Page 3 of Beasts of Mine

“I carry,” the driver offered, holding out his hand toward the strap while his other hand steadied him against the side of the boat.

“Oh, no, I've got this one,” I told him quickly, then winced when I realized I'd practically snatched the bag away from him. “Sorry. I'm a little weird when it comes to people carrying the cameras.”

The driver glanced pointedly toward the much larger backpack he'd just moved for me before looking back at the camera case.

“Very expensive,” the driver repeated, his mouth curving into the same teasing grin he'd worn earlier.

“Exactly,” I replied, pointing toward him as I stepped onto the dock. “See? You understand me now.”

The driver's laughter followed me as I headed toward shore. Without the constant movement of the boat, the humidity became far more noticeable. Warm moisture settled over my skin, and within seconds the back of my shirt was sticking between my shoulder blades.

The air smelled different here too.

The muddy river was still noticeable, but farther inland I could pick out wet soil, damp wood, crushed greenery, and several floral scents I couldn't identify. Something sweet lingered beneath them, possibly fruit growing nearby or something that had fallen and ripened in the heat.

I drew in a long breath as I adjusted the camera strap.

Six weeks.

I could absolutely stay here for six weeks.

A screen door opened ahead.

“You must be Evelyn Halden,” a woman called from the nearest porch, lifting one hand in greeting as she came down the steps.

Hearing my name after two days of travel was oddly reassuring. It meant I had finally made it where I was supposed to be.

“Evie is fine,” I called back, shifting the camera bag onto my other shoulder as I approached her. “And please tell me I'm the only photographer you're expecting, because I already have plans on claiming the bed with the best morning view.”

The woman laughed as she met me near the end of the dock. She looked somewhere in her early forties, dressed in cargo shorts, scuffed hiking boots, and a faded green university shirt. Her brown hair had been pulled into a messy bun, and dried mud streaked one shin.

“Definitely the only photographer,” the woman assured me, extending her hand as her gaze briefly dropped toward the equipment I was guarding. “I'm Mara. I coordinate most of the field work around here. I was starting to wonder if the river had swallowed you.”

“Not for lack of trying,” I told Mara, taking her hand while adjusting the weight on my shoulder. “But I made it with all my limbs and, more importantly, all my cameras.”

“Good,” Mara replied, releasing my hand with a grin. “The paperwork gets annoying when a visiting professional disappears before checking in.”

“I'll try to wait at least a week before creating administrative problems,” I promised Mara, relaxing when her laugh came easily.

“Come on,” Mara said, motioning toward the station as she turned toward the buildings. “I'll get you settled before you decide the dock is good enough and start unpacking out here.”

“That possibility had crossed my mind,” I admitted to Mara as I followed beside her, our boots making the old boards creak.

“I figured,” Mara replied, giving my camera bag another meaningful glance before leading me toward the main building.

The communal kitchen and dining room took up most of the first structure. Long wooden tables filled the center of the space, their surfaces covered in scratches and faded stains from years of researchers passing through. Open shelves held mismatched plates and mugs, while the refrigerator had been covered with field schedules, magnets, photographs, and handwritten reminders.

One sign taped beside a screened window caught my attention immediately.

IF YOU LEAVE BANANAS OUT, THE MONKEYS WILL FIND THEM. THIS MEANS YOU, DAVID.

“What happened here?” I asked Mara, pointing toward the warning while trying not to laugh.

“David left bananas on the counter,” Mara explained, stopping beside me with the tired expression of someone who had told this story before.

“That part I managed to figure out,” I told Mara, glancing toward the sign. “I'm guessing there's more.”

“He left the window open too,” Mara added, folding her arms while her attention shifted toward the offending screen.