into his elevated opinion of himself. “I’m Katie Quinn’s authorized biographer. And the only one to”—he raised both eyebrows—“authorize her, if you know what I mean.” He glanced away, then back at me while the success of his prowess resonated across the water. “I’m also the author of the current number ten on the
New York Times
best-seller list. Based on the feeding frenzy”—he tossed his head back—“I should be topping the list by tonight.” He pointed toward the gulf and tried to sound casual. He thought I’d be impressed. I wasn’t. He continued, “Based on recent events, we’re releasing a new edition with a few new chapters.
The
authoritative work.” He pointed at Smee. “CNN is producing a documentary on my research. Airs late next week and several more times this month.”
I revved the engine. “Well, good luck on your work.”
He put one hand on my shoulder while snapping behind him with his other. “Do I know you?”
I looked at his hand. “Doubtful.”
“I rarely forget a face.” Smee shouldered his camera, pointed it at my face. The red light on the front told me he was recording. I didn’t hesitate. I bumped it into reverse and slammed the throttle down. Evidently, neither were boat people. The jolt threw Smee and his camera in the water. Queequeg landed on his butt in the bow. I knelt over him, my face inches from his. “You want to walk off this boat, or exit like your wet friend there?”
He stood, eye to eye with me, and said nothing. He was slick. Undeterred.
Frothing at the water’s surface, Smee treaded water while cussing me and my entire lineage because his forty-something-thousand-dollar HD video camera was sitting in fourteen feet of water amid a bed of oysters. I’m pretty sure salt water isn’t too good for digital recordings.
Queequeg stepped off. His wad of cash lay on the bow wrapped in a rubber band. I fingered it, then tossed it at him. He caught it and his eyebrows creeped together. A small crowd had gathered at the dock. Time to disappear. I pulled my hat down, turned
Jody
into the wind, and took the long way home.
What should have taken an hour took me almost four, which was more than enough time to convince me that with all the increased shark activity my boat was the last place Katie Quinn needed to be. She might as well be sitting on a bench in Central Park.
The sun was setting when I hopped up on the back of the
Gone Fiction
and found her sitting on the bow, back to me, knees tucked into her chest, staring out across the mangrove tops. I knelt and she sniffled, then wiped her face with her sleeve. She shook her head. “You’d think I’d be empty by now.”
I didn’t respond.
She looked up at me. “Do you think I’m wrong for doing this? For putting Steady in the position he’s now in?”
I shrugged. “I’d say you are in uncharted waters. I’m not sure anyone like you has ever done what you’re doing. If they have, they did it really well ’cause we don’t know about it. This one’s not black or white, but maybe several shades of gray.” She tried to smile. “If it’s okay with you, let’s just deal with right now, right now. I think it best if we left here for a few days. I have a cabin…” I pointed northeast. “Up in the Glades. It’ll be quiet. Steady knows where it is. He’ll find us when he’s finished”—I smiled and shook my head—“telling everyone how dead you are.” I stood.
She stopped me. Suspicious. “Something happen in town?”
I thought about lying but decided I’d sidestep it. “The town and every square inch of water between here and there is crawling with people looking for any scrap of you. They’re pretty pushy, too.”
She tilted her head, her voice changing tone. “You didn’t answer my question.”
She was smarter than I gave her credit. “I bumped into a black-haired, ponytailed guy with tattoos running up his neck who said he was your—”
She stood and made quotation
New York Times
best-seller list. Based on the feeding frenzy”—he tossed his head back—“I should be topping the list by tonight.” He pointed toward the gulf and tried to sound casual. He thought I’d be impressed. I wasn’t. He continued, “Based on recent events, we’re releasing a new edition with a few new chapters.
The
authoritative work.” He pointed at Smee. “CNN is producing a documentary on my research. Airs late next week and several more times this month.”
I revved the engine. “Well, good luck on your work.”
He put one hand on my shoulder while snapping behind him with his other. “Do I know you?”
I looked at his hand. “Doubtful.”
“I rarely forget a face.” Smee shouldered his camera, pointed it at my face. The red light on the front told me he was recording. I didn’t hesitate. I bumped it into reverse and slammed the throttle down. Evidently, neither were boat people. The jolt threw Smee and his camera in the water. Queequeg landed on his butt in the bow. I knelt over him, my face inches from his. “You want to walk off this boat, or exit like your wet friend there?”
He stood, eye to eye with me, and said nothing. He was slick. Undeterred.
Frothing at the water’s surface, Smee treaded water while cussing me and my entire lineage because his forty-something-thousand-dollar HD video camera was sitting in fourteen feet of water amid a bed of oysters. I’m pretty sure salt water isn’t too good for digital recordings.
Queequeg stepped off. His wad of cash lay on the bow wrapped in a rubber band. I fingered it, then tossed it at him. He caught it and his eyebrows creeped together. A small crowd had gathered at the dock. Time to disappear. I pulled my hat down, turned
Jody
into the wind, and took the long way home.
What should have taken an hour took me almost four, which was more than enough time to convince me that with all the increased shark activity my boat was the last place Katie Quinn needed to be. She might as well be sitting on a bench in Central Park.
The sun was setting when I hopped up on the back of the
Gone Fiction
and found her sitting on the bow, back to me, knees tucked into her chest, staring out across the mangrove tops. I knelt and she sniffled, then wiped her face with her sleeve. She shook her head. “You’d think I’d be empty by now.”
I didn’t respond.
She looked up at me. “Do you think I’m wrong for doing this? For putting Steady in the position he’s now in?”
I shrugged. “I’d say you are in uncharted waters. I’m not sure anyone like you has ever done what you’re doing. If they have, they did it really well ’cause we don’t know about it. This one’s not black or white, but maybe several shades of gray.” She tried to smile. “If it’s okay with you, let’s just deal with right now, right now. I think it best if we left here for a few days. I have a cabin…” I pointed northeast. “Up in the Glades. It’ll be quiet. Steady knows where it is. He’ll find us when he’s finished”—I smiled and shook my head—“telling everyone how dead you are.” I stood.
She stopped me. Suspicious. “Something happen in town?”
I thought about lying but decided I’d sidestep it. “The town and every square inch of water between here and there is crawling with people looking for any scrap of you. They’re pretty pushy, too.”
She tilted her head, her voice changing tone. “You didn’t answer my question.”
She was smarter than I gave her credit. “I bumped into a black-haired, ponytailed guy with tattoos running up his neck who said he was your—”
She stood and made quotation
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