Chris (9 page)

"Oh? Like what?"

"Well, for one, like a Glory-of-the-Seas," Chris answered. "Brandt's trying to pick one up for the museum. I thought you'd be able to get hold of one, if anybody could."

Mr. Tritt adjusted the spectacles on his nose. "You flatter me," he said. "I've never even seen one. And I haven't heard of one being up for sale since Chappell died."

Chris picked up a shiny cone shell off the counter and turned it over in her fingers. "We'd be willing to pay up to twenty-five hundred," she said.

Mr, Tritt sighed. "I'd be willing to take it," he said. "But I haven't got."

"And you wouldn't know where to get one?" Chris said.

"No," he answered. "I wouldn't know where to get one."

Chris put down the shell. "Okay," she said. "But let us know if you should hear of anything."

Back on the street Chris headed for the nearest candy store.

She'd have to take Tritt's word about the shell. She didn't dare let him get too suspicious. If he knew Max was in town and offered Max enough cash, Max might just forget where his loyalties belonged and give Tritt the whole story. Tritt wasn't above sending out a diver of his own, if he thought he could make a profit. The way he worked, he'd probably clear a thousand a shell and then beat it before anybody got wise.

It would have made things a lot easier to have gone to Jonathan with proof. He wouldn't like the idea of sending an expedition on a wild shell chase. But Chris knew that, somehow or other, she'd talk Jonathan into letting her go. This was a chance too good to miss.

She dialed "Information" and got the number of
Marine Life
. Then she put through a call to Mr. Peale and negotiated a deal. He agreed to take a series of three articles, with photographs in color. Five thousand for the lot.

Chris grinned as she hung up the phone. Nothing like being mercenary while you're having the time of your life.

And now she'd better get up to the museum.

For an hour Chris talked without letting Jonathan interrupt. She glanced at him occasionally to check his reaction. But mostly she let herself be carried away by her own excitement, striding the length of the office and back again, speaking with her hands and her heart.

When she had finished, Chris stopped pacing and came to sit on the edge of Jonathan's desk. She looked down at him and said, "And that's the whole story. Max didn't see the shells himself. We don't know if there's anything to it. But if there is..." She spread her fingers on her lap.

"Um hmm," Jonathan murmured. "We've got a corner on the market." His eyes narrowed shrewdly. "Current asking price is about a thousand per. Even two or three hundred wouldn't bring it down too far. Half maybe." He picked up a pencil and did some rapid calculations on a scratch pad. He looked pleased with the result.

"Jonathan," Chris said, "please forgive me for sounding pedantic. But in the interests of science, do you think we could afford to keep one for the museum?"

He looked at her and smiled. "Chris," he said, "you misjudge me. I have every intention of keeping the finest specimens of anything I can get my hands on for this museum. But don't forget," he peered intently, "it will take cash to finance this trip and to pay you. I can't afford to be too idealistic."

Chris snorted. "Heaven forbid you should get idealistic, Jonathan. But I didn't mean to be sarcastic," she said hastily. "My only interest in getting those shells is the fact that they are rare and they are beautiful. I keep forgetting you're a businessman."

She knew better than to be too hard on Jonathan. He had to clear his every move with the Board. And the Board didn't know from sea shells, only from dollars and cents. The Board didn't care about beautiful and rare and prestige. It wanted only that Jonathan get the most with the least.

Chris slid off the desk and stood up. "Well, how about it?"

Jonathan brought his hands together on the desk and stared at them thoughtfully. "One more thing," he said. "Or rather two. First, why were there no shells washed up on the shore?"

"I've been thinking about that too," Chris admitted. "The live ones, of course, would be in the water. But it's only sensible to presume that some of them die off. There should be a couple on shore. But then there's the business of the breakwater." She paused to consider. "It's possible that the tide coming through isn't strong enough to drag them in past the coral and the rocks. I expect the shells would've settled into crevices and pockets. It's not impossible."

Jonathan nodded, satisfied. "All right," he said. "Now this: why only one shell on one native? And why didn't Max bring back that shell, since you've proved that he didn't?"

"Well, like Max said to me," Chris answered, "the snails aren't edible and the natives are too practical and too lazy to bother diving for something they can't eat. They haven't got supermarkets, you know. Anyhow, it's possible some of the other young bucks use them for decoration. He didn't take a survey."

Chris knew that her argument was not very convincing and that Max's bloodshot eyes would have spotted any Glory on the island. She could only hope that Jonathan was intrigued enough, as she was, to take a long chance on a little evidence.

"Perhaps," Jonathan said dubiously. "But why didn't he pick up that one?"

Chris smiled. "I see you don't know those islands, Jonathan," she said. "Or Max. You don't take anything personal, even an adornment, from an islander. He's still primitive enough to believe you're going to hex him, and savage enough to have no qualms about a little thing like murder. There's always a chance you'll find a non-believer who’ll barter with you. But Max rarely has anything more than the shirt on his back." She laughed. "When I saw him, he didn't even have that."

"He's got five hundred dollars," Jonathan said.

"That's now."

Jonathan sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I can see you've made up your mind to go," he said. From his tone Chris knew that Jonathan would back her up with the Board.

"Yes," Chris said. "I have."

"Very well, then." He pulled open the middle drawer of the desk and extracted a long black check book. "I'll get busy first thing in the morning. You’ll work with Miss Martin on the details."

"Fine," Chris said. "May I use your phone?"

"Of course."

Chris picked up the phone and dialed home. Dizz caught it on the second ring.

"Hi, Dizz," Chris said. "Good news, darling. I've got a job."

"Oh?" Dizz answered. "Going fishing, dear?"

Chris wanted to reach out and slug Dizz when she got like that. But she kept her voice steady.

"Don't be funny," Chris said. "Ill tell you when I get home. In about an hour."

"Well, please be sober when you get here," Dizz said. "George will be dropping by this evening."

Chris wanted to say he should drop dead, but checked it. She felt her enthusiasm begin to wane. "Okay," she said and cradled the receiver. She frowned and made a fist with one hand and hit it lightly against the desk.

"Anything wrong?" Jonathan asked. He was holding a check toward her.

She took the check, folded it and slid it into her pocket with the one from
Marine Life
.

She shook a no. "Everything's fine," she said. "Dizz's a little worried about my diving again. It's been almost two years."

"Perhaps she's right to be," Jonathan said. "I wish you'd make a few trials before you go off to Tongariva."

“I might just do that," Chris answered. She started toward the doorway. "See you tomorrow."

"Yes," he said.

Chris left the office and walked across the long hallway and through the display rooms toward the solarium out back.

She cursed herself silently for having let Jonathan see her discomfort with Dizz. Even though he had introduced them, he had obviously been hoping for years that it wouldn't last between them. Not that Dizz would give him a tumble—she found the pudgy little gentleman extremely irritating. But simply that nobody else should possess her either, since he realized that he could not.

Chris rapped lightly on the side of the arch.

Carol turned quickly from the counter. She looked at Chris without saying a word, her eyes and her smile bright with pleasure.

"Hi," Chris said. I didn't have a dime to call, so I thought I'd drop by instead." She crossed the room and leaned against the counter beside the girl.

"Liar," Carol grinned. I saw you going into Dr. Brandt's office ages ago. I thought you'd gone home by now."

"Without saying hello?" Chris smiled back at her. "Don't be ridiculous, darling." She took Carol's hand and squeezed it affectionately.

Carol slid off the stool and crossed to a small table in the corner. "Coffee?" she asked.

"Sure," Chris said. She moved to the stool and sat watching Carol. She found herself fascinated by the way the thighs moved beneath the skirt. There was something intriguingly feline about the movement, something smooth and lithe, yet strong. She felt a shiver of excitement run up her spine, an urge to reach out and touch.

Easy, girl, Chris told herself. What the devil would Jonathan think if he walked in here and found you pawing Carol. Not that it matters what Jonathan thinks. But what might he tell Dizz?

Chris folded her hands in her lap and pressed her thumbs together hard. She forced her eyes upward and away from danger.

Carol took a glass pot from a two-burner stove. She carried it into the lavatory and turned on the tap. In a moment she returned with the pot full and set it on the burner.

“I heard through the grapevine that Max Petersen's back in town," Carol said. She put two cups on the table, ladled in instant coffee and sugar. "Has that got anything to do with your being here?"

"Do you know Max?" Chris asked.

"Only by reputation," Carol answered. "He wrote most of the textbooks I used at school. Why?"

"Just curious. He's been out of the business for years."

Carol lifted the pot off the stove and filled the cups. She added a shot of milk to each. Then she carried both cups to the desk.

"Come sit over here," Carol said.

Chris got off the stool and walked to the desk. She pulled forward a straight-backed chair and sat down. "Well, I'm waiting," Carol said.

Chris took a sip of coffee, then leaned back against the chair. "Well, it's a little vague at this point. But Max claims to have found what he calls hundreds of Glory-of-the-Seas shells off the coast of a South Pacific island, Tongariva. We haven't got anything but his word to go on." She paused to reflect on that for a minute, then added, "But he's never been known to be wrong, so we're taking a chance on it"

"You're going?" Carol asked,

"Right. I wouldn't miss a chance like this if I had to finance it myself," Chris said.

Carol leaned forward excitedly. "Darling, that's wonderful," she said. "I know you must be thrilled."

What was it Dizz had said? "Going fishing, dear?" Oh, my poor darling beloved Dizz, Chris thought. Why don't you understand? Why do you always have the wrong word to say about everything? Always the one that hurts? Why?

To Carol she said simply, “I am."

"When are you leaving?" Carol asked.

Chris thoughtfully ran her fingers through her thick black hair. "Brandt’ll arrange most of the details. I expect I'll be able to leave by next weekend. He has, by the way, assigned you to help me with the incidentals," she said. "We'll have to dig up all the info we can on this place. Like if there's edible food and water to drink. And tides and water temperature this time of year. You know, the works."

"Good," Carol said. "When do we start?"

“Tomorrow morning."

They sat for a few minutes in silence, each taking an occasional sip of coffee.

In the back of her mind Chris was seeing this gorgeous little girl in bed, naked and reaching out her arms to be loved. It was a sweet picture. Carol who cared and wanted her. Not like Dizz. Not like Dizz who could knock the excitement and joy and pleasure right out of her and leave her alone and frightened. And she knew that she needed Carol to care and to want her. Maybe not forever like she needed Dizz. But at least for now.

"Carol," Chris said, "do you think I could persuade you to spend the weekend with me?" She hadn't prepared the speech. It found words of its own.

Carol laughed. "What makes you think you have to persuade?" she said.

Chris flushed. "Darling, you shock me," she said. "I haven't made any definite plans yet. But there are two things I want to do before I take off on this trip."

"Like what?"

"Well, for one thing, I would like to do some diving before I get to Tongariva. I had a rather bad accident a couple of years ago. You've seen the scar on my thigh. And I haven't been diving since." She shivered at the memory of it and of the horror that gripped her every time the memory came back.

"Hmm, yes," Carol said. "I remember reading about it in the paper when it happened. And what's the second thing?''

Chris leaned forward and looked intently into Carol's eyes. "I'll probably be away for a month or more," she said seriously. "And before I go, darling, I'd like to get to know you a little better. I find," she smiled, "that I'm developing a definite weakness for you." It sounded corny, she knew. But she couldn't say, “I love you." It wasn't true. And Dizz had taught her never to say, “I need you."

"Well," Carol said, "thank heaven for that."

"I’ll have to see what I can arrange," Chris said. "Dizz usually doesn't want anything to do with these jaunts. But she might get perverse." She stared thoughtfully at the cup, then lifted it and drank the last few drops.

It would be just like Dizz to foul up the works, Chris thought. But I can't let her do it this time. Carol has something I need. And I want it.

"Where would you like to go, if you can arrange it?" Carol asked.

Chris rose and stood looking down at Carol. I think," she said, "the Inlet would be a good place."

"You’ll freeze."

"Nope. I've got one of those rubber suits like the frogmen wear. I've been swimming off Nova Scotia in it." Chris smiled. "Besides, I'd like you to see where I grew up."