A Time to Swill

by Sherry Harris

  “Impossible?” Joaquín asked.

  “No, but it might have to be done in a judge’s chambers, in camera as they say, with only the judge having access to the information.”

  I felt as if I’d been on a ride the last few minutes, with hope and despair alternating like the ups and downs of a massive roller coaster. “I’ll pass all this on to Vivi’s lawyer.”

  “I’ll find out what I can,” Michael said. “It won’t be easy and, again, it will take some time.” Michael opened the grill and put perfectly seared grouper steaks and grilled asparagus onto three plates. He added slices of grilled lemon on the plates too.

  I passed the plates around while Joaquín poured more Chardonnay. I took a sip. Wine I understood. This one was crisp up front, with a creamy finish. The stars were bright above us and all seemed well in the world. After everyone had eaten a few bites, I finally asked another question I’d been dying to since I arrived.

  “Why didn’t anyone tell me that Rip’s dad was on the boat with Raquel and the others the night it disappeared?”

  Michael and Joaquín looked up in surprise.

  “It’s not like we’re trying to keep things from you,” Joaquín said. “We just don’t know what you don’t know around here.”

  “You’re right.” I needed to quit jumping to conclusions or I’d never figure out anything.

  “You’ve seen Rip,” Joaquín said after finishing a bit of asparagus, “from what my mom told me, Rip looks a lot like his dad did.”

  “In other words, incredibly handsome,” I said. Ugh. I’d said that out loud.

  “Oooohhh, do you have a crush on Rip?” Joaquín asked, wiggling in his seat like an exuberant puppy.

  “I’d have to be dead not to notice Rip’s looks,” I said. I lowered my voice. We were outside on the water. Voices carried, and I’d be mortified if anyone overheard this discussion.

  “I have to agree with you,” Michael said.

  “But the best-looking men in town are right across from me.” I was trying to distract them so they wouldn’t realize I hadn’t denied having a crush on Rip. I’d kept picturing him as Darcy and I had to quit thinking of him like that. It was dangerous. Rip wasn’t Darcy, no matter how many times I’d enjoyed picturing him as such over the past twenty-four hours. I’d learned not to put men on pedestals by watching White Christmas every year on Christmas Eve with my family. Rosemary Clooney had misunderstood something Bing Crosby was doing and they almost didn’t end up together.

  “You do have excellent taste in men, Chloe,” Joaquín said.

  “That’s the first time anyone ever said that about me.” We all laughed. “How long have you two lived in Emerald Cove?” I asked.

  “Seven years for me,” Michael said. “I’d been stationed in Pensacola and liked the area. I moved here and met Joaquín when he was home on a visit.”

  “I wonder what Rip’s dad was doing hanging out with Raquel and her friends?”

  “He was a tennis pro at the club,” Michael said.

  Joaquín looked at Michael with his eyebrows up.

  “You know me. I was curious about what had happened that night and called your mom,” Michael said.

  “Did she say anything else?” I asked.

  Joaquín put down his fork and patted his mouth with a flamingo-covered cloth napkin. “If you know my mom, you know she said something else.”

  “I haven’t met her yet.”

  “She doesn’t like bars,” Joaquín said. “I’ll take you to see her sometime, but be prepared. She’s a force.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me a bit, knowing you,” I said.

  “Oh, he’s laid-back compared to his mom,” Michael said.

  “What else did she tell you about Cartland?” I asked.

  “She said he wasn’t living up to his potential,” Michael said.

  “That’s Mom’s way of saying he was lazy. She’s a big believer in not saying anything bad about anyone.”

  I’d never really heard Joaquín say negative things about people either. “How does your mom know what happened?”

  “Joaquín’s aunt was working as a hostess at the club that night. She overheard part of it, and of course, after the Fair Winds didn’t come back, everyone was gossiping about it,” Michael said. “Cartland always had a job, just not for long. He worked for almost all the heritage business owners at some point. Rip’s mom taught school to keep the family afloat.”

  “I thought the Barnetts were all loaded.” It was the impression I’d gotten from Rip’s paternal grandmother the one time I’d met her and, of course, from Rip himself. He drove a fancy car, didn’t have a real job that I knew about, and bought that big boat and took off on it for several months.

  “Rip’s mom and his grandmother didn’t get along. According to Joaquín’s mom, Cartland’s country-club lifestyle was subsidized by his mother. But Rip’s mom wasn’t like that.”

  “Opposites supposedly attract,” I said. It was how I had ended up engaged to a very nice but very dull accountant. I’d set out to find the opposite of the men I’d usually dated, thinking that maybe someone would balance my adventurous side. It hadn’t worked out in the end.

  “They do, but can they last?” Joaquín said.

  “Apparently, Cartland did like his gig at the country club. He was the center of attention and women were always throwing themselves at him,” Michael said.

  “Even Raquel?” I asked.

  “Supposedly it was Susan Harrington who asked Cartland to go along after the four of them had played tennis,” Michael said.

  That really didn’t answer my question about Raquel. I opened my mouth to ask another question.

  Michael held up his hand. “People at the club overheard Susan asking Cartland. That came out in the investigation of their disappearance.”

  “So, they originally thought something went wrong and that the boat sank?”

  “That was the official finding,” Joaquín said. Michael looked surprised. “Hey, you’re not the only one who’s curious about all this.”

  “I’ve been thinking about it a lot since I was on the boat,” I said. “That boat wasn’t in bad enough shape to have been drifting around for twelve years.”

  “What are you saying?” Joaquín asked.

  “Someone must have planted the remains on that boat for a reason and sent it back out to sea.”

  We finished eating while we mulled that over. At least I was mulling, and they seemed to be. I insisted on clearing the dishes and washing them.

  “Did you see anything that made you think someone set the boat adrift?” Michael asked as I hung up the towel after drying the dishes. He’d put them away.

  “I didn’t,” I said. “But I’ve thought about it a lot since. In the moment it was all too scary to even process. Since I’ve been back I’ve gone over what I remember, but nothing stands out. The Coast Guard has the boat. Have you heard anything?”

  “No. But maybe I’ll call a few people. A lot of us vets hang out at a place over in Fort Walton Beach. I’ll see if any of them know anything.”

  I glanced at the clock. It was already ten thirty and I knew Joaquín went fishing at dawn. The man was a machine when it came to work.

  “Thanks for dinner,” I said. I kissed both Joaquín and Michael on the cheek.

  “I can walk you back to the car,” Joaquín said.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll be fine.”

  * * *

  Instead of heading to my car I went back to Two Bobs. Still no Ann. The same man I’d seen the night before was sitting at what I thought of as her table. Another man sat across from him and their low voices sounded intense. I couldn’t listen in without being obvious. I went up to the rooftop deck; no Ann or Smoke or anyone else I knew. I hurried back to my car and went home.

  * * *

  I woke up around six Sunday morning and dressed for a run. I heard the whine of a high-powered engine. It sounded too close to shore to be going so fast. I open
ed my sliding glass door and went out on the screened porch. A cigarette boat was barreling toward the shore. It was high tide and the boat made it past the first sandbar. It slowed a bit as it barreled through the second, churning up sand and water.

  Why wasn’t the driver stopping? It continued on, tearing up the beach toward me, until the sand finally clogged the motors and it shimmied to a stop about ten yards from the dunes. I grabbed my phone and ran down the wooden walkway over the dunes, down the five stairs, and across the sand. The boat still shimmied, so I approached it cautiously.

  The man who had rescued me sat in the driver’s seat. Rope tied too tightly around his neck to the headrest, his hand tied to the throttle. He was obviously dead.

  CHAPTER 23

  I stood for a moment staring before I overcame my horror at seeing a dead man and snapped into action. I yanked off my T-shirt, which wasn’t a problem because my sports bra was underneath, reached carefully across the side of the boat, and turned off the engine, hoping I hadn’t ruined any evidence. I’d briefly weighed the risk of doing so before calling 911, but was worried the engine would burn and spark a fire in the sea oats. Or that the boat would shoot forward, up the dune, and into my house.

  I quickly filled the dispatcher in, unable to decide if I was relieved or upset that it wasn’t Delores who’d answered. Two fishermen and a woman came over—the same people I often saw on my runs. Their excited chatter washed over me.

  “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

  “Did you see how the boat flew across that first sandbar?”

  “Darn near ran me down. Scared me near to death.”

  I listened in, hoping they’d know something about the boat or the driver. “Don’t touch anything,” I said. “He’s dead.” That shut them all up. The runner took a few steps back.

  They all stared at me. “It’s probably a crime scene,” I added. We all looked back at the man in the driver’s seat. The rope was almost embedded in his throat. I shuddered and looked away. I’d told the dispatcher there was no need to rush, but I heard sirens wailing toward us.

  A few minutes later EMTs and sheriff’s department personnel swarmed around the side of my house. They told us to move farther down the beach. The EMTs didn’t stay long after a woman did a quick check for a pulse, carefully reaching across the side of the boat, and laying her fingers on the man’s throat. After a couple of minutes she shook her head.

  Deputy Sheriff Biffle showed up and went over to the boat. We’d met last June, when I’d found a body by the dumpster behind the Sea Glass. He was a big, beefy guy with a blond crew cut and a serious demeanor. Ten minutes later he strode over to me as well as one could stride on soft sand in shiny, black laced-up boots. Other deputies pulled the two fishermen and the runner aside, I assumed to interview them. One of the fishermen was gesturing wildly. I imagined most of his fishing outings didn’t end like this.

  Biffle wore his usual mirrored aviators so I couldn’t read his eyes. I hated those things.

  “Let’s move over there.” He pointed toward the steps that led to my house.

  “Okay.” I led the way.

  “Tell me what happened.” His voice was calm, as if he saw this kind of thing every day.

  I knew he didn’t, though. There just wasn’t that much violent crime in Walton County. I ran him through hearing the engine, watching the boat, and running down here.

  He listened without making a note, nodding the occasional encouragement when my voice trembled. “Do you know him?” He gestured over to the boat.

  “He’s the man who rescued me.”

  “Heard about that,” Biffle said.

  At least that would save some time.

  “What’s his name?”

  “I don’t know.” I kicked at some sand. “I’ve been trying to track him down to thank him.” I wouldn’t mention that I had also wanted to try to find out who the man had called. Now I’d never have the chance. I let that sink in.

  “How can you not know his name?”

  My hands itched to plant themselves on my hips. I refrained so I wouldn’t look obstinate. “I leaped off a burning boat with a cat in my arms after being swept out to sea and finding a skeleton. I’m sorry if I didn’t remember my manners when some man pulled me out of the water. We had to hightail it back to shore before we were caught out in a storm.” I swished my hand toward the Gulf.

  I think Deputy Biffle’s lips twitched in an almost smile. “Okay, then. Thanks for the information.” He turned to go.

  “Wait. I saw him the other night. At least I think it was him.” I explained how I’d seen him at Two Bobs. I gestured toward the boat. “Didn’t he have some kind of ID on him?”

  “No.”

  “What about the boat? Didn’t it have registration papers?”

  “The boat’s stripped clean of paperwork. Don’t share the details of what you saw.”

  As if I’d want to repeat what I’d seen to anyone. “I won’t.” I scuffed at the sand with my foot. “Will you let me know who he is? When you find out?”

  “I’m sure it will be in the paper.” Biffle turned to go.

  “Wait,” I said. “Don’t you think it must mean something that the man who rescued me turned up dead by my house?”

  “Yes.” Biffle trotted up the stairs and around the side of my house.

  I threw up my hands in the air. Now I was gesturing as much as the fisherman had. That thought gave me an idea. I spotted the two fishermen and the runner all standing together down the beach. I jogged over to them.

  “How are you all doing?” I asked.

  “Quite a start to the morning,” the runner said.

  “He ran right through some of my equipment,” one of the fishermen said.

  The other man just shrugged.

  “Do any of you know that man or his boat?” I asked.

  I heard a round of “No.” Darn. Another avenue shut down. “Okay. I hope the rest of your day is better.” They all nodded and went their separate ways. I watched the crime scene people for a few minutes and then went back into my house.

  I made coffee, no longer in the mood for running. That in itself was highly unusual. It was normally my way of figuring things out. My need to stay in shape stemmed from my almost drowning as a child. I knew that I was a bit obsessive about running and spending so much time on water sports, but I didn’t want the water to think it had bested me.

  Once the coffee was ready I took it out on the screened porch and settled on the love seat. Hard to believe only a couple of nights ago I was sitting here with Rip. I’d thought my life was complicated enough last night without having my rescuer show up dead on the beach in spectacular style. I sat up a little straighter. Was this some kind of warning? If not, why here? What did someone think I knew? Because as far as I knew, I didn’t know anything.

  My phone rang. It was the reporter Mary Moore. I thought about not answering, but was curious about what she wanted. I hoped I wasn’t opening Pandora’s alleged box.

  “It looks like there was some excitement near your house.”

  I didn’t like that she knew where I lived, but she was a reporter, so I shouldn’t be surprised. “What do you know?” I asked.

  “Can we talk in person?”

  I weighed the pros and cons. I still didn’t know much and hadn’t found out much to help Ralph. Maybe we could trade information. “You can come over, but I’m not sure I want to go on camera. And I sure don’t want my house filmed.” I had enough to worry about without a lot of crackpots showing up. “But you can get some good shots from my walkway to the beach.” The closest public beach access was a mile from here. She’d have to walk across the sand with her camera person and equipment if I didn’t let them use my house.

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Mary showed up as promised in ten minutes with her cameraman in tow. Although today it was a scrappy-looking camerawoman. Mary was camera ready, with hair and makeup
done. She wore a professional-looking, black short-sleeved dress. I was still in my running clothes, wishing I’d changed because I felt like she had the advantage here.

  “Come on in.”

  Her eyes swept the place as we walked through the house and lighted up when she was on the back porch. The deputies were still out with the boat. At some point I assumed they’d remove it because it was evidence. My rescuer’s body had already been taken away.

  “We can go out on the porch,” I said. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “Yes, please.”

  I escorted her out to the porch, where she stood staring out. I took my cup of coffee and went back to the kitchen. I refilled it and filled a mug for Mary and the camerawoman.

  By the time I got back with the coffee, the camerawoman was already outside, filming.

  “Do you know who that was?” Mary asked after I set down the coffees.

  “Yes and no.”

  Her eyebrows raised at me over her mug.

  “You won’t be filming any reunions between my rescuer and me, because it was him in the boat.”

  “You’re kidding. So he’s dead?”

  I nodded an affirmation.

  “It’s an awfully big coincidence that your rescuer ends up dead right outside your house.”

  I wish she hadn’t picked up on that so quickly.

  “Who was he?”

  “That’s where the no part of the answer comes in. I still don’t know. According to Deputy Biffle he didn’t have any ID on him and there wasn’t any registration information on the boat.” We both drank some coffee looking out at the scene.

  “Did he die of natural causes?”

  “I can’t say. I know you want me to go on camera, but I’m only willing to confirm it’s the man who rescued me. I won’t talk about anything the deputy asked me not to. And if you ask me any gotcha questions, we’re done.”

  Mary nodded. Although I wasn’t sure if she’d push or not. She was a reporter and it was her job.

  “Give me a minute,” I said. “I want to change and then I’ll meet you outside.”