Fluke: Or, I Know Why the Winged Whale Sings

Amy, saw her on the other side of the cop who was talking to Clay, helping him fill in details. He ran up behind Fuller, grabbed the smaller man's arm, and spun him around. "What are you talking about? Amy studied at Woods Hole, with Tyack and Loughten."
    "That right? Well, maybe you'd better give them a call and ask them. Because they've never heard of her. Despite what you think, I do my research, Nate. Do you? Now, get back to your one-boat operation, would you."
    "If I find out you had anything to do with this…"
    Fuller wrenched his arm out of Quinn's grip and grinned. "Right, you'll what? Become more irrelevant? Screw you, Nate."
    "What did you say?"
    But Fuller ignored him and boarded his million-dollar research vessel, while Quinn skulked back down the dock to his friends. Oily flotsam seemed to be losing its allure, however, and the crowd had dispersed somewhat, leaving only Amy, Clay, the cop, and the couple from Minnesota.
    "You. You're somebody aren't you?" asked the woman as Nate walked up. "Honey, this guy is someone. I remember seeing him on the Discovery Channel. Get my picture with him."
    "Who is he?" said "honey" as his wife took Nate by the arm and posed like he'd just handed her a check.
    "I don't know, one of those ocean guys," she said through a grin, acting as if she were posing with one of the carved statues that decorated doorways around Lahaina. "Just take the picture."
    "Are you one of those Cousteau fellas?"
    "Oui," said Nate. "Now I muss speak with my good fren' Sylvia Earle," he continued in his French-by-way-of-British-Columbia-and-Northern-California fake accent as he went over to Amy. "I need to talk to you."
    "Sylvia Earle! She's a National Geographic person. Get their picture together, honey."
    * * *
    "He's lying, Nathan," Amy said. "You can check if you want. It was all on the resume I gave to Clay." She didn't appear angry, just hurt, betrayed perhaps. Her eyes were huge and teary, and she was starting to look vaguely like one of those creepy Keane sad-eyed-kid pictures. Quinn felt like he'd just smacked a bag of kittens against a truck bumper.
    "I know," he said. "I'm sorry. I just… well, Jon Thomas is an asshole. I let him get to me."
    "It's okay," Amy sniffed. "It's just… just… I've worked so hard."
    "I don't need to check, Amy. You do good work. My fault for doubting you. Let's get Clay squared away and get to work."
    He tentatively put his arm around her and walked her back to where Clay was finishing up his interview with the cop. Clay saw the tear tracks down Amy's face and immediately took her in his arms and pressed her head to his shoulder. "I know, honey. I know. It was a great boat, but it was just a boat. We'll get another one."
    "Where's Kona?" Nate asked.
    "He was around here a second ago," said Clay.
    Just then Nate's cell phone rang. He worked it out of his shirt pocket and answered it. "Nathan, it's me," said the Old Broad. Nate covered the mouthpiece. "It's the Old Broad," Nate said to Clay.
    "Amy, you go round up Kona while I finish up with the officer, okay?" Clay said.
    Amy nodded and was off down the dock. Clay turned back to the officer.
    The Old Broad went on, "Nathan, I spoke to that big male again today, and he definitely wants you to take a hot pastrami on rye with you when you go out. He said it's very important."
    "I'm sure it is, Elizabeth, but I'm not sure we're even going out today. Something's happened to Clay's boat. It's gone."
    "Oh, my, he must be distraught. I'll come down and look after him, but you have to get out in the channel today. I just feel it's very important."
    "I don't think you'll need to come down, Elizabeth. Clay will manage."
    "Well, if you say so, but you have to promise me you'll go out today."
    "I promise."
    "And you'll take a pastrami on rye for that big male."
    "I'll try, Elizabeth. I have to go now, Clay needs me for something."
    "With Swiss cheese and hot mustard!" the Old Broad said as Nate disconnected.
    Clay thanked the policeman, who nodded to Quinn as he walked off. Even the couple from Minnesota had moved on, and only Clay and Quinn were left on the dock. "Where are the kids?" asked Nate, cringing at the whole idea: he and Clay, the middle-aged couple being responsible and boring while the kids went off to play and have adventures.
    "I asked Amy to find Kona. They could be anywhere."
    "Clay, I need to ask you something before they get back."
    "Shoot."
    "Did you check any of Amy's references before you hired