Jaws by Peter Benchley Page A

have the rather unpleasant task of visiting the Footes.”
    “How are you going to keep them from shooting off their mouths to the
Times
or the
News
?”
    “I hope to be able to appeal to their public-spiritedness,” Vaughan said, “just as I appealed to yours.”
    “Bull.”
    “We do have one thing going for us. Miss Watkins was a nobody. She was a drifter. No family, no close friends. She said she had hitchhiked East from Idaho. So she won’t be missed.”
    Brody arrived home a little before five. His stomach had settled down enough to permit him a beer or two before dinner. Ellen was in the kitchen, still dressed in the pink uniform of a hospital volunteer. Her hands were immersed in chopped meat, kneading it into a meat loaf.
    “Hello,” she said, turning her head so Brody could plant a kiss on her cheek. “What was the crisis?”
    “You were at the hospital. You didn’t hear?”
    “No. Today was bathe-the-old-ladies day. I never got off the Ferguson wing.”
    “A girl got killed off Old Mill.”
    “By what?”
    “A shark.” Brody reached into the refrigerator and found a beer.
    Ellen stopped kneading meat and looked at him. “A shark! I’ve never heard of that around here. You see one once in a while, but they never do anything.”
    “Yeah, I know. It’s a first for me, too.”
    “So what are you going to do?”
    “Nothing.”
    “Really? Is that sensible? I mean, isn’t there anything you can do?”
    “Sure, there are some things I could do. Technically. But there’s nothing I can actually do. What you and I think doesn’t carry much weight around here. The powers-that-be are worried that it won’t look nice if we get all excited just because one stranger got killed by a fish. They’re willing to take the chance that it was just a freak accident that won’t happen again. Or, rather, they’re willing to let me take the chance, since it’s my responsibility.”
    “What do you mean, the powers-that-be?”
    “Larry Vaughan, for one.”
    “Oh. I didn’t realize you had talked to Larry.”
    “He came to see me as soon as he heard I planned to close the beaches. He wasn’t what you’d call subtle about telling me he didn’t want the beaches closed. He said he’d have my job if I did close them.”
    “I can’t believe that, Martin. Larry isn’t like that.”
    “I didn’t think so, either. Hey, by the way, what do you know about his partners?”
    “In the business? I didn’t think there were any. I thought Penrose was his middle name, or something like that. Anyway, I thought he owned the whole thing.”
    “So did I. But apparently not.”
    “Well, it makes me feel better to know you talked to Larry before you made any decision. He tends to take a wider, more over-all view of things than most people. He probably does know what’s best.”
    Brody felt the blood rise in his neck. He said simply, “Crap.” Then he tore the metal tab off his beer can, flipped it into the garbage can, and walked into the living room to turn on the evening news.
    From the kitchen Ellen called, “I forgot to tell you: you had a call a little while ago.”
    “Who from?”
    “He didn’t say. He just said to tell you you’re doing terrific job. It was nice of him to call, don’t you think?”

4
    For the next few days the weather remained clear and unusually calm. The wind came softly, steadily from the southwest, a gentle breeze that rippled the surface of the sea but made no whitecaps. There was a crispness to the air only at night, and after days of constant sun, the earth and sand had warmed.
    Sunday was the twentieth of June. Public schools still had a week or more to run before breaking for the summer, but the private schools in New York had already released their charges. Families who owned summer homes in Amity had been coming out for weekends since the beginning of May. Summer tenants whose leases ran from June 15 to September 15 had unpacked and, familiar now with where linen closets