by Cap Daniels
“Get out of here. Go help Vinny or do hostess stuff.”
She winked as she danced away. I hoped I was being unnecessarily concerned, but I felt like I had every reason to question who and what the Andersons were.
Just as Michael had said, it was a beautiful day and a magnificent boat. I was sailing and nobody was shooting at me. That added up to a pretty good day in my book.
About an hour later, I dodged the shoals and breakers at the northern end of Cumberland Island, and I made my way into the delta formed by the Satilla and Cumberland rivers. Turning back southward into the Cumberland, I found the wind had fallen off to less than six knots. It wasn’t going to be possible to sail down the river as I had hoped, so I started the engines and furled the big genoa up front. I left the mainsail aloft for the sake of appearances.
I motored down the Cumberland River until I came to Terrapin Cove, a larger anchorage about two and a half miles north of Brickhill River, and dropped my anchor in eleven feet of water.
Vinny had set a beautiful table on deck with flowers, china, cloth napkins, and elegant silverware. I headed to the bow to attach the snubber, a large piece of hard rubber designed to act as a shock absorber between the anchor chain and the boat.
As I passed the Andersons, I said, “Vinny has your lunch prepared and he’s set a beautiful table for you in the back.”
They rose and headed aft, but I was surprised to see Michael walking down the portside while Sara took the starboard.
When we made it to the stern, Michael said, “I’d like to wash up before lunch if you wouldn’t mind. Where would I find the men’s room?”
I pointed into the interior of the boat. “Make your way through there, turn left and down the stairs. The head is on the right.”
He went into the interior, and I slid the door open so I could see and hear if he was pilfering around inside my boat. Shortly after, he returned to the deck with his hands still wet, so perhaps he really was just washing up for lunch. I needed to relax. The Andersons were nice people, and I was trying to turn them into something sinister.
Vinny served them salads and then poured a taste of pinot grigio into Michael’s glass. Vinny stepped back while the man sniffed and tasted the wine. Following a silent nod of approval, Vinny poured two glasses and walked away. Skipper watched with obvious interest as Vinny worked.
The main course came out as soon as Skipper cleared the salad plates and replaced the wine glasses. Vinny presented a bottle of chardonnay and Michael inspected the label. After examining the bottle, Michael slid his fresh glass to the edge of the table and Vinny poured another taste. Michael swirled the glass and held it up, staring intently into the wine. He stuck his nose in the glass and inhaled deeply before tasting it and declaring it perfect. Vinny smiled, poured, bowed, and backed away.
I was watching the show from the navigation table inside the main salon. Vinny’s performance was impressive, and Skipper seemed to be learning a new collection of skills from the seasoned bartender and chef. I watched the Andersons carefully and noticed Michael scanning the marshy shoreline every few minutes.
I called Vinny over. “What are you serving for dessert?”
“I’m doing a nice cheesecake with fresh mango and diced pineapple with a mint garnish.”
“Sounds fantastic,” I said. “What wine will you serve with it?”
“Definitely a sauvignon blanc,” he said, as if I was supposed to know which wine paired with cheesecake.
“Can you do me a favor? Just for fun?” I asked.
“I guess so,” he said. “What is it?”
“I want you to pour out the bottle of sauvignon blanc and refill it with a pinot noir. Serve it in champagne flutes. No, wait. On second thought, have Elizabeth do it. That way if it goes south, you can claim she’s learning, and you can make it right.”
“Why would I do that?”
“It’s just a hunch,” I said. “I don’t think these people know as much about being rich as they’re pretending to know. I’d like to have a little fun and see if my hunch is correct.”
“Okay, but if this screws up my tip—”
I put my hand on his arm. “If it screws up your tip, I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
He shrugged. “Okay. You’re the captain.”
He went to work emptying the white wine into a carafe and refilling the empty bottle with a beautiful red pinot noir. He pressed the cork back into the bottle until it was flush with the lip. He briefed Skipper on the plan and then sent her to refill their glasses with the chardonnay. I liked Vinny’s tactics. It appeared he wanted the Andersons to see Elizabeth at the table before pulling the red-for-white prank during dessert.
As the couple was finishing the main course, I walked onto the deck and stood with my hands crossed behind my back. “I hope you’re enjoying your lunch. Vinny is quite the chef and sommelier. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Sara smiled. “Everything is marvelous. We couldn’t be happier.” She had no discernable accent and spoke almost flawlessly.
“I hope you’re finding Jekyll Island to your liking,” I said. “Where do you call home?”
Michael and Sara locked eyes before he said, “We’re from the Midwest originally, but we live in New England now. We travel a good bit and always enjoy coming to the South—when it isn’t too hot, of course.”
He was devoid of accent as well, and his answer to my question couldn’t have been more vague.
“Well then,” I said, “it looks like it’s time for dessert, and has Vinny got a treat for you.”
I stepped aside as Skipper cleared the table and replaced the silverware. She stood tall, thin champagne flutes in front of each of them. She stepped aside and allowed Vinny to present the dessert plates with the creamy white cheesecake. They sighed in admiration of the beautiful dessert, and Vinny took a small bow. Skipper returned to the table and held out the sauvignon blanc bottle for Michael to review.
He glanced at the label for less than a second before looking up at her with a furrowed brow. “You’re pouring a sauvignon blanc and you set up champagne flutes.”
I moved to intervene, but Vinny beat me to it. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “Please forgive me. It’s my fault. I had originally planned a champagne with dessert, but I reconsidered and thought you’d prefer the sauvignon blanc.”
Michael said, “No apology necessary, and champagne actually sounds good with the cheesecake. Let’s see what you had in mind.”
Okay. Wrong again. He knows his wine. Maybe he is a rich guy after all.
Vinny returned with a chilled bottle of Marc Hebrart Rosé Brut and offered it for Michael’s inspection.
He checked the label and offered his flute. Vinny poured a taste.
“Keep pouring, chef,” Michael said. “Everything you’ve served has been perfect. There’s no reason to taste test a bottle that good.”
“Yes, sir. Enjoy,” he said, then he headed straight for me. “Well, I guess that’s not what you expected.”
“No, not exactly,” I said, “but thanks for playing along.”
Maybe I was wrong about the Andersons. I’d spent too much time learning to mistrust everyone around me. It was time to chill out and play boat captain.
“We have a decision to make,” I said.
Michael and Sara perked up.
“I’ve checked the conditions outside the islands, and the wind has picked up to twenty knots. That means we can do one of two things. One, we can take a leisurely sail back up the Intracoastal Waterway. It’ll be nice and calm with ten knots or so on our starboard stern quarter. We can watch the birds and probably see quite a few cruisers headed both ways. The second option is we could head back out, away from the protection of the barrier islands. We’ll hoist every sail we can find and see how much fun we can have on a big catamaran in twenty knots of wind. I know what I’d pick, but this is your day. So, what’ll it be?”
“Let’s have some fun!” Sara said.
“Perf
ect. I’ll tell Vinny to batten down the hatches.”
I started the diesels, removed the snubber, and idled forward, bringing the big anchor back aboard. We motored out of the Cumberland River and into the channel leading us out into the mighty North Atlantic. When we came out of the lee of Cumberland Island, I unfurled and trimmed the headsail, and eased the mainsheet to rig the boat for sailing on a beam reach. She accelerated beautifully. The wind had taken over, and there was no need for the noise of the engines.
The further we sailed from the barrier islands, the harder the wind blew, until it was blowing a sustained twenty-six knots. I had a little too much sail up for that much wind, so I turned the boat into the wind, brought the mainsail down, and stowed it in its cover. Back on course, the boat felt like a new Ferrari. She heeled about five or six degrees and bit into the waves. My former boat, Aegis, would’ve been heeling thirty degrees, and everything that wasn’t tied down would be crashing all over the cabin. The tendency of the catamaran to sail flat was one of the things that made her so comfortable.
After setting the autopilot to hold our course, I turned to the Andersons. “If you want to go back up front, it’ll be a lot of fun, but you’re going to get wet. I have some bathing suits downstairs if you want them. I recommend the upper deck above our heads. It’ll be a great ride, and you’ll stay dry.”
Sara wasted no time. “I wanna drive!”
Michael shrugged. “The lady wants to drive.”
“Then drive she shall,” I said.
I showed Sara to the wheel and told her there was nothing to hit, so she should have some fun. She turned the boat about twenty degrees to the south, and I directed Michael in trimming the sail for the new course.
I explained, “The closer to the wind Sara steers, the tighter we have to keep the headsail. When she turns away from the wind, we have to ease the sheet and let the sail out.”
“The sheet?” he asked.
“I’m sorry. I forgot to tell you that sailing has its own language. A sheet is a line used to trim a sail. This is the genoa sheet,” I said, holding the red and white line in my hand. “The genoa is the big sail upfront. It’s all the sail we need in this much wind. In fact, if the wind picks up much more, we won’t need all of the genoa.”
The boat picked up speed and started cutting through the waves. When we’d hit a wave just right, the hull would send a wall of water up and over the bow and crashing onto the cabin top ahead of us.
The boat started losing speed and the genoa flapped in the wind.
“What happened?” yelled Sara.
I laughed. “You turned into the wind—we can’t sail that way. This is called ‘being in irons’ because we can’t go anywhere. Turn the wheel all the way to the left, and wait for the bow to fall off and fill the sail again.”
She did as I said, but it wasn’t happening.
“Now, turn the wheel all the way to the right and be patient,” I said. “We’re too far into the wind to turn left, so we’ll have to let her come all the way back around.”
The bow fell off to the right, and the boat came lazily around, making a giant circle in the water.
Sara giggled. “Oops. I’ll try not to do that again.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Everyone does that at first. You’re doing fine.”
When she had the boat headed in the right direction, we started picking up speed again. The boat was heavy, but she accelerated impressively. When we stopped picking up speed and settled back into the groove, I glanced at the GPS and saw we were making twelve knots. I couldn’t believe a sailboat could make twelve knots upwind. I was becoming more impressed with my new boat by the minute.
Sara made the boat dance and skip across the waves. “Michael, you’ve got to try this! It’s amazing!”
I pointed to the helm. “Michael, if you can get her away from there, it’s all yours.”
I watched and listened as Sara told Michael what to expect and how to steer. I was impressed with his ability to let her go on without interruption.
Sara finally surrendered and jumped into my arms, hugging me. “That was great! Thank you, Chase. Now show me how to sheet the sail or whatever.”
We went through the same instructions I’d given Michael, and she caught on quickly. Soon, she and Michael were working together like a well-oiled machine. It was fun to see them enjoy themselves.
They took turns piloting the boat and trimming the sails for the rest of the afternoon. As evening approached, I told them we needed to get back to Jekyll Island. The channel and inlet could be tricky in the dark.
Turning downwind, we eased the genoa sheet, converting the huge sail from a lifting wing into a kite, and suddenly everything was calm and placid. We were running before the wind and making twelve knots, but it felt like we were sitting still. The boat was well-behaved, and I couldn’t have been happier with her.
We made it back to the dock just as the sun was making another spectacular exit. I recommended having a seat up top and enjoying another cocktail as the sun sank into the western horizon. It was the perfect punctuation to a fantastic day at sea.
* * *
Three young men slipped out of a white service van sitting in the parking area. Two had dollies laden with cases of liquor and wine, and the third man had a rolling garbage can. I hopped from the boat and stopped the men who were eager to get their jobs done and go home.
I said, “Hey, can you guys wait a few minutes until our guests disembark? I don’t want them to get in your way, or vice-versa. They’ll be leaving in just a few minutes.”
The men groaned and grumbled. I returned to my boat to help the Andersons ashore.
They finished their cocktails and made their way down from the upper deck. They ignored me and headed straight for Skipper and Vinny, where they thanked them, shook their hands, and pressed a thick fold of cash in each of their palms.
The Andersons approached me. “Chase, we had an amazing time today. Thank you for everything. Your boat is beautiful. Your crew is amazing. The food was spectacular. And, you, our new friend, are a great captain.”
He stuck out his hand, and I could see several one hundred-dollar bills folded in his palm. “I’m not a shaker,” I said. “I’m a germaphobe.” I closed my fist and offered him my knuckles for a fist bump.
He turned away from me and whispered to Sara before she jumped into my arms again. I thought I felt her touch my butt, but I didn’t react.
“Chase, this was the most amazing day. I wish we could do it again, but we’re leaving tomorrow. Thanks for everything,” she said.
They left the boat, and my crew emerged from the main salon.
Skipper held out a wad of cash. “Can you believe they gave me a four-hundred-dollar tip? We’ve gotta do more of these charters.”
Vinny counted off seven hundred-dollar bills and slipped them into his apron. “Thank you, Chase. I enjoyed the day on your boat, and Elizabeth is fantastic. If she ever needs a job, have her look me up.”
I thanked him for the great work and for the previous night’s conversation about overhearing the Andersons.
He said, “My guys in the van are going to stock your bar and carry away the trash. Do you mind if they come aboard?”
“Of course not,” I said. “Anyone bearing free liquor is always welcome on my boat.”
The men went about provisioning and cleaning the galley. Vinny gave them explicit instructions and jogged up the dock toward the hotel. His guys were finished in less than five minutes, and the interior of the boat looked brand-new.
When the men were gone, Skipper came out of the main salon with a scotch on the rocks for me.
“Thank you, but you aren’t the hostess anymore. You don’t have to serve me.”
“You’ve worked hard today,” she said. “You deserve a drink.”
“You did a great job today. I couldn’t have asked for more from you.”
I left the deck to change clothes and make sure everything was st
ill where it had been before our adventure at sea. When I removed my pants to slip on shorts, I felt a lump in the back pocket. I reached in and pulled out ten hundred-dollar bills.
So that’s what Sara was doing when I thought she was grabbing my butt.
I carried the cash back out on deck and handed it to Skipper. “Here’s a little jump-start for your new wardrobe.”
She stared at the bills and grabbed me, pulling me into a long, intense hug. “Thank you, Chase. You’re the best!”
“Don’t get used to fourteen-hundred-dollar days on the boat. I don’t anticipate doing any more charters.”
22
Someone’s Watching
Vinny had secretly made us a little dinner and dessert care package and left it on the boat. After Skipper and I devoured our meal, she got up from the table and danced into the main salon. I liked how she never seemed to walk anywhere. She was either skipping or dancing. I think that spoke volumes about the happy child who still lived inside her, despite the horrors she’d endured.
She returned with the half-full bottle of champagne and two flutes. “Do you think it’d be okay if I had a glass of champagne?”
I took the bottle from her hand and poured two flutes of the bubbling amber champagne.
“Thank you for not treating me like a kid.”
“Thank you for working so hard today. You did a great job. Even Vinny said so.”
“It was fun,” she said. “I learned a lot. It was hard work part of the time, but I liked it. What were you doing when you had me take the wrong glasses to the table? I mean, I didn’t even know there were different kinds of glasses for different kinds of wine.”
I scoffed at my previous behavior. “I’m just paranoid. The work I do makes me not trust people. The whole thing about a couple wanting to go sailing, specifically on my boat, made me a little wary. Also, Sara said she saw a woman on the boat with me and she described Anya to a T. I was doing a little test to see if they were really a rich couple or just people pretending to be what they aren’t. I figured they wouldn’t know champagne from Chablis if they were pretending, but they knew their stuff. I was just being cautious.”