The Mist of Quarry Harbor

by Liz Adair

  “A young man bought it cheap from the government. He overhauled the motor and then began to build the house. It was slow going, because he didn’t have a lot of money to invest, but in time he finished it. He had help, the last year or so. He had a girlfriend who helped him. She worked alongside him, and she would say, ‘It’s an ugly duckling now, but we’re going to turn it into a swan.’”

  Mr. Knuteson chuckled softly. “They painted the hull red, and she named ’er Red Swan.”

  “He was quite a craftsman,” Cassie said. “The woodwork is excellent.”

  “Yessir, it is,” the harbormaster agreed. “He made every cupboard, every drawer in there.”

  “So, what happened? Why was it sold at auction?”

  “The boat was seized by the government because it was being used in the drug trade. It wasn’t the kind of boat they could use, so they sold it.”

  “Oh, my! Well, that sure spoils my rosy picture of the perfect couple.”

  “Oh, as far as the couple is concerned, she married someone else four years ago. But he kept the name of the boat.”

  Cassie was intrigued. “Does he still live around here?”

  The VHS radio in the corner suddenly crackled and a voice said, “Quarry Harbor, Quarry Harbor, Quarry Harbor, this is motor vessel High Five.”

  Mr. Knuteson rose. “Yes, he still lives here. He took you out this afternoon.” Then he walked over and answered the call that had come in.

  Cassie was thunderstruck. The Red Swan had been used in the drug trade? Aaron Fletcher mixed up in it, too? She shook her head, as if she could agitate the jumble of data she had just received into an understandable form.

  Mr. Knuteson was busy on the radio, so she stood and waved a good-bye. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she mouthed, and let herself out.

  The air outside was chilly, and mist was already forming in the air, microscopic droplets that made halos around the lights and clung to the skin on her face. She pulled her fleece close around her and hurried back to the hotel, and as she walked, the drum of her heels pounded out the rhythm of the question in her brain: Aaron Fletcher? Aaron Fletcher? Aaron Fletcher?

  She was so intent on examining this last bit of information that she didn’t notice until she had her key out that the door to her room was ajar and the light was on. Pushing the door open, she looked around the room, and her eyes widened in astonishment when she saw Luke Matthews just straightening up, as if he had been bending over the table.

  He saw her just after she saw him, and he met her eyes squarely.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  The ever present toothpick was in his mouth, and he chewed on it a moment. “I was checking the radiator,” he said. Then he walked to the door in silent, unhurried steps.

  Cassie didn’t move and didn’t take her eyes off him as she waited for him to leave. When he was gone, she closed the door and leaned back on it, conscious that her heart was beating too fast. She surveyed the room, but everything seemed to be as she had left it. Lifting the lid of her suitcase, she tried to remember if she had placed Chan’s day-timer in that particular corner when she put it away yesterday. Had she left her lingerie in such a jumble? Walking to the table, she saw that her “to do” list was there, and prominently displayed was number three: “Contact Border Patrol and FBI.”

  Picking up the phone, she called the front desk. When the manager answered, she asked, “Do you have a young man by the name of Luke Matthews on the staff?”

  “No, ma’am. We do not.”

  Cassie shivered as she thanked him and hung up. The hairs on the back of her neck were prickling, and she was feeling very alone and vulnerable. Only one thing to do, she thought, eyeing the dresser.

  It was the heaviest piece of furniture she had tried to move in a long time, but she finally managed to slide it over in front of the door. Then she took a pair of panty hose and tied them around the knobs on the French doors leading to the balcony. After she checked to make sure the window was locked, she was finally able to relax.

  Heaving a sigh, she picked up the phone, found the Edmonds membership clerk’s phone number, and dialed. An adolescent voice answered on the first ring. Dad wasn’t there, he said. He and Mom were out on a date. Call back tomorrow. Cassie thanked him and hung up with a frown.

  When she dialed her cell phone mailbox, she was glad to see she had a message from Ben, and she smiled as she heard his voice. But the message was short and impersonal, thanking her for the tip, and she mashed the number three to delete harder than necessary.

  She hung up the phone, and her eyes misted with tears. Her beautiful, magical day, her orca day, had turned into a miserable evening. She was barricaded in her room, and her closest friends couldn’t spare the time to leave a decent message. Not only that, but she was going to have to move that dresser so she could brush her teeth and use the facilities before going to bed.

  Sighing once more, she went to put her shoulder against the dresser and inched it back far enough that she could squeeze by with her toothbrush and towel. A few minutes later, she scraped back through, locked the door, and then pushed the dresser solidly against it.

  That accomplished, she put on her pajamas, read out of her little New Testament, said her prayers, and turned out the light. She climbed into bed where she lay awake, trying to figure out why Luke Matthews would be in her room. Did this tie in to the events of Chan’s death and the work he was doing for the government? Determined not to think about it any more tonight, she began quietly singing, “Jesus, Savior, pilot me over life’s tempestuous sea.” It seemed appropriate, and though she didn’t know more than the first two lines, she sang them over and over until finally she drifted off to sleep.

  20

  The next morning, after she finally got the dresser back to its original position, Cassie went down to breakfast. A light mist was burning off, and the prospect that it would be another brilliant day banished the fears of last night.

  Patty brought pancakes and syrup, and as she set them in front of Cassie she asked, “Have you ever been crabbing?”

  Cassie looked up quickly, brows lifted. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Crabbing. Have you ever gone fishing for crabs?”

  Cassie burst out laughing. “I thought you asked if I had ever been crabby.”

  Patty laughed, too. “No, no. Crabbing. My family is going out today, just as soon as I get off at eleven. Would you like to go with us? We’re a rowdy bunch, but we know where the good crab spots are. You’re guaranteed a good meal.”

  “Yes. I’d like to go. But . . . what to wear? My one pair of jeans got dowsed with saltwater yesterday. They’re pretty stiff.”

  “You’ve got a couple of hours, and there’s a coin laundry in the back. They can be done by the time we go.”

  Cassie followed Patty’s suggestion, and while the clothes were washing, she tried again to reach the Edmonds Ward membership clerk. The answering machine picked up, but she didn’t leave a message. Next, she tried Punky, but no one was there, either, so she left a short, “wish you were here” message and went to check her laundry.

  The Levi’s and knit top were still warm from the dryer when Cassie put them on. Seeing that she had a few minutes before she had to meet Patty, she checked her cell phone mailbox. Punky had just missed her call and left a very hyper, extremely disjointed message about getting flowers on opening night from a MAN! “You’ll be so surprised,” she said, “when you find out who it is, but I’m not going to say. You’ll find out when you come to church. By the way, when will you be home?”

  Cassie listened to the message again, trying to find out who Punky was talking about. Impatient with the dearth of information, she looked up to see it was almost eleven. Grabbing her purse and her fleece, she arrived downstairs just as Patty was taking off her apron.

  “Great timing,” Patty said. “Is anything wrong?”

  “No, no. I just got an annoying call from a friend.”

 
Patty held the door open for Cassie. “I hope it isn’t anything bad?”

  Cassie put her sunglasses on. “I don’t think so. She was telling me about a man in her life, but she didn’t say who it was. I’m anxious to know if it’s . . . who I think it is.”

  “If you have a supposition, that’s probably who it is. You haven’t been gone long enough for her to get serious about anyone new, have you?”

  “No. You’re right. And I’m the one who suggested he date her.”

  “Well done, then! There’s our boat, over at the public space on B Dock.”

  Cassie looked where Patty was pointing and could think of nothing to say. It was an old cabin cruiser with a piece of plywood in place of one of its windows and a bilge pump that seemed to be running continuously. Crab pots were piled in the stern and on the bow, reminding Cassie of something out of The Grapes of Wrath.

  “She doesn’t look like much, but she’s a great crabbing boat,” Patty said. “Come on, they’re waiting for us.” She picked up the pace, and Cassie hurried to keep up.

  “I’m just going to run down to my boat for a minute,” Cassie said to Patty when they reached the public space. “I need to get something.”

  “We’ll pick you up down there,” Patty called to her.

  Cassie hurried to the Red Swan and climbed aboard. She unlocked the cabin door and went to the cupboard where the life vests were stored. Grabbing the one she had worn the day before, she quickly put it on and had the door locked and was waiting on the end of the pier when the ramshackle cruiser pulled up to the dock.

  After Cassie had climbed onboard, Patty introduced her mother and father, her sister and two brothers. As Patty said, they were a rowdy bunch. They all seemed to speak at ninety decibels, but it was clean and affectionate speech, if not always grammatical.

  Patty’s father, East Porter, was small and wiry, with a Butch Cassidy moustache and wire-rimmed glasses. He was the only quiet one of the bunch, though he did volunteer to Cassie that his parents had named their four boys for the points of the compass so they would always have something to talk about when speaking to strangers. “They wanted me to be socially adept,” he confessed with a wry smile. “Didn’t work.”

  Adele Porter, Patty’s mom, was short and plump, with thin, strawberry blonde hair and a ruddy complexion. She shook Cassie’s hand vigorously and welcomed her aboard and then pointed out Peter, Paula, and Pierce. Peter was fifteen, already taller than his dad, but built very much like him. He had curly brown hair and an engaging smile. Paula and Pierce, twin four-year-olds, were sturdy children with wide-set blue eyes and a profusion of freckles.

  Patty took the wheel, and they chugged slowly until they reached the end of the no-wake zone. Then she pushed the throttle forward and the boat leapt ahead, throwing a high rooster tail behind it. Cassie was amazed that the old boat would go so fast.

  They soon reached the crabbing grounds, and she watched with interest as East and Peter baited the cages with pieces of cut-up chicken carcasses, hung them on the homemade davit, and swung them overboard. When the pots were all out, Patty cut the engine, and as the boat drifted, Adele opened the cooler that the twins had been sitting on.

  “What’re you doing in Quarry Harbor, Cassie?” she asked as she handed out sandwiches.

  “My husband died recently, but just before, he bought the Red Swan. I came up to see it. To see what I should do with it.”

  “We’re sorry about your loss,” East said. He hesitated, then added, “But she’s a beautiful boat. Great hull, good craftsmanship.”

  “I met Aaron Fletcher. He took me out yesterday. I didn’t realize the boat used to be his.”

  “It’s a shame what happened there, and that’s no doubt,” declared Adele. “He wears the mark of his misfortune, for sure, and will to the end of his days.”

  “What happened?” Cassie asked as she unwrapped her sandwich of homemade bread and butter.

  “So, will you sell Red Swan, or are you going to keep her?” Adele asked.

  Cassie didn’t answer at first, uncertain whether Mrs. Porter was deaf or just ignoring her question. “Umm. I don’t know.”

  The twins began an argument over who was taking up the most room on top of the cooler, and by the time that was settled, Patty started the engine and they sprinted back to the first crab pot. Cassie wasn’t going to find out what happened to Aaron Fletcher.

  Each pot that they pulled up had at least two crabs in it, and some had three or four. Peter deftly transferred all the legal ones to white five-gallon buckets and laid a board on top so the crabs couldn’t climb out. They went home with twenty.

  The Porters lived in a waterfront home on the north side of St. Mary’s Island about half a mile from Quarry Harbor. The house sat above a tiny cove, just an indentation, but enough for shelter from a west wind. Their dock was old but in good repair, as was the house. Made of weathered shakes, bleached silvery white, the house was surrounded by evergreen trees, one of them a tall holly tree with red berries nestled in the thorny leaves.

  Cassie helped the family carry the crab pots up and store them in a shed. Then while East and Peter took the backs off the crabs, broke them in two, and cleaned out the gills, Patty set up the crab cooker on the back porch. Adele had Cassie help her carry a huge cauldron of water out to set on the gas burner. Throwing a handful of salt in the water, Adele said, “It’s all yours, fellas.”

  While the men cooked the crab, the women prepared the rest of the meal. Adele asked Cassie to cover the round oak table with newspapers before setting it. While she made biscuits, she asked about Cassie’s job and the schooling she had in preparation.

  “Patty is going to college,” she declared. “Next semester, she’s going to UW.”

  Cassie smiled. “Is that so, Patty? Way to go!”

  Patty, busy putting a salad together, said, “My folks are determined I’m going to college.” Rolling her eyes, she went on, “They don’t even let me date any of the local boys, for fear I’ll marry instead.”

  “You ask Cassie if college ain’t the doorway to a good living,” Adele admonished. “You don’t want to depend on some local boy to support you. They ain’t nothing in Quarry Harbor anymore that a person can make a living at.”

  “But you stayed, Mrs. Porter,” Cassie said.

  “Oh, it’s all right for me. I don’t have the gift for learning like Patty has. And we have this place. We’d never be able to afford this somewhere else. East’s dad worked for the quarry, and he got a ninety-nine year lease on this property. We’ll come out even. The lease will be up about the time we die. There won’t be nothing for the children. They’ll have to make their own way. That’s why college is so important.”

  “Listen to her, Patty,” Cassie admonished. “You’ll find lots of men at college that outshine the local boys.”

  After a time, the men hollered that the crabs were done, and everyone gathered around the table. Patty showed Cassie how to crack the legs and pull out the sweet, white flesh.

  “You have to work hard for what you get,” Cassie said.

  Patty nodded. “That’s why we always have crab on Saturday afternoon. If you had it for supper, it would be ten o’clock before you got done.”

  As they ate, Adele said that everyone could ask Cassie one question and began with Pierce, who asked, “What’s two plus two?” Everyone laughed, and when Patty told him he was supposed to ask a question about Cassie, he screwed up his face in thought and said, “Where you from?”

  The afternoon passed quickly as Cassie told these warm and welcoming people about where she lived, what she did for a living, where she had grown up, and what her favorite things were. Even though they knew about Chan’s death, they steered away from any inquiries about him or about his passing. Cassie was grateful for that. She didn’t want to spoil the day with any sadness.

  After they ate their fill, they extracted the meat from the rest of the crabs and cleaned up the mess. Everyone had a job, and all worked t
ogether until the kitchen was spotless and two good-sized plastic bags of crab meat sat in the freezer.

  The sun was low in the sky, and Adele said that Patty had better take Cassie home. Cassie said her good-byes, and as she headed down to the dock, she heard Patty say that she might check and see if Irene came in to work. If not, she would cover until after dinner.

  They made it back to B Dock quickly, and Cassie helped tie up at the public area. She said good-bye to Patty there, as she wanted to put the life vest back in the Red Swan, and Patty was anxious to get up to the hotel.

  Cassie strolled down to the end of B Dock and unlocked the cabin door. It was warm inside from the sunny day, and she decided to sit for a minute on one of the galley stools and watch the sun go down.

  As sunsets go, it was a bit of a dud. There were no flaming reds or vermillion afterburns, just a golden tinge to the sky as the sun disappeared. Dusk settled rapidly, and the marina lights were coming on as Cassie fastened the padlock.

  She sauntered back to the hotel, unwilling to let go of the glorious day. It had been such a new experience: harvesting the bounty of the sea and enjoying the fruits of your labors immediately and directly. Cassie wondered if the life Adele Porter was wishing for her daughter might not be less satisfying than the one she lived herself.

  Yawning as she climbed the stairs, Cassie realized she was really tired. As she reached her room she grabbed her toilet kit from the dresser and headed down to the bathroom, returning minutes later ready for bed. Without turning on the light, she went over to the window for one last look at the harbor. She could see a few stars shining brighter than the marina lights, and out in the bay, anchor lights were coming on as the boats rocked gently on their tethers.

  Cassie looked down at B Dock to check on Red Swan, and as she did, she noticed someone getting out of a skiff moored right next to Patty’s boat. She caught her breath as she thought she recognized the build and carriage of the man. Following him with her eyes as he walked down the float and climbed the steps to the pier, Cassie realized she hadn’t resumed breathing. Consciously, she inhaled and exhaled as she watched.