“How do you know?”
“He waved.”
Ryan let a few beats pass. Then, “Lo doesn’t think it was an accident.”
Nor did I. But I hadn’t wanted to consider the implications.
“What’s his thinking?” I asked.
“That it was done on purpose.” Sarcastic.
“Fine,” I said. “Devil’s advocate. Who would want to hurt me or at least frighten me?”
“Let’s start with the improbable and work our way in.”
Ryan drummed agitated fingers on the wheel.
“Here’s one. You angered a local mafioso by insisting he submit a sample of his DNA.”
“Nickie Lapasa? That’s ridiculous.”
“Really? How did Lapasa’s old man kick-start his career?”
“No one ever proved the hit-and-run—”
“OK. How about this one? A wacko anthropologist thinks you cost him his job.”
“Dimitriadus may be nuts but I doubt he’s violent.”
“He threw an elbow at you.”
Remembering the scene at JPAC, I had to admit, Dimitriadus was upset.
“And, call me crazy, but you’re about to ID two people murdered in a drug war.”
“Allegedly murdered.”
Again, Ryan’s look was withering.
“Besides, no one knows that,” I added.
“Right. Street gangs are notorious for their lousy communication networks.”
“Here’s one.” It came out more snappish than I’d intended. Or not. “I crossed paths with a couple of drunks.”
“Uh-huh,” Ryan said.
I expected the usual snarkfest from our daughters. To my surprise, Katy and Lily were together in the kitchen. Tool was blasting from the sound system and both were singing “Vicarious” into wooden spoon mikes.
On seeing us, Katy rushed me.
“Oh my God!”
Lily stared, mouth open, spoon frozen before it.
“You should see the other guy,” I said, disengaging from my daughter’s embrace.
No one laughed.
“What’s for dinner?” I asked, perky as Gidget.
“You said it was a glorified fender bender.” Katy’s tone was stern. “A fluke that the car got wrecked.”
“I’m fine,” I said. For the umpteenth time that day.
“If you were fine you wouldn’t be wearing that shirt.”
“I like birds.”
“Your hair is wet. Your face is a train wreck.”
“What’s that fabulous smell?”
“We made marinara sauce,” Lily said. “And shrimp.”
“Allow me to change, feed me pasta, and I’ll tell you anything.” I raised both hands like a spy ready to crack.
Katy watched with suspicion as I climbed the stairs.
Minutes later I was back in a clean shirt and shorts.
I provided the bare essentials. Sans mention of Lo’s theory. Swerve. Bump. Plunge. Rescue. In this version the water was two feet deep.
When I finished, Katy commenced one of her typical cross-examinations.
“I thought you were going to JPAC.”
“I did. Happily, everything’s wrapped up there. What did you do today?”
“What were you doing on the southern end of the island?”
“After JPAC I met with the medical examiner.”
“About the guys eaten by sharks?”
