The first massive form crests the lapping ocean, revealing horn-shaped forward fins powered by giant wings, before it slides once more beneath the waves, followed shortly by a second. I catch my breath.

Bert and Ernie. Two enormous manta rays, mesmerizingly alien and impressively majestic. As I watch, they glide near the dock, slipping beneath one person’s outstretched toe, then another.

“Don’t worry,” Trudy whispers in my ear. “They may look scary, but they’re basically giant vacuum cleaners, feeding on the tiny organisms attracted by our dock lights. Each manta has distinct markings, so we know who they are.”

“How many are there?” I ask breathlessly as one of them dives just off to my left. I hasten to take a seat, slipping off my Crocs to dip my toes into the churning water.

“We’re up to a dozen characters from Sesame Street.”

“A dozen? And you get to play with them every night?” The mantas look smooth and glossy, but then one brushes delicately against my toes. “It feels like sandpaper!”

“Aren’t they amazing?”

“They are beyond amazing!” A second one brushes against my toes. I stretch out my leg to get even closer. I am totally, completely enthralled. Based on the low hum of happiness thrumming through the air around me, so is everyone else.

I think I may be able to handle it here after all.

CHAPTER 10

I SURVIVE THE NIGHT. BARELY. IT feels like sleeping in the middle of a Hitchcock movie. The cacophony of a thousand seabirds, swooping through the moonlit sky while a strong breeze tosses the palm fronds and bangs any and all wooden structures. I jerk awake half a dozen times to snap on my flashlight and search for my arachnid roommate. Each time, I catch the enormous wolf spider encroaching closer to the door, no longer flattened against the whitewashed ceiling but now up on all eight legs, startlingly tall.

The first few times I check, a small gecko flees from the unexpected beam of my flashlight. The fifth time, I spy him staying perfectly still, the wolf spider in his line of sight. The sixth time, no gecko, and a now curiously complacent spider. I don’t want to know anything more after that.

Having consumed way too much water to combat the stifling heat, I keep having to stumble my way out of my cabin and down the pitch-black path to the latrine. Each time, crabs flee frantically before me, including my side-scuttling orange neighbor. I feel like a human Godzilla, crashing through crab Tokyo.

The guilt lasts till I come to the toilets, where I have to climb darkened stairs and carefully ease open the bathroom door, paranoid about what might lie behind. On one of my return trips, something very large crashes through the underbrush, and the hermit crabs all drop at once, huddling inside their worn turban-toweled shells. I pick my way carefully around them, flashlight trembling in my hand as I wonder what they know that I have yet to find out.

By the time the morning sun washes across the gray-and-purple horizon, I’m positively bleary-eyed. Just in time to start the day.

The second I exit my cabin, the heat strikes me as an oppressive oven. Clearly, ceiling fans offer more relief than I anticipated. I may need to dig out some coins for the swear jar. Currently, I’m doing an excellent job muttering expletives under my breath.

I discover my crab friend standing frozen amid a scattering of orange blossoms, one clutched tightly in his claw.

“For me?” I ask.

Crabby doesn’t move.

“Really, you shouldn’t have.”

Sidestep left. Then another. Another. A final burst of speed as Crabby flees for the underbrush.

“I’ll take that as a sign of affection,” I call after him, then trudge my way to the mess hall, where I’m sure many chores await.

Rounding the corner, I come upon Ronin and Aolani, huddled near the corner of the bathhouse. Aolani has a blue-and-green towel slung over her shoulder and toiletry bag in her hand, clearly having been intercepted on her way in or out. Ronin, however, has the hyper-alert look of someone who’s been up for hours. Possibly having run eight miles and knocked out a hundred push-ups before daybreak. His expression is intense as he relates something in soft tones that has Aolani frowning. She spies my approach first, jerking her head at Ronin to call attention. He immediately falls silent, not looking happy about it.

Lovers’ quarrel? Something else? I raise a hand in casual greeting, then make the left-hand turn toward the kitchen. Immediately, I hear the urgent buzz of their voices picking back up behind me.

Something is definitely afoot between the archaeologist and the architect. Again, personal or professional? I wonder if Trudy and Ann have some ideas on the subject. They seem happily all-knowing, good contacts to have in my line of work. Maybe I can get them to tell me more about maybe, maybe not accidentally injured Chris.

I no sooner approach the back stairs, however, than the project manager, Vaughn, comes banging out the screen door.

“There’s been a change of plan,” he states without preamble.

“Good morning,” I counter.

He scowls. Apparently, no one is in the mood to exchange pleasantries this a.m.

“I need you to pack a cooler and join Ronin in the field. Or, more aptly, the jungle. However much water you think you’ll need, triple it.”