After a perfunctory tour of the Shack, Ramirez strapped herself into a life jacket and shuffled down to the docks to join the 9 a.m. tour. She chose to sit with Jack in a two-seater instead of getting the full tourist experience in her own kayak. She waved off the paddle Jack offered her and braced herself as Jack hopped into the rear seat.
Jack wasn’t used to having someone in her boat while guiding, but thankfully the group was big enough to merit two guides. Jorge was in the lead boat, telling guests about the five major differences between sea lions and harbor seals. All Jack had to do was hold up the rear and make sure no one got lost or stranded. And answer any questions from the nice green detective with the gun.
In the first ten minutes, Ramirez asked Jack only two questions: what were the chances the boat would tip over, and what do you do if a jellyfish stings you. After that she fell silent. They spent the two-hour tour in a quiet trance, Jack keeping them moving steadily forward, watching the detective’s braid swing back and forth and hoping she wasn’t feeling seasick. Out of habit, Jack pointed out the wildlife along their path. The otter who seemed to wave at them from under the bridge. Hawks and plovers launching off of Bird Island, diving for anchovies. The detective said nothing. Her head twisted back and forth from the boats to the north bank. What she was looking for, Jack didn’t know.
When they got back to the marina at the end of the tour, Jack offered the detective a hand getting out of the kayak. Ramirez paused, eyeing a seagull on the dock. “It’s pretty out here,” she said. She stepped out of the boat. “Too bad about all the bird poop.”
Ramirez spent the next few hours in the office, watching Paul sweat his way through a dozen bookings and paperwork for two more group tours. She rejoined Jack in the double kayak for the 4 p.m. sunset tour, the same one Ricardo Cruz had signed up for the Saturday before.
There were sixteen guests, and once again, Jorge took the lead boat, with Jack and Ramirez minding the stragglers in the back. This time Ramirez accepted a paddle. She even attempted a few shallow strokes before dropping the paddle back in the cockpit next to the first aid kit.
The wind was favorable, and they made it farther than they had on the morning tour. Just before they turned to head back in for the evening, Ramirez pointed port side, to the north bank. “The body was found up there, right?”
Jack leaned forward, and Ramirez grabbed the hull to keep from tipping. “More like over there.”
Jack crouched just behind the detective, pointing to the mud flats glinting in the quick-setting sun. Jack could smell the detective’s perfume mixed with sweat and swamp grass. When she glanced down, she could see Ramirez’s snub-nosed gun in its holster.
“How did someone on your tour get all the way out there?”
Jack grimaced. “I told you. He wasn’t. On. My. Tour.”
The detective swung around in her seat, forgetting the water for a moment. “Jacqueline, that’s not what I meant. I wasn’t asking about Mr. Cruz. I meant the Baldwin family, that poor man and his son who found the body.” She carefully turned back to the bow. “I don’t see anyone out that far today.”
Jack sat back in her seat. “The tides control everything out here.”
“So?” Ramirez’s braid cocked to one side.
“When the tide is coming in, ocean water rushes into the slough. It’s like pouring from a big bucket into a funnel. When the tide is going out, it’s the opposite. The water flows from the slough back out to the ocean.”
“How does that affect how far people go on your tours?”
“The tides don’t just impact how high the water is. They also affect the currents. At low tide, it’s like the kayaks just get swept up into the slough. It’s easy for boats to go too far, even past those mud flats. Sometimes we have to use a motorboat to haul them back. In high tide, like now, it’s the opposite. The boats swirl around closer to the river mouth. And the wind makes a difference too.”
Ramirez was silent. Jack couldn’t tell if she was boring her or if the detective was just thinking.
Thinking. “The tides are different every week, right? Because of the phases of the moon?”
Jack was impressed. Most people didn’t know anything about how the world worked. “That’s right. Tides are diurnal, which means they happen twice a day. Two high tides, two low tides. But since the moon isn’t on an exactly twenty-four-hour schedule, the tides shift by about an hour a day. That means a week ago, the tides were seven hours earlier than they are now. It’s confusing at first, but also totally predictable. Like today, there was a high tide at four forty-five a.m., and another one at four p.m. Low tide’s at eleven thirty a.m. and eleven tonight.”