Alaskan Catch

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Alaskan Catch Page 16

by Sue Pethick


  “I’m sure he appreciated it. Who knows? You might even find a ship that’s a little less expensive.”

  Sam frowned. “What?”

  “That’s what you did, isn’t it? Lent him the money so he wouldn’t have to take the job?”

  “No. I knew Kallik wouldn’t take it—he’s too proud—but the man’s forty-two, Em. Working as a crew member on a seiner is hard work. I couldn’t let him go alone.”

  “Wait a minute. You’re not—” She shook her head. “You’re not going with him, are you?”

  “It’s only for ten days,” he said. “After that—”

  “No! You can’t.”

  “Em, I have to. If I go, I can keep an eye on the guy and—”

  “And what? Get yourself killed?”

  “C’mon, Em. Don’t exaggerate.”

  Sam reached for her, and she pulled away.

  “You promised. You told me you’d never go to sea on a dangerous ship—ever!”

  Tears sprang to her eyes. How could he have broken his promise to her? Sam knew how scared she was for him, knew that she’d lost her own father in an accident. How could he even think of taking a risk like that, knowing that if anything happened it would destroy her?

  She thought of all the reasons why she’d wanted to put her engagement on hold—Sam’s kindness and honesty, his willingness to listen, the other traits that would make him a good father someday—and pushed them away. She would not live out her mother’s nightmare, ending up a young widow because of her husband’s recklessness. Carter might be a bit pedantic, he might not give her chills when their eyes met, he might even be finicky about keeping his hands clean, but he had a nice, safe job. He wasn’t going to throw his life away needlessly. Better, she thought, to have a finicky, dull husband than a dead one.

  Sam ran a hand down Bear’s back and smiled.

  “You’ve been grooming him. Thank you.”

  Emily’s body felt stiff and awkward. Sam’s betrayal, coming on the heels of the last twenty-four hours’ trauma, had left her numb. Opening her mouth to speak felt like a monumental effort.

  “I took the afternoon off.”

  As he looked up, his brow wrinkled.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “I just . . . have to go.”

  She walked to the door and put on her jacket.

  “Wait,” he said. “I’ll give you a ride.”

  “No, thanks. I’d rather walk.”

  Bear whimpered, nuzzling her hand, and Emily almost lost it. She stroked the velvety fur of his ear.

  I think I’ll miss you most of all.

  “I’m going home,” she said. “My uncle had surgery today, and I want to be with him.”

  Tim would understand, she thought, and if he didn’t, her mother was right: with Carter for a husband, she wouldn’t really need a job.

  “Oh, Em,” Sam said. “I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He stepped toward her, and she stepped away. She would not allow him to comfort her. If she did, Emily thought, she might lose her nerve.

  “You’ll have to find someone else to watch Bear,” she said, her throat tight.

  Sam’s face buckled.

  “Yeah, sure,” he said. “I’ll call Tiff, see if she can take him.”

  Emily hesitated, wondering if her departure would drive Sam back into his ex-girlfriend’s arms, then shook her head.

  It wasn’t her problem, she told herself. Better to just get this over with.

  “I don’t think I’ll be coming back,” she said, forcing a smile she didn’t feel. “You see, I’m getting married.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Tiffany’s new place was at the end of a gravel road on the farthest edge of town. As Sam drove toward his ex-girlfriend’s house, his tires seemed to find every pothole, jouncing the SUV and setting off explosions of muddy water while Bear clung like a limpet to the back seat. If he’d had any choice at all, Sam would never have asked his ex-girlfriend to watch his dog, but Bear couldn’t go ten days without someone to take care of him, and the Skippy Lou sailed in the morning. With Emily leaving, there was no time to find anyone else.

  She’s getting married. I’m never going to see her again.

  Sam gripped the wheel harder and pushed the thought away.

  The shabby little house at the end of the road was a depressing sight. Years of deferred maintenance had left the roofline sagging, the paint shattered and peeling. A stack of moss-covered bricks—the sad remnant of a long-abandoned project—lay forgotten in the front yard, and a lopsided gate on the side fence swung idly from a single hinge. For a moment, Sam considered turning around and forgetting the whole thing, but the thought of leaving Kallik to his fate strengthened his resolve. Tiffany might have her issues, but being cruel to animals wasn’t one of them. Besides, Sam told himself, it was only ten days. With luck, he’d have his own ship by the time they got back, and Bear could be with him every day. Until then, he just had to believe that the dog would be fine.

  Tiffany was waiting for them when they drove up. Leaning against the front door frame and smoking a cigarette, her slim build made gaunt by drug use, Tiffany didn’t look like she’d once been a beauty. As Bear ran to greet her, she squatted down and held out a bony hand for him to sniff, then gave his neck a hug.

  “Hey there, big boy. You gonna keep me company while Daddy’s at work?”

  “Sorry to do this to you at the last minute,” Sam said. “If I hadn’t been stuck—”

  “No problemo,” she said, steadying herself on the dog’s back as she stood. “Me and Bear always had a good time together, didn’t we, boy?”

  Sam and Bear exchanged a worried glance.

  “And you’re sure that, um . . .”

  “Seth.” She nodded. “Yeah, he’s cool with it. Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.”

  He grabbed his wallet and took out five twenties and a ten.

  “This is all I’ve got on me.”

  “You don’t have to pay me.”

  “Just take it. We were out of kibble; you’ll need to buy him some food. If he damages anything, let me know and I’ll pay for it when I get back.”

  “Yeah, sure,” she said, stuffing the bills into the waistband of her shorts. “We’ll be here whenever.”

  Tiffany took Bear’s collar and turned him toward the open door.

  “Come on, Bubba. Judge Judy’s on.”

  Sam had just gotten back into his Jeep when he heard an engine roar and saw a black Toyota Land Cruiser charging up the road, catching air and sending mud and gravel flying. For a few agonizing seconds, he was sure the guy was going to plow right into him. Then the driver slammed on his brakes and skidded to a halt, stopping within inches of Sam’s back fender.

  If the thought of imminent disaster had ever crossed the other man’s mind, however, he didn’t show it. He leaped out of the front seat and strode over to the Jeep, a fiercely confident smile on his face.

  “D’I scare ya?” He laughed.

  “A little. You must be Seth.”

  Sam stepped out and offered his hand.

  “Well, if I must be, then I guess I am.”

  The handshake Seth gave him was painful—aggression disguised as civility. Sam had seen guys like him before. Not so old or so far gone that the drugs had destroyed them physically, they saw every human interaction as a chance to show how powerful and in control they still were, all the while knowing that time was running out. Addicts before the fall, he called them—hale, hearty, and unpredictable. For a fleeting moment, he considered going back inside and snatching Bear away. Instead, he got back into the Jeep and started it up.

  It’ll be okay, he told himself. Tiff won’t let anything happen to him.

  He slammed his door and started back down the road. The Skippy Lou wouldn’t be leaving until the next morning, but Sam wanted to stop by the ship and take a look around. The Coast Guard conducted an investigation of every fatality at sea, and he was cur
ious to see what, if anything, they’d pinpointed as the cause of this latest misfortune. Official results could take months, but that didn’t mean there weren’t early indications, and he knew a couple of the investigators. He hoped he might be able to wangle some information out of one or both of them.

  * * *

  Tiffany was already back on the couch when she heard Seth drive up. Bear had his head in her lap and she was petting him absently, enjoying the warmth that radiated off his large body. It was good to have the big black dog to cuddle with again, she thought. Tiffany hadn’t been warm a single day since moving out of Sam’s place.

  She heard Seth’s too-loud voice outside and frowned. Why did he have to yell all the time? Tiffany grabbed the remote and turned up the volume, smiling as the woman on the television drowned him out. If she turned it up loud enough, it was almost as if he weren’t there.

  The door flew open and Seth strode into the room. Bear startled, but Tiffany patted his back to reassure him.

  “It’s okay,” she whispered

  “Turn that thing down!”

  Tiffany reached for the remote, but Seth beat her to it. Judge Judy disappeared.

  “Hey,” she said. “We were watching that.”

  He pointed the remote at Bear.

  “What’s that thing doing here?”

  “This is Bear,” she said brightly. “Bear, say hello to—”

  “I don’t care what its name is. What’s it doing here?”

  “I’m watching him for Sam,” she said. “Remember?”

  “Remember what? You didn’t tell me you were watching a dog.”

  Tiffany hesitated. She knew she’d thought about telling him, but when she tried to remember actually doing it, things got sort of fuzzy.

  “Well, he’s here now,” she said. “So it doesn’t matter.”

  “Fine, but it can’t stay inside. I don’t want its hair all over my furniture.”

  Seth threw the remote in her lap and stalked into the kitchen. “What’s for dinner?”

  “I thought we’d have pizza. I’ve got a coupon for Godfather’s.” She turned the TV back on. “And we need to get dog food.”

  “You mean we gotta feed that thing, too?”

  Seth walked back into the room and stopped between the couch and the television. Doing it on purpose so she couldn’t see the screen. Tiffany pursed her lips. Just because she didn’t have a job at the moment, that didn’t mean he could be a jerk about everything.

  “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I’ve got money.”

  She pulled the bills from her waistband and fanned them in the air.

  “Where’d you get that?” He snatched them out of her hand.

  “Sam gave them to me.”

  As he counted the bills, Seth’s face hardened.

  “How long was he here?”

  Tiffany shrugged.

  “A few minutes. Why?”

  “This is more than a hundred bucks. Dog food don’t cost that much. What’d you do for this, huh?”

  She felt a flash of anger.

  “Nothing. Sam gave me that for watching his dog.”

  He grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled. “You sure?”

  Bear lifted his head and growled. Seth let go.

  “It’s okay, boy,” she said.

  Tiffany held out her hand.

  “Give it back. The money. It’s mine.”

  Seth took out his wallet and slipped the bills inside.

  “Dog’s in my house. That makes it my money.”

  She sagged, rubbing her head as the anger drained away. Why bother arguing with him? Seth always won.

  He went back into the kitchen to get the number for Godfather’s Pizza.

  “What kind you want?” he said, taking out his phone.

  “Don’t care,” she said, staring at the screen. “Whatever.”

  While Seth made the call, Tiffany sighed and patted her lap. Bear put his head back down.

  “They said fifteen minutes,” he said as he put the phone away. “I’ll stop and get more beer on the way.”

  She nodded. “Don’t forget the dog food.”

  He walked back into the living room.

  “When I get back, I want that thing”—pointing at Bear—“out in the garage.”

  Seth grabbed his keys and headed for the door.

  “Hey,” she said. “Don’t you want the coupon?”

  “Nah.” He grinned, patting his pocket. “Don’t need it now.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Fishing marinas are squalid, grubby places against which the crisp blue shirt and navy slacks of a summer-weight Coast Guard uniform stand out like a beacon. Warren Taylor, officer in charge of marine inspection, was standing on the dock, making notes on his clipboard while Ray Hollander ranted incoherently. Whatever the inspection of the Skippy Lou had uncovered, Sam thought, it must not have been good.

  Maybe he’ll pull its license, he thought hopefully. Even a week’s suspension might give Sam enough time to close the deal on the tender. With a sure thing to offer his engineer, he could put Kallik on his payroll, find a crew, and still have enough of the season left to make them all some money. It’d be tight, but it beat the hell out of sailing with Ray Hollander.

  He saw Taylor look up and say a few words to Hollander, who turned on his heel and stalked off to the harbormaster’s office. Curious, Sam stepped onto the dock and gave the inspector a friendly nod.

  “You out here on official business?”

  Taylor gave him a cool look.

  “You know I am,” he said. “What do you want?”

  “Just thought I’d see how the inspection’s going. Find anything interesting?”

  “Plenty—as always. Nothing serious enough to keep the Skippy Lou in port, though.”

  Sam glanced over at the harbormaster’s office, trying to hide his disappointment. So, he thought, they’d be sailing after all.

  Taylor clicked his pen and stuck it back in his breast pocket.

  “I heard you signed on with this guy. You want to tell me what in the hell you were thinking?”

  “Easy for you to say; you’ve still got a job.”

  “And I happen to know you don’t need one.”

  Sam stuck his hands in his pockets and shrugged. He hated being put on the spot, especially like this.

  “My engineer’s got a baby on the way. Without his pay, he can’t afford medical insurance and he’s too stiff-necked to let me cover it.”

  “Okay, that explains his bad decision. What about yours?”

  Sam ducked his head, glancing up and down the dock to make sure no one was listening.

  “The guy’s getting old. Ten days crewing on a seiner would kill him without someone there to pick up the slack.”

  “So, you’re going along as backup?” Taylor blew a soft whistle and shook his head. “Well, it’s your funeral.”

  “Come on, it can’t be that bad.”

  Taylor looked at his clipboard again and made a face. It seemed that he was struggling to find an answer to some unspoken question. After a few more seconds of indecision, the man nodded.

  “You know the stuff in here is confidential.”

  “Of course.”

  “There’ll be an official report in a couple of weeks, but until then I’m not allowed to talk about my findings.”

  “Sure. I get that.”

  Taylor shot his own quick glance up and down the dock.

  “If I were you, I’d keep an eye on the position of the winch, especially during the third and final pulls. Power blocks are expensive and that one’s had some issues. If someone’s trying to save themselves the expense of a new one by playing with the weight of the seine, the men on deck might be paying the price.”

  Sam was shocked. Purse seining became more dangerous as the net was drawn up and the fish were brought onboard. Even as the number of the fish it held decreased, the net grew heavier, its waterlogged corks combining with the lead weights at the botto
m to put extraordinary pressure on the winch and power block. To keep the men on deck safe, tension on the net had to be kept steady and strong. Even a slight decrease could catch a man in the net, leaving him vulnerable to being crushed, swept over the side, or dumped into the hold under tons of thrashing fish.

  He nodded grimly.

  “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll keep my eyes open.”

  “You do that,” Taylor said. “And if you see anything else I should know about, radio me at once. I’ll get our ship out there, pronto.”

  “I will. Thanks.”

  As Taylor walked off, Sam went aboard the Skippy Lou. It looked as if winches and power blocks weren’t the seiner’s only problems. The deck was littered with equipment: a poorly stacked net, its corks lying helter-skelter, and a tangle of lines that looked like an obstacle course. He stepped through to the bridge and found the engineer sitting glassy-eyed in the galley, nursing a cup of coffee. Sam introduced himself and threw a thumb in the direction of the harbormaster’s.

  “I saw the captain outside. What’s got his knickers in a twist?”

  The man frowned briefly, as if trying to translate Sam’s words into some other language.

  “Crewman broke his leg on the way in. Can’t sail until we find another hand.”

  Sam nodded. No wonder Hollander was ranting. Taylor must have threatened to keep the Skippy Lou in port until she had a full crew count. Once again, he thought, Ray Hollander was staying in business by the skin of his teeth.

  “Mind if I take a look around?”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Sam went down to the crew quarters—a dank hovel with a ceiling so low he couldn’t stand upright. Forming an L along two sides were four plywood bunks, each with a single foam rubber pad, a threadbare blanket, and about eighteen inches of headroom. The rest of the space held an assortment of instruments and equipment for which there’d apparently been no room elsewhere onboard: a fire extinguisher, spare hoses, a twelve-volt bilge pump, grinder blades, and power tools. A chunk of loose insulation hung from the far corner. It was bad, but not surprising; Hollander had a reputation as a cheap SOB.

  It was only ten days, Sam told himself as he turned around. He could put up with anything for that long.

 

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