Murder at Lake Tomahawk

By Harry R. Albers

Dusty McCrae is a world class cosmologist obsessed with discovering the secrets of the origin of the universe. He is also president of the generously endowed Pacific Science Institute which funds cutting-edge scientific research. On a routine flight to Washinton, D.C. a chance encounter with a young woman leads him back to Lake Tomahawk and the small community where he spent his boyhood summers. The encounter also leads him into the murders of old friends, and personal involvement in the investigations. Surprisingly, Lake Tomahawk has evolved from the sleepy summer community of his youth to an affluent residential enclave, and headquarters to a successful entrepreneurial company that is making major scientific breakthroughs. Teaming with the young woman from the plane, McCrae and Naomi Davis are caught up in a maelstrom of life-threatening events. Their odyssey takes them to the Big Island of Hawaii with its telescopes on dormant Mauna Kea and lava flows pouring from Kilauea, and then back again to Lake Tomahawk. Only then do they get a glimpse of the truth behind an amazing reality.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Dec 14, 2000
• ISBN: 9781469772387

Harry R. Albers

Harry R. Albers has degrees in physics from the University of Pittsburgh and Cornell University. He has previously published three books: Murder at Lake Tomahawk, The Discovery, and The 4th Icon. His career has included the Smithsonian Institution, the Association of Universities for Research in Astronomy (AURA), Barnard College and San Diego State University Research Foundation. He and his wife, Jean, have three children, five grandchildren, and live in San Diego and the Big Island of Hawai’i.

Book preview

1

Dusty McCrae moved quickly to gate sixty-three of San Diego’s refurbished international airport to catch his flight to Washington, D. C. He made it just as most of the passengers were boarding. With all the rules about sizes and numbers of bags, interminable waits for luggage retrieval and cramped planes he didn’t find flying a pleasant experience. He carried one small bag that held a carefully folded suit, an extra pair of pants, several shirts, shoes, underclothes and accessories. That was about it for any trip of a week or less. A longer sojourn sometimes forced him to check through one other bag and every time he did it he vowed never again! Armed with his carry-on and laptop computer he entered the plane, tossed the bag into the overhead compartment and took his seat.

A quick survey of fellow passengers resembled a milling of worker ants engaged in dedicated activity. There were business people in suits and ties, families on an adventure and tourists stowing Mexican sombreros and piñatas purchased across the border. Attired in his customary khakis, sneakers, polo shirt and light windbreaker McCrae did not look the part of President of the Pacific Science Institute, a distinguished institution dedicated to funding frontier research.

Dr. Dusty McCrae was almost thirty-nine years old, a former boy wonder in cosmology research who had done seminal work on the origin and evolution of the universe. With a lean frame and tousled hair he had never lost that graduate student look. He had been President of the Institute for more than two years and was starting to get used to a combined career of science and administration, but it wasn’t easy. By nature he was passionate about anything that interested him, and he was used to devoting his energies to science. The boy wonder had set the scientific world on its ear while a graduate student at Cornell when he presented his theories about the energy considerations existing at the moment of the universe’s creation. His quantum mechanical analysis showed how singularities formed and the conditions that resulted in the beginning of the universe. Further, his mathematics yielded a best solution that the observed universe was not unique. There were untold numbers of universes, a measurable number of which overlapped. What this implied and how it was possible he did not know, but his current research centered on using some of the world’s great telescopes in Hawaii and Chile to find observational evidence of his theories. If verified it would be another link in the long chain of discoveries extending through Ptolemy, Copernicus, Galileo, Newton, Einstein, Hubble and Hawking. Each time a major discovery was made it showed humanity’s place in the cosmos less and less significant than the species insisted on believing. Often the media and general public asked him about the metaphysical implications of his work. It was not until he had taken up Tae Kwan Do for exercise, and to work off the stress of a busy life, that he started exploring answers. Grand Master Keong informed his students that fear, including fear of the unknown, was the enemy. When fear was overcome the individual was liberated and able to find his or her place in the universe, to explore, to choose, to take root and to flower. Even though there were twelve-year old black belts in the class who could kick his butt, he was deriving satisfaction from the Korean martial art.

Shortly after publishing the papers that made his name well known to astronomers around the world he had been contacted by the man who became his benefactor and friend. Arthur Fielding was a gentleman in his late seventies. Born into wealth, he had increased the family fortune a thousand-fold through early investments in information-age stocks and the overheated bull markets of the nineties. Intel, Microsoft, Cisco, Qualcomm, Amazon and Netscape were part of his portfolio at one time or another.

His admirers lauded him as a financial genius; detractors called him lucky. In any case the money was real and he used it to support science. Philanthropy was a family tradition that he embraced at an early age, both as a responsibility and a way of life. He took the family’s giving to new heights when he founded and endowed the Pacific Science Institute with an initial two billion dollars. The money was to be used exclusively to fund research that could lead to major scientific breakthroughs. Astronomy, medicine and biotechnology were his favorite subjects, but he also had a fondness for finding new dinosaur species and evidence of human evolution. Investigators proposing well-conceived expeditions to the Gobi Desert, the western United States, Africa and South America for major digs were given a sympathetic hearing.

When he established the Institute he had it incorporated as a nonprofit organization with a small board of directors consisting of close family members and leading members of the scientific community. Dusty McCrae was one of the latter. Fielding had served as chairman of the board, president and chief financial officer until he experienced serious heart problems and had to take an extended leave to regain his health. His doctors and family convinced him he should cut back on the workload. During meetings of the Board he had noted that Dr. McCrae exhibited excellent judgment not only in scientific matters, but also in the general workings of the Institute. He was an interested member of the corporation’s investment committee and participated in the hiring and evaluation of staff. Fielding saw that other board members sought out McCrae’s opinion when important decisions were needed and his common sense approach to issues contributed to good decision making and a happy environment for the organization. The scientist was shocked the evening Fielding invited him to dine at the University Club after a particularly long Board meeting and offered him the presidency of the Institute.

Good grief Arthur, have you lost your mind? was his immediate response.

No Dusty, as far as I know my problems were with my heart not my brain!

But I’ve never been an administrator. You need a professional, and with all the committees and boards I serve on I can’t find enough time now for my own science. I’m sure you think that you’re paying me a compliment, and I thank you, but I’m not the person for this.

That remains to be seen; start eating and listen.

This should be interesting.

It will be and it will also be your first lesson in how you’ll be successful.

If you don’t mind I’d just as soon catch an early plane back to Ithaca.

Quiet, Fielding growled through a smile as he took up his knife and fork and began talking between bites.

So here he was more than two years later balancing his life between science and executive responsibilities. One of Fielding’s lessons was to hire a top-notch executive to run the Institute’s day-to-day activities. This was supposed to leave him free to spend his time providing overall leadership, including evaluating the quality of the science being funded, and on his own research.

I’ll help out whenever I’m needed as you get into this, Fielding had counseled, and if after a year you’re not happy with the arrangement you can go back to your university. I’m sure we can get you a leave of absence to give this a try, and I’ll make it worth your while financially!

There was a lot more discussion in the weeks following, but Fielding met and resolved all his misgivings. Logic dictated that he give it a try and so far it seemed to be working.

It was working because he took the proffered advice and hired Dawn Cassidy, an MBA graduate of Stanford with serious managerial experience in Silicon Valley. Arthur Fielding had overseen the recruitment and selected three possible candidates. Dawn was the front runner and the only person McCrae interviewed. She sold him on the strength of her resume, a friendly and outgoing personality and the fact that they immediately hit it off. Upon being asked why she wanted the job she had given the right answer.

Other than government, where I’ll never work, how many organizations exist to give away money for wonderful projects? Most jobs consist of developing a product that has market appeal, and then convincing people to buy your product rather than another that is probably just as good! This is the kind of product I want to deal with, and this is where I want to work.

With Fielding’s strong support he had appointed Dawn Vice President for Operations, and the three of them had started defining their shared responsibilities. Bright and efficient, Dawn was thirty-four years old and divorced less than a year. She had custody of a three-year old daughter and a two-year old son. When she moved to San Diego her mother moved with her as the day-care provider. It was clear that she was a take-charge person who reveled in running the affairs of the Institute. McCrae found he had time for his science and visits to the programs the Institute was funding. Fielding watched over the new arrangement like a fond parent with a new family. He helped whenever he was needed and spent most of his time overseeing the organization’s growing investment portfolio and traveling with McCrae whenever a particular trip caught his interest.

Ruminating about the changes in his life as the plane lifted up out of San Diego’s morning fog layer, he could not help but feel how fortunate he was to know Arthur Fielding. It was McCrae’s experience that a lot of philanthropy came with strings attached. There were many profitable reasons to give away money. It could upgrade a corporation’s image, buy a place in society, build a reputation or feed an ego. Fielding was one of those true philanthropists whose sole motivation was the pursuit of a good cause, in his case scientific knowledge. He was happiest when listening to significant results being achieved through one of the programs the Institute supported. It wasn’t important to him if his, or the Institute’s, name was associated with a discovery, the fact that he had fostered the discovery was sufficient reward. He avoided publicity and even viewed it as a personal victory if his presence at a meeting or press conference went unnoticed.

McCrae wondered if he could be as self-effacing. Science was as competitive as any industry in the private sector. Many scientists spent as much time promoting their reputations as they spent on their research. Ego was paramount. A great scientific reputation meant that the holder of the reputation was intelligent, maybe more intelligent than anyone else in her or his field. A Nobel Prize was the ultimate certification of genius, and money and fame were sure to follow.

It was an exciting time to be a scientist. So much was happening in so many fields. There were fundamental breakthroughs, or the expectation of breakthroughs, on numerous fronts. In McCrae’s own area of interest scientists were seeing further and further back in time through the Hubble Space Telescope and the large telescopes located on Mauna Kea, on the Big Island of Hawaii, and in the Andes in Chile. Astronomers were observing the earliest galaxy formations, and providing so much data that theorists were scrambling to keep up with formulating better theories to explain the workings of the universe.

Physicists were getting within striking distance of Einstein’s belief that the ultimate laws of nature could be formulated into a single, simple and beautiful equation than would unite the general theory of relativity and quantum mechanics. This would blend the large-scale description of the universe with the small-scale description of the sub-atomic world. The fundamental nature of matter, time and space would be revealed.

Scientific breakthroughs had brought the world into the information age and were changing how it operated. Technological innovations were driving the economies of nations. If anything, new discoveries and applications were accelerating.

Cloning had become a reality and the human genome was being mapped. Soon it would be routine to cure and avoid disease through gene manipulation, and to decide on the physical and mental characteristics desired in babies. The latter topic involved enormous political and ethical issues that required a great deal of public debate.

It’s an exciting time, thought McCrae as he sat back, relaxed and sipped an orange juice, and here I am right in the middle of it. The rare moment of complete relaxation, the oxygen-thin air and the warmth of the sun streaming through the windows caused him to nap.

2

A few hours later he was reading through notes for his meeting in Washington while simultaneously working his way through one of those bag lunches consisting of a submarine sandwich, bag of chips, container of juice and an individually packaged macadamia nut fudge cookie. Given the every-seat-taken-nature of the flight he gave up the effort and concentrated on the sandwich and chips. He was fully capable of flying business or first class at the Institute’s expense, but had adopted the same policy the Institute insisted on with its grantees to fly coach. The Institute was interested in funding science, not wasting money on luxury travel. All the extra thousands of dollars that would go to upgraded flight arrangements could better be spent on equipment or other research needs. When questioned on the policy by angry scientists, staff answered politely that grantees were free to use their frequent flyer miles, earned at the Institute’s expense, to upgrade their flights. McCrae had more than half a million miles that he could have used, but he was saving them for a fabulous vacation sometime in the ill-defined future. The problem was that with his heavy travel schedule the last thing he wanted to do was take a vacation that involved more travel. His conclusion was that he was just frugal to the point of being cheap. When he traveled with Fielding, the Chairman of the Board made it quite clear that he would be traveling first class and that he would be happy to send samples of caviar and champagne back to McCrae in steerage.

Smiling to himself at the thought he noticed a young woman making her way down the aisle toward him, and then past him to the rear of the plane. Turning in his seat he watched her disappear into one of the lavatories.

Pretty cute,huh?the middle-aged man sitting next to him commented.

Beautiful, McCrae answered, I think I know her.

Whatever, but that approach about I know you from somewhere sounds dated even when I see it on those old time movie channels. You might want some fresh material!

Thanks for the advice, McCrae smiled while answering, even if you don’t believe me I do think I might know her.

Yeah whatever, came an echo.

As they continued talking the young woman walked back to her seat on the other side of the aisle about a dozen rows ahead. He got up and headed forward.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you, his neighbor told him.

He stopped in the aisle at her elbow. Excuse me Miss, but I think…

When she turned to him he became confused, stopped in mid-sentence and headed back to his seat mumbling another…excuse me.

Was her name Marilyn? he heard from behind.

Surprised, McCrae stopped and walked back once again.

Yes, Marilyn Davis!

The young woman held up a hand to be shaken.

I’m Naomi Davis, Marilyn’s sister! I’m told we look alike.

I can’t believe it, he said. You look so much like Marilyn…that’s what confused me. I haven’t seen Marilyn for a long time and you look just like her…then…I mean now.

More than twenty years I’ll bet, she said.

Exactly!

I’m Marilyn’s baby sister. I was a surprise to mom and dad sixteen years after Marilyn was born.

So you’re…he hesitated.

Twenty-three. I see that in addition to your confusion you’re a mathematician, she said laughing.

As a matter of fact…still non-plussed, McCrae continued fumbling and then caught himself. Never mind, you laugh just like her too. How is she?

You really are out of touch,aren’t you?Looking around she said,If we can find some vacant seats I’ll bring you up to date.

Not a chance,he answered, but pick up your things and come with me.

She took a small case from under the seat in front, tucked a book under her arm and followed.

Marilyn…I mean Naomi, this is a friend of mine who I’m sure will trade seats with you, he said to his erstwhile seat companion.

A pleasure Miss, its always nice helping old friends meet up, he said while smiling and unsuccessfully disguising a conspiratorial wink.

I told this gentleman that I thought I knew you, McCrae said to Naomi.

Yeah, and I told him that I was thinking of watching old movies again, the man answered.

I don’t think he bought the old friend routine, Naomi commented as they settled in.

I can’t imagine why, anyone could tell that we’re acquaintances of long standing.

So you think my reputation is still intact?

Absolutely, you can always tell when people are good friends.

Is that what you and Marilyn were?

I’m pretty sure, but you’ll have to ask her and see if she remembers me. The only problem is if she does I’m afraid of what she’ll say.

A mystery! I’ll have to get to the bottom of this, but I’m afraid you’ll have to tell me the secret. Marilyn was in a car accident and died before I was born.

I’m sorry…I never heard. All I knew was that your family stopped taking vacations where we used to spend the summers and then my folks sold their place. Once I went off to college I lost touch with everyone.

This is fantastic, I’ve never spoken to one of Marilyn’s friends. The only stories I’ve heard about her are from family. Did you know her well?

McCrae laughed, If you’re serious this could take time!

I’m very serious, and we’ve got a long flight. But first tell me who you are, you have the advantage.

McCrae told her.

So you are a mathematician, of sorts. Sorry I poked fun at you, but I couldn’t resist.

No problem, but what about you? I don’t want to be giving out important information until I’m sure you don’t work for one of those supermarket tabloids.

Is it that good? This is getting more and more interesting.

You’re avoiding the question, at least give me the abridged version of your autobiography.

I’m an elementary school teacher at Lake Tomahawk in northern New Jersey, and I’m heading home from a teacher’s convention in San Diego. So let’s hear about Marilyn!

That’s it?

Yup!

I did ask for abridged!

Okay, now stop stalling!

McCrae went silent for a while.

It’s interesting that you mention Lake Tomahawk, that’s where I knew Marilyn from the time we were six or seven years old until we were in high school. We only saw one another during summers because our families spent their vacations at Lake Tomahawk. He paused…Look Naomi, if you want to hear this you’ll have to let me tell it my own way, I promise I’ll get to Marilyn.

Do it!

As he began she could tell he was dredging up events he had not thought about for a long time. She decided not to ask questions until the end, but to relive some of his past with him. In a short time they were both immersed.

3

McCrae’s Story

Growing up as an only child was much more difficult than when there were lots of brothers and sisters around. You had to learn everything for yourself. Fortunately, I had Lake Tomahawk. When I was a kid the Lake was an unspoiled, crystal-clear body of water nestled among the oak, birch, chestnut and dogwood trees of northern New Jersey; it was real country. My parents and aunt bought a summer cottage at the top of an impossibly steep dirt road. It was cheap. It was also unfinished inside with seven-foot partitions defining the few rooms. You could see right to the peak of the roof through the crossbeams that should have held a ceiling. The cottage had a large screened porch, with no windows, through which the elements had free reign. In winter when it wasn’t frozen the shimmering surface of the lake could be seen through bare trees. In summer we were cozily nestled in the woods. There was ice-cold running water in a small kitchen sink from a well located just outside. There was no hot water and no bathroom. An outhouse without a roof was at the back of the property where the woods began. When it rained you had to sit there holding an umbrella.

When I was in my teens two of my best friends were adults. Ian O’Neill had been born in Ireland and had fought with the British army in the Second World War. He still wore a wide, plain bronze ring that he told me was from Egypt. He had been at El Alamein with Montgomery. He made lots of money on Wall Street, and he and his wife were an every-year part of our summer community. I never knew too much about Stewart Thomas’ background, other than he and his wife rented the same little house on the lake every year. Neither couple had children.

Every day the two of them would arrive together at the Parsons Cove Association dock, the main swimming place and center of activity for our summer community of about thirty-five families. Often I deserted the girls and boys my own age to sit with my friends on the bench beneath the enormous oak that grew about twenty feet from the lake’s edge. I tuned into their discussions of world and national events that they had read about in that morning’s New York Times. I learned there was life beyond the New York-New Jersey area we inhabited. They spoke of Apollo missions and lunar landings, relations with Mainland China, Watergate and the Middle East. They included me in all their conversations, always asking my opinion on things. In order to meet their totally unrealistic expectations I dove into reading newspapers, newsmagazines and best sellers.

Early in the afternoon they left for lunch and would be gone a few hours. When they returned they were likely to be in a jovial mood, which I put down to a cocktail or two. The conversation then turned to jokes, friendly ribbing of one another and me. There would be frequent interruptions by latecomers to the dock who joined us for a while during their afternoon swim. If we stayed late enough commuters from the hot city would arrive to join their families. While the world of adults had previously held little interest for me, I found that when on vacation people were relaxed, friendly and took the time to get to know you, and I had the opportunity to get to know them. I met and became friendly with a physicist, a dentist, a retired seaman, a lawyer, a doctor and a contractor. Ian and Stewart were masters of conversation, always holding center stage with Ian claiming to be a patron of the arts with highbrow tastes while constantly ribbing Stewart for his plebeian outlook and interests.

Tell me Dusty, Ian would begin in his wonderful brogue, I’m thinking of a little soiree for the community this week-end. We’ll have assorted hors de oeuvres, sherbet and tea. A little Mozart as background would be appropriate. What do you think?

Sounds great Ian, let me know if I can help.

He would nod his head deep in thought, but it could be seen that he was a troubled man.

Our friend Stewart here, he continued, leans more to beer, pretzels and polkas. If I invite him it could spoil the evening for everyone.

Unable to restrain himself Stewart would reply. Ian, you don’t know Mozart from mozzarella, and the day I see you eating pretty-fours and drinking sherbet I’ll swim across the lake!

The gang of kids I hung around with was terrific. They were from all different parts of the metropolitan New York-New Jersey area. Pat Marsala looked like the young Elizabeth Taylor in National Velvet, except her legs were fatter and she always had mosquito bites on them, which she’d scratch until they became scars. After a few summers she looked as if she walked through barbed-wire fences as a hobby.

Tammy Lafitte was beautiful. She had long black hair and incredibly blue eyes. She also had a little brother who was a real pain in the butt. I wanted her to be my girlfriend, but I never got up the courage to ask.

Ronny Silquist was our leader. He wore bell-bottom white sailor pants and horizontally striped polo shirts, as if he was right off one of England’s ships of the line that had fought Napoleon. Able bodied seaman Ronny Silquist reporting sir! Ronny was tireless, always orchestrating our activities and there was always something to do when he was around. He had this great boat of lapped white boards on the outside, and a deck and interior of mahogany and teak. That boat was beautiful. It had a large outboard motor and was one of the fastest boats on the lake. I guess I liked that boat even more than I liked Tammy. I was young.

Tom Donahue was cool and handsome and reminded me of Van Johnson. He had the same kind of boat as Ronny, but it was fitted out with an ancient outboard. Ronny’s boat could run circles around Tom’s. Any other teenage male would have been insanely jealous of that difference in horsepower, but not Tom, things like that just made no difference to him.

Marilyn was in our gang. Your family lived in the house right next to the community dock. She and Ronny were closer than just being friends, but it made no difference since we did almost everything as a group. Marilyn and I were good friends and I liked being with her. She was the first girl who showed an interest in me as a person, and I was as devoted to her as a puppy to its new mistress. Every Saturday morning I’d go down to her house at nine in the morning, because this was her time to sweep the patio and deck-area fronting on the lake. I’d bring my portable radio, my only possession of any value, and we would listen to the top twenty-song countdown from some New York City radio station, and I’d help with her chores. She’s the reason I got braces on my teeth that year. During one of our sweeping sessions she described to me her idea of the ideal man. One of the criteria was perfectly straight teeth. I felt in my heart of hearts that she was sending me a signal, and if I acted she would look on me in a different way. I am forever in her debt, even though it was a hard sell to my mother who didn’t have the money to help, and didn’t understand why I wanted it done. After all, everyone in her family back to Adam and Eve had those two incisor teeth that protruded. Thank goodness for Aunt Bessie who not only had the money, but also regretted that she had never had the genetic flaw corrected herself.

On one of our hot summer days Marilyn, Ronny and I were swimming off the community dock.

Let’s go out in the boat, Marilyn directed her comment to Ronny.

Sure, let’s go, he responded. Let’s go Dusty, get the bow.

It was common practice to go out in Tom or Ronny’s boat whenever there was nothing in particular occupying us. Sometimes we’d water ski. Occasionally we’d go over to The Island, an amusement park located on the water on the other side of the lake a few miles away. We’d dock there and spend time wandering around, watching people and getting something to eat. We would go on rides on Tuesday nights when they only cost a quarter. At other times we’d just stop the boat in the middle of the lake and drift for hours, occasionally jumping over the side to cool off. This day we drifted, sipping sodas and talking.

Dusty, have you ever kissed a girl? Ronny asked with no prelude.

Ah…what do you mean? came my clever response.

You know, kissed a girl or fooled around or anything?

Why are you asking? I queried while desperately trying to figure out what to say.

You’re so quiet most of the time, Marilyn and I were wondering if you had ever done anything like that.

Not really, I responded looking at Marilyn to rescue me.

Most of us have kissed by now, she offered increasing my torment.

Well I guess I just haven’t.

Yeah, that’s what we figured, Ronny said. We’ve been hoping you and Tammy would be friendlier. We know you like her, and she thinks you’re cute.

Suddenly the conversation was taking a favorable turn, and I began to relax. This was welcome news.

So to help you out, Ronny continued, Marilyn and I thought we’d give you a crash course on what you should know about girls. We’re going to go skinny-dipping!

With that Marilyn stood up and began untying the strap to her suit. Before she got very far I leaped to my feet

I just remembered that I forgot to do something for my mother, I blurted out, jumped overboard and began stroking for shore more than half a mile away.

Dusty, are you crazy, we’ll ride you in? Marilyn called out.

No, that’s okay! You guys just go on with what you’re doing.

We can’t just leave you!

Its okay, I’m fine! I like to swim!

Sure I’m fine, I thought. I’ll probably drown because I’m so damned fine.

Naomi was laughing so hard it caused him to stop.

Have you heard enough?

No, go ahead! This is the best story I’ve ever heard, I’m sorry I interrupted you. Please continue.

Thanks, a lot!

Wait, before you start again I want you to promise that you’re telling the truth. If this is a tall tale or a joke I want to know now, otherwise I’m really going to be disappointed.

It’s true all right!

Okay, then go ahead and don’t leave anything out…please.

I drowned, is that what you thought the punch line would be?

No, I’m just having such a good time that I don’t want to be disappointed. Please, Dr. McCrae, tell me the rest.

Dusty.

What?

I’ll tell you the rest if you drop the Dr. stuff.

Okay Dusty, let’s hear the rest!

It had just been too unexpected. Of course I wanted to go skinny-dipping with them and see Marilyn with no clothes on. I wanted to see almost any girl with no clothes on; I had been fantasizing about it for years. In any case, as I swam I became increasingly upset and angry. How was I ever going to live his down? I’d never be able to face my friends again. This would give Ian and Stu material for years. I’d never be able to face anyone…not even myself. Maybe I should just drown.

One boat passed and turned around, then circled and the people asked if I was all right.

Yeah thanks, I’m fine, I do this all the time.

Good grief what an ass, I thought to myself.

Eventually I got to shore, arm and leg weary, cold and about as low as a teenager can get. I had landed on a wooded promontory in the middle of nowhere.

What the hell do I do now? I asked myself.

Close to tears of frustration and totally exhausted I entered the woods and walked in the general direction I thought was Parsons Cove. Mosquitoes formed a cloud around me and stung unmercifully. The footing wasn’t bad, but it was impossible not to keep stepping on sharp rocks and acorns covered with last year’s leaves. I navigated by the sun, which sank lower and lower as