Rising Fury: A Jesse McDermitt Novel (Caribbean Adventure Series Book 12)

by Wayne Stinnett

  Mounting the steps, Cedric stepped lightly down into the finely appointed cockpit. Though there was ample seating, it seemed all the guests were inside. He slid the glass door open and stepped in.

  Ballinger was at the far end of the big room, talking to two men. He pointed to five women who sat tightly together on the long couch, clustered around a glass-topped table. Any one of them could have jumped from the pages of Playboy. Cedric liked that Mister Ballinger always had a higher ratio of women at his little parties.

  Cedric smiled at the women as they all looked up in unison, like little baby birds waiting to be fed. They took one look at him and dismissed him completely. Until he reached into his pocket and dropped one of the little bags of coke on the table, along with a little pill bottle, containing ecstasy.

  “The candy man’s here, bitches,” Cedric said, leaning over the table with a twisted grin. “Time to party.”

  Rising from his bed, Rusty showered and dressed quickly. Fifteen minutes into his workday, he was crossing the yard, ready to start another day at his little hole-in-the-wall bar and grill. It’d been a long time since he’d had three back-to-back days like the past weekend. The bar and restaurant did okay through the week with the local clientele, and there were a handful more people on the weekends, but not much more. Over the years, he’d been able to renovate and expand, but the Rusty Anchor held firmly to its Conch roots. The closing of Dockside brought in quite a few more locals, those who split their time in more than one joint. It also brought a heavy dose of tourist dollars.

  He and Eric had settled on an open-ended agreement, where Eric would play four nights a week, Thursday through Sunday. They’d learned more about the closing, and it didn’t look like Dockside would be reopening anytime soon. And definitely not without a big outlay of cash.

  Even with the recent success and the possibility that it might continue for some months, he felt a little melancholy lately. Julie had been gone for a while and Rusty was lonely, though he’d never admit it to anyone. He had the bar, and his friends were always around, but he missed having someone to look after.

  The wind shifted slightly, and he heard subdued voices from out back. As he unlocked the front door to the bar area, the breeze brought the scent of Rufus’s cooking to his nostrils. Rufus opened the kitchen early. The fishing guides would be heading out as soon as the sun was up, and their clients arrived. Then a few liveaboards staying at his dock would replace the guides at the outdoor grill, plus a few folks who stopped by on their way to work. Rufus’s antics and conversation were a big reason for the breakfast bunch.

  Walking inside, Rusty turned on the lights. He went behind the bar and switched on the VHF and NOAA weather radios. A speaker out on the deck was connected to the weather broadcast and the monotone mechanical voice, who Rusty called Noah, began informing the guides what they were in for, up and down the island chain. Noah was a comforting sound to folks who worked or lived on the water.

  He went out the back door, onto the deck, and took a seat at the first stool, nodding at Dink and The Other Jack, two guides who kept their skiffs at the Anchor.

  Rufus put a large mug in front of him and filled it with dark-brewed coffee. Rusty thanked him with a nod and took a sip.

  “When yuh gwon get yuh a woman?” the old Jamaican asked.

  “Why?” Rusty asked. “You know someone dumb and blind enough?”

  “Don sell yuhself short, Mistuh Rusty. Yuh a good man and dem are hard to find. You want di usual?”

  Rusty nodded and Rufus turned back to his grill.

  “Sounds like it’s gonna be a pretty good day out there,” The Other Jack said. His real name was Jack Clark, but since there used to be another guide in Marathon named Jack, everyone took to calling him The Other Jack. The first Jack was long gone, back to the mainland, but the name hung on.

  “Permit still running?” Rusty asked.

  “Probably a few good weeks left,” Dink replied. “After Christmas things’ll slow down.”

  The popping sound that preceded a broadcast on the VHF cut in on Noah. “M/V Sea Biscuit hailing Rusty Anchor.”

  “Bring it in for me, Rufus?” Rusty asked, as he got up from the stool. Rufus waved a hand in the air and Rusty went inside.

  He knew the boat, and he knew the woman calling. What he didn’t know was why she’d be contacting him.

  “Sea Biscuit to Rusty Anchor,” she hailed again. “Are you still monitoring seventy-two?”

  Rusty picked up the microphone and answered. “Rusty Anchor to Sea Biscuit. This who I think it is?”

  “Yes, it is, Rusty,” Savannah replied. “All the mooring balls are full in the harbor. I heard you might have some room.”

  Rusty looked out the window toward the docks. There was only one spot available on the inboard side of the canal. It was just in front of Eric’s and Kim’s boat, Rainbow Connection. Going by the dock cleats he’d had installed at ten-foot intervals along the concrete dock, he knew there was only fifty feet of room.

  “I have fifty feet clear on the inboard side, Sea Biscuit,” he said into the mic. “The other side is wide open. What’s your overall length?”

  “Forty-two feet,” Savannah replied. “Can I have the inboard slip for a day, maybe two?”

  “If you can get it in there,” he said. “I’ll come down to the dock and give you a hand.”

  “Take your time,” Savannah said. “I’m just leaving Sister Creek.”

  “I’ll keep an eye out for you,” he said. “Rusty Anchor out.”

  Rufus brought his breakfast in, placing it on the bar. “I recognize dat voice,” he said.

  “Yeah, me too,” Rusty said, sliding the plate of eggs and Jamaican sausage toward him. “No idea what she’s wanting here.”

  Rufus grinned and turned away. “Only di gods know what be in di hearts of women.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Rusty said, digging in.

  “Sometimes, dey tell me things.”

  Rusty looked at his chef. Rufus was an odd one, that was for sure. From things he’d said, and stories he’d told, Rusty knew he had to be in his early seventies, but you’d never know it to look at him. He kept mostly to himself when he wasn’t working, spending most of his time sitting in his little shack on the back of the property, looking out over the ocean, or reading.

  “They tell you anything about her?” Rusty asked.

  “Only dat I will know when I see.”

  Rusty shook his head, as Rufus started toward the back door.

  “Hey,” he called after him, “I got an email this morning. Your new oven has shipped and should arrive by Thursday.”

  “I will tell di gas mon to bring me anuduh bottle and hose for it.”

  After eating, Rusty deposited his plate in the big bin. Jimmy would be coming in after breakfast to wash dishes for a few hours. If the weather was bad, there’d be a line of guides who would take the job for a few extra dollars. Rusty never had trouble finding people things to do when their regular jobs got slow.

  He strolled down to the docks, again thinking of his daughter. She and Deuce only lived about forty miles up island, but with both their schedules, they hadn’t seen each other in over a month.

  Looking down the long canal, Rusty saw the big trawler idling toward him. He could tell by the sound that it was a single screw. Not much of a problem, if she was good at the controls.

  To his surprise, Rusty saw the young girl sitting at the helm on the boat’s fly bridge. Then he noticed that the side hatch was open, and Savannah was standing at the lower helm. She brought the boat to a stop next to the vacant spot where Rusty was standing. Everyone had different methods of docking, depending on engines and hull design, so Rusty just waited to see how he could help her.

  She went forward and picked up a coiled bow line and tossed it to him, telling him it was a spring line. Rusty caught it and moved to his left, looping it twice over a cleat and holding the bitter end.

  “Okay, Flo,” Savannah calle
d to the girl. “Idle speed forward, left full rudder.”

  Amazed, Rusty watched the little girl as she followed her mother’s instructions. With the spring line looped on the cleat at about the right length and near the stern of the boat, Rusty held it firmly, as the boat’s prop wash pushed the stern sideways toward him. He allowed a couple of feet of slack, seeing the stern coming too close to the Rainbow Connection and the big trawler moved forward to clear it.

  “Bring the wheel amidships,” Savannah called up, readying another dock line.

  The girl did as she was instructed, and the bow started to slowly move toward the dock. Seeing that it was positioned properly, Rusty tied the spring line off, and then seeing another dock line on the gunwale, coiled and ready, he tied it off, as well.

  Catching a third line from Savannah, Rusty moved to his right and helped pull the bow in to the dock. He quickly secured the line and moved a small set of fiberglass steps into place by the rail.

  Without being told, the girl at the helm shifted to neutral and then shut off the engine.

  “Been a while,” Rusty said, as Savannah handed him a heavy electrical cable. He plugged it into the pedestal, not even bothering to ask if she had all the breakers turned off. After seeing their docking maneuver, he didn’t need to.

  “I guess it has,” Savannah said, stepping down beside him and giving him a quick hug.

  The little girl climbed down from the fly bridge and came over to the rail followed by a Rottweiler that very nearly outweighed the both of them. Savannah helped the girl down, but the dog stayed put.

  “This is my daughter, Flo,” Savannah said. “Flo, this is the man I told you about, Mister Thurman.”

  Rusty knelt in front of the girl. “You’re quite the boat pilot.”

  “Thank you,” Flo said. “You’re the man who helped my mom in a hurricane?”

  Rusty laughed. “She’d likely have been fine on her own. But yeah, we rode out the storm together.”

  “Is that real?” she asked, pointing at Rusty’s thick red beard.

  “Give it a tug,” he said, thrusting his chin out and pointing a finger at his beard. “See for yourself.”

  When she did, Rusty winced. “I’m sorry if I hurt you,” she said.

  Rusty laughed and stood up. “I was just fooling with you, Flo.”

  The girl smiled.

  “She parked that big ole Grand Banks better than I’ve seen a few seasoned skippers do in much smaller boats.”

  “She grew up on it,” Savannah said. “She’s only spent a little over twenty nights ashore her whole life. Have you talked to Jesse this morning?”

  Rusty eyed her suspiciously. His friend valued his privacy, and Rusty valued Jesse’s friendship above just about anything else. He knew what had happened between the two of them so many years ago. He knew that Jesse shouldn’t see her, but he also knew that the man would do whatever he wanted.

  In this case, Rusty didn’t have to lie. “Talked to him on the phone yesterday, about noon.”

  “That was about the time Flo and I ran into him at Sunset Marina.”

  “I see,” Rusty said, now understanding why Jesse had acted so strangely on the phone. “I bet y’all are hungry; come on in and I’ll have Rufus fix you up with some hot food.”

  “Can I have pancakes, Mommy?” the girl asked.

  “You’ll have to ask Mister Rufus,” Savannah replied, taking Flo’s hand. “Do you remember me telling you about him?”

  “Uh huh,” Flo replied, as they walked around the side of the bar.

  “I really need to reach Jesse,” Savannah said. “I was in Key West yesterday to arrange transportation for my sister’s body.”

  “I heard,” Rusty said. “Really sorry for your loss. It must be hard.”

  Leading the way inside, Rusty pulled two chairs out for them at a table by the window. From there, Savannah could easily see her boat.

  “Thanks,” she said, sitting down with her daughter. “The coroner won’t release her yet. And he wouldn’t tell me anything that happened, saying it was an ongoing investigation.”

  “Let me take your order out to Rufus,” Rusty said. “Then we can talk about it. Is your dog okay on the boat?”

  “Woden?” she said, looking out to her boat. “Yes, he’ll come ashore if he has to, but he’s been trained to stay on the boat.”

  Rusty looked out the window. The dog was sitting on the side deck, right at the boarding steps, head up and vigilant. There wasn’t any chance that someone would attempt to board that yacht.

  “Woden, huh? The old German god of war?”

  “It fits his temperament,” Savannah said.

  “Okay, so pancakes for the pilot,” Rusty said. “What can I get for you, Captain?”

  “Just a couple of breakfast burritos and coffee.”

  “Gimme just a second,” Rusty said, and went out the door to give Rufus their order.

  Before going back in, Rusty looked through the window at Savannah and her daughter. Both were looking out toward open water, the same tranquil, far-away expression on their faces. He’d seen that look before.

  “Food’ll be up in a minute,” he said, turning the third chair around and straddling it. He smiled at Flo. “Rufus said he’s gonna bring you a special treat.”

  “Can you call Jesse?” Savannah asked.

  He could, and after yesterday’s phone call, he did. A few times. Kim’s car was still parked outside, and he’d been worried. But the calls all went to voicemail. This wasn’t unusual where Jesse was concerned.

  “I don’t wanna seem insensitive,” Rusty said, “but Jesse kinda likes—”

  “His privacy,” Savannah interrupted. “Yes, I know. But while I was with the coroner yesterday, I saw Jesse’s name on one of the forms in the file the doctor had for Sharlee.”

  Rusty looked down at the table. Dink was right outside, and he’d been right there with Jesse and Carl, and had seen everything they saw. But if Savannah was to be told all the details, it’d have to come from Jesse. Even though their affair had been short and a long time ago, they had history that Dink didn’t.

  Rufus came through the door carrying a tray. He smiled at Savannah, and then looked at Flo. He stopped short for a second, then his smile broadened, as he placed the tray on an adjacent table.

  “Yuh must be di little one dat drove dat big boat in here,” he said. “Work like dat must make yuh hungry. Do yuh like coconut and papaya, Cap’n Flo?”

  The corners of the girl’s mouth practically met at the back of her head, she smiled so brightly. “My favorites! Are you Mister Rufus?”

  “Yes, Miss,” the old Jamaican said, serving the plates of food, then squatting to be at eye level with the girl. “I come from a beanie island a long boat ride from here.”

  “We’ve been to Jamaica,” Flo said, digging into the pancakes.

  “You have?” Rufus asked, rising from his squatting position effortlessly. “Den yuh and I should sit down some time and talk about dat.” He turned to Savannah and smiled. “If yuh need anything at all, Cap’n Savannah, yuh just ask Rufus.”

  She smiled and thanked him.

  After Rufus left, Savannah said, “We left Key West at sunset and ran on the outside for most of night to get here. I really need to get some answers, Rusty. When I ran into Jesse there, we arranged to meet in Boot Key Harbor later today, but I can’t wait. That’s why I left there to come over here.”

  “Go ahead and eat,” Rusty said, rising from the chair. “I’ll try to call him again.”

  Going behind the bar, Rusty went into his office. There was a phone under the bar, but he didn’t want Savannah or the girl to overhear. Her daughter was a dead ringer for Jesse, but aside from hair color, she looked a lot like her mom, too.

  He tried the number twice, but both times it went to voicemail. Nothing new, but it was troublesome.

  “No answer,” he said, returning to the dining area, “but that’s normal for him. I left him a message to call me,
PDQ. I’ve heard bits and pieces about what happened. Is there anything I can tell you?”

  Savannah looked at her daughter. “Why don’t you go get Woden and take him for a walk down by the water.”

  The girl left and ran across the yard toward the dock. Halfway, she called to the dog. It immediately sprang to the dock and went running toward her. Together, they took off in the direction of the boat ramp, the dog bounding beside her like a pup.

  “Guess you don’t need to worry much with a dog like that on board,” Rusty said.

  “Woden is devoted to us,” Savannah said. “What can you tell me about how Sharlee died?”

  “A boat accident,” Rusty lied. “Least that’s what everyone’s guessing. She was on a shrimp boat out of the Fort Myers area, when it exploded and sank.”

  “On a shrimp boat?” Savannah asked, genuinely perplexed. “I’m sorry, I haven’t talked to Sharlee in a long time. She’d, um, distanced herself some years ago. But a working shrimp boat is way out of character for her.”

  Rusty looked out toward the boat ramp. Flo was picking up broken shells and throwing them in the water. The dog sat nearby, head up and constantly looking around.

  “She’s a beautiful girl,” Rusty said. “Reminds me a lot of my own daughter when she was little. You and her daddy must be proud.”

  He looked back toward Savannah and was met with an honest, level gaze. “I wouldn’t really know about how my ex feels. I haven’t seen or talked to him since before Florence was born.”

  Her eyes changed, a dull look covering them. It quickly disappeared, but not before Rusty saw pain there.

  “You mean he doesn’t know?” he asked, and immediately back pedaled. “Sorry, none of my business.”

  “When I went back,” Savannah said, “I thought he was going to change. I wanted him to change. It lasted a week, then he got worse, became verbally abusive. So I kicked his ass to the curb. He went crawling back to his family in Jersey.”

  A week? Rusty thought. That wasn’t a lot of time.

  “When is Flo’s birthday, Savannah?”