“How’re you feeling?”
“Fine.”
“Okay, tough girl. We have to decide whether to keep going and sail overnight to Nassau, or we can turn south and stay at the marina in Bimini.” Jake pointed to the hint of an island, the first in the chain of islands reaching away from Florida.
“Debi?” Shannon asked.
“Whatever you two decide is fine with me.”
“Do we have enough fuel?” Shannon asked.
Jake tapped the gauge. “It hasn’t changed since…”
Shannon scanned the horizon. “What happens if we lose fuel overnight?”
“Then we hope the wind stays strong enough for us to sail. We have enough in the jerry cans that we can fill the tanks right before we hit Nassau, so if we have to, we can motor into the harbor.”
“Let’s keep going.”
Jake smiled. She could have taken the easy way out. She could be tied to a dock within an hour and safe in port. Many people who’d experienced what she had that day would have chosen the easier option.
“Did you hear that?” Shannon asked.
“What?” Debi asked.
“It sounded like a pssst coming from the side of the boat.”
“Dolphins!” Debi ran to the port side, sat with her legs hanging off the edge, and clipped her tether to the lifeline. A trio of dolphins swam beside the hull, keeping pace with the boat. Piddles barked. She was clipped with her harness to an eye hook in the cockpit and strained to reach the dolphins but couldn’t.
Shannon clipped in beside Debi, and Jake remained at the helm.
“They’re welcoming us to the Bahamas.” Shannon reached out, but her arm wasn’t long enough to touch the animals.
Jake flicked on the running lights. The dullness of dusk settled around them, and the dolphins turned into gray shapes. Once A Dog’s Cat reached The Great Bahama Banks, one dolphin breached the surface, splashed them, and swam away. The other two followed.
“How awesome was that?” Shannon inched backward from the lifelines and stood. “Should I make dinner before it gets totally dark?”
“There’s a red light to the aft of the nav station. You can use that if you need light. It won’t ruin my night vision.”
Shannon disappeared below and returned a moment later with Jake’s harness and inflatable life jacket. “I think whichever one of us is on watch should wear these. Even at the helm, not just if we go up front.”
Just a matter of fact statement. No mention that falling overboard after dark meant death. This woman was practical. Normally he wouldn’t clip in while he sat at the helm, but he’d do it to keep Shannon happy.
“You still okay with four-hour shifts?”
“Sure. I’ll take eight to midnight. You do midnight to four, and Debi can be on watch for dawn.”
“We should be in Nassau by mid-morning, so that’ll work.”
From his seat, he admired Shannon’s silhouette as she prepared dinner. He smelled chicken hit the frying pan. At least he’d get some meat from Miss Vegetarian.
* * *
Jake tied the last dock line to the cleat at the dock at Blue Water Marina in Nassau, Bahamas. The dockhand had tied the boat when they’d arrived just before noon, but Jake liked to secure his own lines. He’d learned the hard way not all dockhands knew what a cleat hitch was, and rather than insult a person, he waited until he was alone and retied the boat to his satisfaction.
The continuous waves from passing boats in Nassau harbor meant the lines needed enough slack to allow the boat to move but not so much that the boat would bash into the wooden dock. He tied two fenders sideways, so the boat could move back and forth across the pylons. Then he tied two more, one aft and one forward of the gate.
He yawned and stretched his hands over his head. The boat needed attention, so a nap would have to wait. Even off watch, he’d slept light, keeping an ear out for any unusual sounds. As tempting as it had been to join Shannon at the helm seat during her watch, he’d remained in bed. He respected her bravery at taking night watch so soon after nearly being lost at sea.
He entered the main salon. Shannon hadn’t spoken about her near-death experience, so he wouldn’t either.
“I need a hand tracing the diesel leak.”
Shannon finished chewing a carrot. She followed him to her berth. They hadn’t bothered to put it back together and had taken turns sleeping in his bunk.
“Can’t you smell that?” Shannon asked.
“Yeah. It doesn’t smell like fuel, but the oily texture on the water’s surface sure looks like it.”
She laughed. “You idiot. That’s dog food.”
“What?”
“Look at the bottom of the storage area. That bag of Peanut’s food has a rip in it. It’s kibble stew down there. There’s no fuel leak.”
Jake had to laugh, too, more from relief than anything else. Laughing with Shannon felt good, and he wanted more of it.
“That would explain the dog kibble blocking the bilge pump.”
They cleaned the storage area, rescued what food they could, and remade the bed. Debi popped her head below.
“Shannon, want to go shopping?”
“We done?” Shannon asked him.
He nodded.
“Let me change, and I’m ready. We need to buy more food for Peanut.”
Jake watched the ladies saunter along the dock, and once they were out of sight he went to the boom and zipped the navy mainsail cover closed.
“Hey, handsome.”
Jake turned to find a very attractive blonde staring at him from the dock. She wore a bikini top. Her shorts could have been a bathing suit bottom, they had so little material. A star-shaped tattoo circled her belly button. She obviously wasn’t embarrassed by her outie. He didn’t need to use his imagination to see what she had on offer.
“Hi.”
She tilted her head and angled her hip out. “I’m Nicole.”
Her tanned skin was smooth but not muscular the way he liked. Not like Shannon’s. The texture was pleasing only because she was young. Without exercise, he knew what she’d look like in another ten years.
“Jake.”
“Did you just arrive?”
Piddles jumped off the boat and pranced at Nicole’s feet. Sun glinted off her black fur. Jake suppressed a smile.
“Yup.”
“What kind of dog is she?”
Jake thought a moment. “A Cocker Spaniel. I think.”
Piddles peed on her open-toed sandal. “Gross.” Nicole stepped away from the dog, sat on the edge of the dock, and rinsed her foot, sandal included, in the salt water.
The sea in Nassau harbor changed with each incoming and outgoing tide. Even with the large number of cruise ships and small boats, the bottom was visible through the pellucid Bahamian water, and Jake saw a conch shell with a hole in it resting on the sand.
“Piddles, come.” The dog jumped on board and settled inside the lifelines, staring adoringly at Nicole.
Nicole stood and put her hands on her hips, thrusting her not-so-natural breasts toward Jake and pouting with her bottom lip. “You could have warned me.”
“Yeah, I could have, but Piddles makes me laugh when she does that.”
“Any chance you need crew?”
Jake raised his eyebrows at her. “What kind of crew?”
“Not that kind. I want to travel south, and I’m trying to find a boat that needs help.”
Jake placed the gray gauge covers over the cockpit instruments. “Sorry. We’re full up.”
“We? So, you’re not single-handing?”
“Nope. Got two women on board and Piddles, of course.”
“I should have known the frou-frou dog belongs to a woman.” Nicole sashayed away from him. “Let me know if you change your mind. Sometimes women don’t like cruising and go home.”
Jake tickled Piddles’ backside with his toe, and she arched into his foot. Just like his cat.
CHAPTER NINE
; Twelve-Year-Old Boy
Somewhere in Canada
Sixteen Years Ago
The boy hasn’t been normal for four years. Every day he hopes his memory will disappear, but it hasn’t, and he’s still trying to deal with the skill he hates. He sits on the front steps of his home beside his cat. She doesn’t care he’s abnormal. She doesn’t care he never loses the ‘remember when’ argument. Sometimes he loses on purpose, just to pretend for a moment there’s nothing wrong with him, but usually he can’t control his mouth. Just like his memory.
School finished a couple of hours ago, but he has nothing to do. He wraps his arms around his boney shins and presses his head against his knees. If he presses hard enough, he can stop the video in his head, only for a second, but it’s something. He presses blackness into his brain.
Sheba swishes her tail on the concrete, and the sound distracts him, bringing in another unwanted memory. He didn’t want to like his guardians. After his parents died, his guardians said they were allergic to cats and he couldn’t keep Sheba, but when they saw his face, they caved and let him bring her to his new home. So they did one nice thing. That doesn’t mean he didn’t love his parents.
His parents would know how to help him. They wouldn’t expect him to be smarter. He can’t even use his stupid skill to be good at school. The teachers make him memorize word lists and times tables, and they expect him to be better at it than the other kids. Just because he can remember everything else, doesn’t mean he can remember the crap they teach at school. He’s starting to hate his teachers.
His lame guardians try to talk to him about it, about his parents, about his fighting, but they never talk to him about good stuff. They only say if he can remember everything so well, how come he can’t remember to make his bed. Like that’s important.
His sister is walking along the street toward the house. He knows his guardians love her more. He can recite every time they favored her over him. He just doesn’t understand why. Big sisters are supposed to protect little brothers. She’s all sucky toward their guardians. She excludes him from secret conversations. Three against one. But why?
The sun hurts his eyes, and he knows a migraine is coming. Soon, he’ll have to go inside and turn off the lights. He picks up Sheba and hugs her against his chest. She purrs. He nuzzles his face into her black fur, letting the softness push away bad feelings.
“Hey, Sissy, getting hugs from your cat?” His best buddy, Oliver, runs into the front yard and plunks himself on the step.
Oliver’s wearing the shorts he always wears. There’s a grease stain just above the hem that’s been there for three weeks and two days. This is the sort of stupid thing he remembers.
“Did you make the team?” the boy asks.
“What team?”
“Duh. The basketball team. You told me tryouts were today.” Shut up. Shut up, he tells himself.
Oliver’s cheeks turn red. He gets teased about that at school, but the boy never says anything. “I didn’t tell you that.”
“You did, too.” The boy shoves Oliver’s shoulder, and the movement makes his head throb. “You didn’t make it and don’t want to tell me.”
“That’s crap. I didn’t try out.”
“Then why did you tell me tryouts were today?” Shut up, he tells himself again. Who cares if he tried out?
“I didn’t.” Oliver’s lip goes out into a sulk. He picks up a rock and throws it against the oak tree that shades most of the front yard.
CHAPTER TEN
Shannon
Nassau to Shroud Cay, Bahamas
Shannon tugged at Peanut’s leash, pulling her away from a garbage can overflowing its refuse onto the marina dock. She stayed in the shade of the marina office. Nassau wasn’t a great place to walk a dog. Honking horns and screaming drivers made Peanut skittish. Wild dogs roamed the streets, probably covered with fleas and ticks. Litter fluttered in any open area, and Shannon couldn’t find a park near the marina, so she settled for walking Peanut on the dock inside the locked gates.
They’d spent the previous day resting and cleaning the boat, but Shannon was still worn out with a jetlag-like exhaustion, and it was making her grumpy.
Her flip-flops slapped against her heels as she strolled to the end of the dock. The coral pink structure of Atlantis rose out of the blue water across the harbor in an invitation to vacationers. A warm breeze blew Shannon’s hair into her eyes, and she pulled an elastic off her wrist and tightened her hair into a ponytail.
“Nice dog,” a man said from the cockpit of his Niagara 42 sloop.
Shannon’s heart picked up speed. She hadn’t noticed the boat when she walked by in the other direction, but Uncle Bobby had owned the same kind. She checked the name written in red letters on the bow. Best at Sea. The Niagara 42 had classic sailboat lines. This one was painted blue. Uncle Bobby’s had a white hull. The aft cockpit was large enough to seat six for dinner. She knew below housed two cabins and one side berth. The galley was starboard side and the head on the port.
“Thanks. How do you like your boat?”
“Best boat around.” The man introduced himself as Terry Goodall, stepped onto the dock, and gave her a boat card.
Somewhere in his mid-sixties, he hadn’t kept in shape while sailing. His belly and red nose indicated he had a liking for beer or maybe hard liquor. The rest of his scrawny shape and wrinkled clothes showed he didn’t care about keeping fit or about his appearance. Too much alone time.
“Shannon Payne.” She read his card and tucked it in the back pocket of her jean shorts. “How long have you been in the Bahamas?”
“I’ve been here every winter for the last fifteen years.”
“Did you ever run across a boat named Waterfall? She’s also a Niagara 42.”
Terry shoved his plastic sunglasses on his head, showing off eyes that matched the Bahamian blue water. “Did you have trouble with that guy, too?”
Too stunned to answer, Shannon gave a noncommittal shrug.
“If I ever see him again, he owes me money.”
“What for?”
“His boat dragged into mine one night at Norman’s Cay. Damaged my furler and bowsprit. Had to replace the darn unit. Guy never paid me.”
“When did that happen?”
“Woulda been sometime last January. I never saw him again.”
That didn’t sound like Uncle Bobby.
“Did he know he’d done the damage?”
“His crew came to see me the next day and said they were sailing back to Nassau to get to a bank. I shoulda known they’d take off.”
“Are you sure the boat was Waterfall? I thought the guy who owned her was a single-hander.”
“I’m sure. He had a blonde with him. A real looker, too.”
“Do you know her name?”
“Not a clue. Why are you so interested?”
“I know the guy, that’s all.”
Shannon headed back to A Dog’s Cat, dragging Peanut with her. She found Debi wrapping grapefruits in tinfoil and plopping them on top of cans of food stored beneath a settee.
“Did Uncle Bobby have crew?” Shannon asked.
Debi ripped a piece of foil from the roll and picked up a grapefruit. “No. He liked to sail by himself. Why?”
Shannon passed her the boat card and repeated the conversation she’d had with Terry Goodall.
“That doesn’t sound like Bobby.”
“If it’s true he took on crew, the woman might be able to tell us something about Uncle Bobby.”
Debi slid the card across the salon table in Shannon’s direction. “Did you get her name?”
“No, but—”
“Even if she existed, which I doubt, how would we find her?”
“Are you sure Uncle Bobby didn’t say anything about taking on crew?”
“No, and he would have told me that.”
Debi’s defensive tone surprised Shannon. Her aunt was seldom terse with her, so she let the conversation drop. She opened t
he calendar on her laptop and scrolled to the previous January. She entered what Terry had told her along with his contact information. Her aunt might not want to find out everything she could about Uncle Bobby, but Shannon missed him. She owed it to him to see how he spent his last couple of months.
* * *
A beam reach in twenty knots of wind would blow A Dog’s Cat from Nassau to Highbourne Cay in seven hours. Shannon sat at the helm, and two miles past Porgy Rock she set a course to sail over the Yellow Banks. The sun would be far enough to the west by the time they reached the banks, and she would have a clear view of any coral heads. Her skin stung from too much wind and sun, and the last time she’d checked in the mirror her freckles had doubled in number.
The Yellow Banks was filled with reefs, coral heads, and sand bars, which meant careful watch was required. Jake sat up front on the bow pulpit keeping an eye out for any dangerous spots. His t-shirt clung to his muscled back, and his arms were showing the beginnings of a tan. Debi nestled into the corner of the cockpit with Peanut resting on her lap.
In the shallows close to Highbourne Cay, Shannon turned A Dog’s Cat into the wind, and Jake dropped the mainsail. They arrived at the only marina on the island and motored into a slip facing the mangroves.
Once they were settled, Shannon walked to the marina office and signed in. With the paperwork filled out, she asked, “Do you know if a boat named Waterfall stopped here last winter? The skipper’s name was Bobby Hall.”
“Sorry, honey, but I can’t give you information on other boats.” The receptionist at the marina was a Caucasian Bahamian and spoke with a local accent. Sweat rings stained her armpits, and her hair stuck to her forehead. A blouse with green palm leaves and a bright orange skirt covered her large body, leaving only her hands and feet exposed. The bright clothes told Shannon the woman celebrated her size instead of being embarrassed by taking up so much room, and she liked her for it.
Shannon had been doing her best to persuade the woman to give her information about Uncle Bobby, but all she’d accomplished was to get overheated in the small office.
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