The Web

Jo came over. 'Is he regaling you with tales of his far-flung adventures?'

'No,' said Picker, grumpily. 'Reviewing local history.' He coughed again. 'Where's that drink?'

'Soon, Ly. So what led you to become a craftswoman, Robin?'

'I love music and working with my hands. Tell us about your research, Jo.'

'Nothing very exciting. I was sent to do a wind survey of several islands in the Mariana complex and Aruk's my last stop. We were renting a teeny place in town till Bill was kind enough to invite us up here. We're leaving in a week.'

'Don't make it sound like the weather service, girl,' said Picker. 'Defense Department pays her bills. She's an important national asset. Marry an asset, get an all-expense-paid vacation.'

He slapped his wife on the back, none too gently. She stiffened but smiled.

'Do you live in Washington?' said Robin.

'We have a town house in Georgetown,' said Jo, 'but most of the time we're both gone.'

She recoiled. A lizard, just like the one I'd seen at the window, raced along the top of the railing. Her husband flicked a finger at it, laughing as it disappeared over the side.

'Still jittery?' he reproached her. 'I told you it's harmless. Hemidactylus frenatus. House gecko, semidomesticated. People feed them near the house, so they'll stick around and eat all the buggies.'

He wiggled his fingers in his wife's face. In grade school, he'd probably been a pigtail yanker.

She tried to smile. 'Well, I just can't get used to them doing push-ups on my screen.'

'Squeamish,' Picker told us. 'Meaning I can't bring my work home.'

Jo colored beneath her tan.

The young housekeeper, Cheryl, came out with a tray. On it were the drinks the Pickers had ordered and mineral waters with lime for Robin and me.

'Retarded, that,' Picker said when she was gone. Tapping his temple. He raised his glass. 'To spineless things.'

Red light bounced off the ocean and bloodied his beard.

His wife looked the other way and sipped.

Robin drew me away to the opposite corner.

'Charming, huh?' I said.

'Alex, why were you so adamant about not ordering drinks?'

'Because Ben's teeth were clenched when Picker ordered his. He's a nurse, doesn't want to be thought of as a butler. Notice he sent Cheryl with the tray.'

'Oh,' she said. 'My psychologist.' She slipped her hand around my waist and lowered her head to my shoulder.

'Lovers' secrets?' Picker called out. His glass was empty.

'Let them be, Ly,' said Jo.

'Looks like they're being just fine.'

'Welcome to paradise,' I muttered.

Robin quelled a laugh. It came out sounding like a hiccup.

'Hitting the sauce, girl?' I whispered. 'Tsk, tsk. Damned self-indulgent.'

'Stop,' she said, biting her lip.

I leaned close. 'Great fun ahead, wench. Cooked flesh and spirits, and after dinner he'll regale us with tales of the giant-penised Matahuaxl tribe. Human tripods, they are. Very virile.'

She licked her lips and whispered back: 'Very, indeed. As they trip their way over the roots of the variegated crotchweed. 'Cause let's face it, when it comes to tribes, bigger is better.'

'Ah, love…,' Picker called from across the terrace. 'Need another drinkie, I do.'

But he made no move to get one and neither did his wife. Welcome silence, then light footsteps sounded from behind. I turned and saw a lovely-looking blond woman walk toward us.

Late twenties or early thirties, she had a nipped waist, boyish hips, small breasts, long legs. She wore an apricot silk blouse and black crepe slacks. Blunt-cut hair ended at her shoulders, held in place by a black band. The honey tint looked real and her sculpted face had a scrubbed-clean look. Her features were fine and perfectly placed: soft, wide mouth, clean jaw, delicate ears. Blue eyes with a downward slant that made them look sad.

Except for her coloring, she could have been the woman in the oil portrait.

'Dr. Delaware and Ms. Castagna? I'm Pam, Dr. Moreland's daughter.' Soft, musical, slightly reticent voice. She had a fetching smile but looked away as she extended her hand. I'd had patients with that tendency to avert; all had been painfully shy as children.

'Doctor herself,' Picker corrected. 'All these accomplished femmes and everyone's playing the modesty game.'

Pam Moreland gave him a pitying smile. 'Evening, Lyman. Jo. Sorry I'm late. Dad should be here shortly. If not, we'll start without him. Gladys has done a nice Chicken Kiev. Dad's vegetarian, but he tolerates us barbarians.'

She smiled beautifully but the eyes remained sad, and I wondered if physical structure completely explained it.

Picker said, 'Just gave our new chums a history lesson, Dr. Daughter. Told them scientists shun this lovely bit of real estate because Margaret Mead showed the key to stardom is witch doctors, puberty rites, and bare-chested, dusky girls.' His eyes dropped to Pam's bodice.

'Interesting theory. Can I get you some coffee?'

'No thanks, my dear. But a refill of this wouldn't hurt.'

'Ly,' said Jo. She hadn't moved from her corner.

Picker kept his back to her. 'Yes, my love?'

'Come here and look at the sunset.'

He nibbled his mustache. 'The old distraction technique? Worried about my liver?'

'I just-'

He swiveled and faced her. 'If Entamoeba histolytica and Fasciola hepatica failed to do the trick, do you really think a little Wild Turkey will succeed, Josephine?'

Jo said nothing.

'Lived on metronodizole and bithionol for months,' Picker told Pam. 'Long overdue for a physical. Any referrals?'

'Not unless you're going to Philadelphia.'

'Ah, the city of brotherly love,' said Picker. 'Don't have a brother. Would I love him, if I did?'

Pondering that, he walked away.

'I will take that refill, Dr. Pam,' he called over his shoulder.

'The man who came to dinner,' Pam said very softly. 'Excuse me.'

She returned with a quarter-full bottle of Wild Turkey, thrust it at the surprised Picker, and returned to us. 'Dad's sorry about not being able to greet you properly.'

'The jellyfish,' I said.

She nodded. Glance at a Lady Rolex. 'I guess we should get started.'

***

She seated Robin and me with a view of the sunset, the Pickers on the other end, herself in the middle. Two empty chairs remained and moments later Ben Romero came out and took one. He'd put on a tan cotton sportcoat.

'Usually I go home by six,' he said, unrolling his napkin, 'but my wife's having a card party, the baby's sleeping, and the older kids are farmed out.'