Sand

Chapter 1

Max stood on the edge of a small cove near the tip of Turtle Island. Dawn was breaking. Small boats had been run up onto the sand. A few larger workboats and commercial fishing boats were anchored further out in the waterway. He was surprised so many people were here. How, he wondered, could news of the deaths have spread so quickly?
He hung back from the crowd surrounding the accident scene, unwilling to assert himself, wishing he was anywhere else, wanting to be a bystander but he knew he was going to have to get involved sooner or later. He touched the pocket of his shirt. He had a little pharmaceutical treat there, but he caught sight of an approaching boat and decided to wait awhile.
The boat touched the shore and a woman jumped gracefully from the bow. She was tall, almost six foot, with straight black hair down to her waist, greenish eyes, reddish-tint skin, with a ballerina's legs and a stripper's chest. She carried a foam cup that may have been for coffee or it may have been a spit cup for a tobacco twist. It was Maggie, a waitress at the local diner and he was thrilled to see her. He had spoken to her only a half dozen times. Their conversations were not long or deep. He usually just agreed with her that since he was by himself, he should sit at the counter. Sometimes he asked about the catch of the day. Nevertheless, he found himself stepping into her path.
“What the hell you doing here?” she demanded, stopping dead in her tracks. “You shouldn't be here.”
“I had a call from the mayor....”
“No one pays any attention to the mayor,” Maggie interrupted.
“He told me to....”
“You actually said yes to something that idiot said? That must have surprised him.” She looked at him and he knew she was thinking there were at least two idiots in town.
Max looked out over the water. He was a rent-a-veterinarian. He led a nomadic life, usually working as an inspector working in the huge poultry and hog processing plants scattered throughout the Carolinas, staying a week or ten days at a time, working the night shift and any overtime, weekends or holidays he could. Two weeks ago out of the blue his agency had called. It seemed that the old vet had made a bad decision about passing a logging truck and the town desperately needed someone to fill in at the small animal clinic.
“He's the mayor,” Max insisted, trying to avoid whining. “He calls in the middle of the night so it's got to be important.”
“More likely he expected you to fall back asleep. There's no way he wants you here. He assumed you'd be a no show. Jesus, you have screwed him good.”
“How can that be? I'm doing what he told me to do.”
“Yes sir. Screwed him royally.” She looked around a moment. “All the mayor wants is for this whole thing to disappear. Like it never happened. Maybe that's why the son of a bitch isn't here,” she said almost to herself. “He's hiding under a rock somewhere.” She turned and looked out across the water then back at him. “And here I was thinking this night couldn't get any worse.”
“I don't understand. He's the mayor.”
“Shit. He only got the job 'cause nobody else wanted to run.”
“Well, he hired me. I got to do what he says.”
“There ain't no way he thought you'd show up. He was just covering his ample ass. He needed to say that he tried to get you here. That he did his part. But he sure doesn't want anything put down on paper. You being here is his worst nightmare.”
“Why would he think that I wasn't going to show up?”
“Well, the gossip we heard about you...,” she started to say, smiling cruelly. Max staggered. He had for years attempted to lose himself in the small towns and hamlets of eastern North Carolina, ashamed of his past, but now it was all going to get thrown back in his face. “...is that you take about as many prescriptions as you give out.”
Max rolled his head. A sense of relief went over him. So she knew about his drug problem and probably about his drinking. But she had not mentioned the incredibly stupid thing he had done to ruin his career. He was safe. The drug and alcohol abuse were nothing. He almost laughed, as he fought back the urge to touch his shirt pocket, but he was curious. “If that's what people think then why did the mayor hire me?”
“Lots of folk think that's exactly why you got the job,” she replied coldly. “That the mayor was looking for a total screw-up and next thing we know,” she said putting the cup to her mouth, “you're the town's new vet.”
“So you are telling me that I have messed things up,” Max said slowly, “by doing exactly what I was told to do.”
He saw a little smile ply across her lips, or maybe the tobacco juice had gone down the wrong way. “What in the world did he say to you anyway?” she asked, spitting into the cup.
“It wasn't a good conversation. It was kind of strange,” Max replied quietly and this time he did touch his shirt pocket. It contained a little vial of ketamine capsules, a tranquilizer, that gave a nice little buzz. He had been pleasantly surprised by the variety and quantity of drugs in the pharmaceutical locker at clinic, and had sampled a few items last night. Usually he could pace his drug taking better than a bicycle racer, but the mayor phoned sometime around four in the morning and he had not been prepared to argue. Max looked at the tall woman, wondering what her reaction would be if he chucked down a capsule in front of her.
“How strange?” she asked.
“He said there is a dead woman and a dead turtle on the island. I am supposed to do an autopsy.”
“Did he say of which?”
“It doesn't matter. Like I told him, I don't know shit about turtles either.”
The sound of a revving two stroke engine scattered the sea gulls and terns that were feasting on the decaying sea grass and reeds that covered the shoreline. The motor ran for a moment then died. “Don't worry. If Sheriff Stone gets his way,” Maggie said, looking off towards the noise, “all you'll be examining is sushi.”
Max was puzzled by the remark but said nothing. Warning bells were going off in his mind. He had survived the last decade by avoiding any involvement with the communities he passed through, or any relationship with the people he met along the way. He looked out at the crowd and then at Maggie. His instinct told him to walk away.
Maggie pulled out a hard pack of cigarettes, offered one to him, then lit hers with a smooth flick of a lighter. “Did the mayor explain anything about what's going on?” She inhaled deeply, then let the smoke escape out her nose. Max watched her look out over the waterway and decided to stay.
They were in a remote section of the North Carolina coast, an area nicknamed Bedrock because of the odd ring of exposed coquina rock that ran in a ring ten miles into the mainland, back to the ocean and then created a spine running down the center of Turtle Island. The area had been settled since colonial times but was cut off by rocky outcroppings and cliffs, swamps, estuaries and the shoals around the barrier island. The people here were as isolated as if they were on an island inside a coral reef, and they cherished their independence and uniqueness. Outsiders agreed with this and found the people here as diverse and strange as the animals on the Galapagos.
“He said that there had been some kind of accident,” Max answered. “A boat crash at the end of the island. Some old lady on a jet ski hit a turtle. The lady and the turtle are both dead.”
“Yeah, that's the story we all heard,” she said, nodding towards the crowd. Max hesitated a moment. Had she emphasized the word 'story?’ Before he could ask, she went on. “He say anything else?”