sheets of white paper, and a few letter-size envelopes, the latter items bearing an impressive, thickly embossed
With the razor he scraped the crusty brown spots near the stanchion onto one of the sheets, and the ones near the edge of the roof onto another. Both sheets were then folded and refolded to keep the material inside, and put into the smaller envelopes, which were then placed in the larger manila one.
“You’ll notice that I didn’t seal the envelopes yet,” he explained for Phil’s benefit. “I’ll use some water from the sink instead of licking them. I don’t want to take a chance of contaminating them with my DNA.”
“I knew that,” Phil said.
The manila envelope and its contents were deposited on one of the alcove shelves in John’s cabin. His air- conditioner, which the heat-loving John had previously set at mid-range, was now turned up to
“Yeah,” Gideon said, “the temperature might plummet all the way down to ninety. Maybe Vargas can get you a couple of blankets.”
TWENTY-TWO
“I’Mstill having trouble with the pipe tobacco,” Phil said. “Maggie
seemed pretty sure she smelled it.”
“After someone suggested it to her,” Gideon pointed out.
They had gone from John’s cabin, barely big enough to hold the three of them, to the deserted salon, first stopping at the dining room buffet table to bring out glasses of water and a basket of fruit to snack on—bananas, tangerines, and some objects that looked like cucumbers, but which Phil said had fluffy insides that tasted like lemon-flavored cotton candy, which they did.
“Yeah, someone,” John said, and looked meaningfully up at them from the tangerine he’d been peeling. “Mel.”
“But she even knew the brand,” Phil said.
“Sure, that’s what she thinks now. But you have to remember, she was in a state of shock at the time. She didn’t remember any smell until Mel brought it up.”
“So you’re voting for Mel?” Gideon said.
“No, but I wouldn’t rule him out either. He was pretty ticked off at him over the book, don’t forget that.”
“Tell me someone who wasn’t ticked off at him,” Phil said. “What about the screwing over he was giving Tim on his dissertation?”
“That’s true,” John agreed. “And Duayne had something against him too.”
“He did?” said Phil.
“Oh, sure, you could see it right off,” Gideon said. “When Scofield started talking about his daughter—Duayne’s daughter— Duayne looked as if he wanted to kill him then and there.”
“Oh yeah, you guys mentioned that before. I never noticed it.”
Gideon smiled. That was the way Phil was, quick to see the good side of people, unobservant to the point of obtuseness about seeing the other. “I assume she told her father some things about Scofield’s behavior that got him upset.”
“Not too hard to imagine what,” John said. “Okay, so if they all had it in for Scofield—”
“Yes, but who had it in for Maggie?” Gideon asked. “That’s the problem I’m having with this. Why try to get rid of her too? What was that all about? When we all thought it was Cisco, it made some sense because Cisco was batty enough to do anything. But now we know it wasn’t Cisco, and if your hypothesis is correct John—about Scofield’s having been dumped off the boat from the roof—then that means that whoever did it then came downstairs to the cabin deck and stood around making some kind of noise until Maggie came out of her room, at which point he grabbed her and tossed her in the river. Why? What kind of sense does that make? Now if Maggie —”
“The three best-looking guys on the ship talking about me?” said
Maggie, who had come downstairs with her empty liter bottle of water. “Be still, my heart.”
John laughed. “How’s the ankle doing, Maggie? I see you took off the bandage.”
“Oh, that. It’s fine, not nearly as bad as it looked. See?” She put her foot up for inspection on a chair and indeed, with the blood wiped away, it could be seen to be a nice, clean gash, as gashes went: no abraded, torn edges, no nasty, radiating pink tentacles of infection, no deepening, blue-brown bruising of the surrounding skin.
“Looks good,” Gideon agreed. “But I’d still keep it covered, if I were you. It’s open, and a lot of strange things grow down here.”
“You’re telling me,” she said. “Well, I just came down to refill my water . . .” She paused awkwardly. “Uh, Gideon, I, uh, just want to thank you again.” It was one of the few things he’d heard her say with no tinge whatever of sarcasm or irony. “You saved my life. You risked yours to do it. I couldn’t have lasted two minutes.”
“Oh, heck—”
