"I've got a better way. The stingaree poses for his picture. The picture is used as a model for making a kite, probably of black plastic. The kite gets flown in the wind." Scotty stared. "Maybe--just maybe--you've got something there. The stingaree shape would make a good kite. Could what you saw have been a kite?" "It's possible." Rick nodded. "The wind was funneling down the creek pretty fast, and it would have carried a big kite. There's only one small difficulty. Why launch a kite that has no string?" "You certain it didn't have a string?" "In that wind, the string would have had to be a cable. I'd have seen it, and maybe felt it. The kite--stingaree, that is--just missed. Of course, the string might have broken." "There's another small difficulty," Scotty said thoughtfully. "If it was a kite, where was it launched and why?" "Up the creek somewhere. We don't know what's up there." "True. From the looks, I'd say not much. Maybe some opossums and muskrats, which don't launch kites." Rick spread butter liberally on a hot biscuit. "We can always take a look." "We can. In Steve's boat, the creek would be only a few minutes away." Rick savored the biscuit and took another bite that finished it. "I could eat a ton of these. What else would make a stingaree fly?" Scotty accepted a pitcher of honey from the waiter and poured a disgraceful amount on a biscuit. "How about some kind of experimental aircraft?" Rick shook his head. "The stingaree was vertical. An experimental plane in that position would have to be rising straight up, and this creature was traveling almost horizontally, with the wind. Besides, I heard no motor or any kind of power plant." "You're as lucid as lamplight, ol' buddy. You explain everything--except what made that stingaree fly." Rick grinned wryly. "I'll never get a swelled head with you sticking pins in it." "Only carrying out my proper function," Scotty said virtuously. The first course had arrived. Crab gumbo turned out to be spicy, hot, and very, very good. "I may decide to live here," Rick said as he spooned up the last mouthful. "I'm a native already," Scotty stated. "The Chesapeake Bay is my home, if the rest of the meal lives up to the soup." The clam fritters were light, crisp, and succulent. "Meet a brand-new Marylander," Scotty announced. Rick started to reply, then stopped as a party of three entered the dining room and were shown to a table nearby. He knew one of the men, but he couldn't remember where they had met. "Scotty," he said softly, "look around at the group that just came in. Who's the man in the plaid jacket? I know him, but I can't remember." Scotty's napkin "accidentally" fell to the floor. He had to turn to pick it up. When he straightened, he shook his head. "The face is familiar, but I can't place it."