Paramedic Killer

by Patterson, Pat

  “Mind? Are you kidding?”

  “You’re all she ever talks about, you know. ‘How’s Jim? Can you find me a guy like him? I wish he was my age.’ She thinks you’re a rock star.”

  “Right. Have her bring a boyfriend. We’ll make it a foursome.”

  “There’s no boyfriend. She’s very picky about who she dates.”

  “She must be.”

  “Okay then, we’ll be on the 9:30 ferry.”

  They chatted for a few minutes about their plans: How long they’d be gone—“All day.” What food to bring—“Sandwiches and chips, I’ll have drinks.” What to wear—“Just bring your bathing suits.”

  “Jim—” Valerie emitted a deep sigh. “I know we haven’t been getting along too well lately. Let’s try to have some fun today.”

  “Let’s do.”

  Jim placed his phone on the patio table and picked up his Kindle Fire, wondering what the day would bring. With a few keystrokes he opened it to his favorite Bible app. The verse of the day read: “Trust in the Lord with all your heart.”

  “Trust in the Lord?” Jim shook his head as he thought about all that had happened the night before— the masked killers, Devon and his grandmother, Sharon’s breakdown and the poor stabbed dog. He thought of his troubled relationship with Valerie and his own recent battles with emotion. He felt the hard, dark elbow of depression jab him in the ribs. “Lord,” he whispered, turning off the Kindle. “You need to help me. I don’t know how to trust you.”

  CHAPTER

  11

  SATURDAY—09:15—NOVEL IDEA (SLIP #23 Pair-A-Docks Marina) Write about what you know—that was the golden rule, and it worked for Sadie Miller. Her second novel was a great success. With over 40,000 downloads on Amazon, and counting, she felt sure she would be earning enough to make her new boat payments and still put a little into savings. And the reviews had been unbelievable, gaining her five stars on the rating scale. She didn’t necessarily enjoy writing about divorce, loneliness, ADHD, and the yearning desire for a new relationship that nagged her all the time, but it was definitely what she knew best. She tapped at the keys, lost in the scene, determined to finish the chapter before breakfast. She had just hit the enter key to start a new paragraph when a voice broke her concentration.

  “Whatcha writing?”

  Sadie glanced up, startled to see a handsome stranger standing on the dock behind her boat. He looked like a guy ready for sailing, tanned and sturdy with a blue duffel bag over his shoulder and a tired looking grin on his face. But it was a nice grin, she thought. Really nice. It took a moment for her to remove herself from the story and re-enter the real world, but when she did she almost jumped with excitement. “Oh! Oh, I’m sorry, yes! I mean, what did you say?”

  “You type like a pro. You must be a writer.”

  “Yeah, sorry, I was deep in thought.”

  “No, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have snuck up on you. Your message said to come see you. That was you, wasn’t it?”

  Sadie offered an apologetic smile. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind,” he said glancing at her hair. “You’ve been painting.”

  “Painting?” Sadie touched her bangs. The hair felt stiff with dried paint. “Oh my gosh,” she exclaimed, standing. “I must look like a … I just painted the hatch for my stern gear locker. It got gouged up pretty bad during the passage. How bad is it?”

  “Not bad,” he said with a smile. “You have pretty hair.”

  He likes my hair?

  Sadie ran her hand through her bangs. Her face felt hot and flushed. He peered into her eyes as if trying to figure her out and then leaned over the railing and glanced down at the laptop screen. “Abby’s heart fluttered. She could sense her pupils dilating. She could feel her mouth begin to water. She—”

  “That’s enough.” Sadie closed the laptop. “You can read the rest after it’s published.”

  “This must be the sequel to Island Traveler.”

  “How’d you know about that book?”

  “I can’t lie. After you friended me on Facebook last night, I checked your profile and read a little about you. Googled you, too. You’ve got a nice website.”

  Sadie didn’t mention that she’d been gazing at his pictures, too. She began to undress him layer by layer, the way an author does. He was perfect … for her new character anyway. She studied his eyes—hazel and bright as his smile. A crescent shaped scar decorated one cheek. His ears were small but in a cute kind of way, beneath a head of short cut hair the color of roasted chestnuts. She felt herself drawn to him. To his hard build and casual style. He stood about six feet-two, with a golden tan that reflected a lifetime of sailing. And she could tell by the permanent nicks on his arms and legs that he wasn’t afraid of action. “I’m sorry,” she said trying to disguise her excitement. “So, we haven’t formally met. I’m Sadie—”

  “Miller. And I’m Jim—”

  “Stockbridge.”

  “Right,” he said laughing out loud. “Facebook. Hey, I noticed the jerry cans. Just sail in?”

  “I did—” Sadie continued her analysis. He was handsome, that was for sure. He was going to make a great character for her book. She checked out his clothing—short-sleeved REI button-down and Top-Sider deck shoes. He was dressed for an afternoon on the water, but not in the typical yuppied-out kind of way like so many of the other wannabe sailors she had seen around the world. No, this was a man’s man. The kind of guy you wanted on your side in a fight. In fact, from the look of the bruise on his left arm and the one under his left eye, he had recently been in one. And his smile—intoxicating. She decided she liked him. A lot. “I arrived last evening after dark.”

  “Where from?”

  “Tortola. Well, Charleston really. I just finished a writer’s conference there on my way up from Tortola. That’s where I picked up this boat.”

  “You’re from the islands?”

  “For the last five years. Before that Maine. I sail from place to place to write.”

  “Nice.” He glanced at the yacht. “Island Packet? 35? 36?”

  “Thirty-seven. I bought her with the advance for my next novel.”

  “You must be doing well.”

  “We’ll see. This will be the third book in the series. Somewhere in Time has done especially well, so the publisher gave me a nice advance for this one.”

  “What’s it about?”

  “A girl named Abby. She’s just sailed into a new port to start a new life. She’s about to meet someone.”

  “So it’s a romance.”

  “It’s what I write. So Sonny tells me you’re a paramedic.”

  “Not today.” He shifted his weight and leaned against a pylon. “I’ve got 24 hours off, and I intend to use them.”

  “Must have been a hard shift.”

  “It was. I hit a dog with the ambulance. Poor thing’d been stabbed. She’s at the pound now. I’m going to see about adopting her later … if she survives.”

  Sadie felt a knot in her stomach. She wanted to ask him aboard. To offer him a cup of coffee. To start learning about him … his history … his dreams and his goals. He seemed to read her mind.

  “Well listen,” he said, glancing at his watch. “It was nice to meet you, Sadie, but I better get going.”

  No. Don’t go.

  “I’ve got friends coming on the 9:30 ferry. We’re sailing to Lookout for the day. My fiancée’s little sister has never seen the lighthouse.”

  Fiancée?

  Sadie felt herself frown. He bit his lip awkwardly as if to apologize for revealing the truth. Sadie felt crushed, but at the same time so excited she could hardly stand it. He would be fun to have around, to look at if nothing else, and what a wonderful new character he was going to make. She would watch him carefully. Learn his thoughts and the way he moved, and maybe, she thought, become close friends.

  Can I do that? Be friends with this gorgeous guy?

  “Have fun,” she said standin
g and offering her hand. She reached over the stern rail. He took it and shook it, holding on a little too long. His eyes seemed to smile as if he liked the feel of her fingers. She felt herself blush again. She felt so stupid. He seemed to have something more to say. He paused and stammered slightly, and then smiled and nodded at her laptop.

  “Good luck with the novel. Maybe you’ll let me read more of it sometime.”

  “I’d like that.”

  Sadie watched him walk down the dock. He was everything Abby was looking for in a man—everything she was looking for—but he was also unavailable. She sighed, sat back down, and started thinking of a name for his character. A moment later she had her laptop going and the Internet opened to Facebook. She typed his name into the search box. A few seconds later his page appeared. She stared at his picture for a moment and wrestled with a few names before deciding on one that sounded especially strong. But what would he think of it? She glanced at him, sent him a quick message, and then jumped back into the story. A moment later she was writing.

  CHAPTER

  12

  SATURDAY—09:24—SHOAL SURVIVOR (SLIP #25, West Dock, Pair-A-Docks Marina) Shoal Survivor was not the prettiest sailboat at Pair-A-Docks Marina, but she was his and she was paid for. The blue-hulled thirty-three foot ocean cruiser from Bristol, Rhode Island carried 12,800 pounds of displacement and a five-and-a-half foot keel. She had a low freeboard that encouraged sloppy waves to slosh over the sides, but she was dependable and solid and well suited for the shallow waterways that surrounded Morehead City. Jim had first seen her in dry dock at Waterway Marine & Dry Dock sitting above the ground in a state of disrepair supported by a series of steel boat jacks. Her whale-like hull had been covered with barnacles, her mast and rigging missing. The propeller shaft was bent like the end of a hockey stick, and from the looks of things it had been some time since she had seen a good day’s work. Like Jim’s Place, she had fallen victim to Hurricane Floyd, and her previous owner, not willing to deal with the difficulties of repair, had let her go cheap. Jim had spent over a year rebuilding her teak and mahogany brightwork and sprucing up her galley, bunks and salon, but he had left most of the serious work to the pros—new engine, driveshaft, mast and rigging, etc. The craftsmen had repaired a leaking through-hull, installed a state-of-the-art radar/navigation system, and even modified the bow to include an anchor housing and windlass. After replacing the sails, launching her and filling her tank with fuel, he had motored down Core Creek to the mouth of the Newport Sound, and then through the maze of sunken shoals and islets to her new home at Pair-A-Docks. And there she had been ever since.

  Shoal Survivor greeted Jim with a gentle rocking motion as he stepped aboard. After tossing his gear below, switching on the batteries, and checking the engine oil, he returned topsides and glanced about the deck. The fiberglass was wet, the seat cushions damp, and a few minor spider webs had appeared overnight, but otherwise she was exactly the way he had left her. He grabbed the dock hose and rinsed off the topsides, then he removed the mainsail cover and moved to the helm.

  Curious, he glanced over at Sadie. She had her bare feet up on the cockpit seat, MacBook in her lap. He chastised himself for gazing a little too long and went back to work, pausing again momentarily to glance her way. Fortunately, she was paying him no attention.

  Jim reached for the boat’s ignition key. He was just about to turn it when he felt his phone vibrate. He pulled it out and glanced at the screen. A Facebook message awaited retrieval. He touched the screen and a message appeared…

  I was thinking of the name, Alex Hunt … how do you like it? -Sadie

  Sadie held up her laptop and giggled. “Your character’s name,” she shouted across the divide. “Like it?”

  “Does this mean I’m in your book now?”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  “No.” Jim climbed off his boat and walked back over. Sadie motioned him aboard. “I don’t mind. But you’ve got me curious.” He hopped aboard and glanced about the deck with an admiring eye. He liked the shiny chrome hardware and stained mahogany trim. He peeked below into the main cabin and nodded his approval. “Very nice, but too clean. Do you really live here?”

  “I like a clean boat.”

  Jim sat down. “Who’s Alex Hunt?”

  “You look like an Alex. And Hunt seems like a strong name. But if I’m going to write about you, Jim, I need to know something more about you. Can we sit down soon and build your character, perhaps over a glass of wine?”

  “Sadie, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, for one thing, my fiancée.”

  Jim heard a car door slam. He glanced at the marina parking lot and spotted Valerie and her little sister coming toward the dock.

  “You better go,” Sadie said, standing.

  “Where are you going?”

  Sadie glanced at the girls and quickly disappeared down the stairs into her cabin.

  Jim jumped onto the dock and walked up to meet his guests. Valerie carried an L.L. Bean canvas bag that looked to be full of towels. Her little sister carried nothing but herself. Even barefoot she stood about two inches taller than Valerie, but she walked with the carefree innocence of a girl half her age. Jim hoped she could always remain that way.

  “Jim!” Melanie skipped down the dock and practically leapt into his arms. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  Jim gave her a quick hug and held her at arm’s length. Melanie’s green eyes beamed, as if about to explode with excitement. “Mel,” he said. “It’s so great to see you!”

  “What happened to your eye?”

  “A little tussle is all.”

  “Oh, Jim, I can’t wait to go sailing!”

  “Me either!”

  “This is all she’s talked about since last night, you know.”

  Jim turned to Valerie and gave her a hug. “Morning.”

  “Good morning.”

  “Oh, hey, Jim, check it out—” Melanie twisted at the waist and turned her right knee inward to lift her foot. “Like my new tattoo?”

  Jim leaned over and looked at the small green clover recently inked on the side of her right ankle. “A four-leaf clover.”

  “It’s a shamrock, silly. An Irish good luck charm.”

  “Good luck, huh?” Jim turned back to Valerie. “We could use a little good luck right about now. You get one too?”

  “Not quite.”

  “I need sunscreen,” Melanie said grabbing his hand. “Can I use some of yours?”

  “Of course. It’s in the cabin. Look on the nav table.”

  Melanie ran down the dock and jumped aboard Shoal Survivor. She turned around and grinned at them and then disappeared down the companionway into the cabin.

  “I’ve never seen her so excited,” Valerie said.

  Jim turned and looked at Valerie. Like her sister, she possessed a natural effervescence that made people stare, but her emerald eyes seemed heavier than usual, a little sadder perhaps, as if the day-to-day stress of their relationship had surgically removed a bit of the color. He ran the fingers of one hand through her hair. It felt like silken gold. “Val, are you all right?”

  “Jim, who was that girl? The one you were talking with when we arrived.”

  “Who, Sadie? No, Val, she’s my new neighbor. We were chatting about her novel.”

  “Mm hmm.”

  Valerie peered into his eyes as if searching for the truth. It made him feel uncomfortable.

  “Val, there’s nothing going on.”

  “Jim, that phone conversation wasn’t exactly uplifting.”

  “I had a bad night.”

  “Is this from the fight?” she said touching the bruise on his left forearm.

  “You don’t miss much, do you?”

  “I’m an ER doctor.”

  “I got hit with nunchuks.” Jim sensed a chill in the air. He turned and walked to the boat. After loosening the spring line, he walked forward and did the same
at the bow. “Val, my arm is the least of my worries.”

  “You should get it X-rayed.”

  “I’d rather go sailing.”

  Melanie re-emerged from the cabin wearing a blue bikini and one of Jim’s faded sailing caps. She stepped off the boat and walked up the dock to where they were standing. Jim noticed she smelled like Coppertone.

  “I see you found the sunscreen.”

  “I need some on my back,” she said holding up the bottle. “Will you do it?”

  “Um, tell you what skipper—” Valerie grabbed the sunscreen bottle and pointed at the boat. “I’ll take care of this.”

  Jim climbed aboard his yacht, moved behind the helm station, and turned the ignition key. After pushing the throttle forward a notch and pulling the choke, he pushed the starter button. The engine coughed, kicked a few times, and died. He pushed in the choke, adjusted the throttle, and tried again with the same unhealthy results. The engine chugged and choked and then abruptly stopped. He glanced at Valerie and frowned. “Ummm.”

  “Got gas?”

  “Plenty. Can one of you come here?”

  “Me!” Melanie climbed aboard and joined him at the helm.

  “See this thing?” Jim asked, pulling out the chrome knob to the left of the key.

  “The choke?”

  “Push the starter button, and when the engine catches—”

  “Push it in? Jim, I’m smarter than I look.”

  Jim thought she looked pretty smart. He left her at the helm and went below. After about twenty minutes of sweating and silent cursing, he had a new fuel filter in place. “Okay,” he shouted, wiping his hands on a greasy towel. “That oughta do it, Mel. Give it a try.” Melanie pushed the starter and the engine cranked. Jim closed the floorboard hatch, put away his tools, and went topsides. “That should do it.”

  “It’s getting hot,” Melanie said. “Can we go now?”

  No one knew better than Jim how warm the morning had become. He wiped the sweat from his face and stepped behind the helm. Valerie stood on the dock with the bowline in hand. Melanie jumped off and grabbed the spring line. Jim pulled the throttle into reverse and the boat inched backward. The girls fed out the lines until the boat was halfway out of the slip and then tossed them aboard. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.” Valerie waited for her little sister to climb aboard and then jumped on behind her. Jim revved it up, backed the boat out of the slip, then turned the helm to starboard and pushed the throttle forward. He glanced at Novel Idea. Sadie was nowhere in sight.