Free Without a Grave by Marcia Talley Page A

Bahamian people in perpetuity. For their children, and their children’s children.
    â€˜Think about it this way. It’s as if George W. Bush had said to some fat-cat developer in, let’s say Japan, “Here’s Yellowstone National Park. Take it, it’s yours. Turn it into an exclusive gated community that only the ultra-rich can afford.”’ He picked up a fork and jabbed the air as if to punctuate his words. ‘If the Privy Council doesn’t find in their favor, the heritage of every Bahamian on Guana will be behind locked and guarded gates.’
    He leaned back in his chair and let out a long breath. ‘Good thing my wife’s not here. She’d scold me for being long-winded. Just met you and here I am, already boring your socks off. On to other things. What’s for dessert?’
    â€˜I have been reliably informed that it’s banana cream pie.’
    â€˜Have you tried it?’ When I told him no, he said, ‘To. Die. For. Cassie doesn’t mess with store-bought piecrusts or Cool Whip. Just bananas and cream. What a concept.’ Henry waved his arm about like a schoolboy seeking permission to go to the bathroom. When he got Al’s attention he called out, ‘Pie all around!’
    While we waited for our pie, I asked, ‘Other than the experts and the folks from Save Hawksbill Cay Reef, who’ll be there?’
    â€˜Officials from Friends of the Environment as well as representatives of the Bahamas National Trust . . . or so they say. They may just blow us off. It’s happened before.’
    I picked up my fork. ‘Do we need to bring persuaders? Machetes? Bahamian slings?’
    Henry leaned back in his chair, threw back his head and laughed. ‘No. But hold that thought.’

FIVE
    MIAMI, FLORIDA (MAR 5 2008) – SHARK-FEEDING TOURS TO THE BAHAMAS – LIKE THE ONE THAT ENDED LAST WEEK IN THE TRAGIC DEATH OF AN AUSTRIAN DIVER – ALSO POSE A THREAT TO ISLAND VISITORS NOT INVOLVED IN THESE EXPEDITIONS.
    ONCE A SHARK LEARNS TO ASSOCIATE BOAT ARRIVALS AND/OR PEOPLE IN THE WATER WITH DINNERTIME, THOSE ASSOCIATIONS ARE REMEMBERED FOR A LONG TIME AND TAKEN WITH THE SHARK WHEREVER IT MAY WANDER – A RECIPE FOR DISASTER.
    Bob Dimond, Cyber Diver News Network
    A t home, I typed www.savehawksbillcay.com into my browser. I couldn’t believe what popped up on my screen. ‘Meet Susie and her young teen friends! 15,000 pictures online! See Susie take it all off and get it on!’ There was a picture of Susie, too, wearing three strategically placed daisies. She had more friends, lots of friends, if I’d only fill in my age and credit card number.
    I stared at the URL, wondering where I’d gone wrong.
    I clicked in the search box and retyped my query, this time in quotes. The site I was looking for was savehawksbillcayreef.com. Clearly, someone had hijacked Henry’s URL, wanting to embarrass him. I wonder if he knew.
    Putting on my researcher’s hat, I went to Whois, and discovered that the imposter’s URL had been registered only two months ago, to an owner who was clearly fictitious – Arthur Pendragon, 5 Butt Close, Glastonbury, Somerset, BA6, UK. Butt Close! Get real. To my absolute astonishment, however, when I googled the address, there actually was a ‘Butt Close,’ but number 5 was a parking lot.
    Whoever he was, I felt like reformatting his hard drive using nothing but a baseball bat.
    I decided to get rid of my pent-up frustration by doing something physical, so I spent twenty minutes prowling around in the overgrown lot that separated Windswept from Southern Exposure , turning up old paint buckets, battered boat dock bumpers, a ratty tarp and other tatty treasures. Eventually I found what I was looking for – a perfect, four-by-six sheet of plywood. Not sure whose property the lumber was actually on, I decided to drag it into Molly Weston’s yard – leaving a