared. “And if we get into a jam, I want both of you wise guys to keep your lips zipped and let me do the talking. Is that understood?”

  My father and I glanced helplessly at each other. There was no point in objecting.

  “Noah, get a can of bug spray out of the pantry,” Mom said. “And, Paine, could you please go find my car keys?”

  ELEVEN

  Mom drove, both hands on the wheel. She stuck to the speed limit because she didn’t want the police to pull us over and find my father in the car.

  When she turned down the road to the marina, Dad leaned out the passenger window and began shining the spotlight through the mangroves, in case Abbey was hiding there. He lit up a family of raccoons and a grouchy blue heron, but there was no sign of my sister.

  We were more than a hundred yards from the docks when Mom stopped the car. I suggested that we split up and start searching, but Dad said no way, it was too risky. We got out of the car and together headed toward the boats.

  Every so often my mother would call out Abbey’s name while Dad probed the shadows with the spotlight. As we approached the marina, I could see that the Coral Queen was dark, though a light shone in the ticket shack at the foot of the dock. I put a finger to my lips, signaling for my parents to stay quiet. Parked by one of the lampposts was Dusty Muleman’s long black SUV.

  We huddled in the shadow of the broken sewage tank. Dad had snatched a rusty gaff from a dock box near one of the charter boats, and I could tell by the sound of his breathing that he was agitated and pumped up. Mom, however, remained calm.

  Dad said, “You two stay here. I’ll go scope it out.”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” my mother told him. “Tonight we’re a team.”

  Dad started to argue, but then he stopped and cocked his head to listen. I heard it, too—a man’s laughter, coming from inside the ticket office.

  “What if he’s got Abbey?” I whispered anxiously.

  “Then we’ll politely ask him to give her back,” Mom said. “And if that doesn’t work, we’ll try s
omething else. Come on.”

  My mother only weighs 110 pounds, but she doesn’t think small. She walked up to the shack and rapped on the door and didn’t wait for it to be opened—she just barged in. Dad and I were right behind her.

  “Why, look who’s here!” said Dusty Muleman, hanging up the phone.

  He was sitting under a bare light bulb at a wobbly card table. Piled in front of him were stacks of cash and tally sheets from the gambling boat.

  Mom said, “Dusty, I apologize for the interruption but this is very important.”

  “No problem, Donna.” He looked highly amused by the sight of us.

  “Have you seen Abbey tonight?” my mother asked.

  “Abbey? What would she be doing hangin’ around this place?” Dusty scoffed.

  Dad started edging forward with the tarpon gaff, which wasn’t good.

  “She went looking for pilchards,” I piped up. Sometimes the boat basins were loaded with little fish, which Dusty Muleman knew for a fact. “We’re supposed to go fishing tomorrow and she decided to catch her own bait.”

  Dusty didn’t fall for my story. “Abbey ain’t much big-ger’n a pilchard herself. I’d sure like to see how she throws a net,” he said. “What’s she doing out so late, anyway? Most little girls would’ve been tucked in beddy-bye a long time ago.”

  “Have you seen her?” Mom asked again. “We’re getting worried.”

  “Nope.” Dusty was wearing a baggy, fruit-colored shirt that was decorated with palm trees. A fat soggy cigar wagged in the corner of his downturned mouth. Fortunately it wasn’t lit; otherwise we would have gagged on the smoke in that closet-sized room.

  “Let me check with Luno,” he said, and spoke gruffly into a walkie-talkie. Then he looked up and addressed my father: “Paine, I’m a little surprised to see you out and about. The sheriff told me you were under house arrest.”

  “I was,” Dad said, “until my daughter went missing.”