Island of Bones(98)

They walked slowly through the mounds. There were maybe a dozen of them, some just a few feet high, others towering to six feet or more, ten feet across. All were bare, no trees or grass on top, just millions and millions of shells. In the moonlight, the shell mounds had a soft glow, like old ivory.

Roberto led them to the highest mound, nestled back in the trees. Louis waited while Roberto pulled away some brush to reveal an opening. Roberto went in and Louis followed. The mound was unlike the others, U-shaped, like a cave without a top.

“This is my secret place,” Roberto said as Landeta followed them in.

“Roberto, do you know what this is?” Louis asked.

“Papa says Indians are buried in here. He says they should be left alone.” He hesitated. “You won’t tell, will you?”

“No,” Louis said quietly.

Landeta sank down to the dirt, head in his hands. Louis could tell he was exhausted. So was he. Tired, thirsty, hot, bitten up, cut up, filthy, and afraid. Afraid they weren’t going to get off this damn island alive.

The baby was quiet. But it was suddenly heavy in his arms. He couldn’t stand it any longer. He had to sit. Even if it was just for a few minutes. Just sit, think, and try to find a way out of this.

He carefully eased down to the dirt, leaning his head back against the wall of shells, the baby against his chest. There were shards of pottery littering the dirt floor —- and bones. Louis saw a jawbone and what looked like a leg bone. He looked up to see Roberto, sitting cross-legged in the dirt, watching him.

“Louis,” Landeta whispered, “we have to get a plan. We have to figure out what we’ll be up against at the restaurant. Ask the boy.”

Louis nodded. “Roberto,” he whispered, “how many men live here?”

The boy was quiet for a moment. “Eight. No, wait. That was before Uncle Emilio drowned. So there’s seven. But it’s eight if you count me.”

So he had been right. Seven cottages, seven men. Louis had a sudden thought. “Roberto, your uncle Frank, does he look like your uncle Emilio?”

“They were twins. Twins look exactly the same.”

“So that’s poor old Uncle Emilio lying in the Fort Myers morgue, wearing his brother’s toe tag,” Landeta said. “Romulus and Remus. Christ, why don’t you ask him about wolves while you’re at it?”

“Wolves are beautiful,” Roberto said softly. “I saw a picture of one once. Abuela Ana told me a story about two little boys who were left in a river and saved by a mother wolf.”

They all fell silent. Louis closed his eyes. But his ears were alert, trying to pick out any odd sound. But he couldn’t do it. He wasn’t like the boy, who knew every note of his island’s night music. He wasn’t like Landeta, who had learned to trust more than his eyes. He could only see what was there.

What had he seen exactly? A graveyard without names, a strange table, Angela being marched at gunpoint, an old woman arguing with a young man, and seven men desperately trying to protect something.

But what he hadn’t seen were other women. Or other children, for that matter.

Louis glanced over at Roberto. He was fiddling with something that looked like an arrowhead.

“Roberto,” he whispered, “do you have any aunts?”

“Yes.”

“How many?”

Roberto set down the arrowhead to use his fingers to count. “Well, there’s Aunt Emma, Aunt Paula, Aunt Cindy, and Aunt Angel. That makes four.”

Louis caught Landeta’s eye. Then he leaned his head back against the shell wall. They were alive. Thank God for that.

But it still didn’t make sense. Emma Fielding had been here for thirty-four years. And the others for twenty or more. So where the hell were they? And who was buried in those five graves back at the cemetery? He looked over at Landeta and knew he was thinking the same thing.

“Roberto, what about Aunt Shelly?” Landeta asked.

“Who?”

“A woman named Shelly,” Louis said patiently. “You never heard anyone called that here?”

“No,” the boy said “There was a strange lady living in Uncle Tomas’s house for a while. But I don’t know her name.”

“What did the strange lady look like?” Louis asked.

“I only saw her two times. The first time was when Uncle Tomas brought her here. I remember she had really long hair. I thought she was really pretty.”

Roberto didn’t look up, but his face creased into a small frown. “The next time I saw her all her hair was cut off.”

Louis glanced at Landeta. “Do you know where she went?” he asked Roberto.

The boy shook his head. “She never came out of Uncle Tomas’s house. And then one day she was gone.”