Chapter 72
Chapter 72
W e returned to the mainland in the Zodiac, moored at the marina, and rented a room at a hotel along the water where I sat long into the night thinking. Whether or not anyone called, I couldn’t say, as I’d turned my phone off. But a strange thing happened. I sat at the desk, opened a new document on my laptop, sipped soda water, and stared at the screen a long time. Then I wrote, “The.” When I did, the rest of the words came in a torrent. I couldn’t have stopped them if I tried. Many times I cried so hard I couldn’t see the screen. Truth is, I cried my face off. So much so that it startled Gunner. Several times he climbed into my lap to lick the salt off my face. Before the sun crested the skyline, I had written ten thousand words. The most I could remember writing in one sitting.
As I read back through it, I thought to myself, It’s a start. Maybe even a good start. What was that attorney’s name who found us on the beach? If I’m honest, following Bones’s death, I had been content to never write another word. But something happened in that crypt. Something I couldn’t explain. I had walked into that dungeon looking for peace, closure. Some way to tell my friend, Ezekiel Walker, goodbye. Yet no sooner had I laid Bones to rest than I’d bumped into David Bishop. Lying cold and damp in a dark stone world, silent and shackled in bronze fetters. Rather than leave him to die and bury him alongside painful memories at the bottom of a well, I sensed him stand up and walk out beside me. Sunlight on his face. Free.
Ten thousand and one.
Daylight found us back in the Zodiac, perusing the marina. There were very few sailboats. Most were anchored out in the shallow yet open water just off the marina in another protected bay, but I did not find the Nun Taken .
With Gunner having assumed his normal pose on the bow, we idled the coastline of the Bay of Palma, passing just offshore of the Castell de Bellver, a 1300s circular castle. We continued west to southwest, never more than idle speed. I was at home. Back on the water. I’d missed it. We inquired of the harbormaster at Port de Portals Nous, a protected marina with more than a hundred vessels. But no forty-two-foot sailboat. Farther down the coastline, we crept by the St. Regis Mardavall Resort, and I made a mental note to bring Summer back. She’d like it. Plus, it’d give her a chance to model that bikini she’d been talking about.
I laughed quietly to myself and realized the fact that I was making jokes was a good sign. We anchored at the St. Regis, and I drank a beer at a shoreside bar where I quickly realized Majorcans don’t wear much at the beach, so if Summer did bring that bikini she might be overdressed. Gunner seemed entertained, and they seemed to like him. I didn’t understand much of anything people said, but when the bartender pointed at Gunner and asked me what he’d have in broken English, I said, “Ribeye?”
He nodded and one appeared fifteen minutes later. About then Gunner decided he liked Majorca. After lunch, Gunner snored in the bow, paws pointing into the air, while I continued following the coastline. I couldn’t tell you why. I just did. Something about Bones’s body floating out into these waters only to finally sink into the depths. I just couldn’t leave. But it wasn’t sadness that kept me. It was peace. Peace I’d not known for some time.
As we idled out of the harbor, my thoughts wandered home. I wanted to check in with Eddie, Jess, and BP, given that Maynard was never far from my mind. I pulled out my phone and was about to dial Eddie when another thought occurred. What good would that do? Did they really need me checking in? Micromanaging their process from across the pond? I knew they were into every system he had. If it was electronic, they owned it. And if they found something, they’d call me. But they also might like to hear my voice. Just to know I was keeping my finger on the pulse.
I was about to speed-dial Eddie when somewhere in the recesses of my brain, I heard Bones’s echo. Once again, the memory returned. We were sitting around the firepit. He was sipping wine and doing something he didn’t often do. He was talking about leadership and one of the things that makes a good leader. “Find out what people are good at, and let them do more of it.” At the time, he was talking about him and me. I stared out across the water. The boats. The smell of outboard motor mixed with coconut suntan oil. Sails flapping loosely in the breeze. Would I learn this lesson? Would I let Bones school me from the grave? Because he was. I closed my phone and, to make sure it didn’t tempt me, turned it off. Truth was, Eddie, Jess, BP, and Camp could catch Maynard without me. I didn’t like to admit that, but they could. As my phone cycled down, I found myself smiling. Class was still in session. Would it ever end? I hoped not.
We skirted the southern tip just off El Toro, then Santa Ponsa, then turned northwest by northeast, and eventually northwest again along the Costa de la Calma.
Late afternoon brought us to a well-populated beach. A couple of RVs lined the parking lot. Tents on the hillside and boats anchored in a protected cove suggested overnighters. We anchored, and Gunner was giving me the indication he needed the beach. Ribeye always gave him the wind, so we swam to shore and began walking the water’s edge. Beneath a tree sat a dark-haired man in his mid- to late forties. Gold necklace. Gold watch. Gold rings. I tried not to make eye contact and heard myself saying, “Don’t do it.”
Too late.
He stood from his chair, managing not to spill his wine over his ginormous stomach, and approached me. Under the cover of a whisper and a thick European accent, he pretended to be my best friend. “My friend, that is a good-looking dog.”
It was always the dog. I nodded while Gunner sniffed his legs. Gunner sneezed, which told me he didn’t like him either .
He sipped. “You on vacation?”
Here we go. “Something like that.”
“You alone?”
I held up the leash.
“Would you enjoy some refreshment?”
I was pretty sure he wasn’t talking about wine. “Define refreshment .”
He inched closer. “Would you like to relax?”
I studied the sun. The clouds. Tried to play stupid. “I’m pretty relaxed.”
“Ah, my friend. We men can always relax more. I think I can help with that.”
I smiled. An American with an ulterior motive. “Help?”
“What would you say to a great, one-of-a-kind massage? Would you be interested?”
I pointed at him and shook my head. “You’re not my type.”
He laughed comfortably. He knew he had me. “I can give you your choice of three. All are young but very good at helping men like you relax.”
His life was about to change. I hoped he liked prison. “I like to see what I’m buying before I decide. And...”
He waited.
“I usually shop for BOGOs.”
The American phrase was lost on him. “Bogos?”
“Buy one, get one.”
He nodded knowingly, then stepped to one side. “Follow me, please.”