by Ash, Lauren
“But you just gave me their names! You’re not very good at this are you?”
“It’s very busy here today.”
“I see. Have a good day now.”
“And you too.”
Accessing the Internet on his cell phone, he browsed the telephone directory until he found a listing for a Mrs. M Coggington on Rocky Shores Boulevard.
“Hello?”
“Yes. Mrs. Coggington, this is Ron—Gerry’s grandson?”
“Oh, hello! I’ve heard all about you—good things of course—from Gerry over the years, mostly about your schooling and work, and things like that. We met when you were a young boy.”
“Yes, I remember: the book club?”
“Yes. I met your wife the other day. She’s so nice. She made me a lovely salmon dinner and chatted about this and that. We were up very late, you know. I haven’t been up that late in years. Oh, congratulations, by the way. How are you doing?”
“Oh thanks,” said Ron politely, wondering what on earth she was on about. “I’m okay, but I kind of need your help.”
“My help? I don’t know what I could do for you. I’ve been working on my knitting. I’m making a scarf, and a sweater to match. It’s been awfully cold here the past few days—”
Ron rose from his plastic chair, pushed it away, and paced impatiently, unsure if he was ever going to get a word in at all. “That sounds nice,” he finally interrupted. “You see, I need your help. I can’t get hold of my wife. I have been calling her but she’s not answering. I was wondering if you would mind going over to check on her?”
“Oh, actually I was just on my way over there. She asked me to baby-sit for her when I was over there the other night. Is something wrong with the baby?’
“Kip?” he asked, worried.
“No, the baby. Your wife told me about it. Congratulations. It’s so very exciting. I remember back to when I was pregnant—such a special time. I should really stop knitting my scarf and knit up a little hat and some baby bootees.”
Everything came to a standstill. All the noise that surrounded him seemed to fade away. It was all beginning to make sense—Jenny’s blackout, the odd behavior, everything. She stopped taking her medication.
Mrs. Coggington was still jabbering on about babies. “Do you know if you’re having a boy or a girl?”
Great news, Ron thought. That’s just great. Now my pregnant wife is missing. He waited for a slight pause in the old woman’s monologue and said, “Mrs. Coggington … I honestly don’t know yet. I can’t get a hold of my wife and I really just need your help. When you get there, give me a call back, or tell her to call me. I would greatly appreciate that.”
“Yes, yes. I’m popping right over there now.”
“Thank you. Thank you so much. I appreciate it.”
He gave her his number, ensuring she had written it down, and then got off the line as politely as he could. Ron put his head in his hands, then ran his fingers through his hair, stood, and went to get another cup of bland coffee.
“You look like hell.” The southern accent gave Ron no comfort at all. He turned to find Carl behind him.
Carl gestured to the coffee. “Is it that bad? Ah don’t even drink that shit.”
“It is.”
“Want some grub?”
“This will do me.” Ron lifted his cup.
“It was a fuel tank,” Carl said.
“What was?”
“That’s what caused the explosion.”
“Oh. How’d they figure it out?”
“The fire department took samples; they just came in. We think the welder opened the wrong void, thinking it was water. But it was fuel. When he started weldin’ BOOM. They must’ve mixed up the lids when the tanks got painted last.”
“Jesus.”
Ron’s thoughts flew to the great gash the explosion had rent in the hull of the gunmetal grey destroyer.
“Ah’m sorry for what Ah said yesterday. I was pissed off, hot under the collar.”
“Enough said. Forget about it.” Ron wasn’t the type to hold a grudge.
Carl rubbed a hand over his eyes. “One’ve my best was lost down there. He was young, smart—picked everythin’ up quickly—a bright future ahead of him.”
“Yeah, I heard he was an ace. Heard he’d just gotten married, too.”
“Yip.”
“I didn’t call the Admiral.”
“Thanks,” said Carl.
* * *
When the cramping eased off, Jenny returned to the kitchen. She was starving again. I suppose I better eat before I go out. “I’ll take this as a good sign,” she told no one in particular.
The lantern sat on the kitchen bench, where she left it.
Curiosity always got the better of her. Curiosity killed Jenny—might be prophetic.
Inside the glass casing, a half-burned white candle dribbled a trail of wax in the center. She noticed a piece of paper folded underneath the base of the candle. Opening the lantern door, she tried to inch the stump of candle out, but managed only to knock it over. The paper below it was still covered by wax.
“Come on, come on,” she moaned, working at it. “Piece of—” The paper was jammed in there at a strange angle, between the base and the glass pane. She picked up the lantern and shook it. “Come on. Come on! Come free.”
It did not.
“This isn’t rocket science,” she scolded herself, knowing Ron would be laughing at her if he were here witness to it. “Hmmm.” Glancing around, she selected her favorite knife from the counter. The knife stabbed deep into the lump of wax and, with a twist, it popped loose.
“There!”
The note sat on the bottom. White paper perfectly folded in a neat little square. With trembling hands, Jenny reached in and grabbed it.
What are you looking for?
That was it. That was all it said. She flicked the note across the kitchen. Kurt’s words came back to her: Because you’re looking for something.
“What an idiot,” she muttered. “I can’t believe this guy. Who does he think he is?”
“My dear?” Mrs. Coggington’s words were followed by a soft tap on the door. “I hope you don’t mind that I’m a little late.”
FIVE
The black-handed clock on the tackle shop wall read twelve-thirty. She was late, and she knew it. She didn’t care. She was alone in that cramped fisherman’s heaven; not a single customer was in sight. How does Kurt make any money in this sleepy town?
Jenny snooped about. Fishing lures in all shapes and sizes hung from the walls. He doesn’t seem like the stalker type. She examined the barbed hooks, the sharp stainless steel gaffs. Well, maybe.
The longer she waited the more her anger dissipated. Maybe it was a coincidence? Kurt appeared nice, friendly—perhaps overly so—but Jenny wasn’t sure about him. Usually she had good gut instincts about people, but this fisherman was a mystery to her.
“Where is he?” She looked at the clock again and examined a fish size chart on the wall.
A chime rang out as the front door behind her opened. A tall man, dirty in tired blue flannel, blue suspenders, and big heavy boots took off his faded red ball cap and scratched one hand through his hair. Jenny couldn’t tell if his face was filthy too, or if he was just unshaven.
“I need five hundred yards of thirty-pound test, multi-strand or multi-fiber. Oh … Where’s Kurt?” He looked her up and down, his eyes skipping over red loafers and denim to pause, chest height, at her white tank and grey zipped hoodie. He made absolutely no eye contact. “Never mind … I’ll get it.”
The fisherman went behind the counter and took what he needed, scrawled a note on the notepad on the counter, and left with a disinterested, “Excuse me.”
Jenny craned her neck across the counter. The note just listed the items and finished with the man’s name. “Dan Town,” she said, guessing he had a tab or something.
Another fellow entered, this time baby-faced, thin and pale—obviousl
y a tourist. “Nice shop you have here.”
“Uh … I … don’t work here.” Jenny tried to act natural, all the while knowing she looked like a fish out of water.
“Why are you behind the counter?”
A tourist and a smart-ass. “Er … I was looking for the owner. I needed to get something.”
“What are you going to get?” he asked, in a tone that said it was obvious to him she had never fished a day in her sweet life.
“Tape. I need some tape, but no one is here. I was just looking for the owner.”
Returning to the front of the store, she tried to act as if nothing was going on. The newcomer raised an eyebrow that implied he had rightfully put her in her place, but left her alone.
“Some freaking people,” Jenny said under her breath.
“Excuse me?”
She whirled around. The young man was right behind her.
“Did you just call me some fucking person? Who do you think you are, lady? You living in some fantasy world where you can just walk around insulting others and waltzing into stores to steal shit?”
“Steal? I wasn’t going to steal anything.” She took a step back and made a fist behind her back. “I was looking for the owner—Kurt. Honestly I was,” she stammered, stunned by the confrontation. “And I said freaking, but I didn’t intend for you to hear. I’m sorry, truly I am.”
The young man just glared at her for a moment, and then went on with his own business.
She backed away, closer to the door. Maybe it was time to leave, but where to go? Kurt sure isn’t here. She slipped her hand into the pocket of her hoodie, where the note was tucked away, and went back to browsing the lures. After a few minutes, she sighed and headed for the exit, taking one last glance at the counter. No one was there, not even that bastard tourist.
Where did he go? Jenny stood completely still by the door, and listened. There was not a sound in the shop. Not a breath. Nothing. The kid had not passed her, so he had to still be around. The aisles were all empty. This was crazy. Did she imagine the whole thing? Where was this joker?
“Hello? Anyone here?” She took a few steps back toward the counter. Kurt? Anyone? You—freaking asshole kid?” That would surely get a response.
“Asshole? Is that any way to greet someone who has been making you a magnificent lunch?” A gruff but cheery voice issued from the back of the shop.
“Kurt?” She blushed.
“Sorry I’m late. We got in late to shore this morning, and the catch was big. Took longer than I expected to unload and—”
“It’s fine,” Jenny interrupted. “Did you see a young man in here?”
“No. But there’s a note here on the counter.” Kurt picked up the notepad, tore off the page and added it to a file behind him.
She noticed that Kurt too was dressed in flannel and jeans.
Jenny frowned. “No, a kid. He was here but I didn’t see him leave. I figured he went in the back or … somewhere, I’m not sure.”
“The only person I see here is you.” Kurt looked at her, his glance appreciative. “Are you hungry? I’ve got soup on getting hot, and I picked up a fresh loaf of bread. Come on.” He gestured toward the back door of the store. “Don’t worry. Folks come in all the time and leave just like that. Most of my customers are regulars and have tabs. I usually have Hal here on the counter, but he called in sick. He’s probably not, though. He’s got a new girlfriend. Thinks he has me fooled, but shouldn’t be out getting Chinese food when his workplace is just across the street.”
Jenny eased up a little. “I am hungry. Soup sounds good.” She began to follow him, but then stopped when she reached the counter. “I got your note.”
“My note?” He kept walking, his back to her.
“Yes. The one you left in the lantern.”
Now he turned to face her.
“I got it this morning. I can’t believe you had the gall to come back, even after the police. You should have just told me it was you. I was terrified.”
“Police? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Oh, he was smooth. Jenny folded her arms across her chest and took a step back. “You left me a note.” She pulled it from her pocket and held it out for him, reading aloud, “What are you looking for?”
Kurt put his hand out. “Let me see it.” He read it, squinted at the handwriting. “I didn’t write this. This is not my handwriting. What happened?” He seemed genuinely concerned. “Follow me, we’ll discuss it over soup.”
Jenny shook her head. “How do I know you’re not lying? I can’t go with you, wherever it is you want me to go. You might be a psychopath.”
Kurt shook his head and ran his hands through his hair. “Boy, you’re trouble, aren’t you? And feisty, too. I like that. I like that.”
Jenny rolled her eyes. “You make me sound like some sort of horse.” She kept her arms folded.
“I was thinking more like a fish—some big unyielding fish.”
She couldn’t help but smirk. “So what is it? What do you want from me?”
“Nothing.” He sounded genuine. “Just your company, a little chit-chat. Where are you from? What do you like to do for fun? All the boring, yet simple stuff.” He fixed her with a gaze. “I didn’t write that note.”
“I don’t know, Kurt. I just don’t know about this. I’m married.”
“So I’ve heard.” He grinned. “And … I’m not looking for that. I respect you there. Here…” He thrust a ledger toward her. “Take a look at my log. This is my handwriting. Compare the two. I’m telling you the truth.”
Jenny took the ledger. Coffee rings stained the pages and it reeked of fish. After examining it carefully, she passed it back to him and nodded. “I believe you. Fine! This soup better be good, then. Show me the way already.” The note was tucked back in her pocket for safekeeping.
Kurt led her out the back of the shop and down tread-worn steps to a sun-bleached wooden pier. A lonely fishing boat bobbed at the end, its name painted in bright green letters across the white fiberglass hull.
The Retty. Jenny recognized it immediately. “Odd name for a boat,” she said, to cover her surprise.
“Unique, I prefer to think. It’s my father’s boat ... my boat now. He named it that. We’d get all fixed up to set out to sea and he’d say ‘You retty?’ instead of ready. I’d answer, ‘Aye, aye captain!’ and pretend I was a pirate instead of a fisherman. Loot seemed more interesting than fish back then.” A smile brightened his face. “I would go toe the line, pull the nets in, sort the baskets—whatever needed doing. He gave me pocket money for it, which turned into steady wages as I got older. I went to school during the year, worked weekends, helped in the evenings, and then came on full time. I suppose I picked up the business where he left off.”
“Where is he now, your father?”
Kurt didn’t answer. She followed him onto the boat and into the main cabin, all dark wood and dim lighting, except for the glow of the stove and an oil lamp.
“It’s cold in here.” Jenny shivered.
He handed her a heavy woolen blanket and she wrapped herself in it and took a seat at a table that could only seat two comfortably.
“I don’t feel the cold much. Too busy most of the time to notice, though it gets colder when we’re out from shore. You’ll see.”
“What? We’re going out?” Jenny pulled the blanket tighter at the thought.
“Yeah. After we eat. Just for a while. Is that all right with you?”
“Yes. The only boat I’ve been on, well besides this one now, is the Seattle ferry.”
“I bet you didn’t catch any fish on that one.”
“No, no fish.” She smiled. “Just a nap.”
The soup was piping hot, so Kurt served them and took a seat across from her. He looked so big folded into that cramped space. Jenny tried not to bump knees with him under the table, but it was unavoidable.
“No naps on this vessel—not unless you want a bucket of water thrown
over you and told to get back to work.”
“Ha! I wasn’t planning on it. So, your father?”
Kurt shook his head. “You don’t forget, do you?” He ripped off a hunk of bread and offered her a piece.
“A sore subject?” Jenny slathered the chunk of bread in butter and dipped it in her soup, not making eye contact.
“No. Not really. Just maybe not an exciting one. We spent most of our lives working together, but barely muttered a word between us that didn’t have anything to do with fishing. Now he’s at home blind: cataracts apparently. They came on suddenly and he can’t see well enough to do the work, only to get himself around the house. Just listens to sports all day. I check in on him in the evenings to make sure he’s fine, bring him his groceries—that sort of thing.”
“What’s his name?”
“Barney. Blundering Barney on the boat. He was a great fisherman, but always blundering about onboard, so loud with his boots, always smoking a cigar. Always made us all wear neon life vests. He’d yell, ‘If I fall in the water, at least I’ll be found, either by sharks or by one of you shining bastards.’”
Jenny’s brain ticked away. So this was Gerry’s fisherman’s boat—Barney’s boat. She stared up at the dim exterior. A picture of Barney hung behind Kurt’s head. A more recent picture, she realized; he looked much older than he did in the one hanging in the beach house. She continued to gaze at the boat in wonder. This was where they met for their secret lunches. She couldn’t help but wonder if Barney still visited her over at the home, or if Kurt knew anything about any of it.
“Barney.” She ran the name over her tongue. “It’s not a common name.”
“My mother wanted to name me Barney as well, but Dad wouldn’t stand for it. He didn’t like the name.”
“Your mother?”
Kurt paused. “Yes.”
She waited.
He shook his head. “Long gone now. City born, Dad said. Didn’t like being a fisherman’s wife. She up and left us when I was three,” he said soberly. “I don’t even remember her. Dad looked after me, always has. Enough about me. Tell me about you.”