by Chris Niles
Lifting her eyebrows, she gazed over the top of her sunglasses.
“Okay, okay. It’s three fifty-something midwestern dudes with about ten dives between them. They’ll be awful, but they pay well.”
“Then why did you even ask me?”
“Because I always ask you, even though you almost always turn me down. Hope springs eternal.”
“Justin will be glad for the work.”
“He will. And they’ll love him. But he couldn’t tease a lobster into a bag if he was starving.”
She laughed.
“Ya know, Kate, I envy you. Sure, your boat don’t run, but you only work when you feel like it and you never run low on beer or dog food.”
“Here’s to living the dream.” She clinked her beer bottle against his.
The two faced west and watched the horizon pull the sun under.
Chapter Two
Mid-morning sunlight filtered through the thick hedge of seagrapes, dotting Serenity’s stern. Whiskey lay curled against the sliding door, one eye half-open facing the transom gate, while Kate repaired the utility sink on the boat’s fish-cleaning table. She leaned hard against the wrench, then it slipped through her sweaty fingers.
“Ffff-Fox Mulder!” Kate squeezed her left toes, hopping and cursing the heavy tool. As the sting subsided, she tested her weight on the foot. Satisfied it wasn’t broken — probably — she gingerly returned the wrench to her toolbox.
After tapping her phone and watching a few seconds of a how-to video, she examined the leaky faucet, its parts spread out on the threadbare green rug on the stern deck she referred to as her back yard.
“Ahoy!”
Kate toppled backwards. “Dammit, Steve.”
Captain Welch leaned over the transom to offer her a hand. Kate waved him off, tucked her feet under her, then pushed herself up, wincing a little.
“You might want to get some ice on that.” He pointed at her swelling left middle toe.
“I’m good. It’s nothing a little time and a long run won’t fix.”
“Tough girl.” He scanned the parts strewn everywhere. “You really could let me help you replace that.”
“No, I can get it. But thanks.”
“Really, Kate. I don’t have a charter today, and I’d like to help. I replaced the deck shower on the Hopper a couple months ago. Me and boat plumbing are old buddies.”
“It’s just a washer. I’ve got this.” Kate turned back to the array of parts. She picked one up.
“Try that one.” Steve pointed at a section of pipe with a flange at the end, then reached over the low railing to pick up the length of plastic. He ran his finger along the edge of the flange, then pulled out a half-disintegrated rubber washer. “This might be your problem.”
Kate sighed and flopped into a deck chair. “Thanks. I guess I’ll run up to West Marine and grab one this afternoon.”
“Chuck might have one in the hodgepodge he calls a shop. Check with him before you make a special trip.” He rested his hand on the gate’s latch and looked at her with a raised eyebrow.
“Really? Fine. Come aboard already.”
He sat in the other deck chair. Whiskey eased up and moved to Kate’s side, positioning himself between Kate and the visitor.
“What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Just annoyed. Seems like everything on this bucket is breaking at the same time.”
“I can take care of it for you.”
“I appreciate the offer. I really do. But I’m on my own now and I need to learn to take care of things myself.”
“But you’re not on your own, Kate. We all look after each other around here.”
“I know. I do. And I’m grateful, but it’s not the same as having a hus— it’s just not the same. People can’t always be there. Sometimes you have to do for yourself. I have to do for myself. So it’s best I learn how. Besides, YouTube lasts forever. And it usually gets me there in the end.” She rubbed her bare toes.
“Well, Captain Steve’s first rule of boating is that something is always broken. So, get used to that. Second rule? Never try to repair anything in flip-flops.” Steve laughed at his own joke and pushed himself up out of the deck chair. “Seriously, if you change your mind, I’ll be polishing the rails on the skiff. Just come get me.” He latched the tiny gate behind him then ambled down the dock.
Kate dropped back down to the rough turf. Whiskey nuzzled her, and she wrapped her arm around his neck. She fished through the parts then grabbed the one Steve had pointed out as well as another marred by a long crack. Then she dropped both into the deep pocket of her cargo shorts.
“Guard, Whiskey.”
The dog’s ears straightened, and he squared himself off directly opposite the gate, his back against the sliding glass door. With a full view of the boat’s stern and the approaching dock, Whiskey had the perfect vantage point. Kate stepped over the transom then crossed the dock to the seawall. She passed through the thick hedge that encircled the whole island, limping up toward the low block building painted the hue of sunshine that housed the marina’s office and workshop. An old bell, corroded by the salt air, jingled when the door opened.
A long counter covered in stacks of yellowing paperwork and fronted with fake wood paneling divided the room. Behind it, a cash register sat on a low bookcase below a plate glass window. Against the far wall, Chuck’s 1940s-style metal desk rested against the wall. A high bank of jalousie windows invited a breeze to pass through to a matching set on the opposite wall. The right half of the room was fitted with mismatched shelving units displaying island necessities like toilet paper, coffee filters, and cases of bottled water. A rusting cooler groaned in the back corner, filled with soda, Gatorade, milk, and a small selection of canned beer. Sunlight battered the blistered tinting film that coated the wide front windows.
The boy from the bus stop stood at the counter with a half gallon of milk, writing a note. Kate peeked over his shoulder.
Colton Dawson. Milk $1.25. Thank you, Mr. Chuck.
Colton waved at Kate, hefted the milk into the crook of his arm, then ran across the parking lot toward his mom’s Winnebago with four flat tires.
Kate crossed the room and peeked through another doorway into a dark, cluttered workshop.
“Chuck? Are you back there?”
A man’s voice drifted through a doorway across the room. “Kate, is that you?”
“Yep. You missed Colton. He stopped in to pick up some milk.”
“Didn’t miss him. I saw him waiting in the bushes. He’s embarrassed to ask for groceries when his mama can’t pay. So we have this little system. I see him, I come back here, he comes in and gets what he needs, and leaves me a note. It works for him.”
“He shops for them? He’s in second grade.”
“His mama works three jobs. Makes a kid grow up quick. Babette and I both keep an eye on him, and he knows to come up here if he has a serious problem. Sometimes after I close up the shop, he comes up to the house to keep me company. Does his homework at my kitchen table and watches Jeopardy! with me. He’s a good kid.” Chuck lived in a little concrete block house just behind the shop.
“You’re a softie, Chuck.”
“Soft is what my old body is getting. Come in here and help me get this pump down, will you?”
Kate paused, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. Shelving units piled with random supplies and parts stretched from the concrete floor to the ceiling joists, blocking what little light streamed through the shop’s dirty windows. Damp hung in the air, and the smell of mildew blended with oil and dust into a distinctive Florida-mechanic’s-shop scent. Kate closed her eyes and pictured a wider, tidier shop with the same smell. In her memory, an antique Indian motorcycle sat propped up on jacks, its engine spread across the gleaming floor. She shook off the memory then turned to see Chuck struggling with an oversized pump on a shelf high above his head.
“What are you doing, trying to get that by yourself?” Ka
te’s calves burned as she stretched up on her toes to pull the pump down for the older man.
“Thanks.” Chuck placed the pump in a little wagon and rubbed his shoulder with a tanned, leathery hand. “Sometimes I forget I’m not quite as young as I used to be.” He winked at her before tugging the wagon back into the front office.
“But you’re not old yet. How’s your shoulder doing?”
“Better, thanks. Most days it feels fine, as long as I don’t try to reach for anything over my head.” He glanced up to the empty spot where the pump had been. “They released me from physical therapy last week. Doc says this is probably as good as it’ll get. Says swimmin’ is good for it. Maybe I’ll get Steve to take me out lobstering to keep it moving.”
Kate smiled. “That’s a good way to keep in shape for sure. You still using that antique regulator?” She nodded at the small pile of dive gear resting on a cluster of tanks.
“Kept me alive this long. No reason to change now.”
“He’s got a group going out to the Vandenberg on Wednesday.”
“I heard. Justin’s gonna go since someone here didn’t want the ride.”
“News travels fast, huh? You know tourists and I don’t mix well.”
“You picked the wrong place to live, kiddo. Ain’t nobody makin’ it around here without ’em.”
“I’m doing fine, thanks.”
He raised an eyebrow as the corner of his mouth ticked up in an impish grin. “Well, yeah, since you ain’t got slip rent to worry about.”
“You’d be miserable here without me. Your place’d get broken into every other day without Whiskey keeping people honest. Besides, you’d never get anyone else to give you three dollars for that mudhole you call a slip anyway.” She winked. “So, I need a couple lengths of PVC and a washer for my deck sink. Got anything along these lines hiding back there? Save me a trip to town?”
He looked at the parts in her hand, then shuffled off to the back room muttering to himself. He returned with a faucet kit box in his hand.
“Chuck, I just need the pipe and a washer.”
“Take the whole thing and make some room in my shop. Please.”
Kate slapped a twenty-dollar bill on the counter. It was all she had in her pocket. “I’ll give you more after Danny’s check comes in.”
He pushed the bill back toward her. “It was collecting dust back there, anyway. Take it.”
“No. You let me dock here for free, and I appreciate it. But if I need a part, I’ll pay for it.”
“Kate, honey, I don’t ‘let’ you anything. The Good Book says care for the widows and orphans. This is my way of doin’ that.”
Kate squirmed.
“Besides, you’re right. Ain’t nobody givin’ me a cent for that slip, anyway. But the ponies were rough on me last weekend, so if you insist …” He winked at her and tucked the twenty into his pocket. “Oh, hey. Got a new guy name of Branson Tillman playing on the deck tonight, and whatever’s fresh’ll be on the grill.”
“Save me a seat at the bar.” Kate tucked the box under her arm then started toward the front office. The door jingled as a wiry form filled the doorway.
Chuck tensed.
Kate glanced at the new arrival. The man’s hairline was receding, and brand new Oakleys perched on the bridge of his narrow nose. From his perfectly-starched open-collar to the smooth leather dock shoes, the man screamed Miami. She hadn’t been a cop’s wife very long, but Danny had taught her to size people up quickly and slot them into Friend or Foe.
And nothing about this guy looked friendly.
Chapter Three
Kate rubbed her shoulder where the stranger had bumped her on her way out of the office. The sun warmed her skin, but the thin blonde hairs on her arm stood on end. She shook it off.
Not my monkey, not my circus. That sink isn’t going to fix itself.
As she started across the parking lot, she scanned the back of the faucet box, hoping for a link to installation videos. But she couldn’t put Miami Guy out of her mind. Chuck clearly recognized the man but didn’t introduce him. She sensed neither of them had wanted her to know who he was.
Kate figured she should respect that and just go fix Serenity. Chuck’s business was his business, like hers was her own. One of the things she loved most about the Conch life was the special culture among the full-time residents. When storms came or disaster struck, the little community took care of each other without hesitation. But a lot of locals had come here running from something. So no one asked questions they didn’t need the answers to, and they didn’t get involved in anyone else’s business unless invited. And asking for help wasn’t really Kate’s way. Or Chuck’s.
But the lanky visitor nagged at her. She stole another look back toward the marina office. Through the wide front window, she saw the two men arguing. Her hairs still on end, she turned and followed the hedge along the edge of the parking lot and around to the side of the sturdy little office building. She crouched below the open jalousie window.
“I notice you seem to have a little problem.” The stranger’s voice was the kind that couldn’t be quiet if he tried. And he wasn’t trying.
“I just … I … I need a little more time, that’s all.”
“You’ve had time, and yet you’re falling further behind.”
Kate heard a stack of papers crash to the floor. She shook her head and crept away from the window to the line of low cocoplum bushes that separated the office from the adjacent bar and restaurant.
She released a low whistle. Moments later, Whiskey appeared at her side. Kate led the dog back to her hiding spot below the window. She tuned out the dog’s low pant and listened.
Chuck’s voice shook. “Been running this place almost forty years and never had this problem during off-season before. I overpay during season so I can miss a few when it gets slow. That’s what everyone does.”
“I don’t care what everyone does. Only what you do. Your loan documents say your payments are due on the first of every month. Every month, not just the months when tourists are here.” He paused. “This doesn’t have to be a problem, though.” Kate noticed the man’s voice carried an uncomfortable tone as he lowered it.
“I’m not selling.”
“That’s an unfortunate choice for you.”
“This place has been in my family for three generations. It’s rightfully mine, and I’m keeping it.”
“I’m afraid that’s simply not possible. Either you sell or the bank will file for foreclosure.”
“My lawyer says—”
“I care about your lawyer even less. He even thinks about getting in the middle of this, and he’ll be giving the gators indigestion before the sun sets.”
Kate leaned her head against the cool concrete block. What have you gotten yourself into, Chuck?
After a moment, Chuck’s voice carried out the window, tinged with desperation. “I’m sorry. I’ll be caught up again soon. I know all the slips are empty now, but I’ve got reservations. Every slip will be full two months from now, and I’ll pay everything I owe and more.”
“You don’t have two months. You barely have two weeks. Sell to me now, and you can walk away with enough to get a little trailer on the mainland. Miss the next payment, this place belongs to me. And you’ll get nothing.”
“‘I’ve got deposits. I can come up with some now …”
Kate heard a crash, and the hair on Whiskey’s shoulder’s bristled. Chuck yelped.
She crept down the wall and around the corner, Whiskey sticking close behind. Staying low, she peeked through the glass door. The intruder had shoved Chuck against the counter, holding his bad arm wrenched behind his back. She spotted a bulge at the small of the man’s back in the waistband of his crisp khakis. Kate cracked the office door for Whiskey to slip his nose in.
“Go,” she whispered. The powerful dog burst inside.
“What the …” The man released Chuck and spun around at the sound of the jingling bell as Wh
iskey launched up and over the counter, latching onto the man’s arm. Arms and tail flailed. The intruder stumbled back into the open space toward the door, knocking down a shelf filled with marine toilet paper and sunscreen.
“Get off! Get him off me! Let go, you bastard!”
The harder the intruder fought, the tighter Whiskey held. As Whiskey tugged the man toward the center of the room, Kate called, “Whiskey, leave it.”
The dog released the man and returned to Kate’s side. Kate examined the interloper.
“You’re not from around here, are you?”
“I’ll call animal control!” The man clutched his arm, his shirt stained with blood and drool.
“No, you won’t. Assault, intimidation, carrying an unlicensed firearm? You’re nowhere close to legal here, so we all know this didn’t happen. Now take your brand-new shoes and shuffle your tail out of here. As for the dog, he’s had his shots. Take two aspirin, and don’t call in the morning. Don’t call, ever. Now go, or he’ll find a more vulnerable spot to bite next.”
Whiskey growled as the man scuttled out of the office. He piled into a shiny silver Mercedes before speeding away, tires squealing. Kate ordered Whiskey to stay by the door. She picked her way through the clutter then helped Chuck to a tattered office chair.
“What was …” she paused. “You know, I don’t want to know. You okay? Want me to call the police?”
Chuck shook his head and rubbed his shoulder. His gaze locked on the dog. “You’re right. You don’t want to know. And no, I don’t want the police involved. They’d never make anything stick, and it’d create problems for you and Whiskey. But thanks, anyway.”
“It’s good for him to get a little taste of jerk human every now and then. Keeps him on his toes. Just don’t make this a habit, okay?”
Chuck nodded and shooed Kate out of the office. “Flip the sign on your way out, wouldja please?”
The door jingled again, then a black sign swung back and forth, its bright orange block letters announcing the office was closed for the day.