“No. But it’s starting to look like it may be the other way around.”
“Don’t worry. We’re not going swimming.”
“What kind are they?”
“Black tips. Don’t fight like the spinners, which come right out of the water, but they’ll give you a good tussle.”
The sharks circling the boat did indeed have dorsal fins tipped black. Vole ripped the lure out of the tuna’s mouth and dipped into his tackle box. He came out with a huge hook, which he rammed right through the fish head behind its gills. Then he threw it overboard and let out some line. It did not take long before one of the sharks gobbled it up. Vole waited until he was sure the bait was lodged in the shark’s maw and then reared back on the rod and set the hook. He put the rod in the holder.
“It’s a big one,” he said.
I grabbed the rod as the line started screaming out.
“Tighten the drag!”
I did.
“Not that much! You want him to take line, but also want him to work for it. Got to tire the bastard out.”
I soon found the right equilibrium. I’d reel the shark in until it decided on another run. Then, I let it. A couple of times the big fish sounded and headed under the boat, but Vole, back in the cockpit, anticipated its every move and steered the She Got the House away. It was late afternoon and cool on the water, but I was sweating. My arms ached, and I could feel a knot in my back between my shoulder blades. But, by God, I was loving it. Occasionally the shark came to the surface. As its black tipped dorsal fin cut the water about 100 feet out I could see how big it was. Even Vole was impressed.
“Must be near 200 pounds,” he said. “Most around here run half that. Record is only 270.”
A half-hour later, Vole gaffed the shark. It took both of us to lift it into the boat. It started thrashing around on a deck that now seemed too cramped for the three of us. The shark whipped its tail and knocked me down. I suspected that this wasn’t going to be catch-and release, and Vole soon proved me right. He grabbed his billy club and started bashing the shark in the head. This was no one-shot cobia. Vole must have clubbed it 10 times before it finally stopped moving. And then he kept on hitting it, with all his might, until the shark’s head turned into a bloody pulp. Vole was like a man possessed. I finally grabbed his arm.
“I think it’s dead, Vole. Pretty soon you’re going to have shark soup.”
He turned to me, eyes blazing. His shirt and face were splotched with shark blood, as was most of the deck. He looked slightly mad.
“I hate the fuckers,” he rasped.
“I guess this one isn’t going back, either,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.
He flung the club away.
“Never was. Black tips are good eating. I can sell this one to Mojo’s for a good price. They have a shark special.” He looked at me. “Unless you want it.”
“Be my guest.”
He looked at the sky.
“It’s getting late. I think we should head back in. Look at all them sharks.”
There must have been 10 of them circling the boat.
I didn’t argue. It was obvious we weren’t going to catch anything else but sharks. Besides, I’d gotten my money’s worth. I had seen nature at its most murderous.
Both inside and outside the boat.
On the way back in, we had a chance to talk. Or, rather, I had a chance. Vole was a man of few words. But I wanted to find out more about him.
“How long have you worked for Ashleigh Harper?”
“A little while.”
“She seems like a nice lady. What else do you do for her?”
“Odd jobs. Shopping. Things like that.”
“You like it?”
“It’s a job.”
I was about to ask him about his SEAL tattoo when he said, “You ask a lot of questions, chum. You come out here to fish, or get my life story.”
“Sorry. It’s a habit. I do it for a living.”
“What? You a reporter or something?”
“Private Investigator.”
Vole looked at me sharply.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m off duty. On vacation. I was just curious. I’ll shut up.”
“Suits me.”
Back at the dock, Vole quickly and efficiently cleaned and filleted my cobia. It was obvious there would be too much for me and Alice, so I took only two large steaks and told him to keep the rest. He grunted what I assumed was thanks. I got another grunt when I paid him. He flung the battered shark onto the dock, no mean feat with a fish weighing 200 pounds. When I left, he was swabbing its blood from his boat.
When I got back to the condo, Alice, who was sipping a white wine on the terrace, greeted me warmly.
“You smell like a fish. Go take a shower.”
I handed her the packages of my fish.
“See if you can find a good recipe on the Internet for cobia. It’s supposed to be delicious.” I saw the look on her face. “Don’t worry, I’ll do the cooking.”
An hour later we finished the last of what turned out to be an excellent meal. Simply pan-grilled with lemon, mustard, capers and white wine, the cobia was delicious, with a firm white flesh. For a side we had a simple arugula salad and finished the meal off with Anna’s apple pie.
“I had a nice day,” I said.
“How was Captain Vole?”
“Crazy as a loon, but a good fisherman.”
I told Alice about the shark.
“Maybe he had a bad experience with a shark once.”
“He’s too young to have been on the Indianapolis.”
“The what?”
“I’m being facetious. It was a World War II cruiser that took the A-bomb to Tinian before we dropped it on Japan. It was torpedoed on the way home and about 1,000 sailors went into the water. It was a secret mission so nobody knew they were missing for days. Except the sharks, who got most of them.”
“How horrible.”
“Hell, maybe he has his own shark story. He was a SEAL, after all. But I think he has deeper problems. I’m surprised Ashleigh Harper employs him. Seems out of character.”
“Well, he’ll keep her safe from sharks.”
“More wine?” I said, laughing.
“No, I think I want dessert.”
“We just had dessert.”
Alice gave me a look that I knew well. It was a look that I suppose all women have. Her face went soft, a small smile creased her lips, and her eyes seemed to slant slightly. She got up without a word and put out her hand.
***
“This has been a wonderful vacation,” Alice said languidly.
We were in bed. She was sprawled naked across my body, which like hers, glistened with sweat. Making love with Alice is not unlike cardio-tennis. There are few breaks.
“Yes, it was.”
She pushed herself up on her arms and wiggled her shoulders.
“Do you like my breasts?”
They were swaying inches from my face. I licked a nipple, which was still engorged.
“They are nine and ten on my list, which only goes up to ten.”
“Nine and ten?”
“I alternate, depending on which one I’m fondling.”
Alice giggled.
“Are my tatas nicer than Anna’s?”
“Of course. But that’s not a knock on her knockers. She’s a cute kid.”
“You couldn’t keep your eyes off them.”
“Just because I’m on a diet doesn’t mean I can’t look at a menu.”
“She’s not a virgin, you know.”
I was surprised.
“You can tell just by looking at her?”
“She told me. We had a nice long talk on the deck when you were snoozing.”
“Nice girls like you talk about that kind of stuff?”
“You still consider me a nice girl after what we just did?”
“Perverts can be nice,” I said.
That got me an ear twist.
“Of course girls talk sex.”
“You didn’t talk about our sex life, did you?”
“I did mention that you liked to do it wearing a Santa outfit.” She laughed. “Of course, not. We’re not like guys. We’re not crude. It’s just interesting. She wanted to know about us, how we met and that sort of thing. One thing led to another. She’s had two lovers. More experiments than anything else. But she liked it.”
“Not exactly what I’d expected from a girl in Bible school.”
“You’re too prudish. Anna is just a normal, healthy college girl. She’s got her head on straight. She hopes to find the right guy eventually and settle down, raise a family. But she wants to finish her education and missionary work first.”
“With her brother?”
“Yes. I really like her.”
“So do I. She cooks a mean apple pie. If it’s any consolation, it’s what I imagine first when I think of her.”
“I’m not much of a cook.”
I rolled on top of her.
“Which is why I imagine this first when I think of you.”
A few minutes later I wasn’t thinking at all.
CHAPTER 9 - GOLF AND GOSSIP
I thought I might be pushing the relationship envelope by playing a round of golf on our last full day on the island. The course that I drove by every day looked spectacular, as most courses on the ocean – or in this case, in the ocean – usually do. The combination of wild sand dunes and dark green fairways are catnip to even a recreational golfer such as myself.
Alice has golfed, and she’s not bad. But for her, the game is a way to get some fresh air. She considers me a bit too competitive. I’ve suggested that I could tone down my fervor when playing with her. I’d even tried to sound sincere. She saw right through me.
“We’re in love,” she said. “Let’s not screw it up.”
That kind of common sense is one of the reasons I love her.
But I had gone fishing the day before, and broached the golf subject carefully.
“Don’t be silly,” she said. “I did not expect, or want you, to be my nursemaid on this trip. This is supposed to be cathartic for the both of us.” She smiled sweetly. “Besides, you know I’ll get even. There are all sorts of academic dinners you will be expected to squire me to at Barnard.”
I hate academic dinners, and academic poseurs, to the point that Alice often asks me to leave my gun at home. But fair is fair.
“One other thing,” Alice said. “I expect a gourmet dinner at the club tonight. Followed by another night of ecstasy.”
“I didn’t know Dancing with the Stars was on TV tonight,” I said.
She stuck her tongue out at me and pedaled away for an Audubon tour of the island, to be followed by a day at the Shoals Club spa and reading a book by the pool.
Thus freed, at least temporarily, from domestic tranquility, I threw my clubs and golf shoes in the cart and headed to the Bald Head Island Country Club.
I probably should have reserved a tee time, because when I arrived it was obvious that the course was pretty busy. But I got lucky. The assistant at the desk in the clubhouse pro shop said that there was a regular group of permanent island residents going out in 15 minutes.
“They usually have four, but one dropped out. They were griping that it screwed up their betting game, so they wouldn’t mind a fourth, if you don’t mind losing a few bucks. What’s your handicap?”
I told him.
“You’d fit right in. They’re not hackers, but the PGA Tour is safe.”
“Sounds good,”
He picked up a walkie-talkie and called someone.
“Got a fourth for Fred’s group,” he said. “Tell them he’s coming out.”
An intelligible answer crackled back.
“You’re all set. All I need is your credit card.”
I gave it to him. He ran it then handed me a slip of paper.
“Give this to the starter. Have a nice round, Mr. Rhode. They are good guys and don’t fool around. Strict rules of golf. Play them as they lie and all that. One of them is the police chief. It’s his day off. If anyone cheats, he cuffs him. I’ll have someone bring your clubs out to the range and put them on one of their carts.”
I thanked him and then headed out to the practice area to meet the others in my foursome.
They were all a few years older than me, and obviously were pals. But they made me feel welcome. The police chief was named Fred Bentley. He was a short, stocky man with a gray crewcut and big ears. He would have looked better with longer hair, but he had a ready smile. The other two men, Jim Vitale and Charlie McAallister were real estate brokers, and looked the part. They laughed a lot.
An attendant had put my bags on Bentley’s cart. We all hit a few practice balls and then headed out to the first tee.
“I heard that you guys are sandbagging sharks, after tourist money.”
“You heard right,” Charlie said. “Playing golf without betting is like kissing your sister.”
“I’ve seen your sister,” Jim said. “All things considered, I’d rather play golf.”
“Up yours,” Charlie said and we all laughed.
I liked this bunch already.
“Is a $10 Nassau, front back and overall, too much for you,” Fred said.
“I’m shocked, shocked to learn that there is gambling going on in your jurisdiction, chief,” I said.
Jim said to Charlie, “Casablanca.”
“I know,” Charlie replied, a bit miffed.
“A $10 Nassua is just fine,” I said.
“Great, what’s your handicap?”
After a minute of mutual banter and not too much lying we worked out all the strokes, and Fred and I were partners against the other two. We’d play best ball in each cart. The most each of us could lose if we got completely shut out was $30, and that rarely happens. Besides, winners were expected to buy the drinks afterward in the clubhouse. I suspected that this bunch didn’t leave too much money on the table after a round.
The next four hours were pure bliss. It was a bit windy, as ocean courses usually are, but the layout was both beautiful and challenging. On one adjacent fairway I saw a foursome of women, one of whom was a tall redhead. I was pretty sure it was Alexandra Nidus. Bentley asked what I did for a living and, unlike some big city cops, did not have a problem with that. He had limited exposure to private investigators and was interested in what kind of cases I’d been involved in.
“We don’t get that kind of excitement down here,” he said, ruefully, at one point. “Just as well, I suppose. I have trouble attracting a good staff. I mean, I have some smart kids, but they are just punching a ticket before they move on to something better. Even turnover at the top was a problem, until I got here. I was a cop in Rocky Mount when this job opened up and I said what the hell. I could use some peace and quiet. My wife has some health problems. The ocean is good for her. The pay is good. Been chief seven years now. I think that’s a record.”
Fred was a decent golfer, and I managed not to embarrass myself, but we still lost $20 each, when he missed a 10-foot par putt on 18.
I teased him about it, and asked if I could make a citizen’s arrest, but I couldn’t hold his miss against him. It was a tough downhill putt with a severe break. Only luck would have gotten it in the cup at our skill level. At least he was on the green with a chance to tie the match. My ball was in the pond fronting the green, where it made an impressive splash just short of making landfall, much to the amusement of people watching from the terrace outside the club bar.
We all shook hands, exchanged a few final good-natured insults and headed into the bar. The place was crowded and lively, but we were able to snag a table away from the TV’s, from which various sports were blaring. A waitress walked over and took our orders. I asked for some munchies and she brought bowls of peanuts back with our bourbons and scotches. The first round went quickly and Charlie signaled the waitress for more drink
s and peanuts. From there it was off to the races, and the winnings soon disappeared. Then we all chipped in some more money to keep the party going.
“Thank God they only allow golf carts on Bald Head,” I commented.
Fred laughed.
“Would you believe I’ve cited people for driving drunk in a cart?”
I was having a very good time. You aren’t always lucky enough to get put into a foursome with people you can enjoy. It’s silly to waste the experience.
I was almost finished my third drink when Alexandra Nidus and the women she’d been playing walked into the bar. She spotted me and said something to her friends and then came over to our table.
“How did you play, Mr. Rhode?’
“It’s Alton, please. And I managed not to kill myself.”
“He’s being modest, Sandy,” Fred said. “He carried me most of the match.”
“Until I hit it in the water. But it was fun. How about you?”
“I had a good round. I shot a 77.”
I wasn’t surprised. In the few minutes I watched her on the course it was obvious she could play. Tall and lanky, with an athletic swing, she would clean most men’s clocks.
“I’m glad you are enjoying the island. It has a lot to offer.”
“Sure does. I even got in some fishing yesterday with your friend, Vole.”
“He’s hardly my friend. But, yes, I know he took you out. How did you come to find him?”
She did not seem too pleased. I thought I detected some tension in her voice. I also noticed my companions exchanging glances.
“I was driving past his boat and spotted him. He’d just lost a charter, so I caught him at a good time. We only went out for half a day, but we saw plenty of action until the sharks came around. We even caught one of them. Big fellow. Vole knows his stuff. At least on the water.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that,” Nidus said. “I don’t really know that side of him. Well, nice to see you. When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow.”
“I hope you have a safe trip.”
With that she rejoined her friends.
“She said ‘I don’t really know that side of him’,” Jim said. “That’s rich. I hear she knows all sides of him.”
TURTLE DOVE (Alton Rhode Mysteries Book 7) Page 6