Read 1979 - A Can of Worms for Free Online Page B

a rod and tackle?” I asked. “I’m on vacation, getting a little sun.”
    “I’ll let you have mine. I saw you come in. That’s one of Toni’s boats if I ain’t mistaken.”
    “Right. I hired it for the day. You’ll let me have your rod?”
    “Sure. I’ll get it.” He went behind a dirty curtain and I heard him rummaging around. After a while, he came back with a nice little rod and a can of bait.
    I put my last fifty-dollar bill on the bar counter.
    “Just in case I fall overboard,” I said as I took the rod and the bait from him. “I may not be back until five. Okay?”
    He shoved the bill back to me.
    “We’re veterans, boss. I don’t need security from you.”
    I was glad to get the bill back. I thanked him and went back to the boat. When I was out to sea, I cut the engine and changed back into my shirt and slacks. I stowed the uniform in the holdall, then headed back to the islands. I gave the creek, leading to the hippy’s hideout, a wide berth and got under the over-hanging trees of an island some quarter of a mile from the creek. I unpacked the sandwiches and ate them while I thought.
    What was this man doing, hiding up on the island? He was no Army deserter. Had he a woman with him or did Nancy use the things I had seen in the tent? Another thing, I told myself: that tent cost money. The hippy didn’t look as if he was worth a dime. Was Nancy staking him?
    To pass the time, I began to fish, but my heart wasn’t in it. I kept thinking and puzzling, but I came up with nothing. I had to get more facts, and more information.
    All the same, the setup intrigued me.
    Around 15.00, I heard the distant sound of a motorboat. I laid down my rod, grabbed hold of the over-hanging branches, and hauled the boat out of sight.
    A few minutes later I saw Hamel’s yacht approaching fast. It headed for the creek, cut speed, then disappeared under the foliage.
    I hesitated. Suppose Nancy had left Josh Jones to keep watch? It would be fatal if he spotted me. So I decided to wait. An hour crawled by. I sat in the boat, slapping at mosquitoes and sweltering. Then I heard the yacht’s motor start up, and a moment later, it appeared, and went racing towards the mainland.
    I decided to have another talk with the hippy. I could tell him I had run out of gas and could I buy some off him?
    He wasn’t to know that I was sure he hadn’t a boat, and Nancy was acting as his life-line. Whether he was her lover or not, I was willing to bet she had got him on the island and probably had bought him the camping outfit.
    I started up the engine and steered the boat to the creek.
    I tied up at the mooring post, then set off briskly down the winding path, making no attempt to conceal my approach.
    I reached the sharp bend in the path that would bring me to the clearing. Rounding the bend, I came to an abrupt stop.
    The clearing was deserted, and had an empty, used look. There was no tent, no two folding chairs, no barbeque. It was obvious my hippy bird had flown, helped by Nancy and Josh Jones. The moment they had arrived, my hippy must have told them of my visit and the decision to pack and get out was a matter of minutes.
    At least, it told me something: this hippy was in bad trouble. He wasn’t taking a risk that I might tell anyone he was on the island.
    I began to wander over the flattened grass where the tent had been pitched. With this hasty exodus, something might have been left behind. After some minutes of searching, I came across the cheap nickel cigarette lighter I had seen on the folding table. I knelt and regarded it, without touching it. If my luck held, I thought, that flat nickel surface might just carry a fingerprint. I took out my handkerchief, dropped it over the lighter, then scooped it up. I wrapped it carefully, then put it in my pocket. I looked further, but found nothing, so moving fast, I returned to the boat.
    The time now was 16.30. I had to stop off at Matecumbe Key to return the fishing tackle. I