Fox Island by Stephen Bly

about
the Thirty- sixth Avenue Slayings.”
    “When that Chinese restaurant was shot
up?”
    “One account I read said it might have been
planned at the Longhouse on Fox Island. Also, find out if there are
some other people from those days we can interview.”
    “Why are you telling me? Shouldn’t Dr. S.
know this?”
    “Communication isn’t too strong between the
Shadowbrooks right at the moment.”
    “Harvey Peterson flagged me down yesterday.
He’s really anxious to have you come visit him. Says he has
information that will knock your socks off. But he insists you be
the one to do the interview. It’s a man thing, he says.”
    “Does anyone take Harvey seriously?”
    “Harvey does.”
    “I tell you what would knock my socks off
... if a fake Japanese invasion of Fox Island was staged by Tacoma
mob bosses to cover up a great escape of prisoners from McNeil
Island. Now, that would be a story.”
    “Wouldn’t that be cool? Maybe you could
write a novel about Fox Island someday.”
    “Well, don’t line me up with Harvey just
yet. I want to do a little more investigating before I take him
on.”
    “Mrs. Mackay got back from Ohio on Saturday.
She’ll have the museum open today.”
    “I know. I have an appointment with her at
10:30.”
    “Seems funny you’ve been on the Island three
weeks and haven’t seen the museum. Are you going to look through
all the documents and stuff filed in the back room?”
    “Most definitely.”
    “Well...” Melody waved, balanced the basket
on her knee, and shoved open the screen door. “Hope you get it all
worked out with Dr. S.”
     
     
    Tony and Price dressed without a word.
    He ought to ask Price if the tan pullover
Henley shirt was too casual for the museum assignment, but he
didn’t dare. Maybe they were right. Two authors in the same family,
the same marriage, didn’t really work. Maybe he should let her do
whatever she wanted with the manuscript. But it had to be right.
How long was this going to last anyway?
    This is ridiculous.
    Price slipped on her fuchsia nylon jacket,
grabbed up her briefcase and tugged her purse strap over her
shoulder. “You’ll have to make your own lunch,” she finally
said.
    He stretched his arms out to block the
doorway. “We’ve got to work this thing out.”
    “What’s there to work out? Obviously, you’ve
already made up your mind.”
    He put down his arms and backed up a few
steps. “No, I haven’t, but I have my reasons for wanting to keep
the same format.”
    She didn’t move. “And I have my reasons for
wanting to change.”
    “So, let’s sit down and rationally talk this
out right now.”
    “Tony, in case you have forgotten, you don’t
operate on reason. You fly by instinct. You shoot from the hip,
like most of your heroes. And, like them, you are usually quite
good at it. But this time you missed the mark.”
    “Give me one good reason to open each
chapter with an italicized section.”
    “Because the contrast in both style and form
gives warmth and closeness to your part of the text, that’s
why.”
    Why did the crow’s-feet always disappear
around her blue eyes when she was angry ? Those deep azure eyes.
“Oh, well, you could be right. But that surely doesn’t mean...”
    The phone jarred them.
    “Tony, baby, it’s me, Terry Davidian. Say, I
was double-checking on...”
    “I’m busy. Call me later.”
    “How about five-ish?”
    “How about August-ish?” He hung up the
receiver. “Now, where were we?”
    A smile creased across her face. For some
reason, Tony imagined the first time he ever saw her. She was a
summer tour guide at the Grand Canyon, and he lead a string of
mules. That incredible smile snared him. Everything about her
seemed to glow. That’s all he could think about all the way down
the Canyon and back.
    “You were about to tell me I was completely
right.”
    Tony rubbed the back of his neck. “What I
meant was...”
    The phone rang again.
    “If that’s Davidian...” He pounced