Billy and Martin had crowded onto the couch with Ellen and Hooper. Sean was sitting on the floor. Brody heard Hooper say something about a pig, and Martin said, “Wow!”

“Here,” said Brody, handing the forward glass—the one with his finger in it—to Ellen.

“No tip for you, my man,” she said. “It’s a good thing you decided against a career as a waiter.”

Brody looked at her, considered a series of rude remarks, and settled for, “Forgive me, Duchess.” He handed the other glass to Hooper and said, “I guess this is what you had in mind.”

“That’s great. Thanks.”

“Matt was just telling us about a shark he caught,” said Ellen. “It had almost a whole pig in it.”

“No kidding,” said Brody, sitting in a chair opposite the couch.

“And that’s not all, Dad,” said Martin. “There was a roll of tar paper, too.”

“And a human bone,” said Sean.

“I said it looked like a human bone,” said Hooper. “There was no way to be sure at the time. It might have been a beef rib.”

Brody said, “I thought you scientists could tell those things right on the spot.”

“Not always,” said Hooper. “Especially when it’s only a piece of a bone like a rib.”

Brody took a long swallow of his drink and said, “Oh.”

“Hey, Dad,” said Billy. “You know how a porpoise kills a shark?”

“With a gun?”

“No, man. It butts him to death. That’s what Mr. Hooper says.”

“Terrific,” said Brody, and he drained his glass. “I’m going to have another drink. Anybody else ready?”

“On a weeknight?” said Ellen. “My.”

“Why not? It’s not every night we throw a no-kidding, go-to-hell dinner party.” Brody started for the kitchen but was stopped by the ringing of the doorbell. He opened the door and saw Dorothy Meadows, short and slight, dressed, as usual, in a dark blue dress and a single strand of pearls. Behind her was a girl Brody assumed was Daisy Wicker—a tall, slim girl with long, straight hair. She wore slacks and sandals and no makeup. Behind her was the unmistakable bulk of Harry Meadows.

“Hello, there,” said Brody. “Come on in.”

“Good evening, Martin,” said Dorothy Meadows. “We met Miss Wicker as we came into the driveway.”

“I walked,” said Daisy Wicker. “It was nice.”

“Good, good. Come on in. I’m Martin Brody.”

“I know. I’ve seen you driving your car. You must have an interesting job.”

Brody laughed. “I’d tell you all about it, except it would probably put you to sleep.”

Brody led them into the living room and turned them over to Ellen for introduction to Hooper. He took drink orders—Bourbon on the rocks for Harry, club soda with a twist of lemon for Dorothy, and a gin and tonic for Daisy Wicker. But before he fixed their drinks, he made a fresh one for himself, and he sipped it as he prepared the others. By the time he was ready to return to the living room, he had finished about half his drink, so he poured in a generous splash of rye and a dash more ginger ale.