Ahoy!

by Maggie Seacroft

  “Yeah, thanks for reminding me.” I looked down at my knees. They were trembling uncontrollably. Bugsy must have noticed me noticing my own shaking knees and his eyes followed.

  “I am sorry. Truly. About when I thought you were responsible for your friend being missing. There was a lot more to it.” Bugsy sighed.

  I nodded. “Oh.” I felt a little bad for him, that he’d learned the truth from Bunny. “She finally told you, huh?” A piece of his hair fell across his forehead and I pushed it back to where it ought to go.

  Bugsy was quiet for a moment. “Yeah, she told me,” he said lowly.

  “I can’t imagine how she actually took money from your father to keep you here, though,” I said, and in the instant the words passed my lips, I could tell from Bugsy’s expression that this was not what Bunny’d told him.

  “He paid her?” he asked with an ungodly hurt in his eyes.

  “You didn’t know?”

  “No. Not until just this moment...” His voice trailed off.

  “I thought that’s what you meant.”

  “No,” he whispered. He was curt, and I could see the muscles in his jaw tighten and the red on his cheeks spread to his ears.

  “I’m sorry, I hope you’re not mad at me.”

  “I am mad… at myself,” he said and focused his stare on the tile of the bathroom floor.

  “I’m… I’m so sorry,” I repeated just as Richards poked his head into the room. I really was sorry.

  Bugsy got to his feet. “Yeah, Doc. I have to go,” he said and left brusquely.

  I went back to the toilet, suddenly feeling queasy again.

  CHAPTER 16

  “Jesus, girl, what happened?” Aggie asked breathlessly after rushing down the dock to my boat later that morning. “I just got back and find out all hell’s breakin’ loose?”

  “I wouldn’t exactly characterize it in that way,” I said as I smiled toward Stephen Richards who had been kind enough to stay with me after Bugsy bugged out. We’d wiled away the rest of the morning in the fresh air on the stern deck of the Alex M. He’d tell you that we were people-watching and chatting, though I was quite convinced his goal was to keep an eye on his latest patient.

  Aggie thudded down onto the stern deck of my boat and took a seat with us at the conversation set. “So?” she asked.

  “So,” I echoed and shrugged.

  “Well, Bugsy already told me what happened,” she said through a huff.

  “Oh really?” I said. “I don’t even know what happened, to tell you the truth. All I know is I felt fine until I got up and took a big drink of water from the pitcher in the fridge.”

  Richards reached over and put his fingers on my wrist as he had done a few times earlier that morning, checking my pulse. It was the closest thing to hand-holding I’d known in some time. Which is fine with me. I never really understood the concept, and when I see couples latched onto one another like that, I wonder why they’re so anxious that the other person’ll make a break for it.

  “So, what do you think happened?” Aggie asked the good doctor who showed no alarm after noting my vitals.

  “I think there may have been something in the water. Based on her reaction and the blue on her lips and fingers, it could have been something like Visine,” he said.

  “That’s what Bugsy said.” Ags studied my face, perhaps looking for traces of blue, and screwed up her own in disbelief, while I screwed up mine and wondered when she and Bugsy found the time to get so chummy. “I think I heard about that a few years ago. Up in… Evansville, wasn’t it?”

  “That’s right. That case was in the news for a while. The girlfriend did away with her cheating boyfriend and, in the process, ended up in prison.” Richards shook his head. “Seems to be working itself out of her system nicely though,” he added, nodding at me.

  “That’s a relief. I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you, but I-” Ags said.

  I held up my hand. “Not much you could have done but hold my hair back while I threw up anyway,” I said, wincing at the memories of heaving.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked.

  “Not right now. I think I’ll keep the ginger ale company in business for a while until things settle down,” I said, put my hand on my stomach, and I recounted the party I’d had earlier in the head of the Alex M. During the retelling, Richards cleared his throat and got up from his chair. Hen parties obviously weren’t his thing.

  “Well, if it’s all right with you, my dear, I’m going to take your dog for a walk. He looks like he could use it. If you two ladies will excuse me.”

  “Thank you. Thanks for everything,” I said, looking at him as he bounded to the dock with Pepper, and I wondered what I’d have done if Doctor Stephen Richards hadn’t come into my life.

  ✽✽✽

  After he’d left, Aggie turned to me. “Girl, I dunno what it is with you these days, but you just can’t stay outta trouble.” She smiled, leaned back in her chair, and shook her head. She was in mid-shake when something to her right caught her attention. “Speaking of trouble, here comes Officer Handsome,” she said, raising her eyebrows and nodding toward the dock where Hagen was making his approach. As he passed Richards on the dock, the two men appeared to exchange pleasantries before the one in uniform arrived at my boat. In place of the notepad he was generally spotted with, he carried a bouquet of pink roses.

  Aggie mouthed the word “wow” to me.

  “Morning,” Hagen said and nodded in our direction. “Feeling better?”

  “I am. Thanks,” I said, smiling back. I'm a notoriously quick healer which is beneficial in all respects except for when I tried to fake a sick day from school.

  “Mind if I come aboard?” he asked, though he was already halfway on my boat, and when Ags motioned to get up from her chair, he protested. “Oh, don’t go on my account. I can’t stay long, I just wanted you to have these,” he said, handing the roses to me. I sniffed them and Ags leaned over to do the same.

  “Thank you. You didn’t have to.”

  “I know. It’s a bribe, though.”

  “A bribe?” I asked, looking back at the man Aggie quite rightly called Officer Handsome.

  “Yeah, I was wondering if you felt up to dinner. Tonight. Let someone take care of you for a change.”

  “I don’t know that I’ll feel like going out.” I flitted my eyes.

  “Which is why I’ll cook for you. Here.”

  I’m pretty sure that as soon as she heard the words, Ags was swooning. I think I even heard a whimper. “Ok,” I said, not in the mood to protest.

  “Then it’s a deal.” Hagen smiled, paused, and turned before exiting to the dock. “Oh, Jack Junior. He told me about the creep at the dance. He said you knew him.”

  Leave it up to ole Telephone Jack to spill the beans about my life again. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure it was Cynthia’s driver,” I nodded. “And from the fresh gauze on his forearm, I’d bet he’s the same guy I nailed with the gaff hook on Nat’s boat.”

  “Well, we’ve started looking for the two of them.”

  “Did you check the Vine Street Inn?” I asked.

  “Yes, we did. We’ve contacted all the local hotels. They checked out of the Vine two days ago,” he added and I nodded, thinking how they’d probably skedaddled so they wouldn’t be charged holiday rates. Something not in Cynthia’s fiscal reserves, which she only seemed to set aside for shoes and bags and injections.

  “Oh, by the way, the barbecue is over there,” I said, nodding toward the grill with the cover tightly secured.

  “How’d you know I planned to barbecue?”

  I chuckled. “Because every man fancies himself a master at cooking over fire,” I said. I think it’s in their twenty-third chromosome somewhere.

  Hagen smiled. “Me barbecue, you eat. Me come back to your cave at six,” he said, winked at me, and with that, he bounded up to the dock. I admit that I smiled as I watched as he made his way down the dock in what can only be described a
s a jovial gait, waving to a few of the ladies coming in from their sailing class. They’d probably seen him arrive and cut short their lesson.

  “Girl, he looks like that and he can cook?” Ags shook her head again.

  “So, how’s Carlos?” I asked, smiling in her direction and changing the subject from my personal life to hers, a much more comfortable topic.

  ✽✽✽

  I was resting on the stern of the Alex M. when Hagen returned. He was loaded down with grocery bags, a backpack, and had an apron tied around his neck. I hadn’t remembered asking him to move in, but he looked like that was his plan.

  “Hello there. How are you feeling?” he asked as he put down his cargo.

  “How do I look?”

  “You look great.”

  “Good, let’s go with that, shall we?” I smiled, stretched my back, and prepared to play hostess. If only I’d been forewarned about all that would entail as the evening progressed, I’d have asked to go out for dinner.

  Before we dined, Hagen requested a tour of the boat. I know it’s become customary when you go to someone’s house for them to offer you a tour for some reason and I complied, mostly because he’d brought me roses earlier that day. However, I’ve never really understood the concept — it’s not as though I’m going to ask my guest to fetch me something from the linen closet or give them a quiz on fire exits.

  I gave him the fifty-cent tour which included a brief stop in the engine room, hoping he wouldn’t touch anything because I was running dangerously low on spot cleaner and I can never walk into that room without picking up a new smudge.

  Hagen prepared a Michelin-star worthy dinner of filet mignon, asparagus, herbed vegetables, and Caesar salad. He made way too much food, and I made a decent effort to appreciate it, though I’m not much of a foodie. He even brought homemade chocolate chip cookies for dessert.

  It was all too perfect, which drove the resolve in me to unearth his fatal flaw. Extreme tidiness and being too good-looking hardly qualified. Was he quick to temper? Not that I’d seen thus far, though I decided that when I was feeling better I might try to unnecessarily provoke the man to test the range of his emotions. He had ducked inside the galley of my boat to retrieve the dessert he’d brought when along came a spider… I mean a Beedle.

  “Everything ok over here?” Bugsy asked as he got nearer my boat.

  “Oh, hi. Yeah, why do you ask?” I said and looked up at him quizzically.

  “I saw a lotta smoke this direction earlier, just checking.”

  “The barbecue,” I said, nodding toward it.

  “Oh. Oh, I see. So long as everything’s okay.” Bugsy nodded, pursed his lips, and critically scanned the deck.

  “Everything’s just fine,” I said, smiling, more at his lame passive-aggressive tactic than anything.

  “What’s just fine?” Ben Hagen asked as he emerged onto the stern deck.

  I smiled. “Oh, nothing.”

  “Oh, hi,” Bugsy said at the sight of the man. “You’re parked in visitor parking, not uh, overnight parking. Just so you know,” he continued, either fishing or trying to sound officious.

  “Right, yeah. I noticed that. Thanks.”

  “Just letting you know. Anyway, have a good night,” Bugsy said and began to walk off.

  “You too,” I called after him, though, as it turned out, it wasn’t long before I’d see him again.

  ✽✽✽

  When a nice summer rainstorm moved in for the night, so did Hagen and I. We were discussing the aspects of his job that he liked best when Bugsy appeared at the open door to my boat. When I saw him standing there, I remembered seeing him like that once before, a few errant strands of hair falling down on his forehead, the dewiness of his skin making him look rugged. Too bad he was such a pain.

  “Hello again,” I said, surprised to see him there. “Come in out of the rain.”

  “Evening,” Bugsy said. “I, uh, just came from having dinner at Aggie’s and she asked me to bring you this,” he added, over-explaining and holding something in a plastic bag toward me.

  “Oh, she did, did she?” I smiled. There was no finer pot stirrer than Augusta Wind Bellows and, if I knew her, she was probably watching the whole transaction through her binoculars. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know,” Bugsy said. “Hagen.” He nodded toward Ben Hagen who was looking comfortable on one of my couches, shoes off, beer in hand — in a glass, of course.

  “Hi, Bugsy,” Hagen said.

  “Beedle,” Bugsy corrected and added a forced smile.

  “Sorry.”

  I opened the bag to reveal Jack Junior’s Pi plate. I must have beamed a hundred-watt smile, and I immediately looked around the room scoping out a place of honor for my newest prized possession. I’d have explained the significance of the plate, but I didn’t think my guests could possibly appreciate the meaning of the baking dish.

  “Would you like a drink?” Hagen asked toward our visitor.

  I shot Hagen a scolding look which only seemed to bemuse him.

  “Sure,” Bugsy said and smiled back at me bigger than he ought to.

  I rolled my eyes and proceeded to make him a rye and ginger without asking what he’d like. He settled into the wing chair in my salon, and I placed his cocktail on the table beside — right next to the vase containing the roses Hagen had brought me. When Bugsy turned to pick up his drink, his expression changed haltingly as he noticed the perfect, light pink blooms and, when he looked back at me with an arched eyebrow, I smiled… bigger than I ought to.

  “So, I take it you’re looking into the guy at the dance?” Bugsy looked toward Hagen and asked him in his best “why the hell are you here?” tone. “Jack Junior filled me in on some of the details.,” he went on to add, and I wondered where Jack found the time to do anything but gossip about me and whether it’d be more efficient for him to just put out a newsletter from now on.

  “Yeah, we’re trying to locate the ex Mrs. Grant and her driver/slash boyfriend. If he’s the guy from the dance, and if he’s the one who took the business end of the gaff hook, we’ll find out.” Hagen took a sip of his beer. “Then there’s the will angle.”

  “What angle?” Bugsy asked, perplexed.

  “Well, if something happens to Alex, as the primary beneficiary, the will becomes invalid and the estate would be distributed to the next of kin.”

  “You mean if she were to die?”

  “Well, yeah. Not to be morbid, but if someone else stood to benefit—" Hagen began to say.

  “Meaning… Nat’s nephew, Cynthia’s boyfriend,” I added, having had quite enough talk of my demise and being discussed in the third person.

  “Exactly,” Hagen confirmed.

  “Well, you’ll be happy to know I’ve got the new cameras installed and tested,” Bugsy said before taking a sip of the drink I’d made him.

  “Hmph,” I murmured.

  “What?” He searched my face indignantly.

  “Well, your brother told you to do that, right?”

  “My brother?”

  “Yeah, he called me to tell me… among other things,” I said and smiled toward him.

  “You’re not his type,” Bugsy said dryly.

  “I– What does that mean?”

  “It means he likes dumb girls with eating disorders,” he said.

  “Are you calling me fat?”

  “No. Anyway, I told him I was putting up the cameras and it was my idea,” Bugsy said and made a face in my direction.

  “You could get a handgun if you truly feel unsafe,” Hagen said, beside me on the couch. Aha, Hagen’s a gun-runner. That’s his big secret!

  Bugsy raised an eyebrow. “Oh, that’s all she needs is another gun. Besides, wouldn’t your criminal record preclude you from owning a handgun?” Bugsy asked. “Oh, that’s right, I never did press charges for that little breaking and entering stint of yours.”

  “I’m sorry, are we keeping you? Don’t you have someplace to be?” I ask
ed.

  “No, I don’t,” Bugsy said, leaning back a little further in the wing chair and crossing one leg over the other, like he was settling in for the night. “Look Hagen, I’m all for protecting oneself, but if some two-hundred-and-fifty-pound gorilla comes on the boat, what should she do? Shoot him?” He asked, and I looked at him critically thinking he couldn’t possibly weigh that much.

  “California isn’t a stand-your-ground state, but if she feels in danger...” Hagen put his right hand on my knee. “Look, if you have any qualms about shooting targets that look like people, there’s a course I could get you into. It’s usually just for cops, but occasionally they let in members of the general public,” he said.

  Bugsy's eyes were fixated on Hagen’s hand, still on my knee. “So, what are you two crazy kids up to tonight?” He snapped out of his momentary trance , changed the subject and took a sip from his cocktail.

  “Oh, we were just about to… play Monopoly,” Hagen kidded.

  “Oh, you don’t need a third, do you?” Bugsy asked, not picking up on the sarcasm, or picking up on it and just not giving a damn. That seemed more likely.

  So, rather than explain we were most certainly not about to play Monopoly, I turned toward Hagen and sighed. “I’ll go get my board.”

  With resignation, I proceeded to dig out the dusty game from under my bed while Hagen took the opportunity to hit the head.

  “Hey,” Bugsy whispered when I returned to the salon to set up the game.

  “Hey, what?” I asked, irritated.

  “What do you know about this guy?” Bugsy nodded toward the head.

  “You mean this guy the police officer?”

  “Yeah,” Bugsy whispered.

  “I don’t know. Enough.” Heck, if Aggie can date guys based on a picture, I can date a guy who brings me roses and is still interested even after doing a background check on me.

  “Maybe he put that stuff in your water pitcher.”

  “Seriously, Bugsy.” I rolled my eyes.

  “It’s Beedle,” he said, correcting me again, as if that would stick. “Think about it, the only way he can rescue you is if he put you in danger.”