"Yeah, I’m fine. Go back to sleep."
I heard rustling, and then the door to the vee opened. Alex stood there, wearing only pajama bottoms.
"God, Alex, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up."
"It’s okay. What are you doing up?"
"I, uh, I thought I heard someone outside, so I started to go out and check, but then I bumped my head on the hatch."
"You weren’t going to go outside by yourself, were you?" he demanded. "Are you crazy?"
"Well, I—"
"Go back to bed. I’ll check it out," Alex said, making shooing motions toward my berth.
"No, I want to see too."
By this time, I was pretty sure whoever was out there would be long gone, after all the commotion on our boat. The portlights were all open, so I’m sure they’d heard my screech when I’d bumped my head, and then the conversation with Alex. Regardless, we both trooped up into the cockpit.
Just as I’d suspected, there was no one on the dock now.
And no squad car nearby.
But looking further down the street, I saw a man walking away. He seemed to be in a hurry.
As he passed under a streetlamp, I saw that he was blond. A tall, blond man.
Chapter 12
Well before dawn, a soft tap on the door pulled me out of an uneasy slumber. Ignoring it, I burrowed my head back under my pillow.
The tap got louder. I burrowed further.
"Come on, Shelby," Alex said. "I can hear you rustling around in there. Rise and shine."
Sighing, I pushed the covers back.
"I know you’re awake. Come on, I have coffeeeeee for yooooooooou."
I laughed, despite my mood, then crawled out of the bunk and opened the door.
"Ah, there she is, Sleeping Beauty herself. Here, I made you a fruit cup to go with your coffee."
"Thanks, you’re the best."
"We’re pretty much ready to go as soon as you are."
A feeling of guilt stabbed me. "Jeez, how long have you been up?"
"About an hour."
Alex flipped on the VHF and tuned into the weather station. The oddly stilted cadence of the automated voice on the radio told us that today there would be a thirty PERcent CHANCE of thunderSTORMS. This announcement was punctuated by a low distant rumble of thunder.
"You sure you want to head out with a possible storm?" I asked.
"It’s only thirty percent," Alex said, shrugging. "And I looked at the forecast online earlier, and it looks like we’ll have overcast skies, but I’m not too worried about a storm. I think it will clear up."
"Okay. Do I have time for a quick shower?"
"Sure, go ahead. I’ll get underway while you’re doing that. It’ll give me a chance to practice solo."
I swallowed the last of my coffee, rinsed out my cup and my bowl, then locked myself into the head to get cleaned up. I heard the diesel start thrumming, and a few minutes later, I felt the boat tremble then slowly gain momentum. We were underway.
✽✽✽
WE HEADED OUT the Pasquotank River, planning to cross Albemarle Sound and then work our way down the Alligator River. We’d have no problem making it to the mouth of the Alligator-Pungo Canal today before anchoring. The sky was just turning a sulky pale gray about a half hour after we got underway. I yawned.
Watching the twinkling lights of Elizabeth City gradually get smaller and fade in the dawning day, I felt my body slowly relaxing. Being on the water, away from the immediate threat of Johnny Rumbar, worked its magic: The stress from the past few days began to drain away. Looking around, I saw no other boats, except for a fisherman heading out to the sound. When we made it out of the river and into the sound, the wind freshened.
"Let’s get the sails up," I said.
After we got the mainsail hoisted, I cranked out the jib then settled back in the captain’s seat and watched Alex when he got his cameras out and began taking pictures. Today, the water was a darkened mirror of the sky, a murky gray-green. I thought of the Dismal Swamp Canal’s inky black depths and was glad we were away from it. I still preferred the bright blues and greens of Florida’s waters, but this water had its own charm, I thought, as I watched the scarlet sail float in the deep steel-colored sky, bringing the shape of the sail into vivid contrast against the background of smoky clouds. The only sounds were the creak of the sheets and the susurration of the water against the hull, along with the occasional cry of a seagull.
About mid-morning, Alex put his cameras away and took the wheel for a while, and I made us brunch. I was starving. Breakfast had been far too early for my liking. After brunch, Alex cleaned up the galley while I had the helm. Then, he said he’d take over, so I took my pillow up to the bow and flopped down on my belly next to the rail, so I could look out over the water. Eventually, the soothing rhythm of the boat rocked me to sleep.
When I awoke a few hours later, I felt refreshed and calm. Rolling over onto my back, I watched the sails rippling for a little while. Then Alex walked up to where I lay sprawled and held out his hand. Helping me to my feet, he asked, "Did you have a good nap?"
"Yes, thanks."
"I’m glad you’re awake already. I hated the idea that I might have to wake you up. But we’re getting ready to head into the Alligator River, and I’d feel better having you close by to help with the navigation."
Feeling a little guilty for sleeping so long, I said, "You should have yelled earlier. What time is it?"
"It’s about two. Don’t worry, there was no need to wake you. You needed the rest, and I was doing fine. But I want to take the sails down now before we get into the river."
Alex went back to the cockpit and cranked up the engine, letting it idle while we brought in the sails. My post-nap calm stayed with me when we left the sound and slid into the comparative calm of the Alligator River a few minutes later. The river was tranquil. Not as lushly green as the foliage along the canal had been, but still surrounded by dense plants, giving me a quiet feeling of being isolated from the world.
My good feeling ended abruptly an hour later when I saw that the engine temperature gauge was red-lining, just before we reached the mouth of the canal.
Chapter 13
"Alex, shut off the engine!"
"Why?" he asked, even while he throttled down and shut it off.
I didn’t answer. I ran to the bow and dropped the anchor, quickly, before we could drift too far out of the channel and run aground amidst the swampy edges of the river.
Panting, I came back to the cockpit. By then, Alex had figured out what had happened.
"Do you know what’s wrong, Shelby, why the engine overheated?" he asked, anxiety in his face.
I had a pretty good idea, and if what I suspected was true, I had only myself to blame.
"Just a minute."
I went below, opened the engine compartment, and closed the raw-water engine seacock.
"What are you doing? What’s happening?" Alex asked, following me down the steps.
I felt my face reddening as I hunted for a screwdriver to take the plate off the front of the raw water pump. It started seeping water once the first screw was loose, and Alex gave me a dishtowel to mop up the excess.
"Remember when Matt asked me to get a new impeller?"
"Yeah. Well, kind of. What’s it for?"
I finished taking out the screws before answering him and removed the gasket, and then carefully pried out the impeller. Or what was left of it, anyway.
"He said this one was getting worn. This is an impeller. It’s what pumps the water that we take in from the river through the engine cooling system."
In silence, we looked at the poor little impeller lying in my palm, a rubber disk a few inches across with blades like a watermill around the edge.
Finally, Alex spoke. "Are those blades supposed to be warped like that? That’s not good, right?"
"No, it isn’t good." I rubbed my forehead.
"So that’s why the engine over
heated?"
"Yes."
"What do we do now?" Alex asked.
"Alex," I said. My voice choked up, and I had to start again. "I’m so sorry about this. This is my fault. Matt asked me twice to buy spare impellers, and I forgot both times."
"It’s not your fault. I heard him ask you, and I forgot too. It’s not like you haven’t had a lot on your mind the past few days," Alex said, rubbing my shoulders. Somehow, his kindness made me feel even worse. "Are there any spares?"
"We can look, but I’m guessing that Matt already looked and found there weren’t any, and that’s why he asked me to get more."
But we looked anyway.
And found nothing.
✽✽✽
"CAN WE SAIL back up the river?" Alex asked. He tried to sound optimistic, but we both knew it was hopeless. I shook my head. The brisk wind that had accompanied us across the Sound had dropped off, and with its absence had come a suffocating humidity accompanied by darkening clouds and the low dull sound of thunder.
"Should we try to radio anyone?" he asked. We’d already checked our cell phones; neither of us had a signal.
"We haven’t seen any other boats since we left the Sound. Even if someone can hear us, I’m not sure that anyone can help us. But you can try."
Alex picked up the radio and hailed anyone within range, asking for assistance. He waited, then repeated the hail.
I was completely disgusted with myself. The voice in my head jeered at me: Way to go, Shelby! Just one thing that Matt asks you to do. One simple little thing. And you FORGOT. Twice.
"What do we do now?" Alex finally asked, after it became apparent that no one was going to answer his hail, not even one of the usually ubiquitous boat towing companies that offer the nautical equivalent of roadside assistance.
"I really don’t think we can risk trying to sail out of here, even if the wind picks up again," I said. "Once we’re in the canal, the channel is too narrow to try sailing. I’ll take the dinghy and head back to Frying Pan Landing and see if I can find someone who’s heading into town."
"Shelby! Are you nuts?" Alex demanded. "You are not going to hitchhike. Both of us can go."
"No, we can’t leave the boat here like this," I said. "Even though there haven’t been any other boats, we’re a disabled boat anchored in the channel. Someone needs to be here to keep an eye on things and to make sure the anchor doesn’t drag, especially if a storm kicks up."
"Well, then, I’ll go," Alex said. "But I don’t like your being here by yourself."
"It’s my fault that we don’t have the spares. I should be the one to go."
We argued for a while longer, but there didn’t seem to be a good solution. In the end, we agreed that Alex would go, and I would stay aboard. He was adamant that I shouldn’t go, even though he didn’t want to leave me by myself. Once the decision was made, I wanted him to get on with it. The clouds were getting heavier and darker, and the little voice in my head had given up mocking me and was now saying hurry hurry hurry. It was late afternoon already, and who knew how long it would be before he found someone to take him somewhere to get a new impeller and then come back?
I hustled him into the dinghy, with its little 3.3 horsepower engine, and gave him the handheld VHF.
"What’s this for?"
"Just keep me posted, if you find someone at Frying Pan Landing to help you. Just so I know that…just so I know. Okay?"
He nodded.
"Do you know where you’re going?"
"Yes, I remember seeing Frying Pan Landing on the chart and as we passed it."
"Stay in the middle of the channel. There’s a lot of debris along the edges of the canal. You don’t want to foul the prop getting there."
He nodded, opened the fuel line and vent, adjusted the choke and throttle, then pulled the starter cord. The engine sputtered, then caught, and Alex pushed away from the hull of Thief of Time, guiding the dinghy in a small loop, to head back the way we’d come. He waved at me, and I summoned a smile and waved back.
✽✽✽
TOO RESTLESS TO sit down and wait patiently for him to radio me, I went below and got out the chartbooks. We were still pretty far from Belhaven. If he couldn’t find any help at Frying Pan Landing this evening, I would have to decide what we could do tomorrow. I studied the charts, trying to figure out the best thing. Best case, another boat might come by. Worst case…well, there were a lot of worst cases to choose from.
Sometime later, the VHF crackled, and I heard Alex’s voice. "Thief of Time, Thief of Time. Please respond."
With relief, I got up and reached for the microphone. "This is Thief of Time. Please acknowledge and switch to one eight."
"One eight."
I punched the button to move the VHF from Channel 16, the emergency and hailing channel, to Channel 18.
"This is Thief of Time. Go ahead."
"I’m at Frying Pan Landing. Someone’s here, someone who will take me into town for the impeller."
"That's great." My shoulders drooped with relief.
"I’ll be back as soon as I can."
"Thanks, Alex. Thief of Time, switching back to one six."
"One six."
I clipped the VHF microphone onto the radio and glanced at the clock. Six thirty. It would probably be at least a couple hours before he got back. Very lucky that he had found someone there who would help him. My stomach rumbled, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten since brunch, hours ago. I hadn’t felt hungry before, but now that some of the immediate tension was gone, I was starving.
After rummaging through the galley, I made myself a sandwich and cut up some fruit, then sat down with my dinner and went back to studying the chartbooks. After Belhaven, we’d continue down the Pungo River, and rather than crossing Pamlico Sound, I thought we’d take the ICW to the Neuse River then back to the ICW down to Beaufort. Beaufort pronounced Bofurt, and not Beaufort pronounced Bewfurt, I remembered, grinning. Matt had corrected me the first time I’d mentioned it.
I wondered if Henry was still doing well with his recovery, and whether Matt would be able to meet us in Beaufort. At the moment, though, I wasn’t sure I wanted to face Matt and tell him how I’d screwed up.
After finishing my sandwich and fruit, I cleaned up the galley and put out a few things for tomorrow’s breakfast, even though Alex usually did that. Still feeling fidgety, I milled around the cabin, tucking things away and tidying up, but mostly just pacing. Finally, I climbed up into the cockpit and sat outside for a while, listening to the dull grumble of the thunder and slapping at mosquitoes. Dusk was closing in, although it seemed later than it was because of the dark clouds.
My mind turned to the stories that Alex had read to us about the Dismal Swamp Canal. Even though we weren’t in the swamp anymore, the area we were in was just as desolate. Beautiful in its own way. Even serene. But I suddenly felt uncomfortably aware of being alone here, with the night closing in around me. Shivering, I went back down into the cabin and turned on the lights. Their cheerful glow made me feel better.
I glanced at the clock. Seven forty-five. I hoped Alex would be back soon, before it was fully dark. Feeling needy, I picked up the VHF microphone, even though I knew he’d hail me when he got back to Frying Pan Landing.
"Thief of Time tender. Thief of Time tender. Please acknowledge."
Silence, except for the low thunder and the halyard clanking against the mast, stirred by a tiny breeze.
"Thief of Time tender. Thief of Time tender. Please acknowledge."
No one responded to my hail. I clipped the microphone back onto the radio and picked up a book, sighing. I would force myself to relax until Alex came back. There was no need for me to start jumping at shadows.
Just then, someone knocked on the hull. Bang bang bang bang.
Chapter 14
"Shelby? Are you aboard?" Duke’s voice.
What the hell? I thought, trying to calm my racing heart.
I shut the lights off in the cabin and cli
mbed up into the cockpit. In the dim twilight, I could see Duke’s head, seeming to float in the air. He was standing in his dinghy, holding on to the toe rail. I looked beyond him, to see Sea Star bobbing serenely about sixty feet behind Thief of Time.
"Duke, what are you doing here? I thought you were going to Virginia." My voice sounded tight and squeaky to me. I hadn’t heard Sea Star’s engine or his anchor chain rattling down. Or his dinghy. The rumbling thunder must have drowned it out.
Duke gave me an uncertain grin, glancing behind him at his boat. "Well, uh, you know, I just kinda changed my mind, Shelby. Came this way instead. And then got here and saw your boat. Kinda a happy coincidence, dontcha think?"
Not really. In fact, it felt pretty creepy to me.
"I guess I’m pretty surprised to see you," I said.
"Well, I saw that your dink was gone, but that lights were on, so I thought I’d come over and see if you was at home, or not. Where’s your friend?"
Here’s the thing about boats: Unlike a house, where you can potentially hide your car away in a garage so that people might be fooled into believing other people are at home with you, with a boat and a dinghy…well, there are only so many places you can keep your dinghy, and they’re all visible. So it was no use pretending that I wasn’t alone.
"He took the dinghy for a quick look around. He’ll be back soon."
"Oh." Duke looked around vaguely at the river and the overgrown foliage on the shore, as if wondering what Alex might be looking at. "Well, in the meantime, would you, I mean, if you’re not busy, are you innerested in coming to my boat for a drink or dinner, or somethin? No expectations, or nothin," he said hurriedly, as if to ease my mind that I wasn’t signing up for the seduction of my life. "Just, you know, visitin for a little bit. Just till your friend gets back." He glanced over his shoulder again at his boat.
Please tell me this isn’t happening. Please tell me I’m not stuck in the middle of nowhere, getting hit on by someone who shouldn’t even be here.
Telltale (Shelby Hope Book Two) (Shelby Hope Novels 2) Page 8