Saving Sharkey

by Felicity Nisbet

  Before we were out of the driveway, Charlie had pressed Sharkey’s cell phone number. “Went straight to voice mail,” he said.

  “Something’s not right,” I said.

  “Aye, I agree. She had been crying.”

  “From more than loneliness, I suspect. Do you think they had a fight?”

  “Possibly, but she is not the type to fight back. Unfortunately,” Charlie said and I knew he was thinking of Bryn.

  “Maybe he has tired of her already.”

  “I seriously doubt that. The last time we saw them together, he looked very much like a man in love.”

  “Aye, that he did,” I agreed. Her brother had left as well. Perhaps I had misjudged their relationship and they were indeed closer than I had thought. “Maybe it is just loneliness after all. And homesickness.”

  “Maybe,” Charlie said. But we both knew we were only trying to make ourselves feel better.

  * * *

  Three days later there was still no sign of Sharkey. We had stopped in to check on Sarai and she was looking only slightly better. She did not know when he would be home, but apparently he had called her every evening to talk. Obviously it was enough to reassure and comfort her. It would have been nice if he had extended us the same courtesy.

  When I came home from the University the following day, the Lincoln was gone. It looked as if he had come home with no notice. As Charlie was occupied with briefings from his men who had been following Andy Currie, and Aileen and her brothers, I went alone.

  Sarai opened the door, a cautious look on her face. Who was she expecting? Maureen again? Aileen? There was an exhale and apparent relief when she saw me. “Hello, Mr. Malcolm.”

  “Sarai. I see the Navigator is gone. When did Eddie return?”

  “He no home.”

  “But the car is gone.”

  “I put in garage.”

  “I see. I’ve been calling Eddie,” I told Sarai, “but he’s not answering his cell phone.”

  “He out of country now.”

  “Canada again?”

  “Thailand.”

  No wonder he wasn’t returning my calls. “Why didn’t he tell us he was leaving?”

  “It last minute decide.”

  I stared into those large brown and very worried eyes.

  “How was he?”

  “How was he?”

  “You saw him, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, yes, I see him.”

  “How was he?”

  “He good,” she answered quickly.

  “How long will he stay?”

  “He not say. Home soon, I hope.”

  So did I.

  “Why wouldn’t he tell us he was going?” I asked Charlie as I walked down the street, my cell phone plastered to my ear the way I hated seeing other people do.

  “Perhaps because he’s up to something,” Charlie said.

  “Up to something? As in something illegal?”

  “Not impossible.”

  “You mean we may not know our friend Eddie as well as we thought?”

  “Precisely.”

  “And you’re thinking that if he is up to something illegal, that may be the reason someone is threatening him . . . and his car,” I said.

  “Aye, that thought has occurred to me.”

  “But why would he involve us in his life, knowing your line of work?”

  “You know the expression, ‘keep your friends close, and your—detective friends closer.”

  Despite the tension throughout my body, I laughed. “But you’re a good judge of character, Charlie.”

  “Aye. Most of the time.”

  “Of course, it’s also possible he is simply protecting Sarai from having done something illegal—such as entered the country illegally.”

  “Aye, definitely possible.” But I could tell that the detective was leaving his mind open to any and all possibilities. As for me, while it was true that we had only known the man a wee while, I liked him. And I knew Charlie did.

  We decided to take Sarai at her word. According to her, Sharkey was alive and well and flying off to Thailand. Despite the odd behavior on both their parts, we had no reason to doubt that or her. We could not do more than was asked of us—well, we could and we did—but without the conviction we would have given the situation had the potential victim been more concerned himself.

  We left the camera in place and called Sarai daily and we continued tailing Aileen Shannon and her brothers, and Charlie began his investigation of James Webb. But we stopped worrying about things that we now realized we had no control over and knew little—it turned out—about.

  Happily, soon after his departure for Thailand, my mind was no longer on Edward Sharkey and his mysterious ways. I was at Charlie’s, reading the evening newspaper and enjoying a cup of Darjeeling when the front door opened. There was only one person, other than me, who had a key to Charlie’s. Jenny.

  I was certain my smile looked more like one of those stupid grins you see on a love-struck teenager who has no control over his hormones.

  Charlie reached her first, almost lifting her off the floor. I did lift her off the floor. Once she’d landed, she looked at me with amusement. “Good to see you too, MacGregor.”

  I laughed and gave her a light kiss on the forehead.

  “You claim I give you little warning,” Charlie accused. “You give me none whatsoever, lassie.”

  “Sorry, it was a spontaneous decision.”

  “And you couldn’t have called from the ferry?” Charlie teased as he poured her a cup of tea and sat her down by the fire. Then we spent the next few minutes showing off our knowledge of poetry, something Charlie and I did often, once some image or thought triggered the memory of a poem in one of our wee brains. This time the trigger was Jenny’s emphasis on the word “old” in regards to Sharkey’s soccer team of old boys.

  But she was not impressed with our quick wit and recitation. She shook her head in amusement and accused us of showing off. We segued from soccer to Sharkey to Tara Island, which Jenny, it turned out, had researched. I also told her that we were planning to make a trip up to Tara, as we had a game scheduled up that way. Judging from the look in her eyes when she asked if we would be stopping on Anamcara to visit her, she was well aware of the overtures I was making towards her, or at least attempting to make.

  A few minutes later, she made a trip out to her car, returning with her new project and companion, a dog she had rescued from Aurora Island, not far from her Anamcara Island. She was quite pleased with the new addition to her family. Whereas quickly noticing how emaciated he was beneath his furry body, both Charlie and I had the same reaction—concern. More for Jenny than the poor wee dog who, being an Australian shepherd mixed with Bernese mountain dog—was not exactly wee.

  It was a brief visit of only one night as Jenny left for home the following morning. It was just enough to warm the cockles of my heart . . . and to remind me of what I was missing.

  As the Waterloo weekend approached, it seemed less likely that we would be going via the Innisfree with a visit to Tara Island thrown in. That left time for us to go to Jenny’s Anamcara.

  “It still doesn’t seem like Eddie to miss this particular game,” I said when Charlie and I were discussing our weekend trip.”

  “I agree. But I wouldn’t be surprised if he showed up just in time for the game.”

  “Nor would I, knowing the man’s passion for the sport. Have you told Jenny we’re coming?” I asked.

  “Och aye, after she complains that I give her little warning?”

  “But she gives you less.”

  “But she is far more adorable than I am. She can get away with it.”

  I would not argue with that. “So she knows we’re coming. She knows we’re both coming for a visit.”

  Charlie had a sheepish grin on his face. Actually it was edging toward mischievous.

  “What doesn’t she know, Charlie? That we’re coming to spend the night at her house? That I
’m coming to spend the night?”

  “Oh, aye, she knows all of that. She just doesn’t know exactly when.”

  “And when exactly do you plan on telling her that minor bit of news?”

  “En route.”

  “From Anacortes?”

  “From Gael Island.”

  “But that will only give her twenty minutes warning.”

  “Precisely.”

  If I had any regrets in my life, it was that I was not the one to father Jenny’s children. She was an incredible mother. I wished I could have seen her more with Matthew and Holly. I would have stood over her as she sat in a rocker, nursing her bairns. I would have kneeled beside the bathtub with her, helping to scrub their wee bodies clean and blowing bubbles to make them giggle. I would have done it all. Yes, even changed their nappies.

  “MacGregor?”

  I looked up to meet her questioning gaze.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Oh, aye. I’m fine, lassie.” I was fine. She was over her ex-husband, Joe. She had just assured me of that. “Why do you ask, McNair?”

  “You looked . . . I’m not sure . . . as if you were—”

  “Daydreaming?”

  She smiled. Her daydreaming had been a sore subject between her and Joe. “Yes, daydreaming.”

  Before she could ask about the subject of my daydream, I said, “You’re wonderful with Josh.” He was the young runaway she had rescued only a few days before from the same island where she had found her dog Rocky.

  She caught herself before dismissing the compliment and instead said, “Thanks, MacGregor.”

  She was easy to read, at least most of the time she was, after all these years of knowing and observing her. And loving her. “You’re an amazing mother, McNair.”

  She sat down at the kitchen table beside me again. While Charlie was in the living room with Josh, giving the poor lad a Charlie McNair grilling to try to find out more about his background and the people he was hiding from, I had helped Jenny clear and wash the tea dishes. Then I had sat down at the kitchen table to watch her prepare dinner, something I had longed to do for many years now. Despite being the miserable cook that I am, I would have been happy to assist or prepare the meal myself, as long as she was nearby.

  “Where’s that coming from?” she asked me.

  “You. Watching you. With Josh. With your children over the years.” Say it, MacGregor. Tell her how you feel. I took her hand instead. Her eyes opened wide. I squeezed her hand gently before releasing it.

  She was looking at me so intensely, I thought she could read my thoughts. She could definitely see the sweat gathering on my brow.

  Before standing up and beginning her dinner preparations, she took my hand and squeezed it briefly. She did have feelings for me. She as much as told me she did, assuming our hands were speaking the same language. Suddenly I felt my customary courage returning. Maybe not today or even tomorrow, but very soon, I was going to show her with a lot more than the squeeze of a hand. Maybe I’d even get the words out.

  * * *

  Charlie tapped on my door early. I opened my eyes and faced the morning and Charlie.

  “You look like hell,” he said.

  “Aye, I would have thought as much,” I said, stretching and pulling back the covers to sit up.

  “Let me guess, aside from not yet hearing from Eddie on this critical soccer weekend, and now a new problem to worry about with young Josh—” He raised his eyebrows to match mine. “Jenny?”

  I smiled.

  “Sleeping across the hall is a little too close for comfort?”

  “Aye, you could say that.”

  “So, why the hell haven’t you told her how you feel?”

  I lay back down, crossing my arms under my head as I stared at the ceiling. It was a good question, not one I hadn’t asked myself numerous times. “Damn it, Charlie, I can’t talk about this. Not to you anyway.”

  “Why, because I’m her father?”

  “No, because you’re my best friend.”

  He shrugged and raised his upturned hands in the air, making a gesture as if to say, “So, then, who better?”

  I exhaled and held my focus on the coved ceiling that needed painting. I wouldn’t tell Jenny that. Well, maybe I would. It would be a damned sight easier than telling her something else.

  “Fear. Plain and simple, fear.”

  “Of?”

  Now I faced him straight on. “Rejection. If she’s not interested, it’s over.” Despite the encouragement I had received at her kitchen table the evening before, my boyhood insecurities had returned during the night. “If she’s not interested, my dreams, fantasies of all these years, gone, done. Over.” To say nothing of what impact it might have on my friendship with her . . . and with her father. Was I willing to give up either one? Or both?

  His shoulders slumped in understanding. “Ah, so that’s what’s got you moving like a tortoise in molasses.”

  “I bare my soul to you and that’s what I get? I was hoping for some encouraging words here, not a tortoise metaphor.”

  “Oh, I can do encouraging as well.” He stepped closer into my direct line of vision as if that would help me hear him better. “Trust me, the lassie is interested.”

  Now I was sitting up again. “She’s said something?”

  “Och, no. But I know her. She’s my daughter, remember?”

  That I did. Too well.

  After breakfast Jenny led us into town and got us squared away with a rental boat. After a promise to let her know we had arrived safely at Waterloo and again that we had survived the game, she left us on our own.

  It proved to be a good fishing trip, not for the number of fish we caught, which was pathetic, but rather for the peace and solace which, despite what else is going on in your life, leaves you with the sense that all is right with the world.

  After docking the boat at Waterloo and scoping out the field which was only one block away, we found a noisy Italian restaurant for dinner. Both exhausted from spending the day on the water with fresh air coming at us from all directions, we slept long and well. It helped make up for the previous night’s lack of sleep.

  Confirming the theory that those who are the nearest, are often the latest, we were indeed the last of the Westside Wanderers to arrive. No Sharkey. Charlie asked if anyone had heard from him. The answer was still no.

  “Are you worried about the lad?” Father O’Malley asked.

  “Aye, a wee bit,” Charlie admitted.

  “It is odd he didn’t show up for this one.”

  “We agree,” I said, “particularly since he had planned to bring us over on his boat.”

  The priest’s eyebrows furrowed, then he looked up. “He does wander about though, you know. He goes here and there and we never quite know what to expect from him, especially if he is on one of his adventures. Try not to worry yourselves. I’m sure he’ll show up soon.”

  I wasn’t as confident. Neither was Charlie apparently because as soon as Father O’Malley had run onto the field, he said, “Maybe we should make a trip to Tara Island after the game.”

  “To see the infamous island of which Eddie speaks so fondly?”

  “Aye. I must say up until we arrived, I still expected to see the lad in the middle of the field leading warm-up exercises.”

  “I too was convinced that he would show up, despite all signs telling us he wouldn’t.”

  “And even though Sarai told us he went to Thailand, it’s been a week now and it seems odd that he did not show up after he went to the trouble of setting up this game and making plans with us.”

  “And never told us the plans were cancelled?”

  “Aye, that too,” Charlie said.

  “As well as his not bothering to mention that he was off to Thailand,” I said.

  “If indeed he is.”

  I would not have put so much credence in his words, but for the fact that they were the identical words that had at the same moment, passed through m
y own mind.

  Chapter 10

  The fact that our bodies, along with our egos, were battered and bruised did not prevent us from making the trip to Tara Island that afternoon. We found the dock easily as the island was one of the smallest in the chain. Before tying up at the dock we encircled the island. The soccer field stood out on the north end, just beyond the house that appeared to be as fascinating as Sharkey’s home in West Seattle. We pulled into a cove for a better view.

  “I’m surprised the lad doesn’t spend more time here,” Charlie said. “It has to be a peaceful escape from all his women.”

  “Aye, indeed,” I said as I gazed toward the house that was cantilevered over a cliff as was his Pleasant Beach Drive home. The majority of level land had been claimed by the soccer field. Apparently that was Sharkey’s top priority, giving me more cause for concern that he had not shown up for the island game that he had proudly arranged.

  “Do you see any sign of life?” Charlie asked as he guided us toward the dock.

  “Other than these three boats? Nothing. And he may very well keep these here,” I said.

  “Aye. Possibly. Does neither look like his two from West Seattle?”

  “Neither. I doubt he would bring the wee ski boat. And the Innisfree is not here.”

  Charlie gently eased off the throttle as he maneuvered the boat in beside one of the others. I knew he was a fisherman at heart, but I had to admit I did not know he was as skilled at piloting a boat as he proved to be. With rope in hand, I leapt onto the dock and tied her up just as Charlie cut the engine.

  “Let’s do it,” he said, moving only a wee bit more slowly than I was.

  I stretched upward and then forward as if that would help my stiff back, but I knew a nice soak in a Jacuzzi and a few days rest were all that would mend my aching body. If I was going to become a mid-life soccer star, I really did need to be training a bit more fiercely. Having no extra players show up for today’s game, I had played the entire ninety minutes in midfield. Charlie too had played in the field for the majority of one half, giving a couple of the older fellows a break by putting them in our well-defended goal.

  “Feeling a wee bit stiff are ye, Malcolm?” he teased.