The spray felt good after the stifling humidity of the Savannah airport. The young woman sighed. In the space of thirty-six hours she’d gone from cool Vermont to muggy Virginia to the even muggier Deep South. But her final destination—Pine Island—was just ahead.Shading her eyes against the slight glare from the choppy water, she peered into the distance, trying to make out the distinguishing characteristics of the island. All she could see was a white sandy beach and beyond it occasional stands of trees and some low buildings. Amherst Gordon had told her the holdings had originally belonged to a millionaire industrialist who’d lost his fortune in the recessions of the early seventies. The heirs had deeded his white elephant to the government in exchange for settlement on the back taxes.The man behind her controlling the tiller coughed and she turned. “Best sit down,” he advised above the steady hum of the motor. “Bound to be a bit rough out here.”For emphasis the boat gave a little lurch, making the lone passenger almost tumble onto one of the padded bench seats.
