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“Sounds like quite a woman.”
    “Not beautiful in the regular way, but it didn’t matter. We liked the same music, and she read the classics to me at night. Mattie loved this island—went clear to Morocco to furnish the place. Could hang with the boys when we went tarpon fishing, too. You ever been to the Temptation on Boca Grande? She’d sit right there at the bar and hold her own with the fishing guides.”
    Albright’s eyes found a rectangle on the wall, where, for a time, paint had been shielded from sunlight. “Her portrait used to hang there. The older Owen gets, the more he reminds me of Mattie.”
    Photos from a previous marriage seldom survive a new wife, but I had to say something. “It’s good that you and your stepson are close.”
    “We’re not, but we at least get along,” Albright said. “It’s not easy on kids when their mother remarries, especially when new babies show up. Owen and I hardly spoke once he hit adolescence. And we had a hell of an argument when he insisted on taking back his father’s name. About a year ago, though, I helped him out of some trouble, now he’s working for me on a new project that could—”Albright blinked at the glass in his hand and decided he’d said enough.
    I took a chance. “You can stop worrying. I’m not interested in your Peace River property. No . . . you said ‘Peace River holdings,’ so maybe you’re thinking of developing, or going back into the mining business. If you are, good luck to you and Owen. That’s not why I’m here.”
    Albright wanted to believe me but used a wry tone to test further. “A biologist who doesn’t think the phosphate industry and Big Sugar are part of the Evil Empire? Come on, Ford, be honest.”
    “What does one have to do with the other?” I asked. “The only thing sugar produces in Florida is pollution and political hacks.”
    “Most people group them,” he countered. “I wanted to see your reaction.”
    “I’m not most people. I’m not up on the latest studies, but I’ve read that phosphate is doing a better job of containing wastewater and reclamation. Personally, I think the mines look like hell, and they’ve probably done more damage than anyone realizes. But I also know there’s a need for phosphate. No, more than a need—phosphorus is essential. Every life-form has to have it or it dies. The stuff can’t be reproduced artificially, so mining is a necessary option.” I stood. “If you’re done testing me, I’d like to see that room with your grandfather’s photos.”
    Albright, for the first time, appeared interested in what I had to say. “Do you mean that?”
    “Sure. I like history.”
    “No, about phosphate mining.”
    I said, “Of course. Phosphate depletion in the soil is the main cause of crop failure worldwide. A lot of people would be starving if Florida didn’t export it as fertilizer.”
    He asked a few more questions before he said, “When I tell my daughters that half this nation would go hungry—other countries, too—they just roll their eyes.” He hesitated. “Are you really a biologist? They might listen if you told them what you just told me.”
    I said, “Mostly, I’m a realist who believes that idealists have more fun, so why bother your daughters with the facts? But if you think it would help, sure, I’ll talk to them.”
    The man seemed relieved our sparring was over. “Then I guess I wouldn’t mind looking for a list of old artifact collectors—but, I’m warning you, it’s a waste of time. A couple of carvings stolen years ago? That’s as pointless as . . . well, looking for ghosts or buried gold.” Albright said it in an offhanded way but awaited my response.
    I said, “You sound like a man who’s dealt with treasure hunters before.”
    “I have.”
    “Is this another test? Why would treasure hunters bother someone in the phosphate business?”
    “Stories, legends,” Albright said, still feeling me out.
    “Like what?”
    “Name it.