BETH SAT ON THE beach, as she sometimes did, to watch Carver during his morning swim. She occasionally swam in the ocean, but never with him in the morning. She knew his solitary daily swims had become as much a time for meditation as for physical therapy.
He didn’t go far from shore, wanting to keep her in sight where she lounged on a beach towel with Al sitting on his haunches beside her. Al held his nose high as he sniffed the ocean breeze. Carver had risen before Beth and was already in the water when she appeared on shore, and they hadn’t talked more about the abortion clinic bombing on last night’s news.
The morning wasn’t yet hot, but the direct sun bearing down and then glinting off the water was searing Carver’s shoulders, the back of his neck, and his head. He rode the swells, treading water for a few more minutes, then leveled out into a fast crawl stroke and made for shore.
As he was swimming toward the beach, he glanced landward and saw Beth’s tall form striding toward the cabin, her beach towel slung over one shoulder, Al loping along at her heel. Al looked thinner in silhouette, trailing Beth’s lean outline. A couple of gaunt wolves.
While Carver showered, she prepared breakfast. He’d ground coffee beans and switched on the Braun brewer before leaving for his swim, and when he was dressed, he and Beth had a breakfast of coffee, eggs, and toast as they sat diagonally across from each other at the narrow counter. She was still wearing the shorts and faded Florida State University T-shirt she’d put on to walk down to the beach, and her bare feet had trailed sand on the kitchen floor.
“I’ve slept on it,” she said, “and I still think Nate Posey might be the clinic bomber.”
“Could be,” Carver said, spreading butter liberally on his toast. The hell with calories and cholesterol.
She sipped coffee and lowered her cup. “You don’t seem to endorse my view, Fred.”
She was right. He didn’t agree with her. “Maybe last night’s bombing was exactly what Dr. Benedict was talking about yesterday at the hospital: an attempt by Operation Alive to mislead police and the public into thinking the real bomber’s still out there and Norton’s innocent.”
“And I think it’s possible Posey bombed the clinic last night so people will assume that what Benedict says is true.”
“Uh-huh. Wheels within wheels.”
“That’s what life is, Fred, a great big mechanism with lots of meshed, turning gears that have teeth missing.”
That was a strange way to look at life, Carver thought, but it might be fairly accurate.
He said, “I’d figure if Posey bombed Women’s Light as a cover to kill his fiancée and collect her insurance, he’d sit tight and let Norton take the blame and the fall.”
“But you don’t figure like a man who’d blow up his fiancée for money—like Posey. He had the motive, and as far as we know, the opportunity,”
“So find out from Wicker where Posey was at the time of the bombing.”
“I already did that,” Beth said. “Talked to him yesterday. Posey was working at his job at Second Sailor, a place that refurbishes yachts, when the bomb blew at Women’s Light. His boss and fellow employees confirm that.”
Carver finished chewing a bite of toast, then washed it down with coffee. “You think he planted the Women’s Light bomb earlier, with a timing device?”
“Exactly. He doesn’t have an alibi for the night before the bombing, claims he was alone in his apartment. And Wicker said a few pieces of clockwork were found in the debris near the point of detonation.”
Gears with missing teeth, Carver thought. “They might have found what’s left of a timing device that allowed Norton half a minute to get clear. It might have nothing to do with Posey.”
Beth spread strawberry jelly on a slice of toast she’d already coated with butter, not looking at him, apparently not worrying about calories or cholesterol, either. Culinary daredevils.
“World’s full of mights, Fred. I think Posey’s worth watching. Folks at Second Sailor say he’s using vacation time and he’ll be off work for another week. If I drive into Del Moray, I should be able to find him and tail him.” She put down her knife and bit into the toast. “Don’t worry, I won’t approach him,” she said as she chewed. Eating fast. She was revved up about this, eager to rejoin the world after declaring herself healed. He remembered what Dr. Galt had said and hoped she really was healed.
“What do you expect to learn by following him?” Carver asked.
“I’m not sure. It’s possible he has more than money as a motive. In fact, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if there’s another woman in his life.”
“This kid acted like he was grieving and still in love with his dead fiancée. I can’t imagine another woman in his life.”
“We’ve run across a lot of convincing actors, haven’t we?”
Carver couldn’t deny it.
“I thought you were the great cynic, Fred. Here you are believing everything ‘this kid’ told you.”
He knew he wouldn’t be able to talk Beth out of this. And maybe he shouldn’t try. If she was thinking about Nate Posey, she wouldn’t be thinking about what she’d lost. Also, while she was watching Posey, Anderson would be watching her.
“Why don’t you take Al with you,” he suggested.
She laughed. “Al’s trained in protection and attack, not in surveillance.”
‘Al’s trained in ingratiating himself and in mooching.”
Al, who’d been sprawled as if dead in a corner, rotated his one erect ear as he gazed from the corner of his eye at Carver without moving his head.
“If you won’t take the dog,” Carver said, “take the gun.”
“I won’t need a gun.”
“Take it anyway,” he urged. “Join everyone else in Florida. It’s a social thing. There’s jelly on your chin.”
She used a napkin to wipe her chin clean, then finally agreed to take the gun and not the dog. She got dressed and fed Al a large bowl of Bow-Wow-WOW! nuggets that had been marinated in beef broth, then she drove away in her LeBaron.
Carver was worried about her, but it made him feel good to watch her enthusiasm. She had the car’s top down, taking advantage of the healing sun while the morning was still bearable, if not cool.
Al continued to eat, glaring up at Carver as if suspecting an imminent raid on his bowl.
Carver poured himself a second cup of coffee and decided to drink it on the porch, then drive into Del Moray and talk to Benedict either at the hospital or the doctor’s home. It might be interesting to get Benedict’s slant on last night’s bombing, and to see if he was taking his recent spate of death threats more seriously.
The phone rang as he was moving toward the porch. He turned around, hobbled quickly to it, and answered it on the third ring.
It was Wicker.
“Beth’s gone into Del Moray to tail Nate Posey,” Carver told him. “She thinks he’s good for the clinic bombings.”
“Plural, huh?” Wicker said. “Then you already heard about the Coast Medical Services bombing last night.”
“Saw the tape on TV. What do you know about it?”
“Not much yet. But it appears dynamite was the explosive. Same as in the Women’s Light bombing.”
“Could have been the same bomber.”
“We haven’t ruled anything out,” Wicker said.
Carver told him about his conversation with Dr. Benedict yesterday, and Benedict’s belief that Operation Alive was mailing and phoning threats to him to make Norton seem innocent.
“We already talked to Benedict about that. He might be right, but there are a lot of crackpots out there who’d get a charge out of shaking him up so soon after the Women’s Light bombing. I don’t see Posey as much of a danger, though, so if Beth has to follow anyone, he’s a good choice.”
“That’s the way I look at it,” Carver said. “But I’m still glad Anderson’s watching over her.”
“That’s the main reason I called you,” Wicker said after a pause. “Because of the bombing last night, I had to pull Anderson and use him in the field investigation. Beth’s on her own.”
Carver didn’t say anything. He felt flushed with worry and fear, and a sense of betrayal he knew wasn’t justified. He’d known all along that Anderson wouldn’t be around the entire time until the WASP was apprehended.
“She’ll be fine,” Wicker said, interpreting Carver’s silence correctly. “We’ve checked Posey’s background and he’s pure. And he has no connection with Norton or Operation Alive. There’s no reason to be following Posey, so no one will even know that’s where Beth is and what she’s doing.”
“I hope you’re right,” Carver said.
“What about that dog you got her, the one looks like he’s got eyebrows . . . what’s his name?”
“Al.” At the mention of his name, Al stopped licking the bottom of his bowl long enough to curl a lip and glare at Carver. “She wouldn’t take him with her. He’s here with me.”
“Well, no matter. She’s in a backwater of the investigation and will be safe.” Wicker laughed. “Anderson sure likes that dog. He told me to let you know if you ever want to get rid of Al, he’d be glad to take him off your hands.”
“Don’t let anything happen to Anderson,” Carver said, and hung up.
He hadn’t told Wicker about the gun in Beth’s purse.