Who was Annabelle? Did the writer believe this notebook would find its way to her? And how much time did these pages represent? Did someone last days before succumbing to the sea? Or was it longer? Weeks? Months?

Suddenly, the phone rang, and LeFleur jumped like a caught thief.

He checked his watch. Nine-thirty on a Sunday night?

“Hello?” he said tentatively.

“Is this Inspector LeFleur?”

“Who’s this?”

“My name is Arthur Kirsh. I’m with the Miami Herald, just checking up on something.”

LeFleur took a moment to respond.

“What is it?”

“Can you confirm that a life raft from the Galaxy yacht has been found on Montserrat? Did you find such a raft, sir?”

LeFleur swallowed hard. He stared at the notebook in his lap.

He hung up.

Sea

Nevin is dead.

Yesterday, he turned ghostly pale and slipped in and out of consciousness. He couldn’t eat a thing. At times he moaned so loudly, some of us covered our ears.

“Something got in that wound,” Geri whispered. “Some metal, or whatever he gashed himself on. The infection can’t clear. If sepsis has set in . . .”

“What?” I said, hesitantly.

“He’s going to die?” Jean Philippe asked.

Geri looked down. We knew that meant yes.

Little Alice was the first to discover him. Just after sunrise, she tugged at my T-shirt. I thought Nevin was sleeping. But she lifted his hand and it dropped limply. Poor Alice. No child should have to bear witness to what she has seen on this raft. No wonder she doesn’t speak.

We had a small ceremony. Nina said a prayer. We sat quietly, trying to collectively cobble together a eulogy. Finally Lambert said, “He was a hell of a programmer.”

The Lord rose to his knees. “Surely there is more to say about him than that.” He was wearing the white dress shirt Yannis had on when the Galaxy went down. He looked around at all of us.

“Nevin had three kids,” I offered. “He wanted to be a good father.”

“He had a nice singing voice,” Yannis added. “Remember when he sang ‘Sloop John B’?”

“Did he love others?” the Lord asked. “Did he tend to the poor? Was he humble in his actions? Did he love me?”

Lambert made a face.

“Show some respect,” he said. “The man’s dead.”

* * *