by Iris Chacon
He expected the woman to be weeping or fainting or shaking with fear from the whole ordeal. Instead, she began pounding on his chest with her fists.
“What is wrong with you?” she shrieked. “Why are people always shooting at you? I’m sick and tired of it! Don’t do it anymore! How could you let this happen? That man was going to kill you! I hate this! Don’t do it anymore!”
“You said that already.”
Two Zodiacs bounced off the sides of the sailboat, and two armed men from each side crowded into the cockpit and onto the cabin roof, taking charge of the hysterically screaming Iglesias.
“Sir, are you both all right?” a fifth policeman asked Duby.
“Get us off this stupid boat!” shouted Mitchell. “Right now!”
“She doesn’t mean it,” Duby said soothingly to the policeman. “She’s normally very nice. She’s just upset. I apologize.”
“You bet I’m upset! Don’t apologize for me! I can apologize for myself if I need to!” she shouted. And, turning to the poor policeman, she shouted at his face: “I apologize! Okay? And I want to get off of this boat!”
“Yes, ma’am. Right this way.” The policeman ushered them into the port side Zodiac, where another officer waited with the motor idling. The motor rumbled to life and the Zodiac pulled away toward the shore. The policeman couldn’t hear her words, but it appeared that the woman in the shirt-draped red bikini was still yelling at the big, scarred man who had given her his shirt.
When Mitchell finally stopped screaming (more of the same things she had been shouting while on the sailboat), Jean hugged her close and spoke close to her ear to be heard over the noisy motor. “Thank you for saving me, Michel.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Was that your first time to use a spear gun? That was a very good shot!”
“It wasn’t so good. I was aiming for his heart.”
CHAPTER 28 – RE-EMERGENCE
By the time Jean and Mitchell’s transport docked and they began to climb wearily from the Zodiac to the pier, the SWAT team lieutenant and Frank Stone were arriving from the restaurant building at a run. When the four of them met on the pier, Stone grabbed Duby and wrapped him in a desperate bear hug, blinking moisture from his eyes.
Duby did not release Mitchell’s hand, and Stone backed off long enough to reach for her and bring her into what was now a three-way hug. Mitchell began sniffing back tears, also.
Duby pulled back from the group hug, “What is the matter? Why is everyone crying? Everything is fine now.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, boy. I never cry,” growled Stone, and he sniffed.
“Thank you for coming to help me, Frank Stone.”
“You’re very welcome... Jean.” Stone patted Mitchell’s shoulder and stepped back to face the couple.
Duby had moved from holding her hand to circling her waist with one arm, keeping her close to his side. She was resting her head against his chest, as happy and natural as a kitten nestling on a sunny windowsill.
Stone said, “I didn’t do much, as it turns out. Doctor, you nearly gave me a heart attack when you swam out to that boat.”
Duby said, “Me, too.”
A policeman arrived with two blankets and said, “Us, too” as he wrapped one around Mitchell’s shoulders. He handed the second blanket to Duby.
Stone reached over and helped wrap the blanket around Duby’s bare shoulders. It was clear that Duby would not relinquish Mitchell’s hand simply to keep himself from freezing in the sea breeze.
From the direction of the parking lot, they heard shouting in rapid French. Duby, being the tallest in the group, was first to spot the source of the voice. “Maman is here.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Stone said, producing a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping away the evidence of his tears.
“Jean! Jean, mon cher!” Mandy Stone shouted when she spotted him in the center of the small throng on the pier. She swept through the gathering, a short, round, unstoppable package of motherly love, and threw herself into Jean’s arm, clinging to his neck. Mitchell patted Mandy on the shoulder comfortingly and smiled, with absolutely no idea what Mandy was saying. French words spewed from the lady’s lips with the speed of machine gun bullets. She paused only when she needed to draw breath or wipe at her copious tears.
Jean was trying to answer her, to calm her and tell her everyone was all right. At least, Mitchell thought that’s what he was doing. He was speaking French, too, and because Mandy seldom paused, most of the time they were both speaking at once.
After a minute or so, Mandy had quieted enough to breathe more-or-less normally and converse in English. She had hugged Mitchell, also, and even allowed her husband to put his arm around her shoulders and pull her a few steps back from the exhausted couple.
They heard the second Zodiac rev its engine and pull away from the Do Bee 2. When they turned to look, they could see policemen and paramedics escorting a haggard, bloody Iturralde Iglesias toward the pier and a waiting ambulance. Iglesias sported a grapefruit-shaped white bandage covering his right hand.
The lieutenant stepped up to Duby and, after shaking hands and welcoming the couple back from their unfortunate ordeal, asked Duby and Mitchell to come to the police station to make formal statements. “I’ll drive you there and bring you back,” he told them. He didn’t know that Duby was still only learning to drive, but it was clear to any onlooker that both the man and the woman from the sailboat were too tired and emotionally shaken to be trusted behind the wheel of a car.
“Get some rest, son,” Frank Stone told Duby. “You, too, Doctor.”
Mitchell smiled and nodded her thanks.
“Yes, and you should take at least one day to stay home and recover from all of this,” Mandy insisted. “And, on Sunday, after church, you’re both coming to our house for lunch. D’accord?”
“Oui, Maman,” Duby answered. “We will have lunch together ... all four of us. And thank you again, Frank Stone. Without your help, this would have been a very sad day, I think.”
“Yes, thank you,” said Mitchell.
The lieutenant escorted Mitchell and Duby to his car, where he seated them in the back seat. Frank and Mandy Stone watched the car until it had driven out of sight, then they walked hand-in-hand toward the parking lot where Mandy’s car was parked.
Duby and Mitchell sat as close together as two people could get, in the back seat of the police cruiser. Their hands remained entwined, as they had been since before they had left the Do Bee 2, headed for shore. Neither of them wanted to relax their grip, much less completely release their hold, on the other person.
Looking down at their clasped hands, Mitchell said pensively, “Would you really have sailed your boat all the way to Cuba for that man?”
To her surprise, Duby laughed.
“What’s so funny? That man would’ve killed you if you didn’t take him there, and he would’ve killed you if you did take him there. How is that funny?”
“It is funny, cheri, because I have no idea in the world how to sail a boat!”
“You’re kidding! But you live on a sailboat!”
“Oui, I live there because Dubreau lived there. But, in truth, I only sleep there, cheri. And, I know no more than you about spear guns, either.”
Mitchell looked at him incredulously for two seconds, and then they began laughing together.
“Then, I guess it’s a good thing I showed up to rescue you, isn’t it!” she said.
“Ah, oui, it is. But, next time you come to rescue me, please wear more clothes.”
“I thought I should try to appear shallow and dumb and, y’know, harmless. Kinda throw old Churro off his guard.”
“And so, you became Heather.”
“Right. Everybody knows a Heather sometime in their life, even if she doesn’t actually use that name.”
They were quiet for a moment, then Duby said, “Michel, will you make me a promise?”
“An
ything, Johnny.”
He raised their clasped hands and kissed hers. “Promise me you will never, ever again call me ‘Scooby Dooby.’”
She laughed and answered, “Okay, I promise.”
“But, you can be Heather again sometime, if you want,” he teased. “I liked her.”
“Oh, you did, did you?”
“Oui, I liked Heather – not as much as you, Michel, of course!”
“Of course.”
“And I have a confession to make: I did sort of like your tiny red swimming suit. I did.”
“I know,” she said. “I could tell, actually.” She winked at him.
He smiled. “I just do not think you should wear it in public.”
“Okay.”
“Ever again.”
“Okay.”
“But, do not throw it out.”
“Okay.”
“Just keep it, you know, for at home.”
“Okay.”
They exchanged a soft kiss on the lips, which they cut short because they were aware of the lieutenant’s eyes in the rearview mirror.
After a short period of quiet, she said, “I don’t want you to go back to that boat.”
He studied her face.
She opened her soul to him with her gaze.
“Okay,” he said.
“Not just for tonight.”
“Okay.”
“You should never go back there.”
“Okay.”
“You should sell it.”
“Okay. And then what?”
“Well, after you sell it, you could ... buy a car, maybe.”
“Okay, but Michel, where will I go, if I don’t go back to the boat? I have to live somewhere.”
She was quiet for a long time. She looked away from him and watched the city passing by the car window. Finally, she said, without turning toward him, “Even though today was so horrible ... I was sure we were going to die. I was scared out of my mind sitting on that boat with that terrible man. ... But, even with all that...”
She turned and looked into his eyes. Tears glittered in hers as she said, “Even with all that, I was happy. Deep inside, I wasn’t missing a part of me anymore. I thought that man was going to murder us, but deep down, I was happy. Is that crazy?”
He shook his head slowly and, with a shy half-smile, he said, “I know. I was happy, too.”
“I want you to come home,” she said.
“I would like that, cheri, but to do that, we will need to complete phase two.”
“Phase two of what?”
“Phase two of my master plan.”
“You have a ‘master plan’?”
“Oui.”
“Okay. What is phase two, then?”
“If I am to live in your house and make it my home, I will have to become your husband.”
“Oh. Sure. I know. I know that. Catholic school, right? Sister Elizabeth would never understand. Okay. It’s a good plan. I’ll agree to that.”
He gaped in surprise. “You will?”
“Yes. Why not? I love you. We rescue each other quite nicely.”
“We do, that’s true. And, I love you, too. But, Michel, what about the difference in our ages? Are you no longer worried about that?”
She sighed. “Well, to tell the truth, I wish you were a couple years older. And, of course, I wish that I were a year, or five, younger. But, if our souls are eternal, then a couple years one way or another is not enough to count, really. And, given your past record, I’m afraid if I don’t stay close and keep an eye on you, you won’t live to get any older!”
He bent and kissed her again, longer and stronger this time. When he lifted his head again, he said, “So, it is settled. I will be your husband, and you will be my bodyguard.”
She laughed. “And, just for my information, before I take on this job, do you have many other enemies like old Churro, who are likely to emerge from your past with evil intentions?”
“I really do not know,” he said. “I guess we will find out.”
“Hmm,” she said, and laid her head on his shoulder. As she let her eyes drift closed, she asked, “Do you like cats?”
“I really do not know.”
“Hmm. I guess we’ll find out.”
A few quiet moments later, he whispered, “Do you like pirate books?”
But, she was already asleep.
THE END
About the Author
Iris Chacon has been a musician, screenwriter, radio producer, voice-over artist, legal assistant, and teacher before turning to writing full-time. All of her novels to date have been set in Florida, which her family has called home since the 1700s. Iris strongly believes that reading should be good, clean, exciting fun.
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Cover art is by Blazing Covers at The Book Cover Designer
Additional eBooks by Iris Chacon
Finding Miranda
Sylvie’s Cowboy
Mudsills & Mooncussers
Schifflebein’s Folly
ENJOY THIS
SAMPLE CHAPTER
OF
FINDING MIRANDA
An invisible (or, at best, forgettable) small-town librarian, Miranda is accustomed to anonymity. Suddenly, two people seem all too aware of who, what, and where she is: one is the hunky blind radio host who lives next door, and the other is a murderer.
Sample Chapter
Seventy-five-year-old Martha Cleary relaxed in her front porch rocker by dawn’s misty glow with her coffee at her side, her binoculars hanging from her neck, and her small-caliber rifle in her lap.
Wide, shady verandas were the norm in the tiny community of Minokee. The rustic frame houses crouching beneath the live oak trees were nearly as old as the trees themselves. No one had air conditioning in Minokee. With their Old Florida architectural design—all wide-opening windows and deep, dark porches—the quirky ancient cottages were cool even when it was hot enough to literally fry okra on the sidewalk downtown. If Minokee’d had a sidewalk. Or a downtown.
Next door—and only a few yards away from Martha Cleary’s rocking chair—a screen door creaked open and whapped shut. Bernice Funderberg doddered toward her own rocker, blue hair in curlers, pink fuzzy slippers complementing her floral housedress.
“Yer late,” Martha said.
“Yeah, when ya hit seventy ever’thing ya gotta do in the bathroom takes a durn sight longer than it yoosta,” groused Bernice. “Did I miss ‘em?”
“Nah, not yit.” Martha lifted her binoculars and peered off down the narrow asphalt road to where it curved into the thick palmetto scrub a half-mile away. A jungle of vines, palmettos, young pines, and broad, moss-draped oaks pressed close alongside the road. Nothing was visible through the tangle of flora and shadow. “They ain’t made the turn yit. Prolly got a late start—like you.”
“But not fer the same reason, I’ll betcha!” Bernice said with a chuckle.
“Bernice, poop jokes is the lowest form of humor. I am appalled at your unladylike references to bodily functions at this hour of the mor– Get outta there, you sorry varmint!” Martha raised, cocked, and fired her rifle in one smooth, practiced motion. Bushes rustled in the garden bordering her porch.
“Git ‘im?” said Bernice, unruffled by the sudden violence. It’s just another dawning in semi-quiet little Minokee.
“I didn’t wanna hurt ‘im, jest wanted ‘im outta my summer squashes.” Martha set her rifle aside and shook a fist at the bushes. “Find yerself another meal ticket, Bugsy! I don’t do all this yard work fer my health, y’know!”
Bernice snorted. “Yes, ya do, ya old biddy. Say, ain’t that them?” She pointed toward the far curve of the road.
Martha hoisted her binocs, focused, smiled, and nodde
d. “Yep. Here they come.”
“Shucks,” whined Bernice. “Looks like a shirt day.”
“Hush up, ya shameless cougar!” said Martha.
Across the narrow street, first one and then another screen door whined as other house-coated, coffee-carrying ladies emerged and took their seats in porch chairs. The new arrivals waved, and Bernice and Martha waved back, smiling.
“Jest in time,” Martha said.
In the distance a man and dog loped toward the cottages, gliding along the leaf-shadowed, warm asphalt, with a soft whhp-whhp-whhp as the man’s running shoes met the pavement. He wore faded jogging shorts that showed off well-muscled thighs. A tee shirt stretched across his wide chest and tightly hugged his impressive biceps. His pale beard was trimmed close to his face, which was shaded by the bill of his Marlins baseball cap. He wore sunglasses. His donkey-sized dog wore a bandanna.
The ladies in the porch chairs sighed and sipped their coffee, all eyes devouring the oncoming duo. As he drew nearer, without slowing his pace, the man angled his face with its hidden eyes right and left and acknowledged each lady with a wave. A mellifluous bass voice rumbled from behind his pectorals, “Mornin’ Miz Martha, Miz Wyneen, Miz Bernice, Miz Charlotte.”
“Mornin’ Shep, mornin’ Dave,” each lady called in turn. They did not wave back.
The running shoes whhp-whhp-whhpped past the ladies and on down the tree-arched road. The porch ladies rose from their chairs and turned to watch the eye-candy-in-a-ball-cap move away from them. When Shep and Dave rounded the next corner, out of sight, all four ladies gathered their coffee cups, binoculars, and (in at least one case) weapons. With contented sighs, Martha, Wyneen, Bernice, and Charlotte went back into their respective homes. Even with a shirt, today had been a good day.