Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 100, Nos. 4 & 5. Whole Nos. 603 & 604, October 1992

“Next we come to Urinophilus erythrurus, members of the catfish family, known locally as ‘candiru.’ ” Durkin crouched to observe the dozens of tiny fish hovering near the bottom of the brackish tank. “Barely two inches long — some of them not even that — these are one of the most fascinating of the dangerous marine animals. They may have a unique military application if—”

But Kroll wasn’t listening. His attention had wandered upward to the slot of a window across the narrow room, then beyond to the woman who ambled across the compound toward the mess hut. Lithe in blue slacks and a white blouse, Felicia was on her way to breakfast.

“Kroll? Kroll!”

“Yeah, what?”

“Your first duty is to take that broom over there and sweep this place clean.” Agata would be happy, Durkin thought, to be relieved of her research building cleaning duties. Dynamic balance, in a way, since she was now cooking for another mouth.

“Sweep? Hell, this is a dirt floor.”

“All the more reason to keep it swept. After that, report to me in the lab. There are housecleaning opportunities there as well.”

That should take care of Mr. Alexander Kroll for today. Durkin strode into the lab, satisfied that he had properly fitted the man into the scheme of things. At the bottom.

But at lunch, with Felicia joining them briefly, Kroll appeared newly energized.

“Quite a little chamber of horrors your hubby has there.” He nodded over his shoulder in the direction of the lab. “Convinced me to stay out of the river at all costs.”

At least I made some inroad into that pudding of a brain, Durkin thought, but he still didn’t like the way Kroll’s eyes addressed Felicia alone.

“Back to work,” he ordered as Agata cleared away the remains of her version of Caldeirada, a fish stew thickened with farina and doused with a peppery sauce.

In the afternoon, Durkin instructed the two Bororo men to repair the siding on the generator shed, and he sent Kroll to help them. That ought to complete stage one of the useless fellow’s basic training. The Indians were not delighted to spend the steamy afternoon replacing warped boards with newer ones from the lumber stockpile, but they stuck at it. Which was more than Kroll did. At 3:45, Durkin discovered he was missing.

...And found him sprawled on the little verandah behind the residence, a glass of lemonade in hand, and Felicia seated nearby.

“I was under the impression that I’d told you—”

“Enough’s enough, professor. Seems to me we have a minimum to do and all the time in the world to do it.”

“The foundation is expecting—”

“Oh, Emmett,” Felicia broke in. “It’s his first day. Besides, I haven’t had anyone from the outside to talk to since we’ve come here.”

Thus dismissing Durkin, she turned back to Kroll. “The Turners in Bryn Mawr, did you know them, too?”

That night after supper (“Fish again?” Kroll had snorted as if the chef at this resort had lost all imagination), Durkin found his patience further stressed as he and Felicia prepared for bed.

“He has no interest in what we’re doing here,” he grumped. “And the man didn’t finish what I told him to do. So endeth the day with Mr. Kroll.”

“But he is amusing in a way.” In the dim light from the naked twenty-five-watt bulb overhead, Felicia’s sea-green eyes were more alive than Durkin had noticed in weeks. Months. His heart stuttered.

“Amusing?”

“He’s brought all the latest Main Line gossip.”

“Including the little incident concerning himself?”

“Well, that may have been as much her doing as his. Those things are never totally one-sided. It takes two, doesn’t it?”

“You’re defending the man.”

“I’m being impartial. Go to sleep.”

Through the following week, Durkin assigned Kroll to a succession of minor tasks which Kroll performed in lackadaisical fashion, or in one instance, not at all. That one involved the meal worms in a covered tray in a corner of the aquarium area. The worms were propagated as food, primarily for the puffers and the candiru.

“Damned if I’ll touch those squirmy things,” Kroll announced, and he stalked out of the building.

“You’ll do as I say!” Durkin shouted after him. But the big man walked on as if Durkin had said nothing at all. A half hour later, Durkin spotted the two of them, Kroll and Felicia, strolling along the riverbank.

“You, sir,” he assailed Kroll at dinner, “are a disgrace to the work of your uncle’s foundation.”

Kroll smiled. “But here I am, Durkin. And Uncle Oliver says here I stay. For a whole goddamn year.” His smile had begun as one of mirth at Durkin’s impotent railing. Now it was one of mockery.

Later, in the darkness after a long silence, Durkin said quietly, “He’s trouble, Felicia, and you’re... not helping.”

From her side of the muggy room, he heard nothing.

“Felicia?”

He felt her weight on the edge of his creaky cot.

“He’s just a big boy in a man’s body, Emmett. Try to understand him.”