Vandermein

XVI

The jacuzzi was warm enough, though the brown and green streaks that stained its walls made it hard to get truly comfortable. Boone was sitting at the edge of the pool, watching me and the door, his head on a nervous swivel.

He'd rebuffed my invitations to join me and scoffed at the notion that we might in fact be allies for a while. "It's a temporary alliance," he conceded reluctantly. "I'm still not convinced you aren't a part of this."

Kenzie had checked into a room and set up a command post. Soon, when my body temperature risen to sufficient levels, we'd need to hatch a plot, a plan of attack. Boone knew something, but he was not yet forthcoming with his evidence. If I was, in fact, behind the sunken ship, then his sharing could mean his sabotage.

A part of me was impressed by his shrewd withholding, but a larger part was offended by it. Didn't he know me by now? When--and why--would I hurt children? To what end?

For that matter, who would do this? What was the game plan here? To frame me for a hundred murders? Would one not suffice? I suppose when a crime is so far beyond comprehension, one must suspend all biases and scruples.

Boone also hadn't spoken about his partner, Veronica. From the very beginning they seemed on the verge of imploding, and now she was nowhere to be found. They were at odds with one another, but why? Could either of them have something to do with the ship? I couldn't fathom Boone doing such a thing.

At least, not on purpose. Maybe this was an accident. Maybe after they traced the ship to me he--or someone--had it destroyed to stop evidence from leaving their jurisdiction. Maybe no one anticipated the kids being on board.

So many questions. So few answers. I was getting pruny and bored sitting here alone.

"So, where's your partner, Bill?

He shot me a look that warned against this line of questioning, but what was he going to do? Put me in a morgue? Been there, done that.

" Last I saw her, she was making some pretty bold claims against you."

"Im sure she was," he grumbled.

"She said I don't really know you."

"You don't."

"She said no one really knows you."

"They don't."

"So, if no one really knows you then how can we be sure it wasn't you who caused that tragedy in the harbor?"

His face turned a darker shade of red. His mouth opened slightly as if he were about to speak venom across the echoing tiled room. But before words escaped, he pulled a bottle of vodka from inside his coat and took a long pull. It was barely 2PM.

"Kind of early for that isn't it?" Except I recognized the kind of sip this was. He drank not with joy, but with desperation, as if an emotion other than anger found it's way into his mind and it needed to be burned away. This was the drink of an alcoholic. Maybe I didn't really know him.

"I told you before to mind your own business, Frank. I mean it."

"If we're going to be a team, detective, I should know whether or not you're capable of the job."

"We're not a team!" he shouted. Just then a young woman with goggles and one piece swimsuit entered the pool room. She was too early for his shout, but just in time for it's reverberations against the walls, though she pretended not to hear it.

I was either warm enough or close to it, so I stepped out of the tub and grabbed my towel. Boone's eyes were fixed away from me, arms crossed and posture stuff.

"I know that you don't feel like you can trust me," I told him quietly as I dried my hair. "But I wouldn't prey on your emotions. That's not my game."

Briefly, his eyes fluted to me, red around the edges. Was this... Grief? From the legendary detective?

"You were right," he whispered.

"Right about what?"

"The harbor. The ship." His voice quivered. "It was me."