09-Twelve Mile Limit by Randy Wayne White

in my direction, but gradually, as if she didn’t want to divert attention from Tomlinson.
    As Tomlinson said, “There’s a very powerful woman I need to introduce right now,” Gardner stopped walking, giving me a brief, pointed look that maybe meant something, maybe didn’t. Then she waited as he continued, “We didn’t expect her, but the timing couldn’t be better. We all know the story. Four people were set adrift, and only one of them made it to the light tower. If you think we’ve been through hell, imagine what she went through. That woman’s here right now. She came here because she wants to talk to the people who care about Janet and answer our questions.
    “Out in the parking lot, she told Ransom and me that she’s made it a point to go to all of the families, one by one, and try to clear up any misunderstandings. We’re Janet’s family, and I think we all know what the lady means. That’s why I described her as a powerful woman. I watched her get out of her car in the parking lot a few minutes ago, and she had an aura so bright it damn near hurt my eyes. She’s got a strong and caring heart, so let’s welcome Amelia Gardner to Dinkin’s Bay.”
    He nodded to Gardner, who was smiling, but not giving it much, keeping herself within herself, as people applauded politely. “Amelia, you mind if we adjourn to the main docks? We’ll do it any way you want it, but I suggest you grab a beer, get some food, relax, and make yourself at home. Then you can talk to us as a group, if that suits you. Afterward, you’re welcome to stick around and drink heavily with the rest of us. But I warn you—you may never be the same woman after you see the limbo contest.”
    Gardner’s laughter had a jazz singer’s rasp, and her voice was a foggy alto that did not mesh, at first, with her Boston accent. She was articulate and polite, and seemed slightly nervous speaking to a group of strangers, which was understandable. “The only favor I ask,” she said, “is that you don’t hold anything back. I want to answer all your questions. I want to set the record straight as best I can. I don’t care what rumor you’ve heard, no matter how outrageous, I want to address it.
    “There’s a thing called ‘survivor’s guilt,’ and I know I’ve got a bad case of it. This is my way of trying to help all of us. So, you bet, I’d love a beer. I’ll meet you over on the docks.”
    A couple minutes later, as I walked alone across the shell parking lot, toward the mangrove path that leads to my house, I was surprised when Gardner came up behind me and said, “You’re not leaving, are you?” Then, when I stopped and turned to face her, she added, “You’re Ford, right? Dr. Marion Ford?” Her tone was businesslike, formal, and confident.
    I said, “That’s right. How’d you know?”
    “Dalton Dorsey described you. From Coast Guard St. Petersburg? I’d like to speak with you privately, Dr. Ford, after I’ve talked to the group. Commander Dalton said you’d be the perfect person.”
    “The perfect person for what?”
    “I want someone to help me find out why that boat sank. Every single little detail, so I can make it public.” She dropped the formality then, the tone of her voice communicating pain, as she added, “The rumors are killing me, Dr. Ford. I don’t know what makes people so mean that they’re saying these kind of things, but none of it’s true. I didn’t know the other three people very well, but those poor souls aren’t even here to defend themselves, which is absolutely infuriating.”
    “That’s understandable,” I said. “Some of the stuff floating around is pretty silly.”
    “I’m an attorney. I know that the best way to fight a lie is with the truth. I’ve met my share of private investigators, but I’ve never met one who was qualified or equipped to do the kind of research it’s going to take to find the real facts and make them public. Commander Dorsey told me that you might be just the guy.”
    I said, “That’s a compliment. Dalton’s a good