The next day, day three, we got on the bus, left Salt Lake City, and drove north, along the edge of the Great Salt Lake. This lake sure is a big sucker! Declan told us that it’s about eighty miles long and thirty-five miles wide and that it probably had once been part of a much larger lake, long, long ago. He said we’d stop for photographs later and there’d be a chance to swim for anyone who wanted to.
There was a chorus of “Are you kidding?” and “No way!”
The Texans began singing something about three little fishes and Grandma said to me, “That song’s as old as I am. Their grandmothers must have taught them.”
We all applauded at the end, and Declan said, “Very nice! But you’ll not see any little fishes in the Great Salt Lake. There are only brine shrimp.”
He went on to tell us more about the lake, how it’s so buoyant you couldn’t sink in it even if you tried. You’d bob up like a cork. He said the water was saltier than that in any ocean in the world.
I jotted down some notes for future mystery novels (something that Mrs. Nixon strongly advises). What if someone, not knowing as much about the Great Salt Lake as I do, had murdered someone and thrown the body into the water, thinking it would sink and be gone forever, and it popped up, and kept popping up? I liked that idea a lot. But it wasn’t happening here. And the key word was “focus.”
I was closing the notebook when I heard two voices calling to Declan.
“We want to swim. Absolutely.”
Buffo and Blessing Roberts.
“Are there changing rooms, Declan?” Blessing asked.
“There are. Out at the end of the causeway.”
“Great!”
I turned around and saw Buffo and Blessing smiling happily at each other.
Grandma shuddered. “As I recall, that lake may be one of the natural wonders of the world but it’s not very attractive for bathing. Unless it has changed.”
I had no hope that Charles Stavros would go for a swim and leave his bag behind. If he did swim, it would be pretty hard for him to hold the bag over his head. And what about his bandage?
Scotty pulled the coach into the parking area and we began to file out.
Buffo and Blessing jogged ahead of the rest of us, heading for the lake. They had white towels around their necks and carried black swimsuits. In their shorts their behinds were very big but I noticed they didn’t jiggle. All muscle, I thought.
Grandma and I walked behind Stavros.
Geneva and her dad were ahead of him. I couldn’t help observing again the space between them and the way she kept her face turned away from him as if there was something really interesting on the other side of the lake.
Still, it surprised me when Grandma said, “That little girl is very troubled. I talked with her father at breakfast. He’s an engineer and he’s just back from Africa. It seems he spends a lot of time there.”
I don’t know why I was surprised that Grandma knew so much. People tell her things. I think it’s because she’s such a good listener.
“Was Geneva in Africa, too?” I asked.
“No. I don’t think his wife was, either. There’s a sadness about him. Have you noticed?”
I shook my head.
Charles Stavros was hugging the red bag against his chest. I noticed everything about him. Wouldn’t a regular person carrying a regular bag sling it over his shoulder? Was there something in there he didn’t want to get bumped? In case it would get broken? Or hurt? Could it possibly be his puppy—that he hadn’t been able to leave it after all? But a puppy would whine or bark. And it would have to be fed. And it would need to go to the bathroom. But if he had a bomb…It wouldn’t be good for a bomb to get bumped. I froze at the thought.
Grandma was looking at me strangely. “Are you all right, Kevin?”
I realized that I had stopped walking.
I bent over. “Something in my shoe.” I untied my shoelace and shook my sneaker vigorously. “Got it,” I said.
Buffo and Blessing disappeared into the dressing rooms while the rest of us gazed at the lake. We actually stood well back because the shores were thick with kelp or some sort of weed. Tiny black flies hopped and swarmed silently around it.
Millie took out a tissue and held it to her mouth as if she was afraid one of them was going to jump in.
“Nasty.” Mrs. Dove gave a small ladylike shudder. “I suppose the…the swimmers…will have to go through that to get in the water?”
“No other way, my dear,” Mr. Dove said.
“They must be crazy,” Millie muttered. “I hope they don’t bring any of those flies back in the bus with us. You know, in their hair or crawling around.”
“Millie!” Beth said sharply.
Millie took a deep breath. “Only kidding.”
We waited as Buffo and Blessing emerged from the dressing rooms in black swimsuits that were identical, except that Blessing’s had a top. They each had a red tattoo on the right shoulder, but from where I stood I couldn’t see what it was. Hand in hand they plunged in, making whooping noises, the flies rising around them like shifting black clouds, kelp clinging to their legs.
“Gross!” Geneva started to scratch herself all over even though the flies were nowhere near us.
We watched Buffo and Blessing lying on top of the water, their heads and toes and bellies poking up.
“It’s great,” they shouted. “You could sleep in here. It’s a humongous water bed.”
The Texans began a chorus of “Shoo, Fly, Don’t Bother Me,” and Midge moved closer to Grandma and whispered, “Who needs the Mormon Tabernacle Choir when we’ve got them, Mrs. Saunders?”
I wondered if I should ask Midge, since she was a dog expert, if a little puppy could live in a Star Tours bag and never bark, whine, or go to the bathroom. But I decided not to. It might not be a good idea to get any of the tour people involved with my mystery just yet. I’d wait and watch my suspect some more until I had proof.
There weren’t too many people visiting the Great Salt Lake today. Buffo and Blessing were the only two floaters. At a distance, three people walked along the path, two dogs frolicking beside them. The dogs kept darting off to leap into the kelp, biting and snapping at the rising flies. Suddenly they seemed to see us, and they came at a gallop, tails wagging, ears turned inside out, pink tongues lolling.
“Hello, ladies,” Beth said, bending to stroke one as it streaked past her.
Millie lit a cigarette and laughed. “They’re gentlemen.” She held out a hand but the dogs ignored her.
“Probably they don’t care for the smell of tobacco,” Beth said, waving smoke away from the front of her face.
One of the dogs suddenly stopped, legs rigid, then raced straight at Charles Stavros. The other followed, his nose in the air.
Stavros saw them coming and instantly lifted the red bag at arm’s length over his head.
The dogs leaped, trying to reach it. They were big dogs, with shiny black coats. One of them had his paws on Stavros’s chest. The dog didn’t look menacing, just excited.
“Get down! Get away!” Stavros shouted.
Geneva’s father rushed toward him, and so did Midge. Midge pulled on the collar, but the dog was too strong. Stavros was almost knocked off balance as he staggered back, the bag high above his head. I remembered how heavy it had been.
“Woof, woof,” the dogs laughed. “Woof!”
I started forward, but Grandma grabbed my arm. “Stay right here, Kevin,” she said.
From the lake Buffo shouted, “Hey! What’s going on?” He and Blessing had their heads lifted to see better, and I thought how much they looked like the black otters I’d seen in Monterey Bay, lying on their backs munching on abalone.
The dogs’ owners sprinted along the path, shouting, “Primo! Casper! Stop that this minute.” As if on cue the dogs dropped down, shamefaced, and stood with their tails dragging.
The owners were apologizing to Stavros and clipping heavy leashes on the dogs. “Bad boys,” they scolded. And then to Stavros: “They weren’t going to hurt you, honest. They’re really gentle.”
“You could have fooled me,” Millie said quite nastily.
“It’s all right.” Stavros yanked down on his windbreaker, which had risen almost to his armpits.
“It’s whatever you have in that bag that attracted them,” one of the owners, a guy with a spotty face, said. “Do you have steaks? They do go crazy for steaks.” He gave a little nervous laugh.
“No. No steaks,” Stavros said.
Geneva stood next to me. “What do you think he does have?” she asked. “It’s weird how he never lets go of that bag. Everywhere he goes, it goes.”
“I’ve noticed,” I said, casually.
She stared at me. “I think you know something,” she said.
I couldn’t help noticing that her eyes were a much darker blue than the lake behind her. Of course, her eyes were probably not as salty. And you definitely couldn’t float in them.
Buffo and Blessing came trudging out of the lake through the kelp and flies. Their spiky red hair had turned dark in the salt water. “That was terrific,” Buffo said. “A once-in-a-lifetime experience.”
“Exhilarating,” Blessing called out as they headed for the showers. The tattoo on her shoulder was a red heart with BUFFO printed in it. His was identical, except it said BLESSING.
“Sorry we missed all the excitement,” Buffo said to Charles Stavros. “What were the hounds of the Baskervilles after, anyway?”
Charles Stavros shrugged, held the bag close against him, and headed back toward the bus.