Sure enough, Deputy Bobby had his wetsuit zipped up now. In case you’re wondering, it was actually kind of worse, somehow. I mean, it fit him like a glove, and that’s all I’m saying. He gave West a kiss, and West squirmed away, laughing, before he said, “You’re getting me wet!”
“What’s there to get wet?” Fox asked sotto voce. “He’s got about six inches of fabric on him total.”
I shushed Fox.
“Are you ready, Bobby?” Indira asked.
Deputy Bobby wore that huge, goofy grin. “Water’s perfect—do you see those swells coming in? Perfect breaks today.”
“I assume that means it’s all good.”
“The lineup is going to take forever.” But his tone made it clear this was a small objection. Then, in a different voice, he said, “Oh, come on.”
Farther up the beach, a group of guys had paused halfway through putting up another beach tent. Even with the tent only partially erected, it was easy to read the words spray-painted in red on the fabric: THIEVES and TRESPASSERS.
“What’s that about?” I asked.
“A protester,” Millie said.
We all looked at her.
“Keme told me,” she said.
“Her name is Ali Rivas,” Deputy Bobby said, “and she claims every inch of this coast is sacred land for various Native American tribes. She’s been raising a ruckus for weeks. Vandalism, destruction of property, threats. Jen calls in something new almost every day, but nobody can prove this woman, Ali, is doing it.”
“She strikes again,” Fox said, eyeing the graffitied tent that the men were now in the process of taking down.
“Is this really sacred land?” I asked.
Millie shook her head. “Some of the tribes used to fish here, of course, but the only nearby ceremonial sites and burial grounds are on the headland.”
We all looked at her. Again.
“Keme told me,” she repeated, this time with a laugh. “And anyway, the Confederated Tribes are sponsoring the competition—they’ve got a tent down that way.”
“That doesn’t make any difference to her,” Deputy Bobby said. “She said the leaders of the Confederated Tribes were sellouts.”
“Yikes,” Fox said.
Another man, accompanied by deputies, walked over to the vandalized tent. He was average height, heavyset, dressed in a polo and pleated khakis, and his hair and goatee were black as coal. It was hard to tell at a distance, but I thought maybe he was older—something about the way he moved. He said something to the deputies, who in turn said something to the men, who let the tent fall. The deputies spread the tent flat on the sand, clearly preparing to take pictures of the damage.
“Who’s that?” Indira asked.
West dropped into his seat again. “Gerry Webb.”
“How do you know that?” Deputy Bobby asked.
“Because he tried to pick me up last night,” West answered. He adjusted the hardhat and gave a rakish grin. “While you were in the restroom.”
Deputy Bobby looked like he might be thinking a few words you wouldn’t find in most dictionaries.
“He’s a real estate developer,” West continued. “And he must be a good one, because the watch he was wearing cost over a hundred thousand dollars.”
“He’s the one that’s building the planned community on the other side of Klikamuks,” Millie said. “Do you know how much he’s going to charge? A million dollars for a house. And that’s not even one of the houses on the waterfront. And they’re going to have a marina and a bunch of new restaurants and—”
“Wait, a marina?” Fox squinted. “Isn’t the surf camp on the other side of Klikamuks? Gremlins and Gruntlings, or whatever it’s called?”
“Gremlins and Grommets,” Deputy Bobby said drily. “And yes, that’s where it is. I don’t know the details, but Jen said she worked something out with him.”
“Who’s Jen?” I asked.
Before Deputy Bobby could answer, Keme trotted up.
“Oh my God, Keme, are you all right?” Millie scrambled over to inspect him. She stood close to him. She touched him. She was wearing perfume. And God help that poor boy, he was wearing a wetsuit.
I gave Deputy Bobby a telepathic nudge and a meaningful look.
He almost laughed. “He’s fine, Millie. We’ve got to get in the lineup, or we’re going to miss the best sets.” With a slap to Keme’s shoulder, he added, “Come on,” and then he headed down toward the water.
Keme detached himself from Millie as gracefully as a seventeen-year-old boy can.
We settled into our seats, enjoying coffee and hot chocolate and cake (cranberry upside-down) and cookies (pumpkin cheesecake, which yes, can be turned into a cookie). The wind picked up again, stiff with the brine and carrying a hint of surf wax and what I thought might have been recreational, uh, substances. A fair portion of that seemed to be coming from Fox. Once Deputy Bobby and Keme had their boots and hoods on, they collected their boards. Keme’s gear looked piecemeal—probably assembled from castoffs or whatever he’d been able to score cheap. Deputy Bobby’s on the other hand, looked expensive. It made me think of the rotation of expensive sneakers he liked to wear—another layer in the enigma that was Deputy Bobby.
True to Deputy Bobby’s prediction, there were a lot of surfers waiting in the lineup. But it was a beautiful day, and the waves were plentiful, and we watched (and Millie cheered) as Deputy Bobby and Keme slowly worked their way forward.
“I’m kind of sad we’ll miss it,” West said.
I glanced over.
