Ahoy!

by Maggie Seacroft

  “Rescue me?”

  “From assholes.”

  “Well, it hasn’t worked so far,” I said as I gave him a quick once over.

  “And what’s with that crazy, crooked finger anyway?” he whispered, holding up a bent index finger.

  I shook my head. “That’s not very nice, shhhh,” I whispered back. I could hear running water in the head.

  “Well, how did he know you have a Monopoly game? How many times has he been in here?

  “Um, maybe because every person on the planet has a Monopoly game, Bugsy.”

  “I don’t.”

  Hagen slid open the pocket door to the head. “Ready to play?”

  “Game on.” I smiled.

  Bugsy cleared his throat.

  “Ben? How did you know I had a Monopoly game anyway?” I asked.

  “I didn’t. I just assumed. I mean, most normal people have one, right?”

  I smiled. “Yeah, most normal people do.” I turned my head slowly and gave Bugsy the side eye and, before getting down to the business of being a property mogul, I popped some popcorn which, in homage to Jack and Nat, I served in the Pi plate.

  A few adult beverages were also consumed during the game, which made property negotiations rather entertaining. A couple new, unofficial rules were also created, such as “finish the rest of your drink when you get out of jail” because, after all, that really is something to celebrate, and “drink a double when you buy a hotel because that’s a big deal too”. I refrained from imbibing, sticking to my ginger ale regimen in light of my stomach woes from earlier in the day.

  ✽✽✽

  When all was said and done, it was well past midnight and Bugsy was victorious, owning most of the board, though to be fair, the job he’d had prior to the one at the marina had been in the property division of his family business. Hagen and I considered that we had lost to a ringer. When conversation turned to a discussion about car transmissions, I shut my eyes, tuning out for what I’d planned to be a solid five-minute nap.

  When I woke from my position, curled up on one of the sofas, I looked across to see Hagen, striking a similar pose on the matching couch opposite me, and Bugsy turned sideways, curled up with his legs flopped over one arm of the oversized wing chair. I carefully draped light cotton quilts on each of them and, as I walked toward my cozy bed, I wondered when I’d become the innkeeper at the Boatel Michaels.

  CHAPTER 17

  “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you for an hour now!” Aggie griped at me as I came into her store the next morning.

  “Me?”

  “Yeah! I watched the parade of guys leave your boat this morning.”

  “You have a good imagination,” I said, plopping myself on one of the stools at the counter.

  “Yours isn’t good enough.” She smiled. “So, you had two guys stay over last night?”

  “Yeah. Thanks, by the way, for sending Bugsy over with the plate,” I grumbled, taking a sip of the coffee she put in front of me.

  “Oh, it was nothing at all. So how was it?” she asked. “When I saw Bugsy, he was walking funny.” She winked at me.

  “Yeah, well that’s because he slept curled up in a chair last night.”

  “What? What about Officer Handsome?”

  “Hagen. He took one of the couches.”

  “I’m sorry, but I have to sit down. This story is just too painful,” Ags said and poured herself a coffee and pulled up a stool.

  I proceeded to tell her about the evening. The sumptuous dinner Hagen had prepared, the Monopoly game with Bugsy, and the fact that if I died, Cynthia’s driver would get all Nat’s dough. When I glanced over and saw the newspaper running an article about Nat’s disappearance, I flipped it over so I wouldn’t have to look at it.

  There were so many unanswered questions I had about what happened to him. The year and a half I’d known him wasn’t a long period of time by most standards, but it had been enough for me to know the kind of man Nat is. Know that he didn’t have any mortal enemies or secret lives like the media speculated. What’s more, when my father and husband died, I had felt an undefinable spiritual loss. The fact that I didn’t have that feeling about Nat is what kept me referring to him in the present tense when those around me did not. Call it denial or delusion, but it’s not the sort of thing I could talk about unless I wanted to find myself admitted to the nut house.

  After I’d bid a cursory adieu to Bugsy that morning, I saw nothing of him for the duration except for the occasional time I spotted him working or walking on the marina premises.

  As for Hagen, who hugged me in exchange for his night’s accommodations, he sent me a few flirty text messages throughout the day. Maybe shyness is his undoing?

  My other interactions with the opposite sex included a few customer inquiries about listings and Jack Junior, who invited me to a poker game that night. He shot me a devious look every time we crossed paths — I suppose he was happy to have more fodder for his chats about me, and what’s more interesting to discuss than a threesome? Even if it didn’t happen.

  “How many cards?” Lawyer Tranmer asked Jack later at the poker game on Shears’ boat, the Summerwind.

  “Three,” Jack replied, looking around the table and smiling.

  “I’ll take three,” Sefton said and plucked three cards from his hand and placed them down on the table.

  “Three here,” Peter Muncie could barely get out through a stifled laugh.

  “How many for you, my dear?” Tranmer asked me. “Three?”

  “Ha, ha. Very funny. I get it.” I moaned and shook my head. “There was no threesome on my boat last night. At least not in the way your dirty old minds think,” I said. “I’m not some kind of a strumpet,” I grumbled and then smiled toward Stephen Richards.

  “Hey, kid. We’re not knockin’ it. But the other day, when I said you ought to say yes more, this isn’t what I had in mind.” Jack smiled and took a sip from his highball.

  “I’ll take one card,” I said.

  “Whooohoo, you know what that means!” Shears piped up, though I had no idea where his mind was headed, and I simply nodded in return. Incidentally, I won the hand with four of a kind.

  ✽✽✽

  At a break in the game, I took a few minutes to admire Shears’ classic, mint-condition 1988 Sea Ranger 52 Motor Yacht. The salon where the card table was set up was lined with teak and had more windows than I’d care to have to wash. The nearby galley was compact but comprehensive at the same time, and an L-shaped banquette was off to the side. The infamous Jnauary calendar was affixed to the fridge by a magnetic clip the local grocery store gave away last Christmas.

  “I see you use abbreviations on your calendar like Nat,” I said, noticing the same pattern of code that peppered the days.

  “Oh, yeah, I think we all probably do,” Shears said. “As long as you don’t forget what the abbreviations mean, it works fine.”

  “That happened once, goddamit.” Sefton grumbled. “Never gonna live that down,” he said and popped a few roasted peanuts into his mouth.

  “With the number of appointments I have, it’s just faster to write it that way,” Shears continued. I nodded and thought of how much I had to look forward to when I got older.

  Shears continued to look a little out off sorts, and I thought I might have the cure back on the Alex M. “Hey, you know what? I’ve got some chocolate chip cookies left over from last night. How ‘bout I go get them?” I asked. “It’ll just take a sec.”

  “Great idea,” Jack said. “And, uh, if you’re going that way, could you stop by my boat and pick up my almond milk?”

  “Almond milk?” Shears tilted his head down and looked over top of his glasses to ask.

  “Yes, almond milk,” Jack grumbled and made a face. “You can’t have cookies without milk, and I can’t have regular milk anymore. Trust me, you don't wanna be around for that. Catch, kid,” Jack said and tossed me a jangly ring of keys.

  “Copy tha
t. Almond milk. Be back shortly,” I said. “Anybody else need anything?”

  Receiving a chorus of nopes, I departed the Summerwind and trotted down the dock toward home. I picked up the rest of the cookies Hagen had brought over the night before. Then, try as I might, I couldn’t make the keys Jack’d tossed me fit any of the locks on his boat. I tried the stern door one more time and jiggled the door as if that would help.

  “Oh, I see you’re at it again,” came the voice from the dock. Bugsy.

  I felt my cheeks go warm, and I turned to look at him, hoping I wasn’t the beet red I felt. Something had changed between Bugsy and me. Inviting himself to play Monopoly with Hagen and I was obviously a play designed to keep me from spending time alone with the boy in blue. Trouble is, I didn’t know how I felt about either of them and who I’d pick if I had to make a choice.

  “Hi. I was just after some milk for Jack Junior,” I said and hoisted in the air the keys Jack gave me.

  “Milk?”

  “For the cookies I’m bringing to the poker party. Jack can’t have regular milk,” I replied.

  “Those the cookies Hagen made you?”

  “Yeah. Would you like one?”

  “No. Have a good evening, Alex,” Bugsy said.

  “Thanks, you too,” I said and, having given up on the whole key situation, I made my way back to the poker game. Jack would have to enjoy his cookies sans milk.

  ✽✽✽

  The weekend passed uneventfully, which was in itself an occasion. Things were finally calming down in the ole Marysville Marina. Though Nat was still missing and the Marysville PD hadn’t caught up with Cynthia and Shawn, there was a calm settling over us, even with the ramp up in traffic. Couples and families alike invaded the marina with inflatable water toys and playlists that competed for dominance over the peace and quiet. Aggie’s store was constantly bustling, and there was something or someone interesting to see in every direction.

  I saw Bugsy each night on his constitutional – he scolded me once or twice for making faces at him in the security cameras he had installed. Officer Hagen stopped by the Alex M. during a few of his patrols of the marina and, by Monday afternoon, I was working on a big deal to broker the sale of a passenger ferry to a large tech company that wanted to ensure their employees got to work on time. It was likely the exciting prospect of closing a big deal that made me restless that night.

  It’s not that I couldn’t sleep that night, it’s just that I wasn’t sleepy. There’s a difference. I settled into bed with something innocuous and sleep-promoting, tuning in to a Cleaver family marathon and just in time to see the Beav get a bad haircut courtesy of his cute brother Wally. I was halfway through another episode wherein June was dusting the house yet again — how their house got so dirty, I’ll never know — when I heard it.

  Pepper was lying on the bed and, when his ears twitched and he raised his head, I knew he’d heard it too. Maybe it was nothing. I was hopeful, anyway. A few seconds later, after I’d turned down the volume on the television set, I heard it again. Loud and clear. Another footstep. There was someone on my boat.

  I laid paralyzed in my bed for a moment, frantically thinking of what to do next. I eyed the green quilted fabric bag in the corner, slunk out of bed and grabbed it on my way to the head. Inside the bag is my bolt action Remington twenty-two and a small box of ammo. Normally, I use this gun for target practice, but on this occasion, I was prepared to use it to scare the bejeezus out of whomever or whatever was on my boat.

  Once Pepper had joined me in the head, I pulled closed the pocket door. Through the frosted glass panes, I could see the glow of the television. I smirked, thinking about how the Cleavers never had to worry about a home invasion or a prowler and wondered how Ward would’ve handled it. He’d probably have June whip up a batch of cookies for the guy and get him a job somewhere.

  In the bluish glow cast from the clock radio in the head, I quickly unzipped my rifle bag. I felt the smoothness of the wooden stock and the cold of the steel barrel, and I turned the magazine tube for loading. I unzipped the side pocket of the bag, flipped up the lid of the small cardboard box of cartridges, and loaded a handful. I counted the faint footsteps on the deck of my boat as they grew louder.

  I cycled the action of the bolt to load the chamber, it made me wince — there’s no way to do this quietly. My heart was thumping so hard I could barely hear myself think. I stepped into the tub and Pepper followed suit. I cringed with the loud noise his claws made scraping on the porcelain and hoped he would sit still. I pulled the shower curtain halfway closed, and mercifully the rings slid quietly on the rod. I heard a squeaking noise like the opening of one of the side doors. Crap, I thought I’d checked that!

  A minute later, I could see the silhouette of someone enter my bedroom, and I watched through the frosted glass panes of the pocket door as the form crossed in front of the television.

  “Where are you?” I heard a voice call out in a heavy whisper. I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman. Whoever it was, was not expected, and that didn’t sit well with me given everything that had gone on lately.

  I took a deep breath. “Ok.” I mouthed the word and exhaled the breath. My mouth was dry. I peeked from behind the shower curtain to see the figure stop and stand in front of the frosted glass panes of the pocket door to the head. I wondered if they knew where I was, and moreover, I wondered if I could point the gun at someone and pull the trigger.

  I nestled the butt of the rifle into my left shoulder, took the safety off, and placed my left index finger on the stock just above the trigger. As the pocket door opened and a figure entered the room, I said the first thing that came into my head.

  “Reach for the sky, Pilgrim.”

  “Alex, it’s me!” a voice urged.

  “Me who?” I asked, relaxing my stance a little.

  “Me, Bugsy,” came the whisper.

  I put the safety on and lowered the gun to my side.

  “Bugsy who?” I asked, smiling in the dark.

  “Give me that,” he said, whisking the gun out of my hands. When the light from the radio caught him, I could make out that he was wearing glasses.

  “You wear glasses?”

  “What? Yeah, sometimes,” he whispered.

  “Why are you whispering?” I asked.

  “There’s a prowler around your boat.”

  “Other than you?”

  “Shhh.” Bugsy put his hand over my mouth and that’s when I heard it. The other set of footsteps.

  “Wait here,” he whispered.

  “No!” I said into his warm fingers.

  “Dammit, woman, just do as you’re told for once,” he said and removed his hand from my mouth.

  “Who is it?”

  “I don’t know. Just wait here,” he whispered, and with my gun in his hand he walked toward the bedroom.

  “Safety's on. Oh, and be careful,” I said. It was a reflex to have tossed it in there. Ok, it may have been more than a reflex. Bugsy stopped in the doorway and paused. If it had been a movie, he’d have turned around, come back, and kissed me, but it wasn’t a movie and he didn’t. Still, thanks to that glow of the clock radio, I did see the flash of his white smile and I’d have bet there were a couple dimples to go with it.

  From my spot in the tub, I held Pepper’s collar and could see Bugsy hunker around the corner of my bedroom. When I heard a new set of footsteps in the passageway, Bugsy stepped out into the hallway with my rifle. “Stop. Right there,” he said loud and clear.

  “Wait. Don’t shoot,” came another voice.

  “Call the police, Alex,” Bugsy said, and for once I did as he said.

  I called Hagen’s number directly and, before too long, a speeding cruiser had arrived in the marina and Hagen was running up my dock where Bugsy and my twenty-two sat with a bead on Shawn, Nat’s nephew. Jack Junior and the gang were milling about and, after alerting her to the goings on, Ags had joined me with the spiked coffee I desperately needed. Hagen
eventually hauled the man off to a second cruiser and returned to the dock.

  “Are you ok?” Hagen asked. He reached out and took my hand.

  “Yeah.”

  “So, tell me what happened,” he said and whipped out the notepad I remembered so well and even missed a little. I gave him the more salient points and skipped the minutiae. He didn’t need to know, for instance, about the butterflies in my stomach when I realized it was Bugsy in my bathroom. In turn, Bugsy gave him the low down and explained that he’d seen the guy on the camera feed he had on his phone app.

  ✽✽✽

  “Nothin’ to see here, people. Just go back to sleep or whatever you were doing. Oh, and Bob could you ask Helen to keep it down…” Jack Junior assumed the role of emcee at our little soiree and addressed the curious crowd that had assembled on the dock.

  “I’ll, uh, make sure she gets tucked in, boys,” Jack said to Hagen and Bugsy. “Nice glasses by the way, Beedle,” he added, then walked with me back to my boat where we sat at the table and chairs on the stern of my boat.

  “Nice shorts, Jack,” I said, chuckling and happy to have a distraction.

  “What? These are shorts.”

  “Those are undershorts.”

  “You can tell?” he asked with all seriousness.

  “Yeah, nobody would wear those out for real,” I said, noticing the Superman motif.

  “Oh, nobody cares what I wear. You ok, kid?”

  “I guess.”

  “You guess, but not really? You want me to stay the night?” Jack asked.

  “Oh, no, it’s nothing.”

  “Come on, kid, I was born at night, but not last night. Spill it.”

  “I just… I could have handled it. I don’t want to be some damn damsel in distress.”

  “A damn damsel, huh?” Jack Junior cocked his head at me.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I think I do, but I think you’re wrong.”