Mermaids in Paradise, Lydia Millet [ebook reader 8 inch txt] 📗

said Raleigh. “Losing face here, with the teams they’re depending on to find the mermaids for them, that could do it. Without their divers, see, they’re screwed, and the divers are already pissed and impatient, chomping at the bit.”

“How would we do that, though?” said Chip. “We don’t have access to their divers. Do we?”

We knew a few of them, of course; Chip had emails for the ones who’d been in our group before they defected.

“They won’t believe the hoax angle,” said Chip. “I mean, some of these people were with us. They saw the mermaids. Personally.”

“You’d say it was all a setup,” suggested Sam. “Some kind of elaborate publicity stunt. Say you put the mermaids there.”

“Like, they were free divers,” said Chip. He’d always liked that angle. “Wearing fake tails.”

“Maybe it was a gambit to protect the reefs all along,” said Rick. “Nancy’s gambit! To save her parrotfish!”

“Hold it,” came a voice from behind us. “What’s this?”

Prof. Simonoff was hovering.

“You’d make my daughter out a liar?” he went on. “Is that what I’m hearing?”

“We’re just tossing out ideas,” said Chip, apologetic.

“It wouldn’t be public,” I added. “We’re just trying to think how we could undermine the parent company.”

“I can’t support any scheme that would tarnish my daughter’s reputation,” said Simonoff. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t allow it.”

I did a glance-around to cover my feeling of embarrassment. Janeane and Steve were talking intently to the soldier who liked soy taquitos; Miyoko was doing another phone interview, pacing and talking as the bed filled with soldiers, piled up there practically on top of each other, watching themselves on her laptop. It was like a clown car, only the car was a bed and the clowns were wearing camo. Thompson and the doctor were examining Thompson’s array of what he called “folders,” a.k.a. folding knives, in a corner.

I had to turn back to Simonoff eventually, who stood there, humble in his demeanor but with a resolve I can only call steely.

“You understand,” said Raleigh after the silence, “this would be temporary. We could spread a rumor, in effect, just among the divers working for the company.”

“Rumors have more life than fact, in our economy,” said Simonoff. “I’m sorry, but I can’t risk it. Even afterward, once you set the facts straight—if you were able to—some of her colleagues would think of her as a purveyor of hoaxes, if it got out. And it would. Everything gets out, nowadays. You know I’m right on this. To some people, she’d always be the person who committed fraud. No, the risk is too great. I’m very sorry.”

“What if she were the victim?” offered Chip. “I mean she was. She is. We could make me the villain of the piece, say the scam was my doing, that I roped her in—”

“No,” said Simonoff. “That makes her look foolish. My Nancy was not a gullible woman.”

We’d thought, for a moment, that we had an idea with maybe some traction, but now we had nowhere to go.

“So the disinformation campaign is off the table,” said Raleigh, with difficulty.

“We have to see my daughter’s . . . remains,” said Simonoff. “If this wasn’t a drowning, or if it was and there are any signs of a struggle, well, that’d be a game-changer. Wouldn’t it.”

“Then you’ll need to go straight to the . . .” began Chip.

“Mortuary,” said Simonoff solemnly.

That guy was really keeping it together.

“The trick will be the local police,” said Raleigh. “These guys aren’t serious. They do what the corporates tell them. So we need to get Mr. Simonoff here—”

“Professor Simonoff,” corrected Chip, deferential.

“—I’m sorry, yes of course, Professor Simonoff—to where his daughter’s remains are located, and make sure we get him and the doctor out again after that examination without the parent company interrupting us.”

“They’ve got no business interfering,” said Simonoff. “I have a right to privacy. Anyway, the mortuary’s just a private institution. We couldn’t get a hold of anyone at the police station or the resort, but they must have moved her—they don’t have the right facilities at the police station. There’s no . . . er . . . refrigeration.”

He could barely say it.

“Still, we’d be more comfortable if these gentlemen had a couple of your guys with them,” Rick told Raleigh. “An escort, as it were. Possible? Or is that too obvious?”

“Sam and I will supply the escort,” said Raleigh to Simonoff. “As long as it’s not all of us, we may not raise any red flags. We’ll keep a lookout, is all, when you go in.”

So they went off, Simonoff and the doctor, Raleigh and Sam.

“MAN,” SAID CHIP, after they’d left. (The rest of the soldiers were still with us. They loved Miyoko; they clustered around her wherever she went. Which wasn’t far, in our connected rooms.) “I really liked that hoax idea. Too bad.”

“I see his point, though,” said Ronnie.

“Yeah,” said Rick. “Still. Nancy would have wanted to do whatever it took, for her mermaid sanctuary.”

We sat around the small table, meditative. Nancy would have done whatever it took. She wouldn’t have worried about posterity. We knew that. But then, she’d been alive back then. Like all of us.

We felt the ridiculous sadness of her being dead—worse, then, than it had ever been.

To take our minds off the waiting, we busied ourselves with tasks. I did some more tweeting, responding to other tweets, updating our status on Facebook. It was tedium, all the social networking, it was Boring Central, plus I got agitated thinking about Simonoff and the doctor looking at Nancy’s body—I thought of how Simonoff must be feeling, the punched-in-the-gut devastation. My eyes glazed over as rows and rows of comments rolled in, each one less interesting than the last. I drank an extra beer, lamented its weak impact to Gina, and thought fondly of the days, back in college, when I used to put anything I felt like in my body. Kids think they’re immortal, I mused, giddy. Then, before they know it,