Spike's neck was bow-tight. He growled and sniffed the air and began to bark. The people on the dock pointed up at the explosion.
Robin's hand was clamped around my wrist.
"Navy maneuvers?" I said.
"At a nonfunctional base?"
I reversed the Jeep quickly. As I passed the Chop Suey Palace, Jacqui stepped out, still holding her dishtowel. Her curiosity and fear stayed in my head as I sped back to the airfield.
Harry Amalfi stood near his house, looking dazed. Studying the black smoke as if it bore a message.
We drove up right behind him and got out, but he didn't move. Shouts made all three of us pivot.
Skip Amalfi and the other shark carver were running toward us. The older man wore bathing trunks too long for his stocky legs.
Harry Amalfi said, "It's a good craft."
"Was," said Skip Amalfi's companion. His voice was soft, his eyes rainwater gray, very close-set.
Skip said, "Maybe he fucked up and flooded the engine or something, Dad."
Amalfi turned back to the sky. The smoke was thinning and curling.
The other man shaded his eyes and looked upward, too. "Looks like it might have gone down right over Stanton."
"Probably," said Skip. "Probably right on the fucking tarmac."
His father started to say something, then shuffled back toward his front porch.
"Want me to call over there?" said Skip. "See if it went down there?"
Amalfi didn't answer. Pulling a bandana out of his pocket, he wiped his face and kept trudging.
"Shit deal," said Skip's companion. The gray eyes washed over Robin, then checked to see if I was watching. I was. He nodded.
"Major shit," said Skip.
"He probably did flood it."
Skip turned to us. "Dumb fuck said he knew how to fly. Did he?"
"Just met him yesterday," I said.
He shook his head disgustedly.
"Probably got it up there and flooded it first thing," said the gray-eyed man, pushing his hand through wild, curly hair.
"His poor wife," said Robin. "She didn't want to go."
"Asshole said he knew what he was doing," said Skip. "You guys come back here for something?"
We returned to the Jeep and I drove toward the bamboo thatch. Just as I was about to turn onto the dirt path, Jo Picker came running out, hatless, her big purse flopping against her thigh.
Her mouth was open and her eyes were wide and blank. She kept coming toward us and I jammed the brakes. Slapping her hands on the Jeep's hood, she stared at us through the windshield.
Robin jumped out and embraced her. Spike wanted to jump out but I restrained him. He hadn't relaxed since the explosion.
All that remained in the sky were gray wisps.
Jo said, "No, oh God, no!" She struggled away from Robin and I saw her mouth contort.
Off in the distance, Skip and the gray-eyed man watched.
We finally got her in the Jeep and drove home. She cried softly till we got through the big, open gates and close to the house. Then: "We had a- I was planning to go but I got scared!"
Ben was already outside, KiKo on his shoulder, along with Gladys and a crew of men in work clothes. This close, I could still see hints of smoke. The noise would have been louder up here.
Jo had stopped crying and looked stunned. Robin helped ease her out of the Jeep, and she and Gladys walked her into the house.
Ben said, "So it was him. I wasn't sure. He couldn't have been up long."
"Not long at all."
"Did you see the plane?"
"We saw a bunch of them when we dropped him off."
"Junk," he said. "Whole thing was stupid. No point."
"Amalfi's son said he might have come down on the base."
"Or darn close to it. Forget about retrieving the body."
He turned to the house. "Why didn't she go up with him? Cold feet?"
I nodded.
"Well, she was the smart one," he said. "You try to tell people… Dr. Bill talked to Picker this morning. Picker just got rude."
"Does Dr. Bill know yet?" said Robin.
He nodded. "I called him at the clinic. He's on his way up."
"My first thought was some sort of military maneuver," I said. "Does the Navy ever shoot anything in the air?"
"The only things that fly in and out of there are big transports. If one of those went down, you'd think the volcano had erupted."
A white subcompact came barreling through the gates and stopped short, scattering gravel. POLICE was stenciled in blue on the door. Pam Moreland was in the front passenger seat. A man was driving.
They both got out. Pam looked frightened. The man was good-looking, in his late twenties and huge- six four, two fifty, with nose-tackle shoulders and enormous hands. His skin was bronze with islander features, but his hair was light brown and his eyes pale hazel.
He had on a short-sleeved sky-blue shirt and razor-creased blue pants over military lace-ups. A silver badge was pinned to the breast pocket, but he had no club or gun. Pam matched his stride.
"This is terrible," she said.
The big man clasped Ben's hand. "Hey," he said in a deep voice.
Ben said, "Hey, Dennis, some mess. Folks, meet Dennis Laurent, our chief of police."
Laurent shook both our hands, noticed Spike and suppressed a smile. His gaze was intense.
"Anyone know how many people were in the plane?" he said.
"Just Lyman Picker," I said. "His wife started to go but changed her mind. She's in the house."
He shook his head. "Can't remember anything like this."
"Never happened," said Ben. "Because no one goes up in Harry's heaps. You figure it crashed on Stanton?"
"Either there or right near the eastern border. I called Ewing, got put on hold. Finally his aide says he's busy, will get back to me."
"Busy," said Ben with scorn.
Laurent said, "The wife's probably going to want details." He put on mirrored sunglasses and looked around some more. "Guess she's in no shape now."
"She's in shock," said Robin.
"Yeah," said Laurent. "Let me know if she wants to talk to me or if there's anything I can do for her. Weren't they supposed to be leaving soon?"
"In a week or so," said Pam. "She's just about finished her work."
Laurent nodded. "Weather research. She came into the station a couple of weeks ago with this little laptop computer, wanting to know if we kept storm records. I told her we really never got the big ones so we didn't. Any idea why her husband went up in the first place?"
"To take pictures of the jungle," said Ben. "Prove to his colleagues he'd been here."
"He was a scientist, too, right?"
"Botanist."
"So what was he looking at, the banyans?"
"He wasn't really working," said Pam. "Told us he was bored. Tagging along after her probably made him feel like a third foot. Maybe he just wanted to do some flying."
Laurent digested that. "Well, too bad he picked this time and place… Harry probably should have been closed down, but like you said, no one used him. I hope the wife doesn't think we're going to be able to do any big FAA-type investigation. If he went down in the jungle, we'll be lucky to get the body."
He shook his head again. Pam had been standing close to him and she moved nearer. A downward flick of a hazel eye acknowledged her presence. Laurent put his hands in his pockets and stretched the fabric with his fists.
Then he looked at the Jeep, the diving gear still piled on the back seat. "Someone snorkeling?"
"We were on our way when it happened," said Robin.
"We were vacationing."
"How'd the kids at the clinic react?" I said.
"They don't know exactly what happened yet," she said. "Some of them looked up when they heard the noise, but their minds were on their shots. We just kept the line going for a while and then broke for a snack."
"How many shots did you get through?" said Ben.
"About half. We were going to finish this afternoon, but I guess not."
"Planning to dive at South Beach lagoon?" Laurent asked us.
"Yes," said Robin.
"It's beautiful there," he said. "Give it another go when you're ready. Life generally goes smoothly here."
Pam walked him back to his car and stayed to talk after he got behind the wheel.
Ben called out KiKo's name, and the monkey and Spike followed us into the house. Cheryl was washing the front room's big windows and didn't turn to acknowledge us. Except for the hiss of the glass-cleaner spray, the interior was silent.
Robin said, "I think I'll go up and see how Jo's doing."
She hurried up the stairs.
"Something to drink?" Ben asked me.
"No, thanks. We had a couple of beers in town. A guy named Creedman was buying."
"Oh?" He stared straight ahead. "Where'd he snag you, front of the Palace?"
"Does he make a habit of snagging people there?"
"That's his spot. I figured he'd go for you, being outsiders and all that. He used to live here for a while."
"He mentioned that."
"Did he also mention he was asked to leave?"
"No. He said it was too intense an environment for him."
"Intense? I guess you could say that."
He turned and looked me in the eye. "The thing you need to understand is that Dr. Bill is the most hospitable person you'll ever meet. Anyone visits the island, they get an invite. That's how the Pickers ended up here, and after meeting them you can see what a patient man Dr. Bill is. Creedman was also extended hospitality. He was up here for only three days when we found him snooping around."
"Snooping where?"
"Dr. Bill's office. I caught him red-handed. Not that there's anything to hide, but patient info's confidential. Except, of course, for something scientific like you and Dr. Bill are doing. Some thanks for hospitality, huh?"
"Did he have an excuse?"
"Nope." His jaw bunched the way it had when Picker had asked him to serve drinks, and he pushed his aviators up his nose. "He tried to laugh it off. Said he was taking a walk and had just wandered in looking for something to read. Except the books were in the back room and he was in the front, so give me a break. I called him on it and he told me to screw myself. Then he complained to Dr. Bill that I'd harassed him. Dr. Bill might have tolerated the snooping, but he didn't appreciate Creedman badmouthing me. Did he badmouth us some more?"
"Not really," I said. "But he did say the reason the southern road was blockaded was because of a murder half a year ago. A local girl killed on the beach, and passions toward the Navy got high."
"The guy makes like he's an ace reporter- probably told you he was a media hotshot, right? Truth is he was strictly small-time. And keep him away from Ms. Castagna. He thinks he's God's gift to women."
"So I noticed. But she can handle herself."
"My wife can, too, but he still annoyed her. Right after I kicked him out. Came up to her in the market, making small talk, offering to carry her bags. Real subtle."
He shoved his glasses harder. "Did you meet the owner of the Palace, a tall woman named Jacqui?"
I nodded.
"He came on to her, too, till he found out she was Chief Laurent's mother."
"She looks way too young."
"She's in her forties, had Dennis when she was a teenager. She and Dennis are good people. He was a couple of grades behind me. Jacqui's half islander, half Cauc, originally from Saipan. Dennis's dad was a French sea captain, used to run cargo boats between the bigger islands, died at sea just before Dennis was born. She raised him right. Anyway, do what you want, but in my humble opinion Creedman's someone to avoid. He just hangs out all day, acting superior."
"He told us he was working on a book."
"Maybe a book on beer." His laugh was merciless.
"Speaking of unwanted attention," I said, "the guy who was working on the shark with Skip Amalfi seemed to notice Robin too. Any potential problems there?"
"That's Anders Haygood. He's a bit of a lowlife, but no problems with him so far. Came over a year ago, mostly keeps to himself. Lives in back of Harry's place."
"Working for Harry?"
"Odd jobs now and then. Once in a while someone brings them an appliance to fix or a car to tune. Basically, he and Skip are beach bums and Harry's an old bum."
He laughed. "I'm some chamber of commerce, huh? By now you probably think Aruk's nothing but lowlife. But between Skip and Harry and Haygood and Creedman, you've just about exhausted the list. Everyone else is great. You'll end up having a great time."