Dark Light

expected in return. Contingent on their approval, Chestra said she would pay Jeth’s and Javier’s standard daily charter fee for a week, guaranteed, and up to ten days if there was evidence that we’d found Dark Light’s remains. At that point, we would renegotiate.

When I asked if she thought that we might also find the remains of Frederick Roth, she said yes, it was possible, his body was never recovered. Chestra then explained why he’d been at the vessel’s helm the night she went down.

“People who lived in the area were naturally suspicious of Frederick—there was no disguising his German accent. The war was on, news was often censored, so the local rumor mills ran nonstop. In Marlissa’s journals, she wrote about some of the rumors—she was hurt by them.”

Chestra wasn’t certain whose idea it was, but Frederick signed up as a civil defense volunteer to demonstrate that a German could also be pro-American. On the Gulf coast of Florida, the work consisted of running Coast Watch patrols—looking for unauthorized aircraft, foreign vessels, or suspicious activity.

Arlis had mentioned the Coast Watch organization, but I let the woman talk.

Marlissa didn’t need to volunteer the family boat, Chestra said, because it had already been conscripted by the military for Civil Defense duty. Dark Light was the fastest cruiser in the meager fleet.

“The last entry in Marlissa’s journal was dated the afternoon of October 19, 1944. She wrote that the weather was bad and she was worried about Frederick because he was taking the boat offshore, alone for some reason. She even knew the course heading: 240 degrees.”

Chestra removed the towel from my shoulders and began to fold it, her expression thoughtful. “Until Tommy told me about the Nazi medals you found, I assumed that Marlissa’s trust in her lover was deserved. Now, though…I’m more open-minded. You can understand why I’m eager to find out the truth.”

I remembered Arlis mentioning that on the night of the storm, suspicious lights were reported off Lighthouse Point. Maybe a U-boat, but Arlis thought it was more likely Cuban fishermen who were later found dead, bloated, on the beach. The Coast Watch lost a boat that night, he’d told us. He didn’t mention the boat’s name.

Dark Light? I would ask him.

I also remembered Arlis describing a woman he’d seen earlier on the beach—did he refer to her as an actress? A woman who was so beautiful that he could still picture her face. In the small, small town this area had once been, trivial details might remain etched deep in an old man’s memory.

I shared none of this with Chestra.

“Do you have any idea why Frederick Roth was taking the boat offshore in bad weather?”

“No. I guess it was his duty. I can’t imagine another reason.” I watched her flick the towel as I’d once seen her use a scarf for effect.

“You assume that your godmother went with him because she was worried about him going alone. Did anyone see her get aboard?”

“I think someone did see her. I’m certain of it—that’s part of the family story, anyway. Their names, though, are long gone.”

“Would you mind if I looked through your godmother’s journal? I’ve spent a lifetime around boats. Maybe I’ll see something you missed.”

It surprised her and she took a moment to think. “It’s very private, of course, a diary. When does a person give up rights to their secrets? I don’t see anything wrong with it, I suppose…but a lot of the writing’s in her own peculiar code. I mentioned that to you. I don’t think you’d make much sense of it…or have patience for all her girlish babble.”

I didn’t say it but was thinking, Right.

The woman was lying.

B efore I left, Chestra asked me to look at Marlissa Dorn’s photograph one more time.

“Do you see what she’s holding in her left hand?”

I used the damp towel to clean my glasses, and, for the first time, noticed a silver cigarette case. The case was partially hidden beneath Marlissa’s hand, which was on her hip. I tilted my glasses and held the picture closer. Was that an engraved initial on the cigarette case near her finger? I needed my magnifying glass.

“That’s the sort of memento I’m talking about. Something she held and carried, that was part of her life. Personal—I don’t care about the value. Find this for me, or something similar, and I’ll consider every penny well spent.”

I lowered the photo. “Do you know if your godmother had a matching silver lighter? A silver cigarette case and a lighter. They’d go together.” I paid close attention to her reaction.

Chestra was puzzled, nothing more. “I suppose it’s possible. In those days, everyone carried cigarettes, although I know she rarely smoked. A lighter, yes—it’s likely she had one.”

It was evident that Tomlinson hadn’t told her about the cigarette lighter Jeth had found. I was pleased. There had to be a reason Chestra Engle was withholding information from me. Until I found out why, I would reserve a few secrets of my own.

As I was going out the door, the woman placed her hand on my shoulder, then pulled it away. The gesture was spontaneous, her expression pained—she wanted to tell me more but couldn’t. That was my impression. It was the most subtle of apologies.

“Doc?”

I waited.

“The story I told you about my godmother. And the newsreel. Do you scientific types believe that there’s such things as good and evil? That there are people in the world who are truly evil? Or do you think it’s all a bunch of silly hobgoblin nonsense?”

This was not one of her mock profundities. She was referring to the tyrant who she believed had put his mark, and a curse, on Marlissa Dorn.

I said, “I’ve met my share of men capable of evil deeds.”

“So have I, Doc. So have I.” Chestra touched a finger to her lips, then touched it to my cheek. “But I’m talking about something very different.”

When I didn’t respond, she said, “Let me know how the dive goes tomorrow,” then stood watching from the doorway as I walked down the steps toward my pickup truck, lightning still flickering to the northeast.

24

At 10:15 P.M., Bern Heller was standing near the marina’s boat ramp watching a thunderstorm dump rain on distant islands—Captiva and Sanibel both smudges beneath mountainous blue clouds—and thinking: The perfect ending to a perfect day: I get struck dead by lightning after finding out the old man’s Jewish, and being so seasick I wanted to die.

There. He could get his wish—but a day late and a dollar short, as usual.

Moe, the goof, had finally noticed that he was standing there like an idiot, wanting to ask him why he was charging around on the bulldozer this late at night, long after everyone else had gone. Was it maybe, just maybe, an effort to make up for tossing his cookies on Bern that afternoon?

The Hoosier looked at him, did a double take, waved, and put the bulldozer in neutral. He left the machine idling and scrambled over the armored tread to the ground, removing his hat to let his boss see how hot it was up there pushing levers two hours before midnight.

“Thought you’d be asleep by now, Bern. Pretty rough day we had ourselves out there on the water. But what’s done is done, thank God…”

Bern gave him a look, and Moe changed subjects without taking a breath. “So you’re probably wondering why I’m out here instead of home gettin’ some z’s. Guess I’m a workaholic. You give me a job to do, I can’t sleep until it’s done right.”

“A workaholic, huh?”

“Yep, always have been. Guess it’s in my genes.” The man was using his jeans right now to wipe his dirty hands.

Bern half listened as Moe explained that he was working late because the EPA people had postponed their