"I look forward to talking with you about it." Flynn shouted to the others, feeling more adrenaline rush though him than usual at the start of a tour. "All aboard!"
He helped her onto the boat then untied the mooring. Usually it took him less than a minute to undo the sailor's knots, but today his hands were clumsy and awkward. Could she have such an effect on him or did he drink too much caffeine?
He tried to push thoughts of Gail from his mind. Maybe having her on this tour wasn't such a good idea.
Clearing his throat, he thickened his accent to give the tourists the full Scottish flavor. "Good evening, folks. My name is Flynn Mahoney, and I'm the illustrious captain of the Nessie, the fastest boat on Loch Ness. Today we have a special guest on board, Gail Phillips, a marine biologist from Boston. Everyone say hi to Gail."
Gail's cheeks reddened as she waved to the passengers: the little boy and his parents, two elderly couples and a bunch of teenagers from Australia. Flynn loved making her blush.
"Let me start the boat. I'll be speaking to you along the way on my intercom system, telling you the juiciest tidbits and secrets of Loch Ness."
Flynn maneuvered the boat free of the dock, then took off around the coast on a different route than he took with the research team. Tourists wanted to see the whole lake from close to shore. He saved the middle of the lake for last, because some people got spooked by the black water.
"Loch Ness extends for approximately thirty-seven kilometers southwest of Inverness. Its deepest point is two hundred and thirty meters deep — that's seven hundred and fifty-five feet, for our American friends. That's pretty deep, folks. Not only is it the deepest Scottish loch, but it's deeper than London's BT tower is tall. You've got it, guys. Us Scotts can take the loch prize. Loch Ness contains more fresh water than all the lakes in England and Wales combined. You could say we got lochy."
That joke, bad as it was, made him laugh every time. The British family rolled their eyes and the older couple didn't acknowledge it, as if the joke had sailed over their gray heads. Did Gail think his goofiness was overboard?
"Over here is the spot where Robert Kenneth Wilson took the famous picture of Nessie in nineteen thirty-four, referred to as the Surgeon's Photograph."
Everyone flooded the right side of the boat. Of course they all took pictures, and Flynn could bet none of them would have a beast in it. What were the odds the creature would show in the exact same place seventy years later? Yet on every boat tour the tourists snapped like crazy, all the same.
"To your left is Urquhart Castle. Although it's seen better days, the landmark used to be one of the largest strongholds of medieval Scotland. Near this castle is where the majority of Nessie sightings occur."
Once again, extensive picture taking took place. If only they knew how many rolls of film he'd spent in his day before cameras had gone digital.
"I think I see it!" Little Ian shouted from the stern. Everyone scrambled to join him.
Yup, one of the little ones calls it every time.
Flynn was just about to turn the Nessie back to the dock when Gail rushed in. "Stop the boat. You've got to see this."
The urgency in her voice caught his attention. Flynn cut the engine. She took his arm and led him to where the little boy stood on the stern. Her fingers were as cold as the lake water on his skin. Flynn's heart raced as they cut through the crowd. Can this be it? It almost seemed irreverent for Nessie to just "show up" after all these years he'd looked.
People whispered under their breath around them. One of the elderly men scratched his beard. "I saw it move… it dived under and came back out again."
Gail pointed. "Over there."
A black head protruded from the middle of the lake. It bobbed with the ripples of the boat as if whatever it was connected to rode the swell of the waves.
"It's too big to be a cormorant." Gail squeezed her bottom lip between her forefinger and thumb. "I thought it was farther away, but look at the time it takes for the ripples from our boat to reach it."
Flynn put a hand on her arm. "Stay here and take pictures."
"Where are you going?"
"I'm steering the boat closer." He ran back to the cabin, falling forward as his boots slipped on the wet deck. He fell into the steering wheel and revved the engine, hoping Gail could get a picture before the sound scared it away.
As Flynn turned the boat around to face the black head, the passengers crowded the bow, blocking his view. At first they snapped pictures nonstop and leaned over the railing, but as he drew closer, they froze and stared slack faced.
What was it? Flynn's stomach sank. Had the Loch Ness monster died and floated up from the depths, a dark and rotting corpse?
He stopped the motor once again and joined them on deck. Gail met him first, her face drawn and pale. "I'm sorry." Her fingertips brushed his arm. She stopped at the rail as he pushed through the crowd.
A dark, mold-covered log with a branch pointing skyward bobbed a meter from the point off the bow. Flynn's neck tingled with shame. How could he still be so naive after all these years? Did he really think he'd find it?
Ian tugged on his sleeve. "Does this mean the monster doesn't exist?" His chin twitched as though he'd erupt into a full sob any minute.
In front of his passengers, he couldn't afford to show his disappointment.
"No, son." Flynn patted the boy on the back. "It just means we have to keep looking."
Chapter Eight
Due
Gail's heart broke as Flynn comforted Ian. She could picture him years ago as a young boy standing on the bow, looking for monsters and finding logs instead. Flynn's vulnerability shone through as he put an arm around the boy and told him to keep looking.
For a moment, as the enthusiasm surrounded her, Gail had believed something was out there. The scientific part of her brain kicked in moments later, reasoning with her heart. She hated science for taking away the wonder. She hated being right.
They reached the dock, and Flynn tied the boat down as the passengers filed off. They chatted and took pictures with smiles and bouts of laughter, despite the fake-out. The way Flynn had recovered after the incident, cheering up his audience with tales of past sightings, had impressed Gail. This Scottish charmer was the kind of man that put others' feelings before his own.
She waited until everyone left before she approached Flynn. He was wiping down the sticky fingerprints on the silver rail.
"Great tour. You know how to keep an audience on the edge of their seats."
He didn't look up, only rubbed harder at a particular smudge. "I only wish it had turned out as less of a bummer."
"Bummer or not, you're quite the funny man."
That got him to smile. A little. "Glad I could entertain you."
"So, you still up for those drinks?" Her heart beat a thousand times too fast waiting for his response.
"Not if what you found only disproves my theories. I've had enough disappointment for one day."
"Quite the contrary." Gail stopped his hand in mid swipe. "It strengthens them."
Flynn gave her a questioning look as though testing for any hint of teasing or condescension. She gave him her best dead-serious stare. "I mean it."
"All right. But I can't let you pay."
She released his hand, although she wanted to keep holding it, rag and all. "We'll see about that. Come on." Gail tugged his arm. "You can do that later. You shouldn't keep a woman waiting."
"If you say it that way." He threw the rag to the deck and linked his arm in hers. It was the first sign of the normal, upbeat Flynn coming back. "Let's go. I'll drive."
They walked up the hill to a small field off of Route A82 that served as a parking lot for his guests. A single red Abarth 500 sat like an exotic beetle. Gail gawked. "That's your car?"
"Touring rakes in the big bucks." Flynn flashed a smile. "It's an older model with over a hundred thousand miles." As Gail noticed patches where he'd repainted in not quite the same color, he opened
the passenger's door. "After you."
Gail loved a man who opened doors for her. Especially in such a sporty car, never mind the miles. They just added character. "Thank you."
"No problem." He settled into the driver's seat.
A bright green rabbit's foot hung from the rearview mirror. Gail ran her fingers over the soft fur, wondering how she'd gotten involved with such an irrational thinker. "For luck?"
"So I don't drive off the road."
Gail's hand tightened on the door. "You're not serious, are you?"
He gave her a sidelong look and turned onto A82. "Well, it's worked so far. Haven't had any crashes… yet."
"Or you could say you're just a good driver." Gail couldn't help logically refuting everything he said. She bit her tongue, hoping she wasn't being too annoying.
Flynn only teased her with a look up and down. "You'll have to make that judgment for yourself."
The car sped along the lonely road. With the sun setting, the tourists had gone home. Gail crossed her legs under her skirt, trying to look nonchalant. "Where are we going, by the way?"
"The Blue Flipper. It's a great Scottish pub on the outskirts of Inverness." When he pronounced the name, it sounded more like "flippa," but Gail was getting used to his accent.
"They don't serve dolphin, do they?"
Flynn shook his head and smiled. "Only a marine biologist would wonder."
They pulled into a small parking lot full of old cars and pickup trucks. A red brick building with charming black awnings interspersed with hanging pots of ivy sat against a field. A single, gnarly tree that looked as old as time cast a shadow on the long grass. In front of the tavern, a sign hung on a pole with the words The Blue Flipper painted in sky blue, framed inside of a shark fin.
"It's perfect." Gail collected her purse while Flynn turned the engine off.
"I've been coming here since I turned sixteen." He raised an eyebrow. "And maybe a few times before that."
Gail wasn't about to delve into his younger shenanigans. He was already a little off-the-deep-end for her. She rolled her eyes. "Come on. We've got a lot to talk about."
The inside of the pub had a nice dining area framed by a bar stretching across the back wall. Golden lights shaped like conch shells hung down, illuminating rows of amber, green, and blue bottles. Old fish netting hung from the ceiling. A few older men with the look of weatherworn sailors sat at the bar, and a couple picking at a basket of fries sat at a table by a fireplace on the right.
The hostess, an older woman with a motherly face, gave them a warm smile. "Bar, table, or booth?"
"Booth." Gail didn't want the older men checking her out. Why she'd opted for such a tight sweater and heels, she had no idea. Well, she had an idea, but it wasn't a good one.
They followed the hostess to a booth on the left. She handed them two leather-bound menus. "The specials are clam chowder and swordfish on the grill. Care for a drink?"
Flynn opened his menu and set it up on his lap, looking way more casual and comfortable on a first date — if this was a date, which it was not — than Gail could ever be. "I'll have an Orkney Skullsplitter."
Gail choked on her breath. She wasn't picking that one.
The hostess turned to her, "And you, missy?"
She fidgeted with her menu, flapping the pages around until she found the drinks in the back. Not wanting to seem too incompetent, she picked the first one that stood out. "I'll have an Innis and Gunn."
"Right it is. I'll come back in a jiffy." As the woman left, Gail hoped she hadn't picked a strong beer, or she'd be telling Flynn every embarrassing aspect of her life by the end of the night.
Flynn greedily tapped his wide, callused boatman's fingers on the table. "So, tell me what you found in that library that I've been missing all these years."
Gail set the menu down. This talk was too heavy for food browsing. "I searched all the Loch Ness monster — 'Nessie' files — and I didn't find anything I hadn't already researched elsewhere. You were right about that."
"I've only been there a thousand times." Flynn leaned back and rolled his eyes. "So many, the librarians think I'm some sort of loony."
"I'm sure." Gail unfolded her napkin. Loony is right. But maybe she liked loonies. "So, I started looking at other logs. You know, stuff a marine biologist would notice: fisherman's logs, climate, water levels, etc."
He leaned forward. "You've got my attention. Go on."
Gail leaned forward as well, like this information was top secret and they were some kind of government spies. Or maybe she just wanted to be closer to him. "Anyway, it seems every twenty years, the fish population drops significantly — a good seventy to eighty percent."
He raised a golden eyebrow. "That is strange."
"At first I attributed the drop to some sort of climate change, or maybe a bad winter season, but changes in the weather records didn't correspond with the drops in fish population."
Two large glasses clinked on the table, making them both jerk up. "Goodness me, looks like you two've seen a ghost." The hostess smiled and pushed their drinks to them. "Now, what'll it be?"
Flynn turned toward the woman. "I'll have the swordfish."
Somehow drinks had turned into a full-fledged dinner date. Gail hadn't even had a chance to go through her menu. "I'll have the other special, what was it?"
The woman scribbled something on her pad. "Clam chowder."
"Right. I'll have that."
They both waited in silence for the hostess to leave. The minute her back turned, Flynn was all over it. "And?"
"And that's it. I have no explainable reason for a drop of that kind."
Flynn crossed his arms and leaned back. "I do."
Gail wove her fingers together on the table. Was she going to regret this? "Okay, let's hear it."
"Nessie wakes up to feed every twenty years."
Gail widened her eyes in mock surprise. "Oh, is that right?"
"Seriously, Gail."
"Okay, okay. I'm listening."
"That's when all the most significant sightings are. Take the nineteen thirty-four picture I was talking about on the cruise. Fast forward to nineteen fifty-five when Peter McNab photographed Nessie in front of Urquhart Castle."
"Yes, but didn't he tell a local resident those were bales of hay covered with tarps?"
Flynn raised a finger. "Only for fear of ridicule. Then you have the nineteen seventy-seven Anthony Nicol Shields photo."
Gail knew where this was headed. The evidence was coming together. Yet, she couldn't deny her skeptical reasoning streak and the true purpose why she was there. "What about the nineteen nineties? I don't remember any pictures from that time."
"The famous sonar scan conducted by the research crew at L-PIB happened in nineteen ninety-one."
"That's not exactly twenty years."
"Does the timing correspond to the drops in fish population?"
Gail took a sip of her beer. The cool liquid stung her mouth and flowed down her throat to warm her belly. "I'd have to go back and check, but it does seem to match, yes."
Flynn shook his fork in the air and raised an eyebrow. "That would be some elaborate coincidence."
Gail smiled. "What are you trying to say? That roughly twenty years from nineteen ninety-one brings us to two thousand and thirteen? To today?"
Flynn's eyes sparkled. "She's due."
Chapter Nine
Circumstances
Two steaming entrees arrived just as Flynn spoke the word due. The hostess leaned over, placing each one in front of them with a smile. She gave Flynn a curious look but didn't ask who exactly was due. "Is there anything else I can get you?"
"No, ma'am." Flynn smoothed things over with a charming smile. "This looks fantastic."
The hostess turned to Gail. "You, missy?"
"No thanks. I'm good." Her clam chowder looked a little murky for her tastes, reminding her of Loch Ness, as though she didn't have enough reminders already.
The h
ostess handed them extra napkins. "I'll be at the bar if you need me."
Gail's stomach flipped, and she wasn't sure if it was the food or the way the pieces of the puzzle were coming together. Surely there was a logical explanation, something less farfetched than a mythical, hibernating beast.
"I'm sorry, Gail. I don't mean to upset you." Flynn reached out and touched her hand briefly. "I'm just trying to make sense of it all."
Gail wiped her forehead with a napkin and chugged her beer. Did she look that upset? "I'm fine."
"No, there's something wrong, and I think your unease goes deeper than a scientist lacking logical answers."
She swirled her spoon around in her clam chowder. Part of her wanted to run out of the tavern so she'd never have to confront her past again, but a stronger urge to get to know Flynn superseded her fears. If she was ever going to be in a relationship again, she'd have to be able to talk about her issues.
Gail took one brave breath and met Flynn's gorgeous green eyes. "My father was like you — a cryptozoologist chasing myths and dreams. He loved anything that hadn't been proven yet on the scientific spectrum: unsolved riddles, unexplained phenomenon, mysterious tracks… you name it."
She smiled, remembering how her dad used to stay up late watching Unsolved Mysteries and The X-Files. Sometimes she' stayed up with him, suffering the programs just so he wouldn't have to watch them alone. "He used to take me on expeditions. We'd look for Bigfoot tracks in the woods or UFOs in the sky."
"Sounds like you have the coolest dad ever." Flynn's eyes lit up.
"Had." The word fell on the table like a stone.
Flynn grew quiet, and Gail knew she had to tell him everything now.
"He disappeared seven years ago, hunting Yeti tracks in the Alps. They sent out search parties for months and found nothing except his thermal gloves. My mom still goes on a trip each year when the snow melts, looking for any trace."
"I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault. It's mine. If I'd told him how I felt about his adventures instead of encouraging him, he wouldn't have given everything up to follow an empty dream."
Love on Loch Ness Page 5