“Oh, I’ve been wrong before… but I didn’t need rescuing,” I said, confident that I could have scared the crap out of somebody with my twenty-two all by myself, thank you very much.
“He wasn’t trying to rescue you, he wasn’t trying to be a knight in shining armor, he was just doing the right thing. But now and then it wouldn’t kill you to pretend to be rescued, ya know. Might be doing someone a favour.”
“You haven’t, uh, by any chance been talking to Bugsy, have you? Been having your own little therapy sessions with him?” I looked at Jack intently, not sure if he’d tell me the truth.
“I keep the details of my sessions confidential.” Jack smiled back at me. Those Irish eyes and that turned up corner of his mouth that, no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t contain, and no matter how hard I tried would permit me to be cross with him.
“Thanks, Jack. I’ll give it some thought.” I got up to go back inside where I checked and double-checked all the doors, put my gun under my bed, and fell asleep while June and Ward were discussing the best way to handle the Beav’s latest predicament.
CHAPTER 18
People do different things for different reasons, and some really never make sense to you. Take, for instance, the intruder.
Hagen came by Aggie’s the next morning to tell us that Shawn had confessed to being the intruder on the Splendid Thing the night I took a header into the galley cabinets. Cynthia had sent him in search of that certain videotape that had been mailed to Nat and she just didn’t want it to be found when the boat was cleaned up. Shawn didn’t confess to slipping something in the water pitcher on my boat, but he did say that the reason he was on the Alex M. the night he was caught was because he had seen me a few times and wanted to meet me. Whether I liked it or not.
Hagen had him locked up on criminal trespass and assault charges. He’d have a no-trespassing order on file for the marina, and Hagen offered to walk me through the restraining order process should I choose to go down that path. Shawn did not confess to participating in or knowing anything about his uncle’s disappearance.
After shooting the breeze with Ags and Ben, Hagen went back to his duties and I went back to my boat feeling secure in my safety and, for the most part, my sanity until, while washing my dishes, I spotted something that sent my head spinning.
I flipped over to dry the bottom of the Pi plate when I saw it. A painted inscription made prior to the glaze having been applied. To Dad, Love Josh. I read it again. Not because the print was unclear; there was, after all, no mistaking the words. In a heartbeat, I connected the dots.
Didn’t Tranmer say that Nat’s only son was named Josh? This had to be Nat’s plate. How did Jack Junior get it? And why had he lied about it being his?
The same flashes of images I’d dreamt about came back to haunt me, and I tried to put the puzzle pieces in order this time. With the Pi plate in my hand, I scrambled up the stairs to the first floor, snatched the key to Nat’s boat off my desk, and ran down the dock toward the Splendored Thing.
When I opened the door to the salon, I looked to the sideboard where, on that rainy night, I’d remembered seeing the vodka bottle and glass. Jack.
I went to the galley and opened the fridge. No food, like nobody would be coming back to eat there. I went to the built-in desk and flipped again through the calendar. No wonder it bothered me. The days from Jnauary through June were dappled with encoded messages marking appointments. After the June 6th entry, AM.30 for my birthday, there was MK.3 on June 19th - I’d bet money that was for Nat’s vet appointment with Marcy Kennedy. No notations after that date, no plans to be around.
The drawer in the desk. Pepper’s vaccination file sitting on top, as though I were meant to see it. Take care of the dog for me.
I looked up on the wall of the galley to see a picture of a naval ship, framed. The gang. I looked down at the floor of the salon where the argyle rug had been. Didn’t Aggie say that she’d seen Jack Junior coming back in his tiller boat that Wednesday morning. He was dumping the rug. The red herring.
Flustered, I picked the Pi plate off the galley counter and headed out onto the dock toward Jack Junior’s boat. He’d lied to me about the plate, I knew that much for sure, and he lied when he said he hadn’t seen Nat since Tuesday morning because Nat didn’t leave my boat until noon that day. What else did he lie about? Were those keys he handed me the other night the ones to Nat’s boat?
I feverishly banged on the port side door of the Fortune Cookie. “Jack! Jack, open the door!” I yelled.
“Hey, kid, come on in.” Jack pushed open the door and greeted me with his typical, cheery tone. He had his cheaters pushed low on his nose and a newspaper folded in his hand. The page was open to a crossword. He walked to the sideboard and took a sip from his coffee cup. “Hey, you know a six-letter word for fraudulence? Ends in a T?”
I paused for a moment, just looking at him. “Try deceit. Something you know a little about,” I said coolly.
Jack Junior snapped his head back in my direction and bore an expression I'd never seen on him before. Serious and quizzical at the same time. He looked from my face to the inverted Pi plate in my hand and then back to my face, his expression turned to one of guilt.
He paused as if he knew nothing would ever be the same. “You know,” he nodded slowly.
“Why didn’t you tell me? Where is he?”
“I can’t answer that, kid.” Jack slapped the newspaper down on the sideboard. He blinked away the glossiness in his eyes.
“Is he dead?”
“No.” He swallowed hard. “Not – not yet.” Jack shook his head and began to pace.
“Well, good morning, young lady,” Lawyer Tranmer sang after he’d boarded the boat and entered the salon and unwittingly the conversation that would change things forever.
I just looked at him and swallowed hard. I had no words. I watched as his eyes made the circuit from my face to Jack Junior to the Pi plate in my hand and then back to me. Oftentimes, the unspoken exchanges are the most expressive. He got it.
“You were in on it, weren’t you?” I turned to say to the man. “You were in on the lie.”
Tranmer gently eased the Pi plate out of my hand and set it carefully on the sideboard. He grasped me by the shoulders. “I’m sorry. I really am. But it was a promise we made him, and a promise made is a promise kept, sweetie.”
I exhaled big. The worry, the wondering, the waiting for Nat to walk in the door of Aggie’s and sit down next to me on one of those funky red stools and tell me the story of where he’d been. I sank into Tranmer and held him tight with all I had. It was too much. It had all been too much.
“I’m sorry, kid,” Jack said just above a whisper. “I’ll let him know. I’ll get word to him.”
Over the course of the next two hours, I was told almost everything, except where Nat was. The S-Troop and Peter Muncie all dropped what they were doing and headed over to Jack’s boat where I was brought into the confidence of the men who served under Nat and who swore to help him when the end was near.
Stephen Richards, as it turns out, was Nat’s doctor, and his buying the Just Aboat Perfect was no coincidence. Nat had set him up with me to view the boat on what amounted to a blind date. He said that’s why he was dressed to impress at our first meeting. It was just a happily ever after for him that he liked the boat and decided to make the Marysville Marina his second home.
By the end of it, I was sworn to secrecy and was considered a full-fledged member of the gang. Jack Junior vowed we’d get t-shirts printed and, on that thought, I left smiling with the understanding that Nat was loved and relieved that had not fallen victim to foul play.
It was just the first part of my emotional roller coaster of a day, if you can believe it.
✽✽✽
About an hour after I’d left Jack Junior’s, I was parked on the stool at Aggie’s counter having lunch and discussing with her random topics, anything but what I’d been told by Jack, who as it turned out had also migr
ated to Aggie’s to take advantage of the superior air conditioning.
At the ringing of the bell above the door, practically all the color drained from Aggie’s face. I didn’t have to look, the click of the footwear gave it away. My heart sank instantly. Bunny was back in town.
“Ladies,” she said, her voice lilting in that contrived manner I’d come to loathe.
I looked up to meet Aggie’s consoling eyes. Jack Junior cleared his throat from the lounge area, just to let me know he was on standby for moral support.
“Well, I didn’t expect to see you again, Bunny.” Ags was cordial and tossed in a fake smile for good measure.
“Oh really? I don’t know why. I told Billy I’d be back.”
“Too bad he didn’t warn us,” Ags retorted with a smile.
Bunny’s impractical footwear had deposited her next to me, and I considered the ramifications of the right elbow I wanted to throw her way. From my peripheral vision, I watched as she adjusted the diamond tennis bracelet on her wrist. A gift from Beedle Senior, no doubt.
“Well, it is all over the news, my Billy’s something of a hero now.”
“That he is, Bunny. So, does this mean you’re staying or he’s leaving?”
“Ha, you don’t really think I’d stick around this place, do you?” She laughed. “I just came in to get a few things. We’ll be leaving in the morning.” Though I couldn’t look at her, there was triumph in her voice, and I suspected it was on her face as well. “Do you have packing tape?”
Aggie nodded. “Aisle three. Say, Bunny, how’d you like to take Billy a coffee? On the house.”
“Coffee? Oh yeah, sure. Whatever,” she replied.
I watched as Aggie poured into a to-go cup the contents of the vinegar and water solution I’d watched her just run through to de-scale the brewer. She added cream and sugar before she snapped the lid on top. “Tell him it’s with my compliments on a job well done, please. I’ll put the packing tape on his tab.” Aggie smiled.
As the clacking stilettos retreated, and I heard the door close behind them, I exhaled the breath I’d been holding, looked up at Aggie, and remembering Nat’s advice, I tried to force the smile that should have made me feel better. But it didn’t.
“You know she only came in here for your benefit,” Ags griped, rubbing her hands together like she was itching for a fight.
I looked over at Jack Junior sitting in one of the club chairs and folding the newspaper he had been reading. “I don’t get it, Jack. What’s she got that I don’t?”
“Him,” he said.
I nodded. “Well, that’s alright.”
“No, it’s not alright! That man has been manipulated by that freak of nature time and time again, and now he’s going back home with her. Burns my ass,” Jack Junior said, rolling up the newspaper and whacking it into his palm.
“Mine too!” Aggie said, scowling and shaking her head.
“Well, look on the bright side. You can rent that place from his old man now.” I got to my feet to make my leave.
“Aren’t you going to be the least bit sad to see him go?” Aggie called out to me as I headed to the door.
I sighed. “It is what it is, Ags,” I said as I put my hand on the door handle and pushed myself in the direction of my boat and any distraction I could find. I would be incommunicado, at least as far as he was concerned. I had no plans to see him go. I’d make sure I was too busy for any goodbyes. There's rarely any good in goodbyes anyway. One more damn person walking out of my life — just like that. I’d forget about him one day. Maybe I could be hypnotized or something. I chuckled on the way back to my boat, another Tuesday and Tuesdays hadn’t been the same since I’d last seen Nat.
✽✽✽
I debated which distraction would keep me out of sight and most occupied and finally settled on scraping and painting in the engine room of the Alex M. Now there’s a glamorous job to lose yourself in. All was going well until I broke my paint scraper and headed to Aggie’s in my dirty coveralls.
“Hey, girl, wanna join us?” Ags asked, and in anticipation of my acceptance, got up and dragged a chair close to her.
She and Jack Junior had found a cozy vantage point outside the store, positioned in the direction of the little white cottage, waiting for some moving mishap or other. They had before them a collection of ice teas, pretzels, and peanuts. It’s a well-known fact that people-watching as a sport is improved by the addition of salty snacks.
It reminded me of when I’d sat with Ags and Nat, watching Bugsy unload his truck not so long ago. When he was nothing more than the new marina manager that spoke using military time and wore brand new boots.
“What? Oh, no thanks,” I said. “I need a new paint scraper. I have some work to do.”
“Ok. Go on in. Bail’s is in there. You sure you don’t want to join us? It’s bound to be some solid entertainment,” Ags said, doing her best to try to coax me, though I was already shaking my head to decline.
“Yeah, kid, my money’s on that Bunny thing supervising while Bugsy busts his balls loading the truck as fast as possible,” Jack said as he tossed a few peanuts into his mouth.
I turned and looked at the cottage and smiled at Jack. “Let me know how it goes. Oh, and if anyone’s looking for me, I’m busy, but you can give him my regards,” I added, and Jack sent me a wink. I trudged into the store, picked out a couple of new paint scrapers, a large iced tea, and a Snickers bar and headed back to the heady task designed to keep my mind and body occupied.
✽✽✽
“Hel-llllo!” I heard a voice call out from above the deck. I was folded up in a moderately comfortable pose, in mid-scrape in the depths of my home.
Crap! I thought and stopped what I was doing for a minute, hoping the voice I recognized and the rest of him would go away if he heard no signs of life.
“Hel-lllllo! Anybody home?” the baritone boomed, and I heard footsteps on the deck above me. They sounded like they were headed further into the boat and, knowing who they belonged to, they were bound and determined to find my hiding spot.
“Hello, I’m down here!” I shouted out, finally resigning myself to the inevitable and steeling myself to feel awful.
“Where?”
“Engine room,” I yelled. My voice wavered a smidge.
The engine room of my boat is the biggest “room” on the boat. It takes up most of the space below the living area on the main deck and is where the mechanics of the boat can be found. The heart of the boat is a sixteen-cylinder EMD throwing out almost 3,000 horsepower. There are 60kw and 40kw generator sets, pumps, water tanks – you name it, it’s there. I keep it as clean as possible, but there are occasions when things get a little greasy or need to be touched up.
For jobs like scraping and painting the engine room, one must be suitably attired. In my case, that means the coveralls over the yellow crochet work bikini. I’d already sweat buckets since beginning the job and found a happy medium with my outfit by tying the arms of my coveralls around my waist. The odd bead of sweat trickled between my cleavage, and it was better than getting heat stroke altogether.
I peeked from behind the engine to see feet coming down the metal grate stair treads, followed by legs, a torso, and finally the sharply parted caramel-colored locks of William “Bugsy” Beedle.
It was no surprise, really; I should have expected him to hit me up on his farewell tour of the docks before he went back to conquer corporate America with Bunny as his mascot. Might as well get this over with. I pushed myself up from the grungy steel of the boat and to my feet.
“Your friends are on the radio again,” Bugsy said, smirking when he spotted me.
“Oh yeah, they are.” I smiled as I paused to notice the Beach Boys belting out a bouncy, summery tune. As much as I loved them, I probably wouldn’t be able to listen to them again for a while, having attached their music to two memories with the man in front of me.
When Bugsy got close enough, I extended a hand in a farewell ges
ture. He practically scowled at it, turned up his mouth, and walked past me toward a set of gauges that would have meant nothing to him. I thought the gesture rude until I looked down at my dirty hand. I could hardly blame him, and I whipped out a rag from the side pocket of my coveralls.
Bugsy stopped and looked down at the gauges. “It’s hot in here,” he said.
I flitted my eyebrows. It was true, it was hot, but it’s not as though I’d invited him for a steam. I hadn’t invited him at all. “Well—" I began to say.
He turned and held up his hand for me to stop. “Don’t say anything. You’ll only regret it.”
I raised my eyebrows in surprise, scratched the side of my nose, and looked at him curiously. I’d never once been chastised before saying something and, what’s more, all I was going to do was wish him well in his future endeavours — a line I’d memorized from my corporate life when staff had to be turned over.
Bugsy paced past me, hands clamped behind his back, and headed to the other end of the engine room. I stood silently as instructed and wondered how anyone could be so inefficient with goodbyes. He stared down at my number two generator for longer than it deserved. It’s not that interesting.
“You know, you’re a pill,” he said, directing his words toward the machine.
I wondered if I had heard him right. If so, I’d have a few choice compliments for him before all was said and done myself.
“And you’ve got quite a mouth on you. You’re a pain to travel with and you’ve broken into my house… once that I know of, probably more than that,” he continued.
And you need to work on your goodbyes. I considered how, when it was my turn to speak, I could incorporate all my favourite cuss words into one sentence.
He turned on his heels to face me and, catching his eye, I put up a finger to interrupt him. “Tut, tut, I’m not done,” he said.
I pouted to myself, anxious to get a few words in before I forgot what they were. My face had to have conveyed my sense of urgency, like a kid in school who’d had too much water at the fountain and a bulging bladder.
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