“It’s our best choice,” he whispered.
“It’s official. SEALs are insane.”
Footsteps again. Someone else boarded the ship. Dalton pulled me to him and held me tight. I lay still, pressed up against him, our faces smooshed together. My heart was thrumming, but not from fear.
Whoever it was followed the others into the wheelhouse.
“C’mon, an evening dip,” Dalton whispered. “Think how romantic it will be.”
I elbowed him. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
“What am I doing here? What are you doing here?”
“Isn’t this considered an illegal search? Trespassing or something?”
“Do you mean whether you do it or me?”
Good point. “Now what are we going to do?”
“Wait until they’re all asleep, then slip off the back like I said.”
“But once they’re down below, they might hear us walking on deck.” I thought a moment. Lights were on inside the wheelhouse. That meant they couldn’t see in the darkness outside. “I’m taking the dock.” I rolled from under the nets and took off crab-crawling across the deck before he could grab me.
“Dammit, Poppy,” he said in a whisper yell, but he was right behind me.
I poked my head over the rail. “Coast is clear,” I said and leaped over the side and onto the dock.
Dalton appeared beside me. He took my hand in his and we sauntered down the dock like any other tourists out for an evening stroll.
As we neared our boat, a couple sailors appeared out of the darkness, walking toward us. Dalton put his arm around me and whispered in my ear. “That was risky, McVie.”
I leaned into him, my head on his shoulder. “You smell like fish.”
CHAPTER SIX
It was still pitch dark at six a.m. when Dalton fired up the engine. I shuffled around the deck, careful not to trip over any lines or a cleat.
Dalton helped untie the lines and we cast off.
The vessel came equipped with a hand-held spotlight. I stood on the bow, shining a path through the marina while Dalton steered past the fishing docks.
The Forseti was still docked, but we wanted to get out of the harbor first. That way, they wouldn’t think we were following them.
Once we were past the break wall and out in open water, we could relax a bit. I gazed up at the night sky. Stars spread across the heavens, sparkling like sequins on a royal blue evening gown. The air was cool and crisp. The water calm. The Sea Mist gently pushed through the current leaving a tiny white line of froth on the black surface of the sea.
I joined Dalton in the cockpit. “How does she handle?” I asked.
“Like a dream.”
“I’m glad you won the coin toss,” I said with a grin. “I’d prefer to take the helm when we’ve hoisted the sails anyway.”
“For now, we play cat and mouse. We keep the Forseti in our sights while looking like incompetent tourists.”
“I don’t know about you, but I could use some coffee.”
“I won Captain for the day. That makes you the galley wench, right?”
“Don’t push your luck,” I said and slipped down the companionway.
I found a percolator pot in a bin, filled it with water and coffee, clamped it onto the stovetop, and fired up the burner. Within minutes the aroma of fresh coffee filled the cabin. Dalton poked his head down the hatch. “A fine galley wench you are, mate. My mouth is watering up here.”
I found a couple thermal mugs and joined Dalton on deck with the fresh brew.
To the east, the horizon glowed orange. The clouds above looked rimmed with fire.
Dalton had chosen a location where we could safely drift, waiting for the Forseti.
I kicked back and sipped my coffee. “There are worse jobs,” I said.
“Don’t I know it,” Dalton said with a grin. He let the engine idle.
“I hope this isn’t a waste of time.”
He shrugged. “Time on the ocean, fresh air, a sunrise, just the two of us. How could it be a waste of time?”
“You know what I mean.”
“There’s no wind. Perhaps we should hoist the sails until we determine which way he’s headed. We’ll look like amateurs caught in irons.”
“No time. Look.” A fishing vessel was rounding the breakwater. “I bet that’s them.” I raised the binoculars to check the number on her bow. “It’s the Forseti.”
Dalton took hold of the throttle and eased the boat into gear. “Any indication to which way they’re heading?”
I shook my head. “Can’t tell.”
If the Forseti headed southwest, it meant Ray was headed around the peninsula into the open ocean. To the northeast was miles of fjords leading into smaller, narrower fjords. His choice would tell us if he had up-to-date information as to where the killer whales would be.
I raised the binoculars again. “South,” I said. “He’s turning south.”
Dalton turned the wheel to match the heading of the Forseti and gave her a little more throttle.
“What do you think, my darling Brittany? Shall we go sightseeing? Maybe some whale watching?”
I nodded. “The cameras are ready.” I paused. “But please don’t call me Brittany. I left that moniker in Costa Rica.” That and having to play your ditsy wife. That hadn’t worked out so well. “From now on, I’m Poppy.”
We followed the coastline for what seemed the entire length of Norway, but was more like twenty miles or so. Puttering along at six knots, the scenery goes by awfully slowly, as stunning as it is. But I’d never get bored.
That’s what my mother didn’t get, what she never gets. Not like my dad. When we set sail that summer when I was a kid, he knew I’d take to it like a true adventurer. That was my first taste of absolute freedom. We had the whole world to explore.
If only our trip hadn’t been cut short.
The day had been like any other, though the wind had shifted from a constant, gentle, westerly wind, to a southerly, twenty-knot blow. We were running downwind, the breeze at our backs. My father, always the patient teacher, had explained the points of sail, the techniques and maneuvers, and I was anxious to learn. My job was to man the sheets. I’d let them out or pull them in using the winch, depending on my dad’s commands.
What I didn’t realize then, was that he had learned pretty much all he knew about sailing from reading Chapman’s, the bible of sailors. He had no practical experience. But he’d warned me about the danger of an accidental jibe when sailing downwind like we were, how the wind could catch the outside of the mainsail and send the boom whipping across the boat and slamming against the lines on the other side.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Dalton said, interrupting my memories.
I nodded. “Thinking about that summer with my dad.”
“Want to tell me about it?”
“There’s not much to tell.” I looked at Dalton. His expression was earnest. What the hell. Why not? “Except this one story.”
“I could use a good story,” he said, his smile kind.
“My dad and I, well, we weren’t exactly seasoned sailors and then this one day—well, we’d practiced the jibe many times. My dad would handle the sheets, so he could control the boom as it crossed the deck. I loved it because I got to take the helm—”
“Well, that certainly hasn’t changed,” Dalton said, his eyes teasing.
“Do you want to hear the story or not?”
He made like he was zipping his lips.
“That day, I stood on the bow looking for wildlife. Not three days earlier, I’d spotted a pod of humpback whales, the first I’d ever seen, and all I could think about was spotting more of them.”
I’d seen dolphins quite often, playing at the bow. Seals and sea lions, even a couple otters, had bid us hello.
“Something caught my eye. To this day, I couldn’t say for sure what it was, but at the time I was convinced it was an injured otter.”
Dalton was
nodding, but now I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell him about it.
Just thinking about my dad made my eyes get all misty.
The thing is, it all started with my need to help a hurt animal.
I had hollered to my father, pointing at the water. “It’s hurt, Daddy, I’m sure!” I shouted. “Turn around.”
He leaned from the helm, looking over his shoulder. “What is it?” he hollered back. He leaned a bit further. Then it happened. The boat shifted. Ever so slightly. The wind caught the back of the sail and the boom swept across the deck and slammed into my dad’s head, knocking him down. He collapsed in the cockpit, slumped against the wheel.
Blood gushed from his forehead, his neck turned at an unnatural angle. I rushed across the deck. “Daddy! Daddy!” He was out cold. I felt the boat start to shift again and I ducked as the boom came whipping back across, shaking the boat as it slammed to the end of the lines.
I had to get control of the helm before I could take care of my dad.
I spun the wheel to tack through the wind, leaving the jibsheet secured on the cleat, and let the mainsail flutter, trying to get the boat to heave to. We hadn’t practiced the maneuver and I had to do it twice to get the boat to settle, but when I was sure it had, I lashed the wheel to lock the rudder, and we floated with the waves, the boat steady.
“Wake up, Daddy! Wake up!” He didn’t respond.
I rushed down below for the first aid kit. With a mound of gauze, I stopped the bleeding on his head, but I knew a concussion was much more serious. I got on the radio and called out the emergency code, “Pan-pan, Pan-pan, Pan-pan.”
The U.S. Coast Guard replied, asking me to explain my emergency.
“My dad’s knocked out cold by the boom,” I said, my voice shaking.
“Okay,” the man came back. “Is it just you two on board?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. I’m going to help. What’s your name and how old are you?”
“I’m Poppy. I’m twelve.”
There was a long pause.
“I’ve got the boat hove to and I’ve bandaged his head, but…” I tried not to cry. “But he’s not waking up.”
“Okay, Poppy. I’m going to send someone right away to help you. But I need you to tell me where you are. I need your coordinates, if you can. Does your dad have any electronic—”
“No, we don’t have GPS,” I said.
“All right,” he said. “Do you remember what port you left from and how long ago that was?”
“Well, yeah, but don’t you want to know exactly where we are?”
“Yes, Poppy, that’s what I’m trying—”
“Hold on.” I flew down the ladder and grabbed the chart.
Whenever my dad and I traveled, I was in charge of navigating. I’d been plotting our course, keeping watch on the coastline, our speed and direction, marking our progress with a pencil every hour. I checked the clock, used the ruler, and quickly scribbled down our current longitude and latitude. I raced back up the ladder. Dad was still out cold. Into the radio, I rattled off the coordinates.
“Are you sure that’s your location?”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “I’m the navigator.”
“Okay, okay,” he said. “I’m sending help right now. A helicopter to take your dad to a doctor.”
“Well, tell them to hurry,” I said.
“I will,” he said and I could tell he was suppressing that disparaging, isn’t-she-cute-chuckle. “I want you to stay on the radio and talk to me, though, okay.”
“Why? Don’t you have work to do?”
Another long pause.
“Yes, Poppy. This is my job. To make sure you and your dad are all right, to be right here to talk you through everything while others come in the helicopter. Is your dad still asleep?”
I looked over at him and tears bubbled up in my eyeballs. “Yes.”
“Okay, everything’s going to be okay.”
“He’s getting sunburned.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“The sun. I don’t know if he put on sunscreen today. He’s like me. We have to be careful in the sun. It’s the red hair,”
“It’s all right, Poppy. The helicopter will be there soon. Listen to me, Poppy. Do you know how to sail the boat?”
“Yes. Of course,” I said.
“Okay, then.” He asked me a bunch of questions about the boat, about my dad, where we were from. He even asked where was my mom. I told him she was in the Navy. After awhile, I realized he was trying to keep me talking.
My dad moved, shifting a little. He groaned and blinked open his eyes.
“Daddy, are you okay, Daddy?”
He squinted in the sun. “What the hell?”
Tears showered down my face, stinging my sunburned cheeks. “You got hit by the boom.”
He rubbed his head and the mound of gauze I’d taped there. “Did you…?” His eyes traveled to the sails, then to the wheel. “What happened?”
“It’s okay. The Coast Guard is coming.”
“I don’t need—”
“My dad’s awake,” I said into the radio.
“Good, Poppy. Now look south. Do you see the helicopter? It’s almost there.”
“I see it.” The orange aircraft was flying low, headed right for us.
My dad looked up, then leaned over and threw up on the floor. Then he leaned back and passed out again.
“He’s sick. My dad is sick.”
“Did he vomit? That’s okay. He’s probably feeling a little dizzy and it’s nothing to worry…”
The roar of the helicopter drowned out his voice. It slowed and hovered overhead, so loud I had to cover my ears. The blades whipped the water into a mist. Then the rescue swimmer jumped from the helicopter into the water beside the sailboat. I thought Superman had arrived, I swear.
Once he was in the water, the helicopter flew up and away. Not too far, just enough so I could hear the man talk. I helped him get on board. I’ll never forget his name. Petty Officer Jon Ardan. He kept asking if I was okay. I nodded like crazy.
“Are you okay?” Dalton was saying, bringing me back to today. He stared at me with expectant eyes. “You were saying you saw an otter in the water, then your eyes glazed over.”
“Yeah, I thought I saw an otter. My dad turned, the wind caught the sail, and he got hit by the boom. Knocked him out cold.”
“Wow, that’s serious. What’d you do?”
“I called the Coast Guard. They came.”
“That’s it? That’s your whole story?”
“Pretty much. When they got there,—” I pressed my lips together, wincing at the memory “—‘Help my dad,’ was all I could say through my blubbering.”
Dalton gave me a sympathetic smile. “Poppy, you were twelve.”
“Yeah, well…”
The helicopter had circled back and a huge basket was lowered on the cable. Petty Officer Ardan strapped my dad onto a litter in the basket, then I watched, powerless to help, as my dad was brought up into the helicopter and it flew away, leaving the petty officer on board with me.
“It’s funny,” I said to Dalton. “I remember…”
“What?”
I turned away from Dalton and gazed out at the horizon. “Nothing.”
I remember staring at the petty officer, in his jumpsuit, a real superhero, and it hit me that my dad was just a man. An ordinary man.
“So your dad, was he okay?” Dalton asked.
“Yeah.”
They had kept my dad overnight and I got to sleep on a little pull-out-couch in his room.
In the morning, he opened his eyes and smiled at me. “My hero,” he said.
I shook my head. He took my hand in his and I started to shake, then my eyes filled with tears and I buried my head in his chest. “Oh Daddy, I thought you were going to die.”
“Now how could that be? With you there to take care of me?”
I shook my head, snuffling.
“Did you
remember what I taught you? About breathing?”
I nodded. He’d shown me how to control my heart rate, to keep from panicking, by controlling my breath.
“It’s important to always practice the pranayama. Your breath is your life force, the vital energy we share with all life.”
I nodded again. I drew in a deep breath and felt better.
Then my mom arrived. “What were you thinking? I knew something like this would happen,” she said to him before he could sit up in the bed. She was still in her uniform and her eyes were red. She must have flown through the night. I remember thinking, that must be why they call it the red eye.
My dad held his head in his hands. “Georgia, calm down. Everything turned out all right.”
“But she was on her own. What if you’d have fallen off the boat? Where would she be, a twelve-year-old, trying to rescue you on her own?”
“She’d be further ahead than most twelve-year-olds, that’s where, because she’d have done it.”
My mother got that look on her face, the one that said, don’t you dare say another word. She crossed her arms. “This trip is over.”
“What!” I shot up from the chair.
She almost bowled me over with a bear hug. “Oh my dear. Are you okay?”
“Why does everyone keep asking me if I’m okay? It was Dad who got hurt, not me.”
“You must have been terrified.” She rocked me, rubbing my back.
I tried to pull away. “Well, I really didn’t…” I’d learned not to confirm anything my mom said. She’d turn it around on me.
“We’re going to get your things and you’re coming back to the base with me.”
“But Mom, I’m not—”
“No buts. Now get your things.”
And that was that. Mom had brought down her fist and our sailing trip was over. She enrolled me in school and my dad decided to go off on a photography trip on his own.
Dalton took hold of my hand. “Your hand is shaking.”
“I’m fine.” I turned away. I couldn’t look at him. “That was the last time I saw my dad, is all.”
“Poppy, don’t be too hard on yourself. You were just a kid.”
Poppy McVie Mysteries: Books 1-3 (The Poppy McVie Box Set Series) Page 25