H.J. Gaudreau - Jim Crenshaw 02 - The Collingwood Legacy

by H. J. Gaudreau

  “At the Quick Mart like you told me,” Alan said.

  Elaine turned and walked to the ice bucket. The idiot walked a mile to get here she thought and smiled. It was a her own little game. “Would you like a drink?” she asked. She poured two fingers into a glass, mixed in the Coke, deliberately skipped the ice and handed the tumbler to Alan. Then she refilled her own. She didn’t make any move in his direction. “Why don’t you take a shower baby, you’re all sweaty.”

  Alan smiled and kicked off his shoes. He pulled his tie off then stripped his shirt and tee shirt off. Elaine sat and watched this strip tease and smiled. Alan began to dance; slow, jerky, uncoordinated and smiled back.

  “You’re an idiot,” she said and grinned. Alan took it as an expression of endearment. Elaine meant it for what it was.

  He stripped off his pants and jockey shorts then headed to the shower, still wearing his black socks. Elaine watched him walk away. Alan was pale, almost white. His shoulders weren’t girlish, but no one would call him broad chested or big shouldered. He was thin, Alan liked to run 10K races in the summer. He was in reasonably good shape, though not muscular. But most of all Alan was a nerd.

  Ten minutes later Elaine sat on the edge of the bed and watched Alan towel himself off. “How are things at the bank?” she asked.

  “Oh, you know, nothing much. Mark is still a jerk. The guy thinks he’s God’s gift ya know. Yesterday Debbie brought in donuts. I was out front for ten minutes. When I came back he’d eaten three. I didn’t even get one.”

  She didn’t care. “You met with Cole?”

  “Yeah. Same old stuff.” He said as he hung his towel on the rack.

  Elaine unbuttoned her blouse, hung it up then slipped her skirt off.

  “How does it look?” she asked.

  “I really shouldn’t talk about it. But I’ll tell you this, you might want to get separate bank accounts.”

  “Could he really be this stupid?” she thought. “So it’s that bad huh?” she said.

  “Oh yeah, it’s bad.” Alan returned to the bed and began to stroke her hair.

  Still in her thong and bra she kissed Alan. “I’ll pour us another drink.” Elaine picked up his glass and crossed the room. She poured more Southern Comfort into Alan’s glass, then slipped a little blue pill from between her breasts and dropped it into the drink. “Might as well enjoy the evening,” she thought. She picked up the TV remote, turned on the Adult Network and handed the drink to Alan.

  She took off her bra and pushed the glass to his lips. “Drink up baby.”

  Alan did as he was told, his eyes darting between the TV screen and Elaine as she slowly pulled off her thong. He drained his glass in one big gulp and laid back on the bed. “C’mer honey,” he coughed.

  Elaine straddled his ankles, took him in her hand and bent forward. Then, her hair brushing Alan’s thigh she said “Tell me more about your meeting with Cole.”

  Chapter 27

  On Saturday, Sherrie and Eve headed to the farmers market. Jim took the ATV out to the new barn to examine the boat. Gerry went to his office in the cherry shed and began searching his collection of business cards. If his memory was correct, he had met the owner of a marina or boat restoration something company at a Chamber of Commerce meeting some months ago.

  The two had, as is custom, exchanged business cards. Unlike ninety-nine percent of all business cards this one was not thrown into the trash. Instead, Gerry had filed it away just in case Sherrie ever agreed to buy a boat. He figured it didn’t hurt to dream. Finding the card he dialed the cell phone number and Cole Prestcott answered.

  The ringing of the cell phone blasted through Cole’s dehydrated, alcohol soaked brain. He lay on the floor next to his desk, his head on top of an Air Jordan shoe with his shirt laying over it. The phone rang a second, then a third time and Cole, having become addicted to cell phones couldn’t resist answering the nagging little machine.

  “Hello? Have I reached Prestcott Boats?” A voice seemed to shout from the phone.

  “Hello…?” Cole’s years of renting boats to straight laced vacationing parents paid off. It only took him a moment. Cole cleared his throat, then using all his will power commanded his voice to sound steady, serious, the epitome of a respectable business owner. “This is Prestcott Boats, Cole Prestcott speaking.”

  “Cole, we met at the Chamber of Commerce meeting a few months ago,” the voice continued. Cole pulled the cell phone from his ear and glanced at the small screen. “Gerry, of course, I remember you. How’s the cherry business?”

  Gerry was impressed; the man had remembered his name and business. The fact that Gerry’s name and the words “Cherry Nation Orchard LLC” appeared on the caller I.D. completely slipped his mind.

  The two exchanged small talk for a few moments then Gerry came to the point. “Look Cole, the reason I’m calling is a bit odd. Do you think you could come over here and give an assessment of an antique boat? I’m going to need a good idea of the value next week and so, well, if you could come today or tomorrow I’d appreciate it. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

  Cole’s first instinct was to tell the jerk on the other end of the line to stuff it. “Well, look Gerry, we’re pretty busy and…I’ll have to look at the schedule and get…”

  Gerry cut him off. “Cole, I know it’s an imposition. Look, we just we found this old Chris-Craft, it’s a big boat, its in pretty decent shape, and I thought you mentioned something about knowing Chris-Crafts.”

  The idea that someone was calling him about a “big” Chris-Craft fired Cole’s alcohol soaked brain. “How big do you think this boat is Gerry?” he asked.

  “Geeze, I don’t know for sure, maybe thirty-five feet.” Gerry really was guessing.

  A cruiser! It had to be. Cole loved the cruisers. They were the classics of the classics. Today they were few and far between, but oh they were sweet. Besides, going to look at the boat was a good excuse to get out of the house. At least he wouldn’t have to put up with the dragon queen’s nagging about his drinking.

  “Sure Gerry, I’ll check with my staff and see if anyone is available. Give me a minute.” Cole put the call on hold, went to the bathroom then the kitchen. Gerry sat at his desk and counted the minutes. Time dripped past. Gerry put the phone down, turned on his computer and fished a box of receipts out of his desk drawer. Phone wedged between his shoulder and ear he tapped at his keyboard and wished he’d called on his cell phone so he could put the call on speaker.

  After an overly long number of minutes Cole returned to his desk with a fresh cup of coffee. He sat down, took a sip of the brew, then reached out to the phone and pushed a button, “Gerry, we’re pretty busy so I’ll have to come myself. I can get over there this afternoon. Ahhh, Gerry, I’ll have to charge you a weekend rate, sorry about that.” Cole was pleased with himself; he thought his line about being busy was brilliant.

  Gerry glanced at the screen on his computer. The accounting program showed the current checking account balance. He cringed at the weekend rate idea but said, “That’s great. A weekend rate isn’t a problem. Thanks so much. What time should I look for you, its about what, forty-five minutes, maybe an hour and fifteen from Charlevoix? If you go to our web site the orchard’s address and a map are posted there.”

  A few moments later, small talk ended Cole had agreed to be at the orchard later that afternoon. Gerry thanked Cole again, put the phone back in its cradle, picked up his keys and started into Traverse City to speak with the police.

  Chapter 28

  Cole put down the cell phone and took a drink of his coffee. This was good, he could squeeze a few hundred out of this little deal. He wondered how long Elaine would stay once she knew he was broke. Who was he kidding? She’d be gone the same day and they both knew it. He pushed back his chair and walked to the porch. Elaine was reading something on her iPad and sipping her Kahlúa flavored coffee. “I’ve got to go to TC. Work.” he said to his wife.

  “Sure baby, you going to
be home by dinner?” she asked.

  Cole was stunned. She sounded like she cared, which he was sure she didn’t. Nothing about his drinking, nothing about him sleeping on the floor and looking like a wreck. Maybe she’d not noticed? Impossible, she had to know.

  “Naw, I’ll eat on the way home, don’t worry about it.” Cole eyed her. She had returned to her iPad. Nothing unusual. Something was up. Elaine swiped her finger, the iPad showed a different page. Damned if he could figure it out.

  Elaine suppressed a smile. For the past fifteen years she’d endured a two-timing, ignorant husband who couldn’t carry on an intelligent conversation about anything other than himself and boats. Fortunately, she’d figured it out early. She looked back at Cole. “Okay, if you’re sure. I can leave a plate in the ‘fridge if you want?”

  Cole paused. “Maybe she was taking her happy pills again,” he thought.

  He pulled his keys from the kitchen drawer. This was odd; what the hell was she up to? “No, no, I’m good, thanks. See you tonight,” he said and headed for the garage.

  Elaine nearly laughed out loud. He was a fool. Then she thought about what could have happened and thanked her lucky stars it hadn’t. She’d done three things that guaranteed her a life. First, she’d made sure she didn’t have this idiot’s kid. Elaine figured the Spartans had it right, only her standards were higher. In fact, she had never met a baby that shouldn’t be put outside the walls.

  Second, she made sure Cole’s banker was her banker. Not that Wisecup would ever touch her money; she didn’t trust him anymore than she trusted her husband. Wisecup was her source of information. She paid for that information. Well, ‘paid’ might be too strong a word. She slept with him. Fortunately, he was surprisingly satisfying, which kept her happy and him under control. As a result, though her name was missing on every account Cole and the business had she had access as if it were.

  Elaine fingered her smart phone. A little bit of electronic magic that held the key to the third and best decision she’d ever made. It held the passwords to the investment accounts established by Mister David McFain. Now, those accounts were well into seven figures and it was time to drive the stake in the heart of the idiot she’d married.

  Elaine rinsed her coffee cup in the kitchen sink and watched Cole’s car back out of the driveway. He turned left and headed to the marina. She headed to bathroom. There she brushed her teeth, applied whitener to fight coffee stains and dressed. Then she placed two phone calls, one to her investment advisor and another to a moving company.

  Chapter 29

  Cole Prestcott arrived at the orchard gate at one o’clock as promised. He had driven one of the shop vans used for work at various marinas in the area. The van looked like the mobile boat shop it was. The vehicle was packed with parts and power tools of all sorts. On one side of the van a cage had been installed which resembled a bookshelf. It held two rows of reference books and parts catalogs. Each book was devoted to a popular marine engine, brand of boat, or specialized marine parts supplier. The worker could find schematics and order parts without returning to the shop.

  He met Gerry and Jim at the orchard office. After handshakes and a bit of small talk Jim said his ‘Good-byes’ and drove into TC. Gerry escorted Cole into the orchard office, poured two cups of coffee and began to recount the discovery of the boat. The group had previously agreed not to mention the bottles of rumrunner booze, but Gerry did describe the additional hidden storage holds they’d found.

  “That’s an amazing story Gerry,” Cole announced.

  “I’m certain that you’ve got a fairly rare example of a Chris-Craft cruiser. Well, now they’re all rare, but you know what I mean. So, let’s go take a look?”

  “Sounds good Cole, we can take my truck and…”

  “No, Gerry. Thanks, but I’m going to have to take my van, it has everything I need. I’ll follow you.”

  Cole followed Gerry’s truck across the back of the property, down a two-track path between rows of cherry trees and stopped at a fence gate. Gerry opened the gate, let Cole through, then drove through himself, stopping to close the gate behind. A few moments later they were parked next to the old brick barn. Gerry walked to the large set of doors while Cole took a tape measure and various other tools from the van.

  Slowly the doors swung open and sunlight filled the dark interior. Gerry blocked the first door open then went to do the same for the other. Cole casually approached the barn, stopping suddenly as he realized what he was looking at.

  “WOW!” Cole was suddenly animated. “I don’t believe it! sonofabitch! You’ve got a Chris-Craft Express Commuter! This thing is beautiful! I never thought I’d find one. I’ll be damned.”

  “This is good huh?”

  “Good? Gerry this is a piece of art!”

  Gerry went to the side doors and propped them open, allowing more light into the building. He couldn’t help but grin. The boat was indeed a beautiful thing.

  Cole simply stared. After a few moments he gushed, “This is amazing. There aren’t many of these left. Only a handful in fact.”

  Entering the building Gerry showed Cole the damaged bow. Cole walked around the boat twice, each time pausing at the damaged bow.

  “This can be fixed Gerry. I’ll tell you that right now. And you’d be foolish not to do it. This is an amazing boat.”

  Cole went to the rear of the craft, mounted the ladder, and climbed to the command console. He strolled about the deck, moving from level to level, touching and caressing the different parts of the boat.

  Cole had changed somehow. He was many things, most of them a bit slimy, but Cole did know Chris-Crafts. His voice took on extra confidence. He pointed out brass fixtures and fine joinery. To Gerry, Cole’s running commentary certainly sounded like it came from a man that knew what he was talking about.

  “These Chris-Crafts are the Cadillacs of the boat world. The company was started by a kid; can you believe that? Seems this kid, Chris Smith built a boat when he was thirteen, a couple of years later he was building full size duck boats. Apparently he could make a duck boat better than anyone else in southern Michigan and he got a reputation.”

  “You’re kidding me, a thirteen year old kid?” Gerry wasn’t sure if he was hearing a tall tale or not.

  “Yeah, no joke. Christopher Columbus Smith, now there’s a name I could never forget.”

  Cole climbed down the ladder, decided he didn’t have all the tools he needed and went to his van. A few minutes later he returned holding a large toolbox and talking as if he had not stopped.

  “So anyway, by the 1880s his brother Hank and ol’ Chris Columbus had formed a little boat building business and made duck boats and small work boats for the Detroit waterfront.”

  “Detroit waterfront? What waterfront?” Gerry asked.

  Cole climbed the ladder and had found the engine access panels. “Well, Detroit was a big waterfront town in those days. Remember, all the goods on the east side of the United States went up and down Lake Erie, then along the Erie Canal through upstate New York. If something was going to or from Chicago or New York it went through Detroit.”

  Cole had taken the cover off the motor compartment and was inspecting the boat’s engine. Several minutes, a screwdriver, two different sized wrenches and one pair of pliers later he said, “I’ll be damned.” Then called, “Gerry, come look at this.”

  Gerry climbed the ladder and looked over Cole’s shoulder. “What am I looking at?” Gerry asked.

  Cole pointed. “See that?”

  “What?”

  “A restrictor plate! Someone slowed this boat down. This plate keeps air from getting into the carburetor and won’t let the engine develop full power. Pretty odd thing to do with these boats.”

  “What? I don’t get it, what do you mean?” Gerry’s strong suit was not large engines.

  Cole looked at Gerry as if he were a child. “Okay, a motor needs three things to run. Gas, air and fire. Right?”

  Gerry nodded.
Cole continued. “Except, you’ve got to get the gas and the air in the right proportions to burn properly, right? That’s what a carburetor does. Most cars use fuel injection nowadays, but back in the day carburetors were the thing. Anyway, this is a four barrel carb. See those two big cylinders?” Cole pointed.

  “Those are the first two barrels. The mixture is controlled by that butterfly looking thing right there.” Again Cole pointed. “Those two slightly smaller cylinders are the second two barrels. When the throttle is opened wide, fuel shoots into those two barrels and that flap there opens to let more air in.”

  Gerry nodded. “Okay, got all that. But, what’s a restrictor plate?”

  “Well, if you block the barrels…if you restrict the amount of air going into the barrels the fuel can’t all burn. You slow the boat down,” Cole explained.

  “Ah, now I see. Why would someone do that?” Gerry asked.

  “Damned if I know! They used to race these big Chris-Crafts all the time. It was a point of pride for the high rollers to see whose boat was the fastest. Goin’ slow didn’t cut it. Maybe somebody was messin’ with this boat.” He pulled himself off the top of the engine and began to crawl behind it. Soon Cole’s voice came from the rear of the boat.

  “Anyway, by 1920 the brothers were doing pretty good. They won a couple of races, and were pretty well known for high powered speedboats. They made boats from the best mahogany money could buy. The boats were easy to operate. Rich people loved ‘em and they were reliable, at least for their day.”

  Cole paused to shift his position. “Hey Gerry, in my tool box there’s an inspection mirror. Hand that to me would ya?” Gerry opened the box and soon found the little mirror on an extendable rod. “Got it.” Cole’s hand appeared above the engine and he returned to his story.

  “Thanks. Yeah, so anyway, they sold boats to all the high rollers. Even Henry Ford owned one. So did the newspaper guy they made the movie about. What the hell was his name?”