seen every type of junk you could imagine.” Her freckled cheeks turned red, and not from the sun. “That thing was alive.”
Swartzman had been married so long that he had forgotten how to treat the ladies nicely, Aaron thought as he neared the boat. At least he showed her more respect than he offered his diving monkey auditioning to be a student.
“People are adding to the trash pile down there all the time,” Swartzman said. “We won’t let it stop our mission, will we?”
He beamed Aaron with a stern gaze. So much for, “ I won’t think any less of you for coming back.” The professor had a police detective he aimed on impressing. If Aaron helped him out, they could both bask in the glory of catching a killer.
“No prob, Swartzman. I can mop this up,” Aaron said. “And you’ll let me tag along on your visit to the police station, right? I’ll help you present the evidence. I’m an expert in crazy ninja manatees.”
“Alright, alright,” Swartzman grumbled. “Finish the photos and grab some more samples. But at the first hint of danger, you wave me over.”
Aaron nodded. Heingartner stood up. She looked like she’d rather jump out of an airplane than dip her toes in the lagoon again.
“You should really come back on the boat,” she told him. “The seagrass down there is ailing. Something in that water isn’t right. It might have been a sharp dip in pH, like an acid discharge.”
That would explain the withered seagrass and the corroded shell. But it didn’t explain how the acid got there. Unless someone dumped ten-thousand car batteries into the lagoon, no other viable source popped into Aaron’s head.
He wished he had brought a hood and mask for his wetsuit. An acid shampoo and face wash combo would be most heinous.
“No worries,” he assured her with a cocksure smile. “I got this.”
Once again, Aaron paddled out over the seagrass bed. This time, he kept his goggles below water most of the way in case something tried sneaking up on him from below. The lady had become paranoid after hearing about the murders, he thought. Maybe Swartzman had it right. She must have mistaken a tire for a bloodthirsty, head- eating monster. That didn’t stop Aaron from keeping his head on a swivel as he took photos that lit up the water directly underneath him, but not out ahead of him. With only a few feet of visibility ahead, a mean old brute in his path could bite his face off before he could blink. Both gators and sharks have a magnetic field sense of their prey that works much better than eyesight in murky water.
First he felt the displacement of the water. Then he saw it. Something broad and flat barreled through the water in front of him. It disappeared into a sand cloud along the bottom. Aaron nearly swallowed a gallon of water through his snorkel. He blew it out before it reached his lips and poked it above the surface so he could suck some wind into his scorching lungs. It was as if the air on the other end of his snorkel was a giant soda and he felt like slurping it all down. Aaron would have stuck his head above water and called for help, but turning his gaze away would leave him easy pickings for whatever lurked down there. It was probably gazing up at him that very moment.
Aaron held the camera before his face, as he didn’t have anything better for a shield, and snapped a bunch of photos. As the flash illuminated the water for a second at a time, he saw that long broad shape again. It was a loose piece of wood-or nearly loose. It hadn’t come completely free from the busted lobster trap.
The trap should have resembled an airplane hangar made of a wooden cage and rope mesh, which had a hole that lobsters and crabs could crawl into, but not exit from. This one rolled with the current along the sandy bottom like a tumble weed of wood and rope. It had been stripped of its metal nails. Aaron didn’t see a single one left. A wide swath of its net mesh had been broken, not by tearing or cutting, but by something that had burned right through it. Since fire didn’t work so well underwater, Aaron figured acid had once again done the trick.
The lobsters staged a prison break. That is freaking awesome. I better alert the seafood restaurants to put bars on their lobster tanks.
Despite its near annihilation, the trap had succeeded in catching one of the spiny sea bugs-part of one, anyway. Aaron found a lobster’s hind leg tangled in the netting. It must have broken off when the crustacean dude made a break for it, he thought. He snatched it from the busted trap and surfaced for a better look.
Sliding his goggles over his forehead, Aaron examined the thing. He gasped and dropped it. The lobster leg had revolting purple lumps on it. If someone had served that up for him in a restaurant, he would puke right on the plate.
Nasty purple shit. Just like the sea turtle tumor!
“What’s going on?” Swartzman hollered at him from the skiff as it motored closer.
“Uh, wait a minute,” Aaron said.
He secured his goggles and dove again. This time, he swept his arms through the water and patted down the sand as if he were looking for a lost wedding ring. He felt something slimy with spiny hairs and he knew he had it. Aaron surfaced with it above his head in triumph.
“Yeah! I got it!”
The two scientists on the skiff exchanged perplexed glances. Swartzman rolled his eyes.
“You’ve got what-one-tenth of a lobster leg platter?” Heingartner asked.
“No way,” Aaron said. He tossed his prized lobster leg on the skiff. Swartzman knelt down and pushed it aside dismissively. Then he did a double-take. “Not unless you like the rare delicacy of purple lobster. But I wouldn’t suck the meat outta that leg. I think it’s got the same bug our sick sea turtle has.”
Aaron started climbing into the boat. Consumed by the purple leg, his professor didn’t offer him a hand. Heingartner helped him aboard.
“The chances of a disease spreading from a reptile to a crustacean are pretty remote, but not impossible,” Swartzman said. “That and all the acidity in the lagoon merits further study.” The professor faced Aaron with a hint of a grin, which would have been a beaming smile on most people. “You weren’t half bad today. I think you’ve earned a trip to the sheriff’s office with me. But first, we’re pulling an all-nighter in the lab until we understand what we’ve got here.”
The last time Aaron pulled an all-nighter, he had been working on an intense study of beer pong physics. By the time he would figure out what that purple really meant, he couldn’t find beer that carried enough kick to help the startling reality sink home.
Chapter 6
She spent the last few days preparing emotionally for the moment when Mariella Gomez would finally walk through her classroom door. It didn’t work. Mrs. Robin Mint still shed a few tears in front of her second grade class.
“Welcome back, Mariella,” the teacher said as she wiped the droplets away with her sleeves. She knelt down and opened her arms for a hug.
Instead of skipping into her arms like she had always done, the Mexican girl sent her nothing more than a blink. She quietly followed the mocha-skinned African-American policewoman to an empty desk.
“Don’t worry about it,” the officer said. “She hasn’t said a word since we found her. I’m sure seeing all her oldfriends will cheer her up.”
“It is good for traumatized children to be in a familiar, non-threatening environment,” Mrs. Mint said. “I’ll see you at three, officer…”
“Detective Monique Williams, but you can call me Moni.” Despite the clear hint from the teacher, she remained standing in the middle of the classroom. The boys were pointing at the gun on her hip and firing off their imaginary finger pistols. The officer didn’t even notice all the fuss. “And if you don’t mind, I’d like to stick around today. I haven’t left the girl’s side since the event.”
Of course she’d mind. As if the teacher’s tears did make enough of a scene for her class, having an officer in full uniform really placed the spotlight on the returning child. But she couldn’t exactly argue with a woman who carried a badge and a gun.
