Around 1900, an enterprising New Yorker built a hotel, but it was wrecked in a hurricane. The island then passed through a series of owners. After another hurricane stymied an attempt to operate an inn, the owner sold Bonefish Key to a nonprofit foundation and it became a center for the study of marine organisms with pharmaceutical potential.

The flight was smooth, and Gamay used some of the time to work on a report about her work at Scripps. When the plane landed at Fort Myers Airport late in the afternoon, the efficient NUMA travel bureau had arranged for a van to deliver her to the Pine Island ferry landing.

A twin-hulled powerboat was tied up at the dock. The grizzled man at the wheel had a nut-brown tan that only partly hid the creases in his genial face.

“I guess you’re going out to Bonefish,” he said. “I’m Dooley Greene. I make runs for the marine center, which kinda makes me the official greeter.”

Gamay tossed her duffel bag in the double-hull and stepped on board with the sureness of someone who spent a lot of time on boats.

“I’m Dr. Morgan-Trout,” she said, shaking his hand with a grip that surprised Dooley with its firmness. “Please call me Gamay.”

“Thanks, Dr. Gamay,” he said, unable to avoid the honorific. Despite her informality, her almost-regal self-confidence could be intimidating. Emboldened by her friendliness, he added, “Pretty name. Unusual too.”

“My father was a wine nut. He named me after his favorite grape.”

“My father’s favorite booze was cheap gin,” Dooley said. “Guess I should be grateful he didn’t name me Juniper.”

Dooley uncleated the line and pushed the boat away from the dock. As they headed out into the bay, he seemed in no hurry.

“How long have you worked for the center?” Gamay asked.

“I was the dockmaster for the Bonefish Key Inn back when every fisherman and boater on the waterway used to hang out at the bar. After the hotel got beat up by Hurricane Charlie, the owner went bankrupt. When the marine center bought the property, they fixed up the inn. Dr. Kane asked me to run the water taxi and carry supplies. I used to be pretty busy running staff people back and forth, but that’s all quieted down some.”

“Aside from staff, do you bring many visitors out here?”

“Nope. The folks at the lab aren’t the friendliest people . . . Scientists.” He shook his head. Then, realizing his faux pas, he added, “Oh, hell, you a scientist?”

“Yes, Dooley, but I’m a friendly scientist,” she said with her engaging smile. “And I know what you mean. I talked to Dr. Mayhew on the phone.”

“Preachin’ to the choir,” Dooley said with a grin like an old picket fence.

He reached into his work-shirt pocket and pulled out a worn business card that he handed to Gamay.