“That can’t be right.” Jim sat up.
“Why not?” Eve asked, slightly offended that her research had been dismissed so quickly.
“Well, I’ve always heard it called Chris-Craft Industries. Never heard of Smith and Jones,” Jim replied.
Eve walked into the living room and sat on the sofa. “Who’s Smith and Jones?”
“The company that bought Chris-Craft,” Jim replied, suppressing a grin.
“Trying to get me again! Very funny, I said ‘Shields and Company’ not ‘Smith and Jones’. Give a girl some credit.” Jim just grinned. “As I was saying, Shields and Company eventually became Chris-Craft Industries. They got into radio and television stations, even owned part of a movie company. The boat division was just part of it. Eventually boats weren’t important, and they sold the Chris-Craft boat division several years ago. I’m going to call them tomorrow to see if they still have the plans from boats sold in the past. Who knows, I might get lucky.”
“You’re kidding. Wow, I’m impressed. How’d you find all that out?” Jim asked.
“The brand name Chris-Craft is still around. I called one of their dealers today during lunch,” Eve smiled.
“Who knew the boat world could get you into the movies,” Jim sighed.
Eve returned to the kitchen. A moment later Jim heard her shout, “Jim take a look at this!” Eve was already back in the living room. “Listen to the email we just got!” and she began to read.
“Dear Mrs. Crenshaw, We would be more than happy to provide a quote for work on your boat. However, your note stated that you and your husband intended to restore the craft yourselves. We do not recommend a project of that proportion for the average individual as the task can quickly become overwhelming.”
“Of course he doesn’t recommend it…” Jim said, “it means he’s not getting paid.”
“Listen to the rest,” Eve explained.
“However, should you elect to pursue the project, and you wish to ensure your Chris-Craft is of the highest quality, we recommend becoming a member of the Chris-Craft Owners Association and purchase a complete set of plans from the Mariners’ Museum. They hold all records, plans and hull cards for boats produced by Chris-Craft prior to the company’s sale in 1980.”
“That’s it babe!” Jim explained. “We need to visit the Mariners’ Museum …wherever that is?”
Eve was sitting on the sofa and pounding the keys of her computer. After a moment she looked up and smiled, “Looks like we’re going to Newport News, Virginia.”
“You’re kidding, that place is great!” Jim was excited. “They’ve got some big Civil War museums there. I love that place.”
“When were you ever in Newport News?” Eve asked completely forgetting about Chris-Craft boats.
“I couldn’t talk about every trip I took hon, you know that,” Jim replied, referring to his active duty days in the Air Force. “I had a trip to the Norfolk one time, we finished early and everybody went to the clubs. I went to the Civil War museum.”
Eve started to laugh. “Like I’ve always said honey, you really are a nerd.”
In the morning they dropped Molly at the kennel, drove to Detroit and boarded a flight to Richmond. A delayed takeoff, one transfer and more groping hands than Jim cared for and they arrived in Newport News, Virginia.
“I can’t believe it takes six hours to get from Detroit to here,” Jim complained as they approached the rental car desk. “We could have driven here faster.”
“I don’t like all those people padding me down when we get to the airport,” Eve added.
“Oh well, the days of arriving thirty minutes before a flight are long gone I guess,” Jim said, and they settled in to wait their turn in the line for a car.
After checking into their hotel they headed to the museum. The museum had closed just as they arrived at the hotel so this was just a ‘recon’ trip. They drove around the parking lot, ensured they knew how to get to and from the hotel to the building and then went to dinner.
The next morning Jim and Eve were walking into the Museum’s main lobby ten minutes early for their appointment. As they entered the building through a double set of glass doors under a modern art depiction of a globe with a sixteenth century sailing ship at its top Jim wrinkled his forehead.
“What’s the matter?” Eve asked, knowing full well what bothered her husband.
“That’s a stupid statue…” Jim muttered, “…why not make a nice globe and a realistic frigate, like the Constitution?”
“Jim, no one would ever call you a progressive,” Eve grinned.
“Well, does that really look like a boat to you?” Jim insisted.
“It’s art babe, it’s supposed to invoke your imagination.”
Jim looked at her, “Maybe…but I still think…”
“I know you do. Make sure you tell them to get a different statue before we leave. I’m sure they’ll get right on that. Now, where are we supposed to be going?” Eve studied her map of the building. They walked the length of the glass-enclosed entrance way and entered the main building. A long low desk with several museum staffers sat on their right and a seven-foot gold statue of an Eagle screamed from its perch on their left.
An attractive young woman was seated next to a cash register selling tickets to a retired couple. Eve waited her turn as the couple completed their purchase then approached the woman and said they were to meet a Ms. Claudia Wells, a docent with the Museum.
“That’s me.” The girl said, offered her hand and a smile. Eve smiled back, shook the proffered hand and introduced Jim. After a brief discussion of their trip Claudia presented them with a clip board and pen. Eve completed the necessary information and Claudia handed them two visitor badges.
Claudia then pushed her wheel chair from behind the counter and rolled to the front. Eve’s eyebrows lifted a bit in surprise. Then her life as a military spouse took over. “If there’s an elephant in the room say hello,” she’d been told by one of her husband’s first Wing Commanders.
“How did you lose your legs?” she asked.
Claudia didn’t hesitate. “Shore duty in Basra with the Brits. I’m Navy, well…used to be…but was assigned to drive a truck on a road I guess I shouldn’t have been driving on.” Claudia said as if she were talking about the weather.
“I’m Air Force. Never got down to Basra, did see a bit more of the Green Zone than I wanted to.” Jim replied.
A short discussion of the heat, camel spiders and the stray dogs that seemed to be everywhere in Iraq followed. In a few moments they had completed their trip through a display of survival gear and shipwreck stories to a locked set of doors. Using a key held to her wrist with a mariner rope bracelet she unlocked one door and led them into a small office behind the main gallery.
“I understand you folks found a boat, how exciting!” Claudia exclaimed. “We have records on just about every Chris-Craft built up until 1980. Your boat was built before then right?”
“Yes,” Jim said. “We think it was build in the 1920s because it looks like bootleggers from the Prohibition Era used the boat.”
“Wow, that’s pretty cool. I’d love to see it,” Claudia enthused.
“Really? You’re not just saying that?” Eve asked.
“Of course not! Did you bring pictures?”
“Absolutely!” Jim announced, and they spent thirty minutes pouring over a set of pictures that Eve and Sherrie had assembled.
Claudia really did want to see pictures. She examined each one in detail, several times using a magnifying glass from her desk drawer to examine various areas of the boat.
“It looks great! Those smuggler’s holes are the coolest thing I’ve ever seen!” Claudia announced. “Okay, so, we’ve got to do some detective work. You showed me a picture that had the manufacture’s plate. Can I see that again please.”
“Yup, wait one…” Jim fell naturally into ‘military speak’. “Ahhh….here it is.” He produced a picture of a plate rive
ted to the inside of the engine hatch cover. “Are you looking for the hull number?”
“Yes, exactly,” Claudia said.
“It’s 5055. We figured you’d need that,” Eve offered.
“Okay, great, now let’s see if we can find any records on the boat. If you’ll come with me we’ll go back to the archives and I’ll show you what we have. On the phone you talked about needing more than the research package. I think you’ll want the drawings, wiring diagrams and some of the engine documents. We can provide a lot of that. We do have to charge for most of this stuff, but its not terrible.”
Jim smiled “I expected you would. But it’s okay. We’re just glad to find the drawings.”
“Do you have the hull card for this boat? I’d really like to have that too,” Eve asked, referring to the name given to a card used by the original Chris-Craft company to record all the equipment, maintenance and sales data for a specific boat hull.
“Certainly, we have hull cards on every boat. We have a standard package we sell to collectors and people interested in specific boats. It’s called ‘the research package.’ I’m going to bet you’ll want that,” Claudia replied. “I’ll need a little time to hunt the drawings and other items down. Why don’t you tour the museum. I’ll page you when I have them.”
“Sounds like a plan, thank you so much,” Jim answered.
An hour later their names boomed over the museum’s speaker system: “Mr. and Mrs. Crenshaw please report to the docent’s office.”
After a few wrong turns and asking directions twice Jim and Eve found the proper office and knocked. The door quickly opened and Claudia greeted them with a wide smile. “I’ve found almost everything. This is really good, you’re not going to believe it.” She rolled her chair behind her desk and grabbed a computer mouse. A few clicks later they were looking at pages of boat drawings.
“Claudia, this is great, but how do I get a copy?” Jim’s concern was evident.
She gave a slight laugh, “Oh, that’s not a problem! I just wanted you to pick out which drawings you needed. Then we’ll print those out. It’s a bit pricey because these are blueprint sized drawings, but this way you get only what you need.”
Claudia motioned to a desk chair and moved her wheel chair to the side. “Just take my mouse, click here.”
She pointed at a computer generated box on the monitor’s screen. “You’ll get a total at the end. Double check your order and hit print.”
Jim sat at the computer and began scanning drawings.
“And Eve, here’s the data that we have on the boat’s outfitting.” Claudia pointed to a cardboard box sitting on a table. “Let’s go through that real quick and see if you want copies. We can do color copies too by the way.”
Eve stopped thumbing through the box of documents. “Claudia, we really owe you on this, thank you so much.”
“Maybe we can take you out to dinner tonight?” Jim asked. A few minutes later arrangements had been made and all three were back to their research.
Chapter 36
Cole Prestcott rolled to his left, let his body weight and momentum carry him off the bunk and landed on his feet. Turning, he examined the naked body of his secretary.
Donna was fairly worthless in the office, but she was something in the sack. He reached out and stroked her right breast, eliciting a moan. Without opening her eyes Donna said, “Come back to bed baby.”
Cole smiled, “Wish I could, but I’ve got to get home tonight.” Donna rolled on her back. “No you don’t. You don’t ever have to go home.”
“Honey I can only play for so long, then I’ve got to get back to the ball and chain. If she finds out about us the divorce will be held up. You know I want it clean and fast.”
“Oh Cole, I wish you could do it now. Why do we have to wait?” Donna whined.
Cole smiled. She still had hopes. How could any woman be this stupid? He wasn’t going to divorce Elaine. She was class and he needed class on his arm. Besides, some bastard judge would make him pay alimony for the rest of his life, and it would be a shit load.
“Get movin’ honey.” He ignored her question. Cole searched the cabin, spotted his pants and shirt in two separate corners, and quickly retrieved them. He finished pulling his shirt over his head then climbed the steps to the cockpit of his 33 foot Morgan sailboat. The boat was anchored just outside the Boyne City Marina’s designated anchorage. The city didn’t allow anchoring here, but no one had motored out to bust his chops so screw ‘em, he wasn’t paying their fees to anchor two hundred yards closer to town.
Cole made sure the transmission was in neutral. He gave the key a quick turn and ignited the small Yanmar motor. A glance at the oil pressure, temperature and voltage meters told him all was well. Confident the boat wasn’t going to move he climbed out of the cockpit and moved forward. He found the foot control for the powered windlass, pressed his toes onto the switch and watched the anchor rode as it slowly was eaten by the machine. After a minute or two the rope transitioned to anchor chain, then the anchor itself appeared. He lifted his foot, stopped the windlass then hosed mud and weeds off the chain, then the anchor. Soon the anchor was stowed and the bow squared away.
Returning to the cockpit he checked the engine temperature. Satisfied the engine oil was warm he pushed the transmission lever to “F” and the boat began to move forward, gradually picking up speed. Cole spun the wheel and the bow slowly turned to the west. He let the Morgan grow used to the gentle up and down motion over the small waves then dashed down the steps to the cabin.
Donna hadn’t moved. He snatched her bikini top from the floor and threw it at her. “C’mon, we’ve got to get back.” She threw the top back at him, rolled out of the bunk and began to put her swimming suit back on. Cole watched her slide on the bottom of her suit, then position her top and tie the straps. Satisfied she wasn’t going to be naked when they arrived at the dock he returned to the ship’s wheel. In forty minutes they were back at the Charlevoix marina. Donna was offloaded with the usual drama and thirty minutes later he was securing the sailboat to the dock next to his boathouse.
It was dark as Cole walked up the dock and crossed the short yellow sand filled space to the backyard gate. The gate was open. This was unusual since Elaine’s stupid dog wouldn’t stay anywhere near the house if given half a chance. In fact, many times Cole had thought about leaving the gate wide open. But, it was an innocent dog and he wasn’t that cruel.
He closed the gate and began walking to the house. The curtains were open in every room. That was odd too. All the lights were on, but something…something wasn’t right.
“What the hell!” Cole exploded. In the glare of the porch lights and the fading daylight he could see large truck tire marks pressed into the grass. Cole dashed up the steps of his full length porch and attempted to open the back door. It was locked. It was never locked. He didn’t even carry a back door key. Cole swore then ran to the front of the house. Something was very wrong here.
An official looking notice was taped to the front door. At the top, in bold red letters were the words “Notice of Eviction” and “County Sheriff.”
Cole was stunned. “What the hell is this?” he shouted and ripped the paper from the door. No one had ever said anything about the house before. He thought he would have time. They didn’t just throw a man out of his house with no warning. There had been no warnings, no letters from that damned bank, nothing.
He unlocked the front door. The floor was bare. A large oval rug was supposed to be right here. He walked from room to room. The house was empty. No furniture, no wife, nothing. The only things remaining were the dust balls.
Slowly the enormity of what had happened overwhelmed him. “No, no, no…awwwww shit.” Cole slowly sat on the cold hallway floor.
A while later, he wasn’t sure how much of a while later, Cole found himself in the kitchen. On the counter was a wicker basket. Mail spilled off the top and onto the counter. Cole pinched off a stack of a dozen or so le
tters and began examining them. They were from the bank, collection agencies and the mortgage company. Some of the letters were over a year old.
He grabbed an official looking letter from the top of the pile and tore it open. It was a notice of non-payment of mortgage. The letter was dated two months ago and signed by Alan Wisecup. Cole picked another letter off the pile and tore it open. It was another notice of non-payment, only this one was four months old. This letter was also signed by Alan Wisecup.
He was doing it. The little sonofabitch was doing it, he was taking his house and his furniture and…everything!
Cole began to picture Elaine. She would scream and throw her little rich side of Grand Rapids high and mighty temper tantrum. She would make a scene that Hollywood would be proud of.
He focused on the first letter. This didn’t make sense. They had been making the house payments. How could these letters be so old? Why hadn’t he seen them? Cole slammed a fist down on the counter top. Then he noticed a handwritten note which had fallen off the pile and lay next to the basket. He picked it up; it was in the ornate scroll of Elaine.
Slumped against the counter Cole read, “Here’s your mail. I picked it up while you were out with your little girlfriends. Seems like I forgot to give it to you for the past couple of months. Screw you.”
Stunned, he reread the note. Disbelief then anger swept over him. He crumpled the paper into a tight ball and threw it against the wall. The bitch! She’d kept all the notices secret. She’d never said a word. She’d just kept being her up-town-tight-ass-self and never said a word!
And Wisecup. It was Wisecup that had corrupted his wife. He could see Wisecup now, plotting with her, scheming to take everything from him.
Cole walked through the house again. Nothing.
This was Wisecup’s fault. The little bastard had done it. He’d gotten everything! His business, his house, even his wife. The man was a thief, a cheat and a liar. He leaned the back of his head against the kitchen wall and slid to the floor. His chin sank to his chest. Anger washed over him. Then sorrow, desperation and finally an overwhelming sense of failure. Not about his marriage. “Screw her!” No, Cole was going to be exposed for the failure he was. His biggest fear was being found out to be a fake. Now, it was laid out for all to see. He’d lost everything. Cole looked around the empty kitchen and began to sob.
H.J. Gaudreau - Jim Crenshaw 02 - The Collingwood Legacy Page 13