Page 10 of Forgotten Path
“Sure. If you want to know which direction the wind is blowing from, go outside and hold up a string. You’ll see it dancing in the breeze.”
She glanced out the window. Her gaze fell on a swaying palm tree, But surely he wasn’t asking her whether it was windy. It wasn’t clear, though, what hewasasking her.
“I don’t follow,” she confessed.
“How’s your air quality? Any noxious odors? Dead fish on the beach? That sort of thing.”
“Um, not that I’ve noticed. I know what a red tide is. We do get them down here from time to time. But I don’t understand. How could that be related to a street drug or a death cluster or whatever Joel was researching?”
“I’m not sure it is,” he allowed. “But Joel made a note about HABs, which apparently is an abbreviation for harmful algae blooms. I did some preliminary checking. While there have been freshwater HABs in parts of Florida, down your way, the main HAB is—”
“The red tide?” She guessed.
“Right.”
She shook her head. Even when there was a red tide, the Keys tended not to get the worst of it. As far as she knew, the Gulf Coast around Tampa and Saint Petersburg was ground zero.
A horn blared through the phone. She narrowed her focus and listened hard, making out the rumble of idling engines, the low chatter of voices, and the sound of slamming metal.
“Where are you?”
He cleared his throat. “The airport.”
“The airport? What airport?”
“Your airport.”
“You’re in Florida? Here, in the Keys?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I thought we might have better luck tracking Joel down or pinpointing what he was working on if we combined our efforts. I hope I haven’t overstepped.”
“What—no! Not at all. I could use some help. Especially because nobody else seems concerned that Joel’s missing, and I don’t know the first thing about HABs or neurotoxins or any of that. I definitely want your help.”
“Good.”
She could hear the smile in his voice and started to smile herself. Then a thought poked at her, and her smile died.
“But I can’t … this isn’t an official investigation. I’m not sure the state will pay you to consult.” She forced the words out and held her breath.
“I wouldn’t expect them to,” he assured her in an easy tone. “I believe I’m the textbook definition of an officious intermeddler in this instance.”
“A what now?”
“Ah, a lawyer friend describes it this way: you can’t show up at someone’s house, paint their fence without being asked to, and then ring the bell to collect the fee for painting it. I’m offering my services as a volunteer, detective.”
She laughed. “Well, on behalf of the department, I accept. And as a friend, I thank you. I’m really worried about Joel.”
“I know.”
They fell silent. Then she blinked at her rudeness. “Oh, I’ll come pick you up.”
“No need,” he assured her. “I have a ride share coming. Could you meet me at Joel’s place this afternoon, though? I should be there by two. I’d like to see if he left any other notes about his work.”
She glanced at the clock. If she grabbed a sandwich and ate it at her desk, she could get her paperwork finished and head up to Sugarloaf Key in plenty of time to meet him.
