The Water Baby

by Roz Denny Fox

  Sal started the motor and angled the small boat toward the gnarled cypress. “There’s supposed to be pirate caves all along the shore, but you have to know the currents to land. Coast Guard’s lost more than one boat trying.”

  Temple watched Loren and the Lazy Daisy grow smaller the closer the runabout came to the shore. He was amazed by the junk caught in the maze of twisted roots reaching out into the brackish water. Soda cans. The top to a woman’s two-piece bathing suit, which Sal scooped up and held aloft with a grin. “I’d like to run into this pirate,” he joked. “Thirty-eight D if she’s an inch.” Then he looked sheepish. “Hey, I’m sorry if you think this could’ve belonged to your ex. I meant no disrespect if she was stacked.”

  Temple merely shook his head.

  “No wonder you dumped her.” The swarthy shrimper’s rakish grin was back.

  “I didn’t dump her.” Temple flushed and looked away, out to sea. “I guess you’d be closer saying she dumped me.”

  Sal fidgeted and finally tossed the bathing-suit top back into the underbrush without further comment. “Ah, what have we here?” He cut the motor and let them drift beneath the overhanging limbs. “A chunk of white fiberglass. Looks like maybe the start of call letters.”

  “And over there…” Temple paddled with his hands, drawing the bow closer to the knotted root. Leaning out, he snagged a larger sliver of fiber. It was free of writing, but paint along the jagged edges bubbled as though singed. Temple held it up for Sal to inspect. “What do you think? Powder burns?”

  Sal frowned. “Could be. Coast Guard might’ve quit lookin’ too soon. D’you see any more?”

  “No.” Temple battled disappointment.

  “Might not even be from the yacht. A lot goes on out here. Let’s take them, and we’ll make one turn around the perimeter while I eat. Then we’ll go on back to the Lazy D and reel in the nets.”

  Temple’s okay was cut off by the roar of the outboard. He flashed Sal a thumbs-up, instead.

  There proved to be nothing else of interest in the cove. Because the tide was sweeping in fast, Sal sped full throttle back to the Boston trawler. Loren helped hoist the runabout aboard. Immediately the three men set to dragging in nets. It was a good haul. One that almost filled the aft hold.

  “Hot damn.” Sal grinned as he shook out the last of the smelly catch.

  Temple tried not to gag as Loren shooed sea gulls away and recovered the hold.

  “Let’s lift anchor and move her about three hundred yards to port,” Sal suggested. “We’ll fill that foreward hold in short order. Maybe dock in time to crack a beer with Dan’l before we shower and head to our other jobs. That okay with you, dude?” He turned to Temple as he wiped sweat from his brow.

  Temple was about to say he’d skip the beer and get home to Daisy, but his words were cut off by the growl of an approaching powerboat. They all turned in surprise. A moment ago there hadn’t been any sign of another boat in the area; now this one was closing in fast. All three yelped in a chorus as a row of bullets sprayed the Lazy Daisy’s deck, tearing up the old wood.

  “Holy shit!” bellowed Sal. “It’s that phantom speedboat. Let’s get outta here!”

  Temple vaulted to the top of the hold. If he could gain a better look, maybe the police would have something to go on. Only he hadn’t calculated that the driver—a heavy-set man with dark bushy eyebrows—would make a short turn and roar past them on the starboard side. Too late Temple saw the flash of an automatic weapon in the hands of a tough-looking scar-faced character. A ribbon of fire chewed at Temple’s left arm and left it numb. It was a minute before he noticed a steady drip of blood. Detached, he watched it congeal at his feet. Damn! Did he get a good enough look?

  The old Boston trawler creaked and strained as Sal hit the throttle with every ounce of pressure the old girl had. He blasted the horn several times to let any approaching craft know they wanted a clear track into the bay.

  Loren scrambled on hands and knees over to the shipto-shore radio. He switched channels to the Coast Guard frequency and sent out the standard SOS. Static drowned out any response. Twice more the deep-V’ed hull screamed past. Twice more the Lazy Daisy ate a blast of lead.

  Feeling suddenly weak, Temple clung to the cross boom until dizziness forced him to his knees. That was when he realized his blood was staining the weathered deck a ruby red.

  Fast as their assailants had sneaked up on them, they disappeared even faster. As though the speedboat had gone up in a puff of smoke.

  Temple staggered to his feet. “Where in the hell did it go?”

  Loren tugged at his baseball cap and warily scanned the bright blue horizon. “Damned if I know. Was it real?”

  Temple clutched his wounded arm with the other and felt his fingers slide through the slippery blood. “Real enough,” he managed, his ears beginning to buzz.

  His fading voice drew Loren’s and Sal’s attention. They had barely blinked when Temple tumbled facedown onto the deck—his last conscious thought a prayer for Daisy and his daughter.

  NEWS OF THE INCIDENT traveled over the Island like wildfire. Daisy was in Moody Gardens with Becca, eavesdropping on three old codgers, when she heard one of them say that there’d been a shooting out in Rum Row and the Californian, Wyatt, had been hurt. Daisy dropped the fresh blackberry ice-cream cone she’d just purchased. Praying there’d been some mistake, she snatched Becca up in her arms and ran all the way to the car. She’d battled a feeling of impending doom all day.

  The drive to the wharf seemed interminable. Traffic refused to cooperate, and all she got were red lights. Her heart thundered in her ears. Her sweating hands had difficulty gripping the steering wheel.

  Wyatt hurt? How bad? Her numb brain refused to paint the picture. Sick with fear, she glanced at the sweetly oblivious child. Rebecca licked happily at a cone of Rocky Road. Daisy almost cried.

  What if he’s dead? Daisy doubted Rebecca Maria Wyatt could ever recover from such a blow. She hadn’t known it until now. Or she had, but she’d been denying the truth of how deep her feelings for Temple actually went.

  And now maybe it was too late.

  CHAPTER TEN

  WHEN DAISY REACHED the wharf, she parked and unbuckled both seat belts with hands that shook. Racing down here might have been foolish, she conceded. Even now Temple might be lying in one of the area hospitals—or God forbid—the morgue.

  No! Some frantic nurse or admissions clerk was probably trying to call her at home. But why would they? She was nothing to him, had no claim on him. She was his landlady. His baby-sitter. Hired help. She might have been more, but she’d let the moment slide. Now what if she never got the opportunity to tell him she cared? What if she lost him?

  Daisy refused to let her mind travel in that direction. “Come on, Becca,” she said to the girl. “Let’s go see if the Lazy Daisy is in port.” She clasped Becca’s hand and urged her to hurry. Hurt doesn’t mean dead.

  The five-year-old did fine keeping up with Daisy until they reached the slips where the shrimp boats were berthed. There she stopped, wrinkled her nose and refused to go a step farther.

  On the one hand, the action frustrated Daisy. On the other, she was encouraged. Becca obviously didn’t like the unpleasant odor. Her behavior was an honest-togoodness normal reaction. Daisy could hardly wait to tell Temple. As she stood there wondering where he might be, an aid car and two police vehicles pulled out from the docks and screamed past. The lights and sirens frightened Becca so badly that she dropped what remained of her ice-cream cone and promptly started to cry.

  In a quandary, Daisy didn’t know whether to hop in the car and try chasing the emergency vehicles or to calm Becca and then seek answers among the crowd she saw gathered at the pier. Good sense won out. She knelt and murmured soothingly to the child. “Shh. Don’t cry, sweetheart. Your cone was almost gone. Let’s go get a cloth from the car and clean your face. We’ll pick up Straylia while we’re there. I’ll bet he’s never seen so many boats.”


  Becca pulled free of Daisy’s arms and ran toward the car as if she’d understood. Daisy’s mood took an upswing. Temple would be overjoyed at the news—provided he was in any shape to receive it. She opened the trunk and quickly found a damp washcloth in the beach bag, refusing to let her happiness be dimmed.

  It wasn’t until Sal Coletti charged through the parking lot at a dead run that Daisy realized she’d parked in the row of cars across from his Jeep.

  “Daisy,” he said blankly. “What are you doing here? Did the police call you?”

  “Police?” Her heart did a double flip and felt as if it landed upside down. “I came because I heard Temple’s been injured.”

  Wiping a grimy hand across his pinched lips, he rolled his shoulders forward. “I gotta go. Wyatt was hit twice in the left arm. Nicked a big vein. The police told me to meet them at the hospital to give a statement. I left Loren to unload and weigh in.” He dug car keys out of his bloody jeans pocket and turned to leave.

  “Stop.” Daisy grabbed his arm. “Nicked. How do you mean, nicked?”

  “I thought you knew. Bullets. That son of a bitch in the powerboat showed up again. You’ve got a helluva boat, Daisy. None of us would be here if she hadn’t carried us into patrolled waters before those dudes did us in.”

  When Becca squirmed, Daisy realized that she’d almost washed the skin off the kid’s face. Snatching the koala bear from the bag with hands that were far from steady, Daisy asked in an undertone, “How bad was Temple hurt?”

  Sal’s eyes narrowed marginally. “You didn’t ask about the Lazy D’s damage.”

  She helped Becca into the front seat. “The boat’s nothing, Sal. She can be replaced. Now tell me about Temple.”

  The young shrimper colored. “So that’s the way it is? I told Dan’l you were sweet on the city dude. He said you’d never be taken in by some California bimboy.”

  “Bimboy?” Daisy turned from buckling Becca’s seat belt. “Temple Wyatt a bimboy? That Daniel can be such a jerk. Not to mention obtuse.” She took a deep breath. “Look, Sal. This isn’t the time to be petty. Do you see that child?” she hissed as she shut the door. “She’s already lost one parent. What do you think will happen if she loses the other? Now tell me where I can find her father.”

  His flush darkened. “Trauma Center. Where do you think?”

  “I should’ve known. I almost went there first.”

  “God, I stink,” he said suddenly. “I hope the police know what they’re in for, havin’ me give a statement before takin’ a shower.”

  “I rather think they’re more concerned with getting a description of those characters than they are in how ripe you smell,” she said, yanking open her door.

  “They don’t need me for that. Wyatt’s the only one who got a good look. Me and Loren were too busy makin’ tracks outta the cove.”

  “So you’re saying Temple’s in good enough shape to talk?”

  “Hell, yes. He was squawkin’ about having to see a doc. The dude doesn’t have a lick of sense. He was bleed in’ like a stuck pig and thought he could get in the Coast Guard boat and lead them back out to the Row.”

  “I should think not,” Daisy said with an indignant huff. But the icy fist that had squeezed her heart from the moment Sal said Temple had been shot began to ease. She thought she could at least drive to the hospital without getting in an accident.

  “Lead on, McDuff.” She made a feeble attempt to tease Sal. But once Daisy climbed into the driver’s seat, she was surprised to find that her hands still weren’t steady enough to turn the key. After three tries, she succeeded. But only because she paused and gave herself a stern talking to.

  The hospital wasn’t far. However, getting there seemed to take forever. Tired from the kiddy rides at Moody Gardens, Rebecca dozed off before they’d gone a block. She was fast asleep by the time they reached the hospital. Sal, who’d taken a shortcut and was already there noticed the trouble Daisy was having trying to manipulate the limp child from her car.

  “I’d offer to help,” he called from his Jeep, “but then you’d have to burn her clothes when you get home. And they look pretty new.”

  “They are. I’ll manage. I just have to position her right. There, see?” Daisy finally got Becca’s legs straddled around her waist. It was awkward because the girl wouldn’t let go of Straylia.

  Sal dashed up two flights of stairs to the emergency room and waited impatiently while Daisy puffed her way to the top. Amazing how quickly one got out of shape, she thought. It’d only been a month or so since she’d hauled in her last shrimp net.

  Inside, Sal hung back, away from a line of people waiting at the counter.

  Daisy had learned enough about the hospital’s bureaucracy during Becca’s stay that she bustled past reception in search of someone with greater authority.

  A few feet into the room, Daisy heard Temple’s angry voice spewing from one of the examination cubicles. “No pain medication!” he roared. “You patched me up. Now go, and let me talk to the police.”

  A knot untied in Daisy’s stomach. If he felt well enough to dish out orders like that, he must not be badly off at all.

  “May I help you?” A dark-haired nurse in stained and faded scrubs appeared out of nowhere to block Daisy’s access to the room. Although she spoke to Daisy, the woman centered her attention on the blood-encrusted Sal.

  “You got a couple of policemen in there?” Sal pointed to the room Daisy had been about to enter. “I’m meeting them.”

  “Yes, but…” The nurse looked him over, obviously trying not to react to the smell permeating the air around him. Eventually she lost the battle. “Phew! If you’re not in need of treatment, there’s a men’s room down the hall where you can wash up. You—” she turned to Daisy “—be seated. You can’t just barge in on a patient.”

  Daisy dredged up her best smile. “We’re Mr. Wyatt’s family.” She indicated the sleeping child with a jerk of her chin. Rebecca was family. Before the woman could demand proof, a red-faced nurse rushed out of the room carrying a metal tray that still bore a full syringe. Saved from pretending I’m his wife, Daisy thought as she deftly exchanged places with the nurse Temple had succeeded in evicting.

  He looked up with a scowl as she entered, obviously prepared to go round two with the woman. When he saw that it was Daisy, his eyes lit up and his features rearranged themselves into a welcoming smile. Momentarily dismissing the policeman holding the clipboard, Temple held out his good hand to her.

  She took it, noticing that his left shoulder was heavily bandaged to the elbow. Two spots of blood had seeped through the gauze. Her eyes widened, and she squeezed his fingers tightly.

  “Looks worse than it is,” he growled, his voice soft out of deference to his sleeping daughter. He slipped his hand from Daisy’s grip long enough to smooth Rebecca’s sleep-flushed cheek. “Let me finish giving my statement, then I’ll fill in the blanks for you,” he told Daisy. “This time I want the police to catch those bastards. They got too cocky for their own good today. I managed a decent look at the driver.” Turning to the policeman, he said, “I’m pretty sure he works at DeVaca’s Rio resort. At least he did a year ago.”

  Daisy gasped and dropped heavily into the chair beside Temple’s bed. “Are you sure? Why would one of Mr. DeVaca’s employees do such terrible things?”

  Temple shook his head slowly. “Don’t ask me. Unless he and Domingo had a falling out. Disgruntled exemployees have been known to get vicious. Your description of the power boat was right, Daisy.”

  The policemen hadn’t adjusted to Daisy’s sudden intrusion. Glancing quickly at Temple, the younger one said, “I’m not sure I buy that theory, Mr. Wyatt. Why would a disgruntled employee hang around after he blew his target away?”

  “Beats me. You’re the ones who’ve studied the criminal mind.”

  The older of the two officers doffed his hat and massaged his close-cropped silvery hair. “The chief thinks our perp believes somebo
dy on that Boston trawler can identify him. If the doctor releases you today, Wyatt, we’ll want you to come down to the station and look at mug shots of known South American drug dealers. Between you and our artist, maybe we can come up with a workable likeness.”

  “Brazilian authorities,” the second officer chimed in, “think the demolition experts who took out that yacht might have been running high-grade cocaine. And you’re right, Mr. Wyatt. They’ve gotten bolder. Border patrol is afraid it might mean there’s a big drug deal in the offing. If those scraps of fiberglass you found match DeVaca’s yacht, you might be at even greater risk. The chief wants a watch on your house tonight.”

  Temple shifted on the bed. He placed a broad hand on Daisy’s shoulder. “I don’t have a house,” he told the men. “I’ll bunk at a local hotel until this is over. Which one do you recommend for security?”

  Again the older policeman—named Vic—smoothed a hand over his crewcut. “No hotel is safe, son. Too open and too many entrances to guard.”

  “What do you mean?” Daisy asked, reaching up to cover Temple’s hand with hers. “Why would you move from my place?”

  The younger officer, Al, glanced at her with interest. “Sloan is your last name, right?” He flipped through his pad when Daisy nodded. “Don’t you own the trawler?”

  “This doesn’t involve her,” Temple said. “She’s leased the boat to Sal Coletti. Where is he, anyhow?”

  Al scribbled furiously. “That the guy you said clamped off your vein and saved your life, Mr. Wyatt?”

  “Really?” Daisy exclaimed. “Sal saved your life? He didn’t mention anything of the sort to me.” She clung to Temple. “I followed Sal here. He went to wash up.”

  “Tell you what. You look a little peaked,” the cop said to Daisy. “Why don’t you and the kid wait out in the reception area?” Al slipped a beefy hand under Daisy’s elbow and hustled her and her sleeping charge to the door. “Trade you,” he joked to a nurse who met them with Sal in tow. “Miss Sloan for Mr. Coletti.”