Chapter 2

The dinghy the boys were loading the girls into was a genuine 1920's era Gar Wood rum runner. 28 feet long and two 8 F Hispano Suiza aircraft motors of 350 horsepower each, geared to be left and right hand turning. The front cockpit ... where the cases of Canadian Club were stored ... was altered into rows of seating. Nothing like a Chris Craft ... nothing fancy with great padded leather cushions ... more like a battleship liberty boat ... benches ... complete with splinters ... and towels laid down to keep said splinters from piercing splendid butts. It was quite simple to load Connie in with the other stowaways. The Pretty Penny was no more ready for the return than the dish was ready to runaway with the spoon.

But boys and girls will be boys and girls and pretty much everybody was well satisfied when the dinghy made the return trip in the morning.

Connie stayed.

All that day.

All that night.

And the next.

And the one after that.

Connie not only stayed ... she didn't get out of someones bed for two weeks.

Except for the bath.

Or the bucket.

"Nobody told me not to drink the water," she said.

Which is very similar to, "Nobody told me I shouldn't shave the kitty."

And we all know how that worked.

Poor kitty.

By the time the amebic dysentery worked it's magic, Connie lost a few too many pounds ... the boat had sailed ... and she was still on it.

Without her brother.

Isn't that what her parents had intended?

Connie was on her own.

How many 16 year old females go missing every year?

There are 800000 ... that's eight hundred thousand under 17 year old children missing in every year ... every year. 200000 of them are white females between the ages of 12 and 18. 76% never make it home ... some are dead, some are married, some are in other countries ... one is Connie McDavid.

Connie McDavid was a birder with an ornothological bent towards CHARADRIIFORMES, Family: LARIDAE, commonly known as Gulls. Gulf coast gulls. Connie was fascinated by gulls. When she was somewhat north of ten, she would ride her balloon tired beach bicycle from her home in Flour Bluff, near Waldron Field, behind the high school to Waldron Rd and the bus stop. The driver would help her load her bicycle on the front bumper bike rack, she passed her pass through the slot and responded to the regulars ... they all knew and liked the friendly girl.

The bus took its normal route over the Causeway and south to Access Road 6 where Connie would help the driver unload the heavy bike and head for Padre Island beach. There she would ride along the beach looking for additions to her bone collection. She did this every summer and weekends.

Her classmates were tired of her predictable Show and Tell. One can listen to comparisons of bone weights just so many times before one stops listening. One thing for sure ... they all knew gull bones were hollow.

She continued her studies in a quieter manner for a few years. Sea Gulls are not the most popular birds around sea shores. Messy kleptomaniacs. Shit and steal ... shit and steal.

Connie didn't care. The aerodynamics of sea gull flight was now her area of interest. Thermodynamics of heated beach sand as compared to cooler Gulf waters figured heavily in every essay, no matter what class.

What I did for my Summer Vacation was always Gulls, Gulls and more Gulls.

A Biology paper ... gulls! Good enough to send to the University.

An English short story ... the world as seen from the heights.

Math ... aerodynamics.

History ... gulls of Greece.

Science ... The beach is less ... and the reasons why.

She turned 16 and still had a bike. This one was new. A drunk college student rammed the bus and destroyed her 16 incher. The new one was a genuine beach cruiser ... his insurance paid.

One thing about Connie? She had great legs.

About six miles south of Access Road 6 there was a gull in trouble. When Connie pedaled closer she could see the stupid bird had snatched a pocket watch and it had to have been on the fly. The chain was twisted so much that the bird couldn't close its mouth.

She dismounted, tossed her sweatshirt over the rascal and pried the watch and chain loose. The ungrateful wretch pecked her and flew off ... calling raucously.

The watch went into the jeans shorts pocket ... the bird had shit on her hoodie ... after a quick rub in the sand and a rinse from her water bottle the shirt went in the basket and she forgot about the watch.

Until she got home. She stashed it in her duffle. Her brother had retrieved the duffle and passed it to the boys on the boat.

It's in there now.