Uninvited

by David Anderson

  UNINVITED

  By David Anderson

  Digital ISBNs

  EPUB 978-022-86-0479-2

  Kindle 978-0-2286-0480-8

  WEB: 978-0-2286-0481-5

  Amazon Print 978-0-2286-0483-9

  BWLP Print 978-0-2286-0482-2

  Copyright David Anderson 2018

  Cover Art by Michelle Lee

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

  Dedication

  For Joanne and Brendan, always.

  For my parents, loved and missed.

  And for Tony Davidson, Andrew Rodgers, and the late Will McKee.

  PART ONE - ROCK

  Chapter One

  “Nick! Down there, by the side of the boat. Lean over and you can see it.”

  I wrenched my eyes away from the back of Georgia’s tiny black bikini bottoms and looked where she was pointing.

  No matter how far I hung out between the side railings, and how hard I stared, I couldn’t see anything except the prow of the boat as it scythed through foaming, churning water.

  “What is it you want me to see?” I asked hesitantly, shouting above the sound of the water. It was the first time she’d paid me the slightest notice, other than waving an empty glass at me and ordering a fresh drink last night.

  “The big fish, silly!” She slapped me on the back, perhaps annoyed that I wasn’t jumping up and down with excitement like her. This was my one big chance, and I was messing up big time.

  I convinced myself I saw something, let out a loud “Yeah!” of triumph, and straightened up. Maybe she’d ‘high five’ me or, better still, give me a hug. My head lifted quickly and struck the top rail. Pain shot through the top of my skull. At the same time, Georgia’s bony hip bumped hard into my butt, pushing me forward. Already well out over the railing, I had no way of stopping myself and began a slow motion tumble over the side.

  Time seemed to stop and the moment last forever. Then I hit the chilly, turbulent water and could no longer breathe. The next thing I knew I was hurtling down the bumpy swell, which carried me like a giant waterslide toward the back of the boat. My arms flailed uselessly; there was absolutely nothing to grab.

  Terrible thoughts filled my mind. I was as good as dead already. No one would rescue me. Not even Nora. I couldn’t swim very well, had never got beyond the basics, and it was an awful long way to either shore.

  In a few seconds I was well behind the boat and began to sink fast. Water gushed into my mouth, poured down my throat, choking me. My arms and legs moved automatically, and I got my head back above surface. I spluttered and spat out water and gasped in some air. If I could keep afloat long enough, maybe I had a chance. I opened my mouth to shout for help and swallowed more water.

  By chance, I was facing the boat and could see the stern grow smaller as it moved further away. I continued to tread water, my arms tiring double fast as hope faded and despair overwhelmed me.

  The current turned me around and I could no longer see the boat. Perhaps it was better that way. My strokes were limited to a dog paddle and I knew it would never be enough to reach shore, so I kept treading water until my arms and legs ached. My limbs slowed and stopped moving. Water filled my mouth and nose.

  This was it.

  * * *

  A face suddenly appeared in front of me, inches away from my own. My boss, Mr. Wheeler. He grinned and looked across at someone on the other side of me. I followed his gaze and saw Georgia Benton, still in her tiny black bikini, her slim waist and endless legs only inches from my face. I raised my head and began coughing and heaving up my guts. Georgia jumped back quick as lightning.

  “What happened?” I managed to squeak between splutters.

  “What do you think?” Wheeler replied. “You took a tumble into the water; I turned the boat and fished you out.”

  I looked around and saw that I was stretched out on my back on a low bench on the open deck of the boat. My clothes were soaked, and pools of water lay all around me. I raised my hands and discovered they were shaking. My gut felt like old, knotted ropes and I had a splitting headache. But I was alive and that was all that mattered. I swung my legs down and sat reasonably upright.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Damned inconvenient to have to stop like this,” Wheeler replied huffily.

  I sat with my shoulders slumped and head low, and said nothing. Did he expect me to apologise for the delay I’d caused?

  “Nice work, Julius,” Georgia said and went around to his side of the bench.

  That’s just great too, I thought. My one chance with Georgia well and truly ruined, and now she’s cooing “My hero” to Wheeler.

  “You can take the rest of the afternoon off,” Wheeler told me, “But be ready for supper.”

  Someone touched my shoulder and I turned my head. It was Nora, my twin sister. She’d been there all the time. I must have given her a heart attack, going over the side.

  She helped me onto my feet and we shuffled to the stairs to go down below to our cabins. Before I descended, I took a last look back. Wheeler was already up on the bridge, above and behind me. Through gleaming glass, I could see him standing at the steering wheel. Holding it with one hand, he reached out with the other and grabbed the intercom on the wall.

  An announcement boomed out in Wheeler’s growly ‘ship’s captain’ voice.

  “I'll be docking in a couple of hours. Get ready.”

  * * *

  The cruiser veered away from the middle of the vast, fast-flowing river and made for shore at a sharp angle. I was relieved to see it happen. No more wandering around aimlessly on the boat, going below deck then up again, trying to avoid people. When I did run into guests it usually meant spur of the moment requests to run whatever errands that magically popped into their heads.

  Our destination finally came into sight, a distant dark brown speck set well back from the grey river's edge; Julius Wheeler's log mansion in the wilderness. His “private haven far from the maddening crowd” as I’d overheard him describe it. Pretentious prick.

  At least Toby Andrews was being friendly. When I’d come back up on deck, he’d sat down beside me and handed me a chilled bottle of Evian water.

  I noticed a movement out of the corner of my eye and turned to see who it was. Georgia Benton came up from below deck and walked toward the back of the boat. Apart from her delight over imaginary big fish, I only knew two other things about her; she was into horses and riding – her parents owned a thoroughbred horse business in Southlands, Vancouver – and she’d been Wheeler's latest young squeeze until about a year ago. This last bit of information had come from Nora, who always knew the latest celebrity gossip, especially girly relationship stuff. She’d revealed this tattle a couple of weeks’ ago when we’d discussed taking this job, though even Nora didn’t know why they’d split.

  Oh well, now they’re together again. Maybe.

  I leaned forward. “Here’s Wheeler's female friend,” I whispered to Toby, hoping to get some up-to-date gossip.

  To my horror, Georgia turned her head as if she’s heard me and made her way to us, one hand idly trailing the deck rail. Even with my eyes shielded by sunglasses I had to force myself not to ogle her body. It was a losing battle; she had this sexy way of swaying her hips as she approached. She wore those shorts they call Daisy Dukes and a low cut sleeveless top, her slim limbs shining with a deep tan. Even in bare feet she still looked really tall, and her straight, centre-parted che
stnut hair gave her a sort of innocent, fresh look. Yes, I was truly smitten.

  She had an easygoing way with the others, acting as if they were all her old friends. I wanted her to talk to me like that too. Even though she’d nudged me into the water. I decided not to ask her about that, and chalk it up as an accident.

  So easy on the eye; very, very easy. Yes, she must have stumbled sideways on the moving boat. I forgave her on the spot.

  “Looks like we’ll be at the house soon,” she said brightly and sat down next to me, sending a broad smile my way. I swallowed hard and stared straight into her deep, hazel eyes.

  “I’m looking forward to landing,” I replied, “I get a bit antsy on boats.” It sounded pathetic. As if I’d ever been on a boat like this before.

  “I’m not surprised, after what you’ve just been through,” she said, giving me a relaxed smile. She crossed her legs in my direction. “Julius’ house is a lovely place; he spent a fortune on it.” She grinned knowingly. “Most people are stunned by just how big it is. But size doesn’t matter to me.”

  There was sexual innuendo in what she’d just said, or else it was my dirty mind. I sensed my face go uncontrollably red and cursed my blushing problem.

  “The Mackies told me about it this morning at breakfast,” I said, referring to two of Wheeler’s other guests. Actually, I’d overheard them. “They were here last summer, too.”

  “Julius does this sort of thing quite a lot – have house guests I mean. In the winter he takes a group up to his chalet at Whistler and in the summer, he brings them here.”

  Yes, I'm sure he has a chalet up at Whistler, a villa in the south of France and a beach house in Barbados. I dragged my eyes away from Georgia’s beautiful face and looked at Toby. “Isn’t Ned Mackie some kind of doctor? A psychologist?”

  “He's a psychiatrist in private practice,” Georgia interjected, “Julius has been seeing him professionally for several years.”

  I’d got a juicy bit of gossip after all.

  “And Ned’s wife Abby is a real sweetie,” Georgia added, nodding her perfect head as if to convince herself. She rose and flicked her hair back. “Anyway, I’m trying to find Brett,” she said, “Have either of you seen him?”

  “He was on deck about half an hour ago but went down below again,” Andrews replied.

  “He’s probably working out. He’s always doing that. I’ll check his room.” She strode back towards the stairs leading to the cabins below and I watched her curvy rear end disappear down the steps. Brett Sanders owned a big outdoor clothing and supplies store in the Kerrisdale area of Vancouver. Though he wasn’t even close to Wheeler’s league financially, Sanders was about the same age, at least six-foot-four, and always going on about his years in the Canadian Olympic skiing team. Was Georgia Benton hooking up with Sanders now, right under her ex-lover's eyes? I shook my head and sighed. The ways of the ‘idle rich’ were beyond me.

  I knew I’d be no more than an onlooker to any such partner swapping. Just this once though, it would be nice to be a participant rather than a spectator.

  * * *

  As we got closer to the shoreline, Toby Andrews went below to pack his things for disembarking. I rose to do the same. It was still a blazing hot mid July day – apparently this part of north-eastern British Columbia had something called hot Chinook winds – and I wanted to get below deck to cool off. Also, I knew that everyone would want me to carry their bags, and I needed to find Nora and wake her up if she’d fallen asleep.

  As I got up, the boat veered sharply until it was at a right angle to the riverbank. A wooden wharf, maybe two metres wide, projected from the steeply vertical shoreline. A set of wooden steps led up to the top of the grassy bank. Great, I thought, I’ll have to lug all the heavy cases up those creaky, bendy stairs.

  The current flowed fast and hard against the side of the boat, making choppy waves that foamed and surged. I could feel their power just standing on deck. The boat swayed and for the first time I truly realised how little and feeble it was compared to the immense, torrential river. I reached out and grabbed a rail to steady myself as we reached the jetty.

  We’re moving faster – shouldn't we be slowing down? Wheeler better have some fancy parking manoeuvre in mind . . .

  I stumbled across to the stairs and got a couple of steps down when the crash occurred. The boat heaved and swelled and tumbled around me. My hand shot out and fastened around the handrail just in time – even then I was thrown forward and my feet floundered in empty space. Only my white knuckled grip kept me from tumbling down the stairwell and falling in a broken heap on the floor below.

  The swaying decreased, and I sat on a middle step and took some deep breaths to calm my nerves. My only injuries were a bruised left elbow and an aching right arm. Nothing broken. I noticed my sunglasses lying at the bottom of the stairs. They must have shot out of my shirt pocket and smashed against the wall. So I’d broken something after all; the sunglasses lay in two pieces, separated into halves at the nose bridge.

  Toby Andrews appeared below me. “Looks like we hit the pier pretty hard,” he said. He picked up my broken sunglasses. “Pity about these. That was one heck of a collision; landed me in a heap between the bed and the wall. What was Julius thinking?”

  More like what was Wheeler drinking, or smoking, I thought. My sunglasses had been expensive, and Wheeler had been acting bug-eyed and hyper all day, including after he’d fished me out of the water.

  We went back up on deck. Angry voices drifted up from below and the other guests came up from their cabins one by one. Georgia Benton and Brett Sanders emerged together. Georgia looked annoyed but Sanders, shirtless and showing off his gleaming, gym-honed abs as usual, looked surprisingly relaxed, as if boat crashes were an everyday event for him. He had some sort of shield tattoo on his right shoulder and another on the left side of his chest, over the bulging pecs – real He-Man stuff. Nora came up after them and gave Sanders an admiring look. Like me, Nora was pale-skinned with dark hair. And like me she was average height, average build, and got average grades. Some of my mates said Nora was hot but I didn’t believe them. The two of us were average everything.

  Ned and Abby Mackie were last to appear, wide-eyed like rabbits caught in headlights, and seemed to be in shock. Ned blinked in the strong sunlight and held his wife’s hand. She stirred and looked at him, then smiled. They were a decade older than Wheeler, middle forties, the husband broad shouldered and squarely built, with a rough, pockmarked face, and his wife was short and mousy, with curly hair and wide hips. No wonder Georgia likes Abby Mackie – she’s no competition.

  Wheeler suddenly appeared from my other side, looking agitated and ready to explode. “Stupid boat went out of control. I’ve called the lodge and alerted my man there,” he said. “Brett, come with me and we'll check for damage down below."

  Wheeler ducked below deck and muscle-bound Sanders loped along behind him.

  “I’ll take a look too,” Georgia said and disappeared down the stairs after them. Without thinking, I followed her. As I descended, I heard Nora and the Mackies coming behind me. There’s nothing like an accident to draw a crowd, as my dad would say.

  At the bottom we walked to the prow of the boat and descended a further short set of stairs which led to storage rooms beneath the main cabins. Double doors led into the foremost area which I assumed was used for more storage. At the farthest end, where the sides of the boat narrowed sharply until they joined at the prow, wooden wall panels were now broken and crushed inwards. Some were completely shattered, their sharp, splintered ends jutting up at strange, unnatural angles. River water was pouring in.

  Wheeler shucked off his sandals, waded across the space, and examined the damage in stony silence. Then he turned and spoke.

  “Okay. I misjudged speed and distance coming in. Below the waterline, the riverbank here is solid rock and we’ve gone right through the wharf and slammed into it. At least no one got hurt.”

  “That’
s quite a misjudgement,” Sanders said. Wheeler glowered at him without replying.

  “So, is the boat going to sink?” Georgia asked.

  “No,” Wheeler replied sharply, “She’s stable and we’re in shallow water – only a few metres deep. But obviously the boat’s out of operation for the foreseeable future. We won't be able to use it for a trip upriver I've planned, or for the journey home.”

  “How will we get back?” Toby Andrews asked.

  “There’s a transport helicopter scheduled to deliver quarterly supplies to the lodge at the end of the week. It’s an old Sikorsky, so plenty big enough to hold us all.” He sloshed his way back to us. “In the meantime, I'll tie up to what remains of the wharf and walk up to the house. You can come with me if you like; it’s not far.” He was looking steadily at Georgia. “I’ll send Peterman, my house manager, down to bring the luggage up. Nick, Nora, you stay behind to help him load it.”

  We filed back along the narrow corridor, Nora and I taking up the rear. I gave her a look as we passed our cabins and we slipped inside mine. I lay on the comfy mattress one last time, my arm and elbow scarcely hurting anymore. Nora sat at the bottom of the bed.

  “Bit of a bummer, this,” she said.

  I shrugged. “Guess I’m feeling optimistic after what I’ve just been through. That was a dumb crash but things will be fine up at the house.”

  Nora nodded, unconvinced. “Wheeler claims it was an accident, but he’s been pretty bug-eyed all day.” She sighed. “It’s like what Bilbo Baggins says in ‘The Hobbit’.”

  My sister always had her head in a book and liked to impress with literary quotes. She’d brought her Kindle along on the trip, with over two thousand books downloaded on it. “What’s that?” I asked, obligingly playing along.