Island of Bones(110)

It was the way she said it, forcing out each word like it hurt, that gave him the briefest feeling of pity. How did a human being become so detached, so disconnected?

He knew he shouldn’t do what he was about to do, but he couldn’t help it.

“You have a grandfather, you know,” Louis said. “Your mother’s father. He’s still alive.”

Diane’s eyes widened. “My mother’s father?”

Louis nodded. “Yeah, he lives over on Pine Island, St. James City. His name is James Reardon.”

“Does he --?” She stopped.

“Know about you?” Louis nodded. “He’s old and he’s not well. You should go see him, before it’s too late.”

Tears fell silently down her face. “I have to go,” she said. She started to shut the door but Louis put up a hand to stop it.

“Diane,” he said, “just tell me where your father is.”

The tears had left streaks on her powdered face. “He went back,” she said.

He let go of the door and she shut it.





The Deadhead throttled the boat’s motor up and turned his face into the breeze. Louis was sitting in the front, watching the gulls float and dip on the currents. The sky was pearly gray with coming rain and the water was choppy.

“Hey, man,” the Deadhead called out, “what you wanna go out to that creepo place for?”

Louis ignored him.

“I heard there was a cult out there,” the Deadhead yelled over the outboard. “I heard they was eating dogs and cutting off baby heads and all sorts of weird shit, man.” He shook his head. “Probably fried the dogs up and served ’em in that friggin’ restaurant.”

“Shut up and drive,” Louis said. He had already paid him the hundred bucks he owed him and now twenty more. He didn’t need to listen to his shit.

The Deadhead was silent the rest of the way, pulling the boat up to the dock about thirty minutes later. There were two police boats there, and several officers were standing in the yard of the restaurant.

The officer nearest the dock saw the Deadhead coming in and started to wave him off. Louis recognized Jay Strickland, the cop on Sanibel with the Vespa. Louis signaled him, and Strickland motioned the boat in.

Louis could see the yellow crime scene tape up at the restaurant. It was cut and flapping in the wind so he knew the restaurant had already been cleared.

Louis picked up the del Bosque Bible and got out, telling the Deadhead to wait for him. Strickland met him in the middle of the dock and walked with him toward the restaurant.

“This is some case,” Strickland said.

“Yeah.”

“They aren’t telling us much, you know,” Strickland went on. “Is it true, about the babies and everything?”

Louis stopped. He could see the confusion in Strickland’s eyes, and all the questions any normal person, any father, might have about this whole sick thing. But he could also see there was no way in hell it could be explained.

“I can’t talk about it,” Louis said. “Sorry.”

Strickland nodded.

Louis shifted the Bible to his other arm. “You seen Frank Woods around?”

“He’s inside,” Strickland said. “Chief called and said he could go in the restaurant since the techs were finished with it. I thought it was strange but the chief says technically the island belongs to him now so we can’t keep him out.”

“Thanks.”

Louis went inside. It was dim and cool. The chairs were all upended on the tables and there were some cardboard boxes stacked on the floor near the entrance. They were filled with books. Louis looked up at the bar. The Poussin painting was still there.

“I should take that down.”

Louis turned to see Frank standing by the kitchen door. He was wearing old khaki shorts and a faded green T-shirt. His right shoulder was wrapped in gauze. He came farther into the room, looking up at the painting.

“I was about Roberto’s age when I started working in here,” Frank said. “I remember when my uncle Alfonso came home with it. It was right after he came back with his wife. He said he found it in an old store over on Pine Island. No one ever told me what was going on in the painting. I always thought they were just having a party.”

Frank looked at Louis. “It’s by Poussin. It’s called ‘The Rape of the Sabine Women’."

“I know,” Louis said. “I also know what it means.”

Frank looked back at the painting. “Do you see the woman in the middle, the one who is listening to her abductor? She isn’t fighting him at all. She’s going peacefully.”

“That didn’t make it right,” Louis said.