Rescue

from Miami, I saw the countryside. Incredible.“
    “I know somebody living in Homestead—that’s the part got worst hit?—they said it was the Hounds of Hell and the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse all rolled into one. Me, my house got wrecked, and I kind of figured, ‘This is Mother Nature, serving me an eviction notice.’ “
    “So you live down here now?“
    “Yes. I like the reef—protection from the hurricanes?—and the small-town atmosphere. Miami’s... well, let’s just say it isn’t what it used to be. But down here, the prices! I mean, twenty-five years ago, we’d come to the Keys on a lark, the waterfront property on Mercy could be had for five thousand dollars. Five. Now, forget it.“
    “That because of the Church?“
    “The church?“
    “Of the Lord Vigilant. Has it driven up the prices any?“
    “Wouldn’t know. Haven’t followed it much. What’ll you have?“
    I looked at the menu. “What do you recommend?“
    “Well, you have a big day ahead of you, I’d try the Jamaican Breakfast. It’s got chunks of dolphin—the fish, not the Porpoise things—grilled with olives, peppers, and onions, tried plantain and toast, two eggs any way though I’d suggest scrambled.“
    All that please, and orange juice.“
    “You got it.“
    She yelled “Raúl,“ and a short man sporting homemade tattoos came out and went to work on the grill with a spatula, scraping and spreading and flipping. I had some tea while the waitress squeezed oranges on an ornate, bulbous machine that was designed like a 1954 Cadillac. Pouring the juice into a glass, she added crushed ice to chill it.
    The juice and the Jamaican Breakfast arrived at about the same time. Aside from the olives, which were a little strong, it was a fine way to start what turned out to be a long day, if not a big one.

    I figured to drive past the Church offices, then, if everything looked good, turn around and come back, going inside to introduce myself. Two vehicles parked in front slowed me down, leading me to pull into a convenience store lot north of the offices and adjust my rearview mirror to watch the entrance. One of the vehicles was a white Chevy Caprice with green and gold racing stripes down the flanks and a gold star with MONROE COUNTY SHERIFF’S OFFICE on the driver’s side door. As an out-of-state investigator, the first thing John Cuddy would do is visit the local force, like I had with Chief Kyle Pettengill up in New Hampshire . As John Francis, tourist and potential convert, I wasn’t interested in making the acquaintance of any Keys’ officers, especially with the unlicensed weapon in my trunk.
    The second vehicle that made me wait was a navy blue GMC Sonoma pickup with camper body, identical to the one Lonnie Severn had been driving.
    After five minutes, a tall young man came out of the building. He wore green uniform pants and a gray uniform shirt, his right hand lightly slapping a black baseball cap against his thigh rather than putting it on his head. He climbed into the cruiser, started up, and drove by me, paying no attention at all to my car.
    I decided to give it ten more minutes.
    At eight more minutes, a huge man with a smallish head came through the same entrance. He almost had to duck under the doorframe and wore a white long-sleeved shirt over white pants. Folding himself into the pickup, he started north as well, ignoring me even as I fell comfortably into the light traffic behind him. The truck had Georgia plates on it-
    At the first opportunity, he turned left and across the median, me following. He seemed a very cautious driver, waiting until no traffic was heading south before pulling into the left-hand lane and immediately signaling to edge over into the right, slower lane. I did the same.
    We drove south a while, then he put his signal on for the arrow marked TENT GROUND that I’d seen the day before. I gave him a little more room before turning myself.
    The side road was dusty, a rooster tail kicked up by the truck allowing me to keep it in sight without having to hug its bumper. We passed a few slapdash shacks, mangy dogs scrounging in the yards, then a jumbo circus tent with no walls in the middle of a large, grassy field that was empty but had the feel of an occasional parking lot. Since the pickup kept going, so did I.
    There was suddenly no more dust in front of me, and I could see the truck moving up a short causeway to what looked like a smaller Key ahead. I stopped at the side of the