Who was Wyatt? I wondered.
Stacey continued. “It has come to my attention that someone among you has tried to sabotage the vaccine.”
The room had gone quiet, the way a room can when those in it have all been accused of a crime. What a time to be visiting the island, I thought.
“Can you tell us the details?” asked David.
Stacey looked around and sighed. “Apparently, some of the vaccine has gone missing. Is a Dr. Wyatt Sinclair here?” I followed her gaze around the room. A man sitting at the far back gestured with his hand. He was, for lack of a better word, an impressive looking man, with a head of wildly thick white hair that cascaded over half of his very expansive forehead and accented the startling blue of his eyes. He exuded a self-confidence that was apparent even before he spoke. He rose to his feet, laughed a hollow laugh, and said, “Will the perpetrator please stand up now so that we can get on with our job?”
No one stood up. “Worth a try,” he said, but the way he had said it left no doubt that he wanted his vaccine back. “Seriously, someone had the gall to let themselves into my cabin yesterday and steal a bottle of vaccine that was on my desk. This is totally unacceptable, and I need it back.” He scanned the room, his face unreadable, and then suddenly he smiled, a charming cat-in-the-cream sort of smile, at Stacey, who had a queer look on her face, as if she was going to be sick.
“Why are you singling us out for sabotage? I mean, there are islanders who don’t want this to happen.” The deep, guttural voice came from the dark-haired man sitting beside Rosemary.
Wyatt bowed to Stacey. Stacey hesitated, her face quickly suffused with blood and her eyes clouded. The confusion on her face was intriguing.
“I am aware of that, Sam,” she finally said in a quiet voice. “But the easiest route is usually the correct route, and all of us here in this room would have an easier time sabotaging the vaccine than any islander.”
The buzz of conversation that followed this comment was cut short by Stacey, who said in a tight, pained voice that matched her face, “You know who you are, and when you are caught we will prosecute to the fullest extent of the law.” As she hurriedly turned toward the kitchen her face seemed to collapse in on itself as if the weight of the world was just too much. She seemed so alone and vulnerable. I wondered if she counted any of the people present as her friend. She seemed like she could use one.
Darcy interrupted my thoughts to say that he and Martha would be back in a minute; he had to show her something before showing us to our cabin. It never ceased to amaze me at how fast Martha could make friends, and have them eating out of her hands. But I’d had about enough excitement for one day and they were gone longer than I wanted. Finally, Darcy led Martha and me back into the no-see-ums, down the stairs, and then over to a little cabin tucked in between two honking big live oaks. Martha was lugging her huge suitcase behind her and was breathing heavily by the time we got to the cabin. It was even tinier than it looked. There was just enough room for two beds and a night table, one chest of drawers, a desk, and a chair. No washroom. As if reading my mind, Darcy, who was standing in the doorway, said, “They skimped on the bathrooms. The woman’s is one over from the mess stairs.” He laughed. “Just don’t get the trots.”
Martha rolled her eyes as Darcy pushed past us, plunked himself down on one of the beds, and bounced up and down. “At least the mattresses in this cabin are okay.” Which gave me visions of lumpy pretzel mattresses that sagged and smelled in some of the other cabins. I wondered who got those.
“So what’s all this about the vaccine being stolen?” I asked.
“Tempest in a teapot. Wyatt probably just misplaced it. Or maybe he didn’t bring as much as he thought he had. It’ll quiet down. It always does.”
He got up from the bed and I wondered why he seemed so sure — or was he? He actually seemed a bit too glib. And what was this always does all about?
“Is Wyatt a regular?” I asked.
Darcy laughed. “No, he’s here on a working vacation. He’s a first timer angling to be a last timer, judging by his attitude. He’s not a researcher and he likes to make that pretty clear. He’s a prickly guy, always complaining about something. And he and Jayne are always goading each other.”
“Who’s Jayne?” I asked.
“She’s our turtle lady. Does research on sea turtles. She used to be the director until she retired and Stacey took over. Everybody said it was because Jayne burned out. Too bad really — at least for Jayne. I think she genuinely liked being director.”
“And Stacey doesn’t?”
He cocked his head at me and smiled. “Did I say that?”
When I didn’t say anything he got up off the bed and said, “Breakfast is at 7:30. Don’t be late or you won’t get anything.” And with that he was gone.
It didn’t take long for me to unpack. I sat on my bed and watched Martha trying to stuff all her clothes into two of the four drawers. I finally took pity on her and gave her one of mine. However, the suitcase and the remainder of her clothes we had to leave between the two beds because there was nowhere else to put them.
“What did you think of Darcy?” I asked innocently.
“Salesman par excellence,” said Martha and laughed.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. The guy everyone loves because he makes you feel good. So what is he doing as an assistant to a botanist, of all things?”
“He’s young. Couldn’t be more than twenty-five. Maybe he’s just trying out his wings. After all, if he can ingratiate himself with this ragtag bunch of people he’d make a hell of an event planner,” said Martha.
“Or maybe there’s more to it than that.”
“Oh, Cordi, there you go, glass half empty. How can you read anything negative in Darcy? And why ever would you want to? He’s a gem.”
I stared at Martha, realizing that she had a point. Except that ever since I had stepped on this island I had felt like I was in a glass house. One move and it would all shatter around me in so many lethal shards. I shivered. It was a weird sensation and I didn’t like it one bit.
“Good lord, Cordi. How can you be cold in weather like this?” She slung an unfamiliar camera over her shoulder and headed for the door, followed by my raised eyebrow. “Darcy lent me a night-vision camera. I have to check it out.” It didn’t seem to matter to her that it wasn’t dark outside yet.
I lay in bed for a long time, listening to the sounds of the woods and the chirruping of frogs, until I finally fell asleep to the wind whispering through the trees.
I was jerked awake by the sound of firecrackers going off. After I picked myself up from where I had plastered myself to the ground, I traced the unearthly racket back to Martha, who was snoring shotguns on every breath in. Too bad she couldn’t be as quiet sleeping as she obviously was coming home from her photography junket. The one other time I’d spent the night with Martha I hadn’t remembered that she snored. Must be a new thing, I thought.
After that I didn’t sleep much, and by the time I’d watched my clock tick through from 3:00 to 5:00 I’d had enough. The darkness had given way to dawn and I could just make out the trunk of the oak outside my window. I took my time getting dressed and then fished out my flashlight and tiptoed out the door, though why I bothered to be quiet I don’t know. Martha was making more noise than I ever could.
Because my cabin, along with all the others, had been built at the base of a dune line it felt as though I was in a valley as I walked outside, a valley with hills covered in palmetto — a miniature palm tree, three or four feet high, with fingered fronds just like the bigger palms, hence palmetto or “little palm.” As I stood there, looking up the side of the enormous dune