“What are you collecting?” she asked.
“Today I’m just retrieving some water samples from different depths and locations. Other times I come out to tag the jellies. Need a team for that, though.”
“Must be hard to find a jellyfish in the ocean.”
“I’m an old salt. I just follow my nose. I have a sixth sense for this sort of thing.”
“Really?”
Tariq laughed. “Of course not. I’m a scientist. To find the jellyfish we look for slicks, areas where the currents and the wind collect what the jellies like to eat. Then we churn them up with a maneuver called a ‘jelly donut.’ ”
“I prefer glazed.”
He gave her a pity smile. “We pilot the boat around in circles to create an upwelling current that brings the smack to the surface.”
“I’m learning a whole new language. What’s a smack?”
“A group of jellies. Here in Monterey Bay we have comb jellies, egg yolk jellies, sea nettles, purple-lipped jellies…”
“And then? How do you tag a jellyfish? I mean, aren’t they just…jelly?”
“Depends on the medusa, but they’re more substantial than they look. We use glue, cable ties, or suction cups. They usually only stay on for a few hours, but that still gives us loads of information about water temperature, depth, motion…It’s a lot of fun.”
“Okay, I’m convinced. Clearly, I missed the mark becoming a historian.”
“I’m sure that involves having fun, too.”
“Sure does. Just not usually out on the ocean,” Harper said, watching Tariq as he efficiently laid out all his equipment. “Can I ask you about something non-jelly-related?”
“Ask away. I’m an open book.”
“Ha! I would argue that one, Dr. Johnson.”
He grinned at her over the plankton nets. “Shoot.”
“Rumor has it Delilah mentioned you in her will.”
He frowned. “I’d be surprised if that was true. Where did you hear that?”
“Joel mentioned it.”
“I thought Joel was hallucinating.”
“He was.”
“And yet you believe him about the details of Delilah’s will?”
She shrugged. “Just thought I’d ask. The other thing is, I’ve heard some rumors about your brother.”
“More rumors?” He fell silent for a moment, but Harper noted a muscle flexing in his jaw. “It’s a small town. Rumors abound.”
“I know. That’s why I wanted to hear the truth, from you.”
He shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. The Johnsons adopted me when I was three, after my parents died in a car crash. My adoptive brother, Wyatt, and I were just a few months apart in age. We were very close.” As he spoke, Tariq appeared focused on his task, his big hands busily calibrating the oxygen meter. “He died when we were twelve.”
“I’m so sorry. What happened?”
“We were on a hunting trip with our dad, just the three of us. Dad was taking a nap while Wyatt and I went for a hike. We were a couple of stupid kids, and started goofing around on a really steep path. Wyatt lost his balance and fell down a ravine. I couldn’t get to him. By the time I ran back to camp and got our father, it was too late. My brother was gone. Head injury.”
