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Extra info for Anna Pigeon 05 Endangered Species
Anna lounged against the fender of one of the rusting green trucks they'd inherited from the crew they had replaced. Along with the salt scent of the sea and the fecund perfume of the jungle, a faint sickly-sweet odor made it to her nostrils. Her flashlight lay on the seat of the truck. She retrieved it and combed the ground with its yellowing beam till she found what she was looking for. Pushed partially off the road several yards from the rear wheels of Marty Schiessinger's Afy was the carcass of a young raccoon.
By the clear light she could see Marty Schlessinger's face inches from her own. Fifty years were etched in the lines of determination carved on either side of an uncompromising mouth. Long hair, worn in pigtails like an aging Pippi Longstocking's, fell in white ropes across the loggerhead's shell. The returning ocean forced Anna to her knees. Her thigh was wedged against the turtle's carapace, the animal's flipper hard against the outside of her leg. "Hat, hat, hat," Schlessinger growled. Anna snatched off her baseball cap and poked it into the biologist's groping fingers.
Anna was six, Molly fourteen. " She turned and walked away without a backward look. Anna hadn't felt abandoned; not then, not ever. She knew whatever happened, Molly would be back to hear the details. UCKING TVIE LAS-F of the Baby Ruth from her fillings, Anna Sstepped onto the concrete stoop at the office's back door. Weeping ebbed and flowed like the waves of an incoming tide, each sob breaking higher than the last. A fan of the night, Anna had made her phone call without switching on the lights.
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