My watch read four a.m. At least Ray was punctual.
There wasn’t a thing I could do right now but go back to sleep, get it while I could. I lay back down and stared at the bunk above me. One sugar plum fairy. Two sugar plum fairies. Nope. Wasn’t going to work. And I’d really rather not be alone with Michael in the bunk room. Might as well get up.
I crept into the head, washed my face, and pulled my hair into a ponytail. I patted the remote cam that was stuffed in my jacket pocket to be sure it was there before I went topside.
Dylan was on deck, manning the lines while we pulled away from the dock.
Dalton had anticipated our departure. The Sea Mist was gone from her slip.
With April on board. I crossed my arms, Dalton’s voice in my head, I told her that’d be great. I could use an extra hand. Geez.
I wasn’t sure where to go. Michael had said I wouldn’t be allowed in the wheelhouse. Perhaps I needed to ingratiate myself to old Ray.
I slipped into the galley and rifled through the cupboards. I found the coffee pot and coffee. That ought to do the trick.
Ten minutes later I knocked on the door to the wheelhouse, cups in hand. “Coffee?” I said with a sweet, innocent smile.
Dylan smiled back. Ray grumbled something indiscernible. I took it as a welcome and strode in and handed each of them a cup.
Ray didn’t make any noise like I should get out, so I eased onto the bench, watched out the windows as we left the harbor, and kept my mouth shut, hoping he’d forget I was there.
I liked being in the pilothouse. All four walls were windows so I could see in any direction. It was too dark to see the Sea Mist, though. But sure as the sun, Dalton was out here somewhere.
By the time we’d cleared the harbor and turned south, Ray’d smoked his third cigarette and I was starting to feel green. I needed out of here. I needed fresh air.
I held up Ray’s empty coffee mug. “More coffee?”
“Dylan’ll get it,” he said, a command, not a suggestion.
“O…K,” I said.
Ray kept his eyes forward as Dylan took his cue and slipped out, mugs in hand.
The door clicked shut and the air in the roomed seemed even more oppressive—sharp and metallic smelling. The darkness felt like a blanket over the windshield, the eerie glow of the instruments the only light. The low rumble of the engine seemed to mask every other sound.
Ray didn’t turn or even look at me as, in a low tone, he said, “Why are you on my boat?”
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. “I don’t understand,” I said with a shrug. “I thought you wanted me to keep an eye on your—”
“And here you are,” he said. He eased back in the chair, a deliberate move, and tilted his head to look at me. The greenish reflection on the surface of his eyes made him look ghoulish.
I drew in a quick breath and my eyes dropped to his hands. He drew his fingers into tight fists, then flexed them and picked up a length of rope that Dylan had been using to practice knot tying.
“I meant, what are you really doing here?” He turned and looked at me with a blank expression, his entire body held taut save for his rough, tar-stained fingers, testing the strength of the rope.
“Well, I…” Stick to the story. “My boyfriend, well, he turned out to be a real ass.”
His eyes narrowed. “And why’s that my problem?”
The hands clenched the rope, slowly twisting the end around one hand, working it like he was working out my story, turning it over in his mind. He switched hands, wrapping the end around his left hand.
“I planned to leave on the ferry, but Michael seemed…well, I liked him—”
“That so?” he said. His right hand gripped the rope and snapped it tight.
“Well, I admit, when we met, I’d kinda hoped—”
“You know what we do on this boat?”
“You fish?” I said with a shrug as if I had no idea what he was getting at.
“We work.” He held up the rope, examining it as if it were some kind of clairvoyance-inducing object, then his eyes settled on me. “We work hard. Ain’t no room for girly drama.”
“Yessir,” I said. “I can work hard. You wait and see. I won’t disappoint.”
His expression turned to one of amused contemplation, as if he thought what I’d said was funny.
The door creaked open and Dylan strolled in, mugs in hand, his cheerful presence like a gust of fresh air.
Ray tossed the bit of rope onto the console and rose to take a cup.
“I think I’ll watch the sun rise from the deck,” I said, escaping the room.
Ray grunted and turned his back on me. Dylan watched me go with a look of confusion.
On the bow, the crisp morning air whipped my hair against my face and chilled my ears. I worked to get my breathing back to normal.
Michael came up behind me. “You were up early,” he said. A statement that felt like an accusation.
“I couldn’t sleep. New bed. New noises.”
“Well, you shouldn’t wander around the boat by yourself.” He wrapped his arms around me, pinning my arms at my sides, and it took all my will power not to break from his embrace. “It’s not safe,” he said. “A fishing boat has so many hazards. You could easily trip and fall overboard.” He squeezed me tighter and added, “No one would even know you were missing.”
A shiver ran through me, but it wasn’t from the cold. I tried to shake it off. I was just a girl who left her boyfriend and ran off with a fisherman. Nothing to worry about.
As we stood at the rail, his arms around me, the light blue sky in the east turned to pink, then orange rimmed the edges of the peaks on the horizon. A muted reflection of it all shimmered on the ocean’s surface. Ray had been right. The storm had passed earlier than predicted. Wispy clouds stretched across the sky.
“Looks like cotton candy,” I said, trying to keep it light.
“You’re right,” Michael said. “I don’t usually pay much attention to the sights.”
It was an opening. I had a job to do. “Ooooh, I hope we see whales,” I said. “What do you think?”
His arms tensed. “Possible,” he said.
I swiveled within his embrace, facing him now, and pointed to the crow’s nest. “From up there, right?”
He craned his neck to see. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Didn’t you say you watch for whales from up there?”
“Yeah, well, I meant in the old days.” He hugged me tighter. “Aren’t you cold?”
“Yeah, kinda.” I sighed. “I think it’s romantic. How the ancient mariners would set out on the ocean, sometimes for months at a time, on a whale hunt. What an adventure. Wouldn’t that be exciting?”
He didn’t flinch. He leaned forward and nuzzled my neck. “Uh-huh.”
I spun around. “You’re right. I’m cold. Let’s go back inside.”
I gave him a quick peck on the lips. Now, get your hands off me.
I needed to get this job done fast and get the hell off this boat.
The best time to get up in the crow’s nest would be when Ray and Michael were both down below. After dark would be ideal. Ray might turn in early since he’d been up before dawn. That is, if we didn’t get to the killer whales first. But Michael had the late shift. I’d keep my fingers crossed.
After lunch, during which Ray had said a total of seven words, especially nothing about the proximity of the whales, I went back out on deck. The fine mist in the air clung to my face, soft and cool. I glanced back and caught sight of the Sea Mist, tucked in a cove. Good. Dalton was lying low.
The Forseti puttered along the coast of jagged granite mountains, the slopes covered in a velvety-green carpet, their peaks dusted with a fresh layer of white snow. I breathed in deeply, the crisp sea air filling me with calm. Such beauty, all around us. And men like Ray, all they can see is money. The mountains, the trees, the waterfalls, the sea, the whales. All for the taking. The plunder to those who would be
bold enough, strong enough. With no regard for anyone else, any other being.
It seemed a sad state of living. With no reverence. No appreciation.
The Buddha would have me pity Ray. But truly, I wanted to wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze. He reminded me of a troll like those who lived in these mountains—curmudgeonly creatures, short and stout with bulbous noses and bushy eyebrows. Under the cover of darkness, they spirit away beautiful maidens, tucking them in their mountain lairs, forcing them to spin by day and scratch the trolls’ heads by night. Gift shops in Bergen were stuffed full of all renditions of them, from the cutesy to the obscene.
Fantastical trolls fueled my imagination as a child, but I was more interested now in the real creatures that inhabited this land. I was content to watch, waiting for a glimpse of one, then sure enough, off the starboard bow I caught sight of something in the water. Then it was gone. I kept my eyes where I had seen it and a gray head popped up again. Big round eyes set in a bulbous head, whiskers like a dog’s. A harbor seal.
He disappeared below the surface again. But for a moment, I’d seen him and he’d seen me.
“That your boyfriend back there?” I spun around. Ray stood behind me, his Cro-Magnon stare fixed on me. Michael hovered behind him.
The Sea Mist puttered along now, following not far behind. Damn.
“What? Boyfriend? I don’t have a boyfriend.”
Ray handed me a pair of binoculars and gestured aft with his cigarette. “That him following us or not?”
I raised the binoculars. Dalton was at the helm, April standing next to him. Did he have his arm around her? “Yeah, maybe, I don’t know.”
Ray took a long drag from his cigarette, looking at me with suspicious eyes.
“He can chase me if he wants. I’m not going back to him.” I smiled at Michael, all flirty. “Not now.” I felt like I should be chewing on a mouth full of gum, maybe tug a strand out and wrap it around my finger for the full effect.
Ray grumbled something to Michael and climbed the stairs to the wheelhouse.
“What are you doing out here?” Michael asked. “I thought I told you to stay inside.” His stare said it all. The bottom dropped out of my stomach.
“Yeah,” I said. “Sorry. I just needed a quick breath of fresh air.”
His expression didn’t change.
“It’s cold out here anyway. I was thinking of making some coffee,” I said, trying to act as though I was used to being talked to like that. “Should be ready in ten minutes or so if you want some.” I headed for the galley, hoping he wouldn’t follow.
Dylan was at the sink, earbuds in his ears, his hands plunged into a tiny mountain of soap suds. He was humming along to the tune, oblivious to my entrance.
“Can I help you with those?” I asked, moving into his peripheral vision.
“Huh?” he said, startled. He yanked the earbuds from his ears, splattering suds down the front of his sweatshirt.
“The dishes,” I said. “Can I help?”
“Uh, sure.” He handed me a dish towel. “Yer can dry.”
I took care of the plates, then the cups, listening to the Irish band blasting from the tiny speakers now dangling from Dylan’s neck. How could he abuse his eardrums like that?
“So what made you want to be a fisherman?” I asked.
“Does anyone want ter be a fisherman?” he said with a grin, then shrugged. “De pay is gran'.” He handed me a freshly scrubbed and rinsed saucepan.
“You grew up in Ireland, right? By the sea? Was your dad a fisherman?”
Dylan’s light complexion turned pink. “Naw, naw. Oi jist wanted ter git away, 'av an adventure, oi guess.”
“And has it been? An adventure?”
“It’s been lashings av derdy dishes, I’ll tell yer dat.”
He pulled the drain plug and rinsed the sink clean while I tucked the dish rack into a cupboard.
“Wanna play Cribbage?” he asked without much enthusiasm, as though he assumed I’d say no.
“Sure,” I said.
A brief flicker of surprise crossed his face before he composed himself. He flung open a drawer and tossed a deck of cards on the table.
“You don’t have other work to do?” I asked.
“Not ’til dinner.” He shuffled the cards. “Unless they fend a school av cod. But they won’t,” he said, matter-of-fact.
“What do you mean?”
He glanced toward the door, then leaned forward and whispered, “They’re not pure gran' at it.”
“Fishing, you mean?”
He nodded. “I’ve been wi' dem nigh for foive weeks. 'aven’t dropped a net.”
“Maybe the herring are late this year,” I said.
He shook his head. “Oi asked in town.” A grin spread across his face. His eyebrows raised, he said, “At laest 'e’s payin' me.”
“What are you saying, Dylan? You think something is fishy?” I snickered at my own joke. Trying to keep it light.
He stared at me for a long, drawn-out moment. I wasn’t sure if he was going to respond. Then he made the slightest nod.
I whispered, “What do you think’s going on?”
The door swung open and Michael came in with a gust of cold air. Damn.
“Coffee ready?” His eyes searched the stove, then the countertop, as if the coffee pot might be lurking in some mysterious corner.
“No, I ended up helping with the dishes.” I gave him an innocent smile. “Warmed me up.”
“Uh-huh,” he said, his eyes shifting from me to Dylan. He was trying to catch me in a lie. I wondered what he’d do when he did. Dalton following in the Sea Mist wasn’t helping. It had put Michael even more on edge with me. “Well, make some, will ya?”
“Sure,” I said and got up from the table.
Michael left, slamming the door behind him.
Dylan raised his eyebrows but said nothing.
After I set the pot to percolate, I sat back down with Dylan. “He’s probably annoyed because my boyfriend, I mean, my ex-boyfriend is following us. Like he won’t let me go and he’s chasing after me or something. Can you believe that?”
“Yeah,” he said without looking at me. “If yer were me lassy, oi nu oi wud.”
I paused. How sweet. “He’s already got another girl.” April. April with the pretty blond hair and the Ph.D. “She’s on board with him.”
He looked me in the eyes and grinned. “Well, dat seems ter 'av put a bee in yisser bonnet.”
I crossed my arms. “Not at all. He and I are through.”
“Gran’.” He shuffled the cards some more and dealt.
I kept a crappy hand and tossed a ten and a five in his crib. Dylan might end up being an ally, but it would serve me that he and everyone else on board think I was an airhead.
“De coffee’s ready,” he said.
“I’ll take it,” I said and went to play waitress to a wildlife thief and his son while I tried to figure out how the hell I was going to plant my video camera.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
After dinner, the darkness had already returned. The slow forward momentum of the boat moving through the water was making me drowsy. Nothing had been spotted. Thankfully. Because I still hadn’t found a way to get up to the crow’s nest and plant the camera.
Ray and Michael pored over charts at the dining table in the galley. Bjørn was in the wheelhouse alone.
“I’m going to see if Bjørn needs anything,” I said and got up and left.
I circled the deck once, debating if I could get up the ladder without Bjørn hearing me. Probably not. Maybe I could give him a reason. I circled once more, then climbed the stairs and poked my head in through the door to the pilothouse. “May I join you?”
“Don’t see why not,” Bjørn said, a hint of wariness in his posture.
I took my perch on the bench. “Thanks.”
A greenish-blue glow from the monitors lit the old man’s face as he looked out at the sea, his eyes moving in a slow, stead
y scanning pace along the horizon, then to the chart plotter, then to the radar screen, then back out the front window. In his hand he held a dirty coffee mug, the rim chipped in three places, the logo long since rubbed off.
“How long have you been a captain?” I asked.
“Helmsman,” he said, as though the distinction were quite important.
“Helmsman then.”
He hesitated before he answered. “I could steer a boat as soon as I was tall enough to reach the wheel, if that’s what yer asking.”
“And fishing?”
He turned to look at me with tired eyes. “I’m Norvegian. It’s in my blood.”
I sensed I’d irritate him if I talked too much, so I held back, listened to the silence for a while.
Bjørn set his cup down on the console and leaned back in the chair. Something about him seemed perfectly at home, as if he were part of the boat itself. Suddenly I realized why. This was his boat. Ray hadn’t hired him to come on as helmsman; he’d hired the whole kit and caboodle. I wondered if Bjørn knew what he’d signed up for. Maybe he was desperate for cash. Or maybe he was as ruthless a criminal as Ray.
Watching him closely for any kind of reaction, I asked, “You see whales often?”
He slowly turned and looked at me, his lips pursed, crinkles at the edges of his sharp, blue eyes, all so subtle, if I hadn’t been looking for it, I might not have noticed. He raised the mug of coffee. Took a sip. “Yeah.”
“I’d love to see a whale,” I said, easily conjuring the excited anticipation of my twelve-year-old self. “I hear there are humpbacks and killer whales in these seas.”
He nodded, his eyes shifting back to his monitors. “Yep.”
“Do you think we’ll see any?”
His eyes came back to me, measuring. “Could.”
“I’m going to keep watch,” I said.
The coffee cup was raised to his lips again as he scanned the horizon, then the monitors. Bjørn didn’t strike me as the kind of man who got rattled easily. They say deep sea fishing is one of the most dangerous jobs on the planet. I suppose if you spend a lifetime doing something like that, staring death in the face every time you go out, everything else seems trivial.
Poppy McVie Mysteries: Books 1-3 (The Poppy McVie Box Set Series) Page 32