Bone Deep by Randy Wayne White

me all that . . .
if
police didn’t arrive and recite my Miranda rights, then lead me away in cuffs.
    I spent late Saturday with old baseball buddies, then worked with the dog on blind retrieves using hand commands, which he often ignored in favor of shorter routes. The early, wakeful hours ofSunday morning were spent thinking about the duffel bag hidden out there in the mangrove darkness.
    What exactly had I taken from Deon, the petty thief? Valuable, no doubt, but how valuable? Sooner than later, news about the robbery of the late Finn Tovar’s house would get out. The aftershock I expected would be proportional.
    Someone
would come looking.

EIGHT
    Sunday morning, at Leland’s home in Sarasota, the shake-up I anticipated arrived with the mildest of tremors. I was wandering toward the backyard where, behind a courtesy fence, an unhappy wife swam nude, when my phone chirped with the link to a newspaper story.
    The interruption spared me the charms of Mrs. Ava Albright—momentarily.
    VENICE POLICE INVESTIGATE
    Police investigated a possible break-in at 50 Sand Lane, Caspersen Beach, yesterday. Officers reported a padlock had been cut, and interior water damage caused by recent rain. The investigation was in response to a complaint by the estate attorney representing the late Finnlund J. Tovar, a longtime Venice resident and well-known paleontologist.
    •   •   •
    PALEONTOLOGIST? I had researched the man. Finn Tovar was to paleontology what Murf the Surf was to gemology—a driven amateur who, unlike the diamond thief, had been shrewd enough to avoid jail.
    I continued reading:
    According to police, robbery was a possible motive, although the residence appeared to be intact. Pending an inventory of Tovar’s possessions, the investigation will remain open. A representative of Viz-Watch Inc., which installed a security system in the home, was unavailable for comment.
    Mr. Tovar, during his career as a paleontologist, is credited with discovering the carapace of the largest prehistoric turtle on record, and the skull of a unicorn-like animal that went extinct a million years ago and was thought to be unique to the Florida peninsula.
    The subject of criticism by Native American organizations, Mr. Tovar withdrew his collection of indigenous artifacts, but his reconstruction of a mastodon skull and a saber-toothed tiger remained on display locally until he was diagnosed with a brain tumor a year ago. Scientists worldwide considered Tovar an authority on Florida mastodons and mammoths. Both prehistoric animals are related to elephants . . .
    •   •   •
    I REREAD THE PIECE, wondering if AIM, the American Indian Movement, had been involved with the protest. Fallsdown andTomlinson had, as expected, gone to Lakeland, but would be back by sunset for the marina’s Sunday shrimp roast. I would ask them about it when we compared notes.
    The theft had not been discovered—a relief. That gave us some time. If the news story had been different, my next move would be to call a cop friend in Tallahassee. That would happen, but not yet.
    On my phone, I typed a quick reply to Ransom, who’d sent me the link, and walked toward the backyard. To my right were oak trees and a sweep of asphalt where my old truck sat ticking in the morning heat. The Albright residence—a secluded acreage off Bee Ridge Road—was not as grand as their island mansion and much newer. A Deco ranch-style structure that rambled. No one had answered the front door. Odd—but I was ten minutes early. The back patio was the logical alternative, so I continued along fence and shrubbery, my thoughts on Finn Tovar.
    Violent temper aside, Tovar had been an interesting man. It takes more than a Ph.D. to excel in the field sciences. He had possessed talent, there was no denying—a rare blend of instinct and expertise. He had eclipsed the achievements of many academics, but along the way he had made enemies. Among them was a maid he had slapped. It