Free Hell's Bay by James W. Hall Page B

nothing to do with the life I’d shaped for myself, or this new course I’d set. Some accident of flesh and blood connected us, perhaps, but that was all. No cause to become entangled in their poisonous affairs.
    Without looking at it again, I picked up the photo and held it out the side window. Pinched between thumb and finger, it fluttered in the wind and the rattling noise it made was carried off into the darkness. I held it there for several moments, working up the resolve to let it go.
    â€œYou sure about that?” Mona had entered the wheelhouse from the starboard door. She moved across the cabin to stand near me. “Just toss it away like you can’t stomach it? Is that who you are? Some chickenshit?”
    I looked at her through the dim light, then drew in my arm and set the photo back on the console.
    She gave a dry laugh.
    â€œDaniel Oliver Thorn,” she said. “My famous cousin.”
    â€œMy name is Thorn.”
    â€œYeah, yeah. Okay, Thorn. Tough guy extraordinaire.”
    â€œWhat the hell do you know about me?”
    â€œA good deal more than you know about me.”
    She picked up the photograph and took a long look. Her clothes gave off the scent of sweat-soaked leather with a faint undertone of wood smoke, as though she’d been sitting around a campfìre all evening after a hard day on horseback. She shifted her feet and brushed her hip against mine then stepped a few inches out of range. The contact wasn’t accidental. As if she was grazing me as cats do to leave their scent, mark their territory.
    Mona laid the photo back on the console and stared out the windshield into the cone of light, the slapping seas. The dolphins were gone.
    â€œYou think I’m a self-absorbed bitch. That’s your first impression.”
    â€œActually, I haven’t given it a lot of thought.”
    She was silent for a while, staring ahead into the darkness.
    â€œThat’s us, huh? The green arrow.” She tapped the GPS screen.
    When I didn’t reply, she laughed again, though there was no humor in it.
    â€œI guess it should be reassuring. A device to tell you where you are. Never get lost again. A blinking arrow. Blink, blink. Now any idiot can find their way through the wilderness. Just follow the arrow.”
    â€œThere’s more to knowing where you are than that.”
    â€œOh, is there? Are we getting philosophical?”
    I reached for the toggle and turned off the GPS. I flicked the main control switch and the instrument panel also went dark.
    â€œYou wanted to talk about something?”
    I could feel her staring at me, but I didn’t turn her way.
    â€œShe was murdered. Grandmother was murdered.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œWhy do I believe it, or why was she murdered?”
    â€œYour choice.”
    â€œSame answer for both,” Mona said. “Family business.”
    â€œAnd what’s that?”
    â€œWhat’re you, drunk? It came up at dinner. Bates International.”
    â€œNever heard of it.”
    â€œYeah, yeah, Thorn, the hermit. No radio, no TV, no Internet. Gets all his news from pressing conch shells to his ear.”
    â€œWhy don’t you go back below? Give your contempt the rest of the night off.”
    Mona raised her hands to her temples and combed her fingers back through her tangled hair, then lifted the mass off her neck for a moment before letting it drop. The movement released another cloud of scent into the wheelhouse, the sharp musk of her flesh after a long day of travel, wine, and sweat mingled with a quirky blend of spices that must have been her body’s aromatic signature. Something like a strong green tea spiked with citrus.
    â€œYou have a road map up here?”
    I didn’t reply.
    â€œA map, a Florida road map.”
    â€œWe don’t have much use for road maps out on the water.”
    â€œWhere would it be if you had one?”
    I flipped on the console lights and drew