Ellen turned and looked out at the water. "Hurry, Carla, please!"

They began to swish toward shore. A great black cloud slid in front of the moon. It was suddenly pitch dark, and only the lights from Carla's studio and the main house kept them on their course. Ellen took Carla's hand. If only she would hurry. There was something bad out there; she could feel it in her bones.

"Here, give her to me," she pleaded. Carla was moving too slowly, feeling her way in hip-deep water as black as ink. Ellen wanted to dash for the house lights ahead. She heard Carla stumble. "Carla, let me have her," she begged again.

"No. Do you know, she's gone to sleep?"

"But hurry! I want us to get in!" She tried to hide the panic in her voice and failed.

"What's wrong? You sound as if—" Carla's voice dropped. "Oh, I see! Ellen, I understand, but this isn't Amity, thank God. Now calm down or you'll step on a shell!"

Headlights appeared ashore, on the road past the house, and approached the beach, where they shone on the water. A golden pathway led to safety, if Carla would only move. Ellen put her arm around her and urged her on. In the light she could see Thea's slumbering face.

Hurry, hurry, hurry... Knee-deep now, then ankle-deep...

At the edge of the water, Mike was waiting with Louisa. "What the hell!"

Carla handed him Thea. "Long story, Mike. Don't be mad at her. Right now I'm bushed, and tomorrow's a big day."

They said good night to Louisa, and she climbed into her little car and left. As her headlights swept across the waters Ellen thought she saw something cut across the path of golden light. was as gray as death, immense, and as swift as flight.

To her it seemed like a fin.

Impossible. Too big. A trick of the dark, dancing water, perhaps. As Carla said, this wasn't Amity, thank God.

She turned and followed her son and his wife toward home and the welcoming light.

***

Mike had paused for a moment before he started up the sandy slope of the beach. With Thea in his arms he cocked his head toward Neptune's Folly.

He listened intently. There was not a sound from the boat.

So the shark had never returned. Jake was right. It was probably half an ocean away by now.

He sighed. Unless the conch study was renewed, he and Jake were out of work. But with the shark gone, at least he could be at the Junkanoo tomorrow—for the festival, and water sports, and speeches on the platform, and Carla's moment of glory when her statue was unveiled.

Part III

PART III

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The great white shark first sensed the festive drums at dawn, as he swept in from Masthead Sound to Prince George Town Bay, swimming twelve fathoms below the blue-green surface at a steady hunting pace.