Sand

By Timothy J. Ryan

Max is a traveling veterinarian running from his past and turning to the comforting distortion of alcohol and prescription tranquilizers. When the charred remains of a rare sea turtle are found on one of the last untouched barrier islands of the Carolina coast, rent-a-vet Max is just sober enough to question the sheriffs explanation and begin a deeper investigation of his own.

As the convergencea celestial alignment that occurs only once every seven yearsand its freak tides and strange currents approaches, Max becomes the unlikely ringleader of an alliance of smugglers, poachers, parolees, and illegals who unite to block a developers plan to build on the island. In an even more unlikely circumstance, he finds himself drawn toward Maggie, a hostess at the liquor house who is as raw and hard as the drinks she serves.

When an ex-flame shows up to offer her assistance, Max is faced with a sudden and impossible choice. He can choose to return to the city, wealth, and prominence he left behind when he lost his career to a big mistake, or he can risk a new start in a harsh but beautiful land.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Abbott Press
• Release date: May 31, 2012
• ISBN: 9781458203441

Timothy J. Ryan

Timothy J. Ryan lives in Charlotte, North Carolina, with Diesel, his German Shepherd, and Daisy, his Labrador Retriever. The two of them enjoy visiting the islands, sounds, and swamps of coastal Carolina as much as Tim does.

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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 things 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 the 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?

He collected his thoughts a moment then figured he better be straight with her, or at least nearly straight. I had been drinking a little. What I think I heard is not maybe what he said exactly. The whole conversation was a little off.

Max had been looking across the strait and saw a flash. It was like heat lightning but low to the ground. The locals told him that these flare-ups of the swamp gases used to be rare, and you would be lucky to see one or two a year, but in the last month you could see a dozen in one night. It was all part of the ‘convergence,’ the locals would explain in complete seriousness, referring to the strange alignment of the moon and sun and stars which occurred every seven years. It was all nonsense, the scientist in Max thought. But he’d seen an edge to the animals he’d been treating, a sense of fear and nervousness in them. There was a charge to the air, like a storm was coming and even the normally gentle Golden Retrievers and Labradors were nipping and growling. The phenomena, or the myth, was some sort of twisted mix of Indian folklore, new age mysticism and, at Sharkeys, the local liquor house, an opportunity to increase drink prices as crazies from all over the state showed up.

You know he’s really not the mayor, Maggie said as the muffled explosion rolled up from the darkness. We’re not that organized, she continued, pointing the glowing cigarette at the people milling around. We just call him that. It’s more out of politeness than anything else. It’s like calling the elders at the church ‘Reverend’ or calling somebody ‘Doc’ when they’re only…, she hesitated.

A veterinarian, Max completed her sentence for her.

I was going to say chiropractor, she replied, smiling slyly.

Maggie began walking briskly and he had to hurry to keep up with her long stride. She glanced at him oddly, like she was surprised that he was trying to accompany her, and she moved even faster. Surprised or annoyed, Max thought, trying to keep up. So do I work for the mayor or what? he asked, trying to be clever.

A lot of people are asking that same question, she answered. She seemed to find another higher gear as she started stretching her long legs further. Max, not use to any exercise, let alone trying to walk briskly on sand, found himself panting. She maneuvered through the pockets of people or more accurately, just pushed her way through the crowd, and Max tagged along.

He was amazed by the number of people and felt a sense of foreboding. Why would basically the entire town feel compelled to be here? All he knew was that there was a dead turtle that he had to sign off on. And there was a dead lady which he wanted nothing to do with. He looked again at the crowd. There were hundreds of people here. Maybe this was just something exciting to do. But as he stared at the people it was not like they were onlookers to a car crash. They seemed stunned and apprehensive, like they had to see things with their own eyes. It was a small community, and he assumed that everyone more or less knew each other, but they stayed in little separate groups, and glanced with hostility and suspicion at each other. He again wondered what he had gotten himself into and contemplated if he should call his employment agency to get a new assignment.

The ground became more flat, only a few inches above sea level, and he could make out white foam where the island disintegrated into sand bars and shoals. A strong gust blew whitecaps for a moment. Maggie held her arms together. Damn it’s cold. Not a time to be wearing these, she said gesturing to her shorts.

That is kind of a different look for you, Max said. At the diner she wore an off-yellow uniform with a white apron, never wore makeup and had kind of a just woke-up look to her. She would banter with the fishermen and timber workers starting their day, or fend off the horny fraternity boys and drunk golfers finishing off a long night at Sharkeys. Max saw that she was staring hard at him and he worried that she might think that he was being critical of her way of dress or of her hustling drinks. He kicked himself. His attempt at flirtation had only irritated her.

Place is busy, she replied, flicking her head in the direction of Sharkeys. Her hair flew out. He saw that she had a line of tattoos following her backbone. They were of stars. Some were only the outline, some were filled in with yellow or red, none was larger than a dime. Mrs. Pearl called everybody in. She can’t pour whiskey fast enough, Maggie went on. I haven’t made so much in tips since I stopped dancing….

Max tried to maintain a poker face. She was sharing something with him, he thought. Letting him know who she was. Sharkeys was open twenty-four hours a day and even respectable folk would take breakfast or lunch at the little diner set up in one of the newer buildings. But at dusk the venue morphed into a private club, the only place for a drink in a hundred square miles and if you chose to enter the back rooms and basements of the rambling old buildings, you could get yourself in about as much trouble as you would ever want. Maggie could have been a dancer on the main stage, or she could have worked the private rooms and she was going to let him stew on that.

Max thought that if it came to checkered pasts, he might hold his own. He was a PhD with articles published in prestigious journals, and had at one time lived in a million dollar house and made speeches around the country, but then he had screwed up. He lost his reputation, his money and his friends. Even now, years later, the ethics committee of the state veterinarian board had him on a short leash. For the last decade he had been hiding himself away in small towns and hamlets, terrified of running into old colleagues or classmates, ashamed of how he had squandered his career.

He looked again at Maggie. A couple of times he had hung around the diner, thinking about asking her out, but always thought better of it. He was close to fifty, a has-been, a drunk and drug-dependant. He had not had a date in decades, and here he was dreaming about some waitress. He rubbed his hand through his thinning hair. His head started to throb as he came down from the pills he had taken last night. He looked again at the tall girl. He berated himself for having any interest in her. He had settled into a pattern long ago to never stay long in one town and to never get involved with anybody. He knew he should ignore her and walk away, but when he glanced at her again another part of him started to throb. It must be this convergence thing, he thought to himself.

Maggie turned and strode off. Max knew he had missed the moment, that she had taken his delay in responding for disapproval. Wait, he yelled, his voice breaking like a middle-schooler.

She stopped and faced him. Something bothering you? He desperately wanted to say something clever or witty like he used to do so effortlessly in the faculty lounge and at the society gala but his mind choked on him. She waited a half second longer, then turned away.

Why…? he finally uttered, trying to delay her, ….the dead lady…why….?

Why? she repeated, looking out across the waterway. She pulled out another cigarette. The sun was a little higher and Max saw her focus on a string of pelicans coming in from the ocean. They flew over the island, then glided almost directly overhead. They continued out over the sound, then veered slightly when they got over the heavy marsh on the opposite side. One by one, at the same relative spot, they effortless flapped their big wings, rising up, and continued to glide over the wide mouth of the river, but then abruptly turned when approaching the peninsula that reached out far into the sound. Max heard Maggie sigh. She seemed to stoop.

Maybe it was suicide, she said sadly. She came across this dead turtle and her grief made her do a crazy thing. Maybe she misjudged a wave and did a face plant so it’s just a stupid accident. Or, she began, then paused as she sucked on her cigarette until it glowed. She flicked it near some reeds laying on the sand. There was a small pop and a brief flash. Or maybe they were near a pocket of swamp gas when it went off. Who knows?

She turned as the noise of the two-stroke engine rose and then died out. Her name is Candy. Was Candy. She was part of the Turtle Patrol. Max could hear the sorrow in her voice and he sensed that she was barely holding herself together. She’s been looking for tracks and nests all summer. It’s late in the season now. But there’s been no nests this year. Fact is, until last night, nobody even seen a turtle. He saw her wipe tears away. That was the only one, she went on softly. The only turtle anybody had seen. She looked out over the barrier island. Now what’s going to happen? she asked in a shaky voice.

Max was unsure what she meant but before he could press her she took a step backwards, as did many in the crowd, creating a little space between them. Max looked towards the water and saw the burnt out hulk of a jet ski. Near it, he saw an elderly man in a Hawaiian shirt. He walked awkwardly, like he was in a dream. He held his arms out in front of him, carrying what looked like a garment bag. The man stumbled a few times. Other people followed him, as if they wanted to help carry the bag, but he would have no part of it. The bag seemed light and empty, but the old man carried it like it was a great burden, and Max wondered what was in it. As he passed, the men in the crowd removed their hats and cast their eyes downward. Some women wiped tears away. He saw a few people make the sign of the cross.

That’s Candy. Anyway, what’s left of her, Maggie whispered, nodding towards the bag. They say that gasoline must have spilled all over her when she crashed. They say she looked like a marshmallow that fell into a campfire.

Max realized it was a body bag. The old man went down to the cove and stepped onto a large pontoon boat run up on the sand. He gently placed the black bag across a table that probably usually held pitchers of strawberry daiquiris and ice cold bottles of beer, then sat sobbing in the captain’s chair.

Max looked at Maggie, expecting more explanation, but saw that her attention had shifted back towards the tip of the island. The people were forgetting whatever differences they might have as they jammed together for a closer look. To his surprise, he saw people glance back at him, then gently touch one another and whisper. A path opened up in front of him. He wanted to run away, but felt others crowding him from behind and he slowly walked forward.

He saw the shoals leading to the open ocean. Small waves gently broke on the island’s tip. A series of tidal pools led to the waterway. He saw deputies surrounding one of the tidal pools. They split apart as he neared and he caught his breath.

The largest turtle he had ever seen was partially submerged in one of the tidal pools. It would not fit in the bed of a pickup truck. A half dozen men would be needed to lift it. His awe quickly changed to sorrow. Its shell was gray and spotted with white blots but was streaked in black blisters from some sort of a flash burn. One front flipper was gashed. The animal was at an odd angle, with perhaps the front one-third of its body perched on sand and the balance immersed in the tidal pool. He sighed. The animal’s head hung loosely. Too loosely, he thought, and a sense of despair overcame him. The animal was still. He recognized it immediately as a Lumina, one of the world’s rarest turtles, a species found only in two or three spots along the eastern seaboard. He also realized that the tragedy here this morning was not Candy’s death. The town was not mourning her passing, but the loss of the beautiful animal.

Max heard the two-stroke engine start again then stop. He saw the sheriff hand the machine over to a deputy, a short man, hobbit-sized, who was nearly tipped over by the weight of the machine, but gamely began to adjust the motor. Max was puzzled why it was needed, then glanced at the turtle and with a shudder remembered Maggie’s comment about sushi. Max heard the deputy swear as he pulled the starter cord again and again. Max headed towards the turtle, not knowing exactly what he was going to do.

He stepped into the tidal pool and knelt down next to the massive animal. The water was frigid and he felt his legs going numb. He leaned down for a closer look. He placed his palm underneath the huge head. It was the size of a football. The eyes were unfocused and the neck muscles were rubbery. The animal was cold, as cold as the water covering half of its shell. Another gust of wind came up from the waterway.

The smallest glimmer of a memory came to him. He could not put his mind to it. It was something he had read or heard in veterinary school, something from thirty years ago. Not much emphasis had been spent on reptiles or amphibians or turtles but he knew that there was something important he should remember. He heard the sheriff swear again but this time it was directed at the deputy who struggled with the machine. Max shut his eyes trying to remember. He knew he did not have much time.

The engine caught and Max stared over at the sheriff. He wore a well-pressed uniform, and a cap imprinted with the NRA logo. The deputy handed him the running machine. Sheriff Stone throttled the motor. He faced the chainsaw towards the turtle. Max heard some people in the crowd yell but was unsure if they were protesting or if they were excited about seeing some gore.

Got to, Sheriff Stone yelled. He was revving the engine, moving the saw’s blade like it was a light saber, playing to the crowd. It’s a navigation hazard. A heavyset middle-aged woman in the crowd stepped forward and started to yell. The sheriff looked at her, but revved the engine, drowning out her protest. The deputies all laughed. Max saw some in the crowd get angry, but the woman stood alone. The sheriff carelessly waved the chainsaw towards her, then slowed the motor down. It’s going to bloat up.

You’re an asshole Stone, the woman shouted. Have been since middle school. No wonder your wife left you. No wonder your mom run off…. The woman stopped in mid-sentence. A man had stepped beside her. He wore the rubber boots of an oysterman and was, Max guessed, either the husband or brother. For a moment, Max thought he was going to go after the sheriff but instead he yanked the woman back and began scolding her. Sheriff Stone was beaming as he watched them fight. Can’t have it floating around, he shouted gleefully to the departing couple. Somebody will wreck their boat.

A cloud of black smoke erupted from the motor and the engine died. The sheriff’s demeanor changed instantly to a look of dark anger and the crowd seemed to cringe. The deputies suddenly turned to face away from his sight and became occupied with controlling the crowd. But just as suddenly Stone’s face became serene and he calmly handed the machine back to the deputy. Stone turned and took a step towards the turtle, then seemed to see Max for the first time.

I got to do a necropsy, Max said rising up and facing the sheriff.

A what? the sheriff asked.

Animal autopsy. The mayor wants to find out what killed it.

As soon as he spoke Max wanted to take it back. The sheriff stopped still, as did several of the deputies and people in the crowd. He heard laughter and saw people, including Maggie, shaking their heads in disbelief. The sheriff looked at Max. His mood had altered again, and his voice was thick with ridicule. The mayor wants it, he repeated in a whisper. Max felt his face redden in embarrassment. Is he with you? Stone asked looking around.

He didn’t have the balls to come, Maggie shouted belligerently, stepping out and stretching to her full six foot frame, looking like she wanted to kill somebody and Max wasn’t sure it was the sheriff she would go for first.

Well between you two, the sheriff answered looking from Max to Maggie, there’s a least one set. Max was pretty sure the sheriff didn’t think they were on him.

Stone took a couple of steps towards Max. He was a tall, thin man, looking like a marathoner, but had gone a little too far, and when he grinned his face had a shrunken head aspect to it. Max got a better look at his cap and realized it was embossed with the red, black and blue letters of the National Public Radio logo and not that of the National Rifle Association. You don’t have a clue do you? he said. Max said nothing. The sheriff circled around him. Surprised you are here. The mayor must be out of his mind. He sure misjudged you.

Won’t be the first one, Max answered, staring at him.

Stone stopped, like he evaluating whether Max had just back-talked him. The crowd was quiet. Max could hear the shore birds squabbling, and the sound of the gentle waves. Max saw a small movement on some reeds near the tidal pool. A ghost crab had peeked out, its greed for the carcass apparently overcoming its normal caution. Another gust of wind came in from the waterway.

The sheriff pulled his hat off and ran his hand across his bald head. He had a long, looping scar, rough with stitch