by Mark Stewart
THE SHIP shadowing Charlotte slowed its approach to Port Phillip Bay. The surface of the sea looked almost glass flat. The Captain of the ship called for Darryl to come to the bridge.
“Sir, we have arrived at the entrance to Port Phillip Bay. My radar had shown the yacht we have been following disappeared before she entered the bay.”
“Find it,’ yelled Darryl. “It can’t have gone too far.”
“Our radar expert has reported the yacht headed straight for the cliff face near Western Port Bay. It has done exactly what we discussed earlier.” The Captain lifted the binoculars he held in his hand, shoving them at Darryl. “If you train your eyes on the cliff face you should be able to make out a flight of stairs stretching from the small beach to the plateau. The house on the point is where my brother lives. Anneli would be there too if we were following the correct ship.”
Darryl mumbled incoherent words, studying the cliff. “If you’re right, and you very well might be, where’s the yacht?”
“No idea,” reported the Captain, in a rough annoyed voice.
“Change course. We’ll check out the beach. Dirk, call for Meredith to meet us at the small boat. I want her in the landing party.”
“She’s a bit of a handful at the moment.”
“She’s your wife. Get her under control.”
Dirk ran off to find his wife. By the time, he’d returned the group had been sitting in the boat for over five minutes. The Captain signaled to lower them over the side after Dirk and Meredith scrambled onboard.
The moment the small craft scraped the sand Darryl jumped out. He didn’t wait for the others. He started marching towards the stairs. Dirk walked at the rear of the landing party half carrying, half dragging Meredith.
“What’s the rush,” slurred Meredith. “Dirk put me down I’m quite capable of walking.”
Dirk slowly shook his head, placing her feet first on the sand.
“I don’t feel well. It must be the transition from the sea to the land.”
“I reckon it’s the alcohol you’ve been drowning in,” growled Dirk. “Which reminds me; have you looked in the mirror today, or even brushed your hair at any time in the past week. It resembles a bird’s nest.”
“You don’t have to be so insensitive.” Meredith crumpled to the sand, vomiting up the expensive red wine she’d consumed.
Darryl pointed to Dirk. “You are not what I’d call the perfect contracted person I have been led to believe.” He swapped his stare to the Captain. “Our little chat is starting to make a lot of sense.”
To remain in the good books, Dirk quickly replied.
“Father, there’s nothing on this beach except sand. If Anneli and the man landed here, there should be a sign. If they set the yacht adrift, we’d have seen it. Maybe they anchored somewhere else.”
“They might have,” Darryl replied. “We’ll drop in on the house to see who is home. Let’s hope my daughter answers the door.”
“What if she doesn’t?”
Darryl growled inaudible words on his way to the stairs.
CHAPTER TWENTY