by Robbi McCoy
“I did not say that,” Jackie objected. “I said I had something to do, not something better.”
“But it must have been something better, right, or you wouldn’t have blown us off.”
Jackie knew her mother was only partly serious, but she wasn’t used to Jackie not showing up for Sunday dinner. Jackie’s social life, apart from her family, was minimal and predictable. So an aberration like this would have been noted with interest. And no one was more interested in people’s social lives than Ida Townsend. Especially when it came to her family members.
“It might have been a tiny bit better,” Jackie admitted, kissing her mother’s cheek. “I had an appointment I had to reschedule from Saturday because Gail dragged me out all day for the sturgeon rescue.”
“I heard there was all kinds of excitement after we left.” Jackie was glad to see her mother’s face light up with the new subject. “They said Gail arrested a poacher.”
“Yes. He tried to strangle Stef.”
“I heard that! Stef, she’s the houseboat girl, right? Is she okay?”
“She’s fine. It turned out okay, except for the one fish he’d already got.”
Ida shook her head. “I don’t know what this town is coming to. Saturday some jerk kills a sturgeon and nearly kills a woman, then Sunday night the Quickie-Mart gets robbed. Did you hear about that? That was last night about nine o’clock.”
Jackie hesitated before answering, not wanting to upset her mother with the news that she had been present. “Yes, I heard about it. This wave of robberies is scary.”
“Your father wants to keep a loaded gun here in the store. No! I said. Somebody’ll get killed. And he says, that’s right. Those bastards come in here to rob me, they’ll get killed.”
“That doesn’t sound like a good idea,” Jackie said.
“It’s a terrible idea.” Ida sprinkled fish food over the minnow tank. “But he says, what choice do we have?”
Jackie recalled Stef’s calm and reasonable behavior from the night before. “Let them have the money.”
Ida shrugged. “Yeah, but it burns me up. And you know how your father is. He’s not going to let anybody pry a dime out of his dead fingers.” She shook her head. “It’s just got me so worried.”
A couple of young men came into the store and hoisted a bag of ice onto the counter. Rudy broke off his conversation to wait on them.
“Can we get a pound of clams?” said one of them.
“Sure. Go ask Mrs. Townsend back there.”
The boy sauntered back to the bait room. “Pound of clams, Mrs. Townsend.”
She scurried to the tank and scooped up some clams, then poured ice over them while the boy waited. He was tall, Hispanic, good-looking, in his early twenties. He smiled at Jackie and said, “How ya doin’?”
“Good,” she said. She felt oddly uncomfortable in his presence.
His friend, who was short and stocky with light blue eyes and sandy hair, picked up a six-pack of beer from the refrigerator case and set that beside the bag of ice. Then he grabbed two sandwiches from the food case. Jackie glanced at their feet and saw they were both wearing black Nike sneakers.
“Here you go, Eddie,” said Ida, handing over the clams. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.” The boy winked at Jackie before returning to the check-out counter where Rudy rang him up.
“You going for stripers?” Rudy asked.
“Yeah.”
“Where ya headed?”
“Whiskey Slough,” said blue-eyes. “Got a sweet little spot there just crawling with them. Big ones.” He held his hands fourteen or fifteen inches apart.
“If you land a whopper, come on back and show it to me.”
“Sure thing,” said the tall boy.
When they’d gone, Jackie asked her mother, “Do you know those two?”
“That’s Joey Cahill and Eddie Delgado.”
“Local boys?”
“Uh-huh. I think you know Eddie’s mother. She’s one of the cooks over at the high school.”
“Oh, sure, Mrs. Delgado in the cafeteria.”
“That’s right. Nice family. I don’t know the Cahills. They moved here a couple years ago into that new subdivision over by Walker Landing. Joey’s been in here a few times, usually with Eddie. That’s how I know him. Why do you ask?”
“Just wondered,” Jackie said evasively. The fact that the two boys matched the general description of the Quickie-Mart robbers intrigued her, but was no reason to make assumptions. More importantly, it was no reason to say so to her mother. She knew from experience that an off-handed observation like that in the possession of Ida Townsend could run amok all over town.
“I gotta go, Mom,” she said.
“You never told me where you were last night,” Ida reminded her.
Jackie smiled. “I know.”
She walked through the store, which was now empty except for her father. “Dad,” she said, heading for the door, “please don’t keep a gun here. That’s very dangerous.”
He sputtered in her direction without looking up.
“I’m serious,” she said firmly, knowing that his failure to look her in the eye was a bad sign. She made a mental note to readdress the subject the next time she came in.
In the parking lot, she ran into Marcus Cole, a family friend and owner of Cole’s Auto Repair. He wore blue work pants, a short-sleeved shirt, a baseball cap on backwards—his usual get-up. When he saw Jackie, he stopped short and smiled wide, his blue eyes shining, his face well creased. Marcus was in his forties, wiry and fidgety. Free time drove him crazy, so he kept his shop open seven days a week and worked there himself every one of them. The prospect of an entire weekend with no job to go to would have been torture to him.
“Hi there, Jackie,” he said enthusiastically.
“Hi. Not working today?”
“No cars in the shop, but your mom’s got a rough running engine, so I said I’d take a look.”
“I remember her mentioning that.”
“Probably just needs new plugs.” He pulled off his cap and scratched his scalp through his thin brown hair. A pronounced indentation from the hat’s plastic band ran across his forehead with a row of round red marks left by the adjustment tabs. Jackie was pretty sure that pattern was by now a permanent feature of his forehead. “She said she’ll give me a ten-pound jar of Ida’s World-Famous Beef Jerky if I fix it.” He grinned like he’d hit the jackpot.
“I know you’re a car guy,” Jackie said, “but do you know anything about fixing boat engines?”
“Sure. I can fix anything with a motor. Lawn mowers, chainsaws, food processor. Boat motors are easy. You’re not planning on putting a motor on your kayak, are you?” Marcus hooted at his joke.
“No. I have a friend with a houseboat and a dead engine.”
“What kind of motor is it?”
“Uh, sorry, I don’t—”
He waved a hand. “Doesn’t matter. I can fix it. Just tell me where and when and I’ll take care of it.”
Jackie remembered Stef’s financial situation. “I don’t suppose you’d take a jar of Ida’s World-Famous Beef Jerky for that, would you?”
“Oh, no, no. No need to pay me. It’ll be fun. Boat motors are a kick. Besides, after what you did for our little Smokey, I can never thank you enough.”
“That’s really nice of you, Marcus. My friend doesn’t have much money. How is Smokey these days?”
“Great. She’s a fur ball of trouble, that little stinker. But she keeps Annie company when I’m at the shop. Annie prefers Smokey’s company anyway, I’ll bet.”
Jackie laughed. “I’m glad she’s doing well. I’ll call you about the houseboat to set something up. Say hi to Annie for me.”
“Will do.” Marcus sauntered into the bait shop where Jackie heard her mother’s loud and enthusiastic greeting. For a second, she flashed back to her mother’s ridiculous shirt and wondered what Marcus, or anybody who came in the shop, would think about
that.
As she drove to work, she remembered standing in Disappointment Slough in Stef’s arms, lost to the sweetness of her embrace and the hunger of her kisses. Just thinking about it sent a surge of desire through her core. When she got to work, she called Stef’s number, hoping to find her in a good mood, hoping she could arrange to get together again. But Stef’s mood would remain unknown because she didn’t answer and the phone went right to voice mail.
“Good morning,” Jackie said. “It’s Jackie. I hope you’re feeling better today. I really enjoyed our evening together. Until the robbery, of course.” She laughed nervously. “I’d like to see you again. Soon. Please call.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Would Stef be happy to see her with another offer of unsolicited help? Marcus sat in the passenger seat beside Jackie, a skinny arm propped on the frame of the open window, his ball cap on backwards as usual, smiling distractedly at the countryside. Jackie hadn’t heard from Stef for a few days and didn’t know what to expect from her.
She was uneasy, but more hopeful about Stef now that they’d spent some time together and she had seen a more playful, friendly and amorous side of her personality. It wasn’t just the romantic turn their relationship had taken that made Jackie optimistic. It was seeing Stef having fun. She had seemed so serious before and fundamentally sad, as though she had a great burden on her shoulders. One thing Jackie had figured out was that Stef was the kind of person who didn’t ask for help, even when she was desperately in need of it. So if you wanted to help her, you just had to shove your way in. I’m fully capable of that, she thought with satisfaction.
When they arrived at the houseboat, Marcus looked it over, nodded approvingly. He obviously couldn’t wait to get his hands in her guts. Stef stood on a stepladder at the stern with a can of paint and a paintbrush. Deuce came running toward the pickup, barking a friendly welcome. As Jackie got out of the truck, she noticed the blue trim of the boat had been brightened up considerably. Deuce stopped barking and came up to Jackie for a pat on the head. Too bad your owner isn’t as eager to see me, she thought.
Stef stepped down from the ladder. Marcus strode over to her on his long legs and Jackie followed.
“Hi,” Jackie said cheerfully. “This is Marcus. I’ve brought him to look at your engine. Unless you’ve got it going already.”
Marcus shook Stef’s hand.
“Hi, Marcus,” she said. “I haven’t got it going, no. I’ve been painting.”
Jackie stood back and gazed appreciatively at the newly-painted trim. “Beautiful color,” she said. “Really brightens it up. I didn’t realize the old color was so faded.”
“Meander Blue,” Stef said.
“What?”
“The color. It’s called Meander Blue.”
Marcus already had the cowling open on the motor and was peering into it. He seemed to have forgotten about them.
“Jackie,” Stef said quietly, “if I could afford a mechanic, I would have hired one already.”
“He’s not going to charge you. Not for labor. Just parts if you need any. He’s doing me a favor.”
“How old is this thing?” Marcus asked. “Seventies maybe, huh?”
“Seventy-five!” Stef answered. Then she lowered her voice again and addressed Jackie. “I don’t know. I don’t like owing people favors.”
“He’s doing it for me, for treating his cat, so why don’t you cool it with the I don’t need nothing from nobody attitude? It seems to me you can use a hand.”
Stef looked taken aback at Jackie’s tone, but she said nothing.
“Nice engine in its day,” Marcus said. “Hundred and fifteen horsepower Johnson. I’ve seen a couple like this before. Does it fire up at all?”
“No,” Stef said.
“Don’t get mad if I ask the obvious,” Marcus said. “But experience has taught me to start at the beginning. Is there gas in it?”
Stef laughed. “Yes. New gas. I’ve replaced the battery. New spark plugs and wires. There’s spark on all the plugs now, which wasn’t the case when I started.”
“So maybe not an ignition problem. Maybe a fuel system problem. How long since this thing worked?”
“Three years. The last time she was in the water, it worked okay. That’s what the previous owner told me. But since it’s been here, it hasn’t been used at all.”
“Not good to let an engine sit like that. Do you have a water barrel for the prop so I can try to start it? Wouldn’t want to burn it up in case it does kick over a few times.”
Stef got a large plastic bucket, positioned it under the propeller, then filled it with a hose.
Marcus hovered over the engine with a spray can. “Carburetor cleaner,” he explained. “Highly flammable. Give her something to burn.”
He tried starting the engine. It sputtered, ran for three seconds, then died. Stef looked momentarily giddy at this brief burst of life, which was apparently more than she had expected.
“Yep,” Marcus said, nodding. “Not getting any fuel.”
“What’s causing that?” Stef asked.
“Could be a lot of things. Fuel pump not working. Clogged fuel line or fuel filter. Carb gunk. I’m gonna pull the carburetors and check ’em out.” He looked absolutely thrilled at the thought. “Is there someplace I can sit and spread the parts out?”
“There’s a picnic table over by the grill. You can use that.”
“Okay. I’ll get to work.”
“Can I help?” Stef asked.
“Naw. I like to work alone. You girls go do girl stuff. Go on. Git.”
He sprinted back to the truck to get his tool box.
“He’s good,” Jackie assured Stef. “I know he seems kinda goofy.”
“At this point, I’ll take it. Come on in. I’ll make some iced tea.”
“I called the other day,” Jackie said.
Stef looked embarrassed. “Yeah, I got the message.”
They went inside and Stef filled a teakettle with water and put it on the stove. Apparently she didn’t think any explanation was necessary for why she hadn’t returned the call. Jackie sat on the built-in sofa in the living area and peered at a couple of photos on the wall. A middle-aged woman stood in a huddle of three young adults, two boys and a girl. The girl was clearly Stef at maybe twenty years old. The photo next to this was of an older woman, in her sixties, with white hair and a mere hint of a smile.
“This is your family?” Jackie asked.
“Uh-huh.” Stef leaned against the kitchen counter, facing Jackie. “The one on the left is my maternal grandmother. Grandma Mattie. She’s been gone awhile now. The other one is my mom and brothers, Jay and Bruce.”
“Your mother’s very tall. Where does she live?”
“Hayward. Same house I grew up in. Grandma Mattie lived in the next block, so whenever I was angry or sad or hungry I ran over there for comfort. I always thought of her as my refuge.” A brief, distant smile passed across Stef’s face. “Mostly from my brothers.”
“It’s always good to have a place to run to,” Jackie conceded. “Does your mother still work?”
“Yes. She works in a doctor’s office. General office stuff.”
Jackie nodded. “What about you? What sort of work do you do?”
Stef hesitated, looking suddenly troubled. “I’m unemployed,” she said, averting her eyes.
The teakettle let out a shrill whistle. Stef lifted it off the burner and poured the hot water into a glass pitcher, into which she dropped a tea infuser.
“That’ll need to sit there awhile,” she said, turning back to Jackie, who sat with her hands on either side of her, pushing down against the couch cushion.
Jackie wondered what unhappy thoughts she had triggered with her question. She stood and walked up to Stef, slipping her hands loosely around her waist, then kissed her tenderly on the mouth. She looked into those tragic hazel eyes, wishing she could see what lay beyond. Stef stood limply, seeming not to know how to respond. Jackie
had expected more enthusiasm and wasn’t sure what this ambivalence meant. It seemed that for every step forward with Stef, she slid two steps back.
“So why didn’t you call me back?” Jackie asked, trying to sound more curious than accusing. “I thought we were going somewhere.”
Stef attempted a smile and touched Jackie’s cheek gently. “Maybe because I’m not sure where we’re going. Maybe you’re going somewhere I’m not. You said the other day you’re looking for somebody to be serious about. I’m not that person, Jackie.”
“How do you know? We’ve barely gotten started.”
Stef look conflicted, as if she were arguing with herself. Jackie wished she could hear that argument, wished she could understand what ghosts haunted Stef’s mind. She hoped this was the moment Stef opened up to her. But instead of talking, Stef pulled her close to kiss her, and Jackie gladly cooperated. They stood beside the kitchen counter in a close embrace, their kisses long and sensuous. Everywhere their bodies touched, Jackie’s skin tingled with raw energy.
“Kissing you is incredible,” Jackie breathed when they pulled apart.
Stef smiled. “It’s not bad from my point of view either. Do you think this is what Marcus meant when he suggested we go do ‘girl stuff’?”
“I doubt it, but I’ll take this over painting your toenails any day.”
Stef snorted. “You just try to paint my toenails and I’ll—”
“Hey!” called Marcus near the kitchen window.
Stef and Jackie broke abruptly apart. Stef leaned toward the window and hollered out. “What’s up?”
“There’s a lot of crud. Floats are shot. We’ll need new ones. Fuel filter too. Gummed up.” He walked up the steps to the sliding glass door and peered through.
“That was fast,” Stef remarked to Jackie. She slid the door open.
Marcus wiped his hands on a rag. “I’ll need to get carburetor kits and rebuild the whole dang things. That should do the trick.”
“Are you sure?” Stef asked.
“Sure as eggs is eggs.”
“Will that be expensive?”
“Naw! Less than forty bucks for the kits. Just a bunch of gaskets, mainly, and then you got your fuel filter. A few bucks more. The thing is, parts for this classic won’t be sitting on the shelf at Jim’s Marina. I’ll make some calls and see if I can find ’em. Might have to order ’em.”