Read Online The Web by Jonathan Kellerman - Free Book Online

from another
generation. And despite his age, he’s still passionate. I like
passion in a man.”
    She freed an arm and ran it up mine. “Coochie-coo!”
    I pinioned her. “Ah, my little
Lycosa, I
am
passionate,
too
!”
    She reached around. “So it
seems.
”
    I bared my teeth. “Hold me and crush me,
Arachnodella
—liquefy
me.”
    “You scoff,” she said, “but just think what I could do
with six more hands.”

Chapter
    8
    The next morning swim fins, snorkels, towels, and masks
were waiting for us at the breakfast table.
    “Jeep’s out in front,” said Gladys.
    We ate quickly and found the vehicle parked near the
fountain. One of those bare-bones, canvas-top models that
kids in Beverly Hills and San Marino favor when pretending to
be rural. This one was the real thing: clouded plastic
windows, rough white paint, no four-figure stereo system.
    Just as I started the engine, the Pickers burst out of
the house, waving.
    “Hitch a ride into town?” Lyman called out. They were
in khakis again, with bush hats. Binoculars hung around his neck
and a big, yellow smile opened in his beard. “Seeing as this used
to be
our
borrowed vehicle, don’t see how you can
decently refuse.”
    “Wouldn’t think of it,” I said.
    They climbed in the back.
    “Thanks,” said Jo. Her eyes were bloodshot and her
mouth looked tight.
    From Robin’s lap, Spike grumbled.
    “Talk about brachycephaly,” said Picker. “Is he able to
breathe?”
    “Apparently,” said Robin.
    “Where would you like me to drop you?” I said.
    “I’ll direct you. Terrible shocks on this thing, so
watch for potholes.”
    I drove through the gates, the Jeep gliding on the fresh
blacktop, speeding along the palm-lined road. Soon the
ocean came into view, true-blue, unperturbed by breakers. As
we neared the harbor, the water swooped toward us; driving
toward it was like tumbling into a box of sapphires. I
remembered Pam’s comment about a big, blue slap in the face.
    Picker said, “Did you notice the rotary phones in the
house? Thank God it’s not two cans and a string.”
    Robin put her hand on my leg and turned back to him,
smiling. “If you don’t like it, why stay?”
    “We do like it,” said Jo, quickly.
    “Excellent question, Ms. Craftsperson,” said her
husband. “If it were up to me, we would
not
be staying.
If it were up to me we would not be staying within a thousand
miles of this
isle.
But Dr. Wife’s research is
urgent. Heard
you saw the zoo-ette last night.
Rich man’s version of firefly in a jar.
No systemization. Scientifically, it’s a waste of time.”
    Spike reared his head and stared. Picker tried to pet
him but he backed away and curled up in Robin’s lap again.
    “Male dogs,” said Picker, “always go for the
femmes.
”
    “That’s not true, Ly,” said his wife. “When I was
little we had a miniature schnauzer and he preferred my
father.”
    “Because, dearest, he’d met your
mother.”
    He didn’t mind laughing by himself. “Hormones. Dogs go
after women, men go after bitches.”
    He began humming. Spike growled.
    “Not a music fan,” said Picker.
    “On the contrary,” said Robin. “He likes melody but
sour notes drive him wild.”
       
    At Front Street Picker said, “Go right.”
    I drove north, parallel to the waterfront. No boats were
in dock and the gas station was still closed, a fuel-rationing
schedule posted on the pump. A couple of children
rode bikes up and down the waterfront, a woman pushed a baby
stroller. Men sat with their feet in the water, and one lay
stretched out on the dock, sleeping.
    “Where’s the airfield?”
    “Just keep going.”
    We passed the shops. A saltwater tang hung in the
air; the temperature was a perfect eighty. The windows of Auntie
Mae’s Trading Post were filled with faded T-shirts and
souvenirs and signs above the entrance advertising postal
service and snacks and check cashing.
Next door was the Aruk Market—two
open-air stalls of fruit and vegetables.