Coastal Disturbance Read online

  “Yeah. Why? Did you miss me?”

  I walked through the door as Holmes pulled his massive hulk from his chair, with a demeanor like that of a grizzly. However, his scowl promptly vanished as he saw me standing there in my wet tee-shirt, dripping water onto his floor. Funny, how a little thing like that will work wonders on a man. Wendell’s eyes began to twinkle, and his growl softened into a smile.

  “My, my! So there really are mermaids in this world. And just who might this be?” he inquired, bringing a hand to the brim of his cap.

  Okay, so I still got a rush knowing I could have that kind of effect on a man—even if they were older and fatter these days.

  “Sorry about the water, but I was a victim of a splash-and-run by some bumper boats. I’m Rachel Porter,” I responded and shook his proffered hand. My first clue should have been when he didn’t let go.

  “Don’t apologize, sugar. You’re dressed perfectly for the occasion. After all, how else would a mermaid appear? Except au natural, of course,” he joked. “Besides what else is a water park for, if not to have fun?”

  “I guess that all depends on what your definition of fun is,” I replied, trying to remove my hand from his grasp, only to have Wendell clasp it in both his own.

  “It seems we not only have us a mermaid here, but a Yankee one at that. It’s a real pleasure to meet you, Rachel. My name is Wendell Holmes.”

  You can tell a lot about someone from their handshake. I revised my first impression as his grip warned me that he wasn’t a man to be screwed with.

  “I bet you didn’t know there are three kinds of Yankees in this world.”

  However, he could have been part shark with the way his eyes devoured me. I jerked my hand from his clasp with enough force to produce a suction sound.

  “You got your regular Yankees up north. Then there are damn Yankees that come down here to visit. And finally we got us God damn Yankees, who come down here and then won’t leave. However, I’m hoping you’re among the latter,” he flirted with a wink.

  “Then it seems your wish has been granted,” I responded in kind, as sugary as presweetened iced tea. “In fact, I expect you’ll be seeing quite a bit of me.”

  “Oh, really.” Wendell leaned forward as lecherously as the Big Bad Wolf. “And why’s that? Have you found something here that you like?”

  “Actually, I’m the law enforcement agent for the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service in the region.”

  Wendell drew back as if he’d just been doused with a bucket of ice cold water.

  “Which brings me to why I’m here today. I’m sure you realize that manatees are an endangered species and protected under federal law. That being the case, maybe you can explain not only how you obtained them, but exactly what they’re doing here.

  Wendell shot me a look as if to say, For chrissakes, isn’t it obvious?

  “I guess I have them ’cause I like the name Manatee Mania. Otherwise, I’d have to call this place something else like—oh, I don’t know—Dolphin Delirium, or Panda Passion, or Wacky Walrus World,” he clowned.

  Only neither Gary nor I were laughing. Wendell quickly reassessed the situation and took a different approach.

  “Of course, I know they’re endangered. That’s the whole reason this park exists,” he genially explained. “Those manatees are like my very own children. Every single one of them was either injured or orphaned when they were found. It’s just pure luck that I managed to rescue them before they died. You know, it seems to me that someone like yourself should be mighty happy that I was able to save them. In fact, you might wanna give me some sorta medal, and tell more people about this park. Or is helping animals a crime in the eyes of Fish and Wildlife?”

  Wendell sure had one hell of a knack for being at the right place at the right time when it came to rescuing injured manatees.

  “It’s not a crime, though you are supposed to have a permit. However, it is a violation when you don’t inform the proper authorities. It’s also illegal to keep manatees as a tourist attraction for customers to swim with at your park.”

  Wendell placed his hand on his heart. “I gotta tell you that I consider myself to be a true-blue environmentalist. Not just in word, but in deed. Are you saying that I should have twiddled my thumbs and watched helpless manatees die just because I didn’t have the government’s authorization on a lousy piece of paper? You tell me what’s more important: going through the proper channels, or taking action to save these critters’ lives?”

  Either I was having a bad day, or Holmes was actually starting to make sense. Especially since I have a tendency not to go through the proper channels, myself. Maybe he really did care about the species.

  A blast of techno music quickly brought me to my senses. Clearly, Holmes was a master at dodging questions and screwing with people’s minds.

  He now raised his hands high in the air like a sinner who’d found religion. “It’s God’s work that I’m doing here, devoting my life to rehabbing these critters.”

  Oy vey. Who was he kidding? Manatee Mania was nothing more than a rank commercial venture hiding behind the guise of a mercy mission.

  “Oh, you mean that’s what’s going on out there in that lagoon,” I sarcastically replied. “And here I thought the manatees were just being used as a moneymaking attraction.”

  Wendell shook his head, as if I had sorely disappointed him. “See there, darlin’? That just goes to show how wrong you can be. What we got ourselves here is an educational facility. The only difference between you and me is how we approach the problem. And as far as I can see, the Feds haven’t done too well when it comes to saving manatees. In fact, I do believe their numbers have been going down.”

  I took a deep breath, sorely tempted to whack him across the side of his head. “Okay, Mr. Holmes. Let me see if I can explain this to you one more time.”

  But Wendell cut me off at the pass. “First you gotta call me Wendell. Otherwise, I’ll think you don’t like me. And second, you need to know I’ve developed an exciting new concept to build awareness of the manatee’s plight. It’s a little something I call the ‘Adopt a Manatee’ program.’”

  “Trust me. You’re going to want to hear about this,” Gary softly murmured, as Wendell grabbed a brochure and waved it in my face.

  “Go ahead and take a look. Then let’s hear what you have to say. I think you’re gonna be mighty impressed. Who knows? Fish and Wildlife might even want to hire me as a consultant,” Wendell boasted.

  The pamphlet was nothing more than an advertisement for the water park, providing hours of operation, scheduled activities, and a price list.

  “Very informative,” I caustically noted.

  “You’re looking in the wrong place!” Wendell brusquely insisted, grabbing it from my hands. He turned to the back, where his finger impatiently stabbed at a short paragraph.

  Adopt a manatee and become a proud parent! Receive an authentic adoption certificate, an 8X10 autographed photo of your very own manatee, and its personal biography. You’ll also receive valuable coupons toward your first visit, where you can swim with your new special friend. All this for the very affordable annual fee of just fifty dollars! Discounts given to groups of twenty children or more.

  The pitch ended with the snappy slogan, Once you come nose to snout, you’ll be hooked without a doubt!!

  Not only was Holmes a con artist, but he wasn’t even very original, at that. The adoption concept was already in use by a legitimate manatee organization actively working to conserve the species. Enough was enough. It was time to call Wendell’s bluff.

  “I’ve got to tell you, Wendell, it’s great that you single-handedly managed to rescue all those manatees. Though I’ve never heard of anyone being able to do that before.”

  Wendell proudly flexed his bicep. “It’s cause I’m a strong guy. You wanna feel my muscle? Go ahead. But I gotta warn you. One squeeze and you’re gonna want more.”

  Wendell deserved to do time just for bad
come-on lines.

  “You obviously care about manatees. Which is why I’m certain you’ve now taken the time to get all the necessary permits. After all, you wouldn’t want to keep them here unless they could be properly rehabilitated. What good would that do? Except to rake in money for Manatee Mania as long as they stayed alive.”

  Wendell remained silent as I proceeded to look around the room. “That’s odd. I don’t see any of those certificates displayed. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to show them to me.”

  Only a few proven facilities, such as Sea World, have ever been allowed to obtain manatees. Call me crazy, but I didn’t believe Manatee Mania fell into that same category. Wendell stared off into space, as if expecting the certificates to materialize out of thin air, before finally answering.

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that right now. They’re in a locked case inside a safe deposit box at the bank, along with all my other important papers.”

  “Then that’s a problem, Wendell. They’re supposed to be up on your wall. Otherwise, how do I know that you really have them?”

  Wendell slowly scratched his stomach. “You gotta good point. I guess I hadn’t thought about that. Tell you what. I’ll have them up the next time you stop by for a visit. Course, first I gotta find the key to the case. I’ll be damned, but I can’t seem to remember exactly where I put it.”

  How convenient.

  “Don’t screw with me, Wendell. I plan to go straight back to my office and check to see if you’re telling the truth. Wasting my time will only add a hefty fine onto the violation that you’re already going to get hammered with,” I fibbed.

  Holmes tugged on his cap in frustration. “For chrissakes, were you always such a hard-ass?”

  “Should I take it that means you don’t have the proper paperwork?”

  Wendell’s head sagged onto his chest. “I really do love these critters, and am only trying to teach people about them.”

  His voice quivered, causing each word to end with an emotional flutter. The guy was a pro. I think even he was starting to believe his own pack of lies.

  “But you know how the public is. You gotta amuse them. So what I offer is good, wholesome family entertainment. After all, that’s the American way, right?”

  Wendell must have been a carny in a prior life, with the way he so easily slipped in and out of each fast-talking sales pitch.

  “I got an idea. What say I show you around the park? That way you can see for yourself what we do here.”

  Now I knew what Gary meant when he’d said that dealing with Wendell was like being on an acid trip. I tottered between feeling flabbergasted and absolutely furious. At the same time, I decided why not give the man more rope with which to hang himself?

  Six

  We followed Wendell down the steps and across the grounds to a structure painted like a circus tent. A manatee cutout stood near the door with a menu board lodged in its flippers.

  “This is Manatee Mania’s healthy fast-food café,” Holmes proudly announced.

  I took a gander at the menu. Every item was deep fried—right down to the manatee burger.

  Wendell caught my eye. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. Those critters are mighty good eating.”

  I must have registered my surprise, causing Wendell to break into a hearty round of laughter. “I’m just joshing with you. We don’t actually cook the rascals. It’s just what we call our special burgers.”

  Mmm, mmm, mmm. My stomach quietly growled as I noted they were topped with bacon, mayonnaise, and American cheese. It certainly sounded healthy enough to me. I made a mental note to stop by sometime for lunch before closing this dump down.

  Next was the “petting zoo” that featured goats, sheep, and cows, all looking pathetic as kids ran wildly among them playing a game of tag. The one thing there was no shortage of in this park was half-clad girls, all of whom must have been getting degrees in physical fitness. Each wore Daisy Mae short shorts and little midriff tops with Manatee Mania emblems stitched across the chests. Working as glorified baby-sitters, their main mode of kid control was to blow hard on their whistles. Between the babes, brats, and bedlam, I quickly reached my limit with this place.

  “Let’s stop wasting time and get down to business,” I demanded. “I want to see where the manatees are kept.”

  Wendell shot me a look of annoyance, as he proceeded toward a building that housed a large aquarium.

  “This is where the manatees spend their ‘down time’ when they’re not swimming with our guests. Not bad digs, huh?”

  The manatees were apparently all in demand, since the tank stood empty.

  “Exactly how many manatees do you have at the park?”

  “Five little beauties,” Wendell beamed. “Dasher, Prancer, Donder, Vixen, and Rudolph. I named them myself.”

  “Then I guess you must be Santa,” I dryly remarked.

  “You’ll just have to wait until Christmas to find out,” Wendell bantered. “Of course, you’re also gonna have to be a good girl, if you know what I mean.”

  Holmes turned his attention back to the tank. “Actually, I like to refer to this place as their salad bar. Manatees may be vegetarians, but those cows can chow down as if there were no tomorrow. You’d think this stuff was Chinese food, what with the way they’re always hungry again an hour later.”

  Manatees pack away a good hundred pounds of greens in the wild every day. The water inside the aquarium was littered with remnants of romaine lettuce leaves. However, most of it appeared to be old and spoiled.

  “Of course, that’s not all they eat. You’ll see that the girls give them plenty of other treats.”

  “Speaking of which, why don’t we see what the manatees are up to?” I curtly suggested.

  We left the aquarium and walked to an enclosed area with a small pool. It was here that people had their pictures taken with the manatees for twenty-five bucks a pop. A family of four was in the water now, their arms draped around one poor animal’s neck, as a Baywatch babe pretended to be a photographer.

  “As you can see, the critters are expertly cared for by our staff,” Wendell gestured in the babe’s direction, managing to maintain a straight face. “Not only are they trained professionals, but the girls also provide plenty of eye candy for us boys who are more grown-up,” he added, giving Gary a playful nudge.

  I saw him point as “Dad” now picked up his own camera and began to snap some shots of the babe. She posed while feeding the manatee an apple slice that was held in her mouth. That bit of good clean fun only cost the family an additional ten bucks.

  Even Gary watched slightly slack-jawed before turning back to Holmes. “Don’t stop there, Wendell. You haven’t yet told Rachel why you want to expand the park.”

  Holmes irritably tugged on his cap. “Hell, you can see all the people that come here to visit. Well, they gotta stay somewhere. It’s cause we need a hotel on the grounds, of course.”

  “And?” Gary purposely egged him on.

  Wendell took a deep breath, as if girding for an oncoming battle. “There are also plans in the works for a breeding facility.”

  Now I knew that I was dealing with a certified lunatic. “Have you totally lost your mind? What do you think you’re going to do? Raise manatees that you can then sell to other amusement parks?”

  Bingo! I knew I’d hit my mark as his face turned beet red.

  “Well how else are you going to get these sea cows off the damned endangered species list?” Wendell countered. “Or are you afraid if that happens you’ll lose your cushy government jobs?”

  That did it. I’d somehow get his rear end out in the marsh for a few weeks so that he could see just how cushy it was.

  “On top of which I keep telling you that Manatee Mania isn’t an amusement park,” Wendell stubbornly insisted. “It’s an educational facility.”

  “Oh, yeah? I guess that’s why you need the miniature train ride and roller coaster that you have blueprints drawn
up for,” Gary sniped.

  “Okay, you wanna play hardball? Then explain this to me. How come it’s all right for people to swim with manatees in Florida, but not here in Georgia? Huh? As far as I’m concerned, it’s got something to do with the fact that you people like to go down there.”

  I silently wondered what kind of people it was that he meant—Northerners, Jews, or both.

  “That’s easy, Wendell. Those manatees aren’t kept in captivity but live in the wild, where they’re free to come and go as they please. In addition to which, the areas are officially sanctioned by Fish and Wildlife.”

  What I didn’t tell him was that even then, manatees were still harassed. Some swimmers chased the mammals while others clung to their necks, forcing the manatees to take them for a ride. It was ecotourism at its best and worst, providing tour guides and diving centers with a way to make big bucks in the name of conservation.

  “That’s one helluva piss-poor argument,” Wendell spat.

  “Our critters live better here than they do in the wild. Fact is, they’d probably refuse to leave if we tried to kick ’em out. Besides, you got people swimming with dolphins all over the place. They’re even at Disney World, for chrissakes! And you don’t hear anyone screaming their damn fool heads off about that.”

  “For the last time, Wendell, it’s because manatees are an endangered species,” I said, in near exasperation.

  “Which is exactly why I’m trying to save them! Why else do you think I have a staff of crack marine biologists on board here?” he indignantly sniffed.

  So far, I hadn’t seen anyone working at this park who appeared to be over twenty-five. “And just where would this team of crack biologists be?” I skeptically inquired.

  “Why, we got ourselves one right over there.” Holmes smugly pointed to the Baywatch babe/photographer.

  “You’ve got to be kidding. That’s your marine biologist?”

  “I believe your prejudice is showing, Missy. Didn’t your mama ever tell you it’s not nice to judge people based solely on their looks?”

  That was funny coming from Wendell, since every one of his employees seemed to have the exact same measurements—thirty-six, twenty-four, thirty-six.