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“Okra, maize, pigeon peas, squash. There are a couple of resorts over on the water, but there’s very little up this way.”
She went still again. I returned to my window gazing.
Grants Wheeland Gas Station. TCI Best Deal Pawn Shop. Tropical Aquariums pet store.
One last development, then, as Musgrove predicted, the homes and businesses yielded to open scrub interspersed with farm fields and small stretches of mangrove wetland.
Gardiner hooked a left, then made a right at Davie Bight Road. It was then I understood why we were in a four-wheel-drive vehicle.
Shortly, the pavement ended at a dirt road. Then the dirt gave way to sand, a trail so narrow two cars could never have passed.
The Jeep rocked gently. The sandshushedunder our tires. Suddenly, we were at the ocean.
The beach was bone white and scattered with boulders of varying sizes and shades of gray. The ocean was vividly turquoise, the surreal blue broken only by froth geysering skyward where waves collided with rocks.
The sweeping grandeur was so unexpected it took my breath away.
“Wow,” I said.
“Yeah,” Musgrove agreed. “It never gets old.”
After several more minutes of lurching and rolling, Gardiner braked to a stop and nodded to Rigby. Rigby rotated to face Musgrove. I figured the handoff between the two must involve rank.
“We in the park, ma’am. The boat be just yonder, over that ridge.” Thumb-jabbing the window by her right shoulder. “It’s best we walk from here.”
The four of us got out and snaked along single file. Gardiner took the lead, then me, then Musgrove. Rigby brought up the rear. No one spoke.
Gulls circled and screeched overhead, reminding me of the day I’d pulled Deniz Been from Bickerdike Basin, and of my unresolved vacation plans with Ryan. I could easily imagine us in this place, meenjoying the sand and surf, him coated with Hawaiian Tropic SPF 2000.
The sun was hot and still high in the sky. Halfway to the ridge, I stopped to remove my sandals. To wipe sweat from my face. To take in the view.
I wanted to forget my reason for being here. To savor the natural beauty surrounding me. The bluer than blue sky with its billowy white clouds. The coconut palms throwing razor straight shadows across the beach. The sunlight sparking the ocean and foamy spray.
But frolicking and beachcombing were for another day.
Gardiner climbed the small knoll first, sending a cascade of sand trickling down toward me. I followed.
Seconds later, Musgrove joined us.
“Binos?” she asked, reaching a hand toward Gardiner.
Gardiner produced a pair of binoculars. Musgrove raised them to her eyes and adjusted focus.
“Well, bugger me.”
Musgrove’s mouth went agape, mimicking my imagined vision of the holy card saint.
11
Musgrove was peering up the shoreline toward a narrow tongue of land jutting into the sea. Thirty yards off the tongue, two vessels bobbed side by side, anchored and going nowhere.
Wordlessly, she handed me the binoculars. I pointed them at the boats.
The first was clearly marked as belonging to the marine branch of the RTCIPF. The second was a sleek high-velocity number powered by inboard motors. Vinyl cushions spanned its rail-enclosed stern. Similar seating wrapped its mongo, kick-ass bow, which angled high above the water. At midship, an enormous boom awning shaded the helm and its controls. Gray tarps haphazardly covered the cockpit, their appearance jarringly at odds with the boat’s swanky, hellcat style.
“Not what you were expecting?” I asked.
“Not at all.”
