Free The Big Bite by Gerry Travis

companion, snatching a last piece of fruit from the dessert plate, followed reluctantly. The etymologist was on a piece of torta cake and Knox ate his cheese.
    She had her back to him. Turning, she said sharply in his ear, “Have you found any unusual native expressions since you’ve come?”
    Knox dropped a cheese-laden cracker. “I wouldn’t know one if I heard it.”
    She made a sound akin to a disapproving sniff. “That is why I’m here,” she said in the precise tones of an annoyed teacher. “I wish to note the effect of substratum Indian language on the Spanish of the region.”
    “Really,” Knox said. “I thought you were hunting insects.”
    “I’m an etymologist, not an entomologist. I deal in words.”
    “Ah?” This time he made himself sound interested. It was apparently all that the lady needed. Rising, she said, “Shall we take our coffee in the lounge? I’ll explain my work more fully. It’s really quite fascinating.”
    Knox signaled the waiter. “The lady and I will take coffee in the lounge. Brandy?”
    “Why—thank you.” She sounded surprised and—grateful.
    “Brandy,” Knox ordered, and helped her from her chair. He could not have been more solicitous had she been ten years younger—he guessed her at his own age—and a good deal more attractive.
    Not, he found, that she was unattractive. This first opportunity to get a close look at her revealed a good, solid base on which a beautician could work. Her face and nose were rather long, but the bone structure was good. Her eyes, which she revealed when she removed a pair of thick-lensed glasses, were deep blue, and her hair needed only a little care to be more than adequate. She had a nice, rich voice when she remembered that she was not lecturing. On the whole, he found her more entertaining than he had hoped.
    After two brandies, four cigarettes, and a brief course in the local slang of the region, Knox asked, “Have you been on this study long?”
    “Two weeks.” She fiddled with her glasses. “And very interesting, I might add. I—”
    He cut her off with the offer of another cigarette. “Two weeks,” he said. “Then you knew that poor chap Curtis?”
    “Not well, no. Did you, Mr.—?”
    “Knox,” he supplied. “Paul Knox.”
    “I’m Adele Fisher. Doctor Fisher. Not a medical doctor, so please don’t come to me if you get sick.” She tittered. It was apparently a private joke.
    “No, I didn’t know him,” Knox said. “But I came here to find him.”
    “Then you’re a detective.”
    “Not exactly,” he said. “I’m an insurance investigator.”
    “I see.” She sounded as if she didn’t, really. Putting one elbow on her knee, she rested her chin in the palm of her hand and stared into space. She had the somewhat protuberant eyes of the nearsighted and Knox wondered if she was seeing anything without her glasses.
    “He disappeared the day I got those recordings of the children … no, it was the day Mr. Marengo let me set up my tape recorder in his cantina. I got some very interesting recordings.” She paused to swallow the last of her second brandy. “Of course, they’ll need a good deal of editing before I can release them publicly.”
    “And you saw Curtis that night?”
    “I remember it distinctly. I had dinner on the veranda. Mr. Curtis had rented a small outboard from Pedro Salinas at the garage—a nice young boy, but too well-schooled to have much of the dialect. Mr. Curtis left the dock and went quite close to the island—Horsetail, not that horrible place beyond it—and then I lost him in the dusk.”
    “Did he seem to be going to the other side of the island, or away from it?”
    She thought carefully, as if attempting to recall the scene exactly in her mind. “Toward it,” she said finally.
    “You didn’t hear Curtis say where he might be going?”
    “No, but Pedro Salinas told the police that Curtis said he thought he would fish up the coast. That area was searched, of