A Matter of Time by David Manuel Read Free Book Online Page A

he’s there. I called the friary to see if hewanted to do some fishing, and they told me he was down there. Maybe we can get him out on the boat.” He paused. “No, probably
     not.”
    “Why?”
    “They said he was on some kind of personal retreat or something.”

    On Saturday afternoon, four days later, Dan and Ron got off the plane in Bermuda. It was 3:15 by the time they checked in
     at Sandys House, overlooking Sandys Cove in Sandys Parish.
    “That’s pronounced ‘Sands,’ by the way,” Ron explained, as he filled in the guest card for the day manager, “not the way you’d
     think from its spelling.” He smiled. “The British enjoy doing that.”
    “Doing what?”
    “Mangling pronunciations.”
    “You mean, like Wooster, for Worcestershire?”
    “Yeah,” replied Ron, “or Lester, for Leicestershire.”
    “Aloowishus for Aloysius.”
    Ron was stumped for a moment. “Chumley for Cholmondeley.”
    Both men laughed.
    The first thing they had to do, announced Ron, was line up motor scooters at Oleander Cycle. There were no rental cars on
     Bermuda, only scooters. If you were going somewhere beyond walking distance, you took taxis or buses or ferries. Or rented
     a scooter.
    The manager called the cycle shop, which offered to bring two over on a truck. But Ron said no, they’d come over and pick
     them out.
    “The newer, the faster,” he explained to Dan on the way.
    “Well, we certainly want the fastest,” the Chief agreed with a laugh.
    “Oleander specializes in Ergons, from Taiwan. Young locals tell me they’re the best.”
    Ron picked out two candy-apple-red Ergon doubles. They were made to carry two people, or one large man. Ron and Dan were both
     in the latter category. There was a little practice track—a good thing, because Dan’s machine took some getting used to. But
     once they got out on the road, he found he could keep up with Ron. The trick was getting used to staying on the left.
    As they roared past Ely’s Harbour, his friend signaled for him to pull over. Dan pulled up alongside, and Ron pointed out
Goodness
at her mooring and then extended his arm to the sun, cupping his fingers.
    “What are you doing?”
    “Old Indian trick,” Ron explained. “There are still four fingers between the sun and the horizon. We’ve got about an hour
     before it sets, and maybe twenty minutes of usable daylight after. Let’s go over to the Bennetts’ and see if we can take
Goodness
out. Just to check out her rig and tackle, you understand.”
    “Of course,” said Dan, understanding.
    They motored over, and found Nan expecting them. She gave Ron a hug and said, “It’s
good
to see you.”
    Before he could mention the boat, she said, “I expect you’ll be wanting to take
Goodness
out.”
    He grinned, and threw a knowing glance to Dan.
    But Nan wasn’t finished. Lowering her voice, she asked, “Ron, would you mind taking Eric out with you? He’s the reason I’m
     not up on the Cape with Ian.”
    “What’s the problem?”
    “That’s just it; we don’t know. His headmaster called us in a couple of weeks ago. Eric had been on track for an outstanding
     senior year, after which Oxford was a possibility.”
    She looked quickly around, to make sure her son was not within hearing distance. “Suddenly he’s not paying attention, dropped
     off the football team, and has started having ‘unexplained absences’ in the middle of the school day.”
    Ron looked concerned, but had nothing to offer. Dan shook his head. He had a hunch what it might be and did not want to pursue
     it. They were down here on a vacation, he reminded himself.
    “We’ve tried to talk to him,” Nan concluded. “It’s no use. It’s like he’s not even there.” Her voice broke, and she bit her
     knuckle.
    “Of course, we’ll take him, Nan. No problem.”
    Actually it was Eric who took
them
out. The blond, blue-eyed, rail-thin seventeen-year-old handled the boat with consummate skill, though to Dan he did