Funny, he had the “sight,” but apparently his sister was the one who had vision.
The old fishing pier grew out from the very end of the point and jutted into the bay for twenty-five feet. Islanders once gathered there late in the afternoon, their fishing poles or crab nets in the water, and exchange gossip while they waited for their dinner to take the bait. Owen remembered walking to the pier with Gigi, carrying her bucket of bait, and how she’d greet everyone she passed by name. He’d been five or six at the time, which would have made her close to seventy. She’d taught him to crab and to fish off this pier, he recalled as he neared the very end.
It occurred to him that since he’d returned, he hadn’t seen anyone on the pier except Lis. Almost all the old-timers were gone, died or moved away, and few had come to the island to take their places. It saddened him to think of all the old ways that had been lost over the years because no one was around who remembered.
My fault as much as anyone’s. I left, too.
He felt Cass’s presence without realizing, and he turned to look over his shoulder.
Cass had a long, even stride and her legs effortlessly ate up the distance between the road and the bay. She wore khaki shorts and a navy tank top, a Ravens baseball-style cap, and dark flip-flops. Her dark shades were shaped like cat’s eyes, and the bag she wore over her shoulder swung slightly as she walked. She waved and smiled as she drew near, and he had to swallow the lump in his throat before he called out a greeting.
She really was hot.
“So glad the breeze shifted,” she was saying as she walked along the rickety pier. “I wouldn’t be out here if those damned flies were around.”
“Those greenheads are vicious. I never miss them when I’m away.”
“They don’t have flies in Costa Rica?” She dropped the bag she was carrying.
“There are flies, and then there are flies,” he said solemnly. “They breed ’em big and mean on the Eastern Shore.”
“Well, then, they should stop. And what’s with this pier? It’s wobbly in a couple of places and it’s missing some boards.”
“It’s old, and I guess no one’s given any thought to repairing it. It just doesn’t seem to be used as much as it used to.”
“That’s probably a blessing. Someone could very easily fall through this thing, and then Ruby’d be in for a good lawsuit.” Cass bounced up and down a little as if testing the pier’s stability. “So let’s do this. Where do we start?”
“Okay. There are two schools of thought when it comes to catching crabs. Well, three, actually, but we’ll leave out the way the watermen trap on a large scale.” Owen sat and patted the space next to him for Cass.
She lowered herself cautiously. “I don’t want to get any splinters.”
After she settled herself, he handed her a string. “We’re going to tie bait around the end of the string and then lower it slowly into the water as far as it can go.” He reached into one of two buckets he’d brought with him and drew out something that looked fleshy and gross.
“What in the name of all that’s holy is that?” She moved back as if her entire body had gone into cringe mode.
“It’s a chicken neck. There are some—me being one of them—who believe there is no better bait for catching crabs.” He tied the string tightly to the bait and offered the string to Cass.
“That’s disgusting, but okay. I’m game.”
“To a crab, it’s a gourmet meal.” He dropped the baited end of the string into the water and looped the other end around her left index finger. “Now, lower it bit by bit—don’t go so fast. You don’t want the crabs to think, Incoming bait. You want them to just sort of find it on their own.”
Cass rolled her eyes. “Like crabs think.”
“Who knows how advanced their intelligence might be? No way of measuring it, far as I know.” He watched her lower the bait until it disappeared.
“So now what?”
“Well, now you want to bring it back up just enough so that you can almost see it. There, yes, that’s perfect.”
“What happens now?”
“Now you sit quietly until you feel a little tug on the string. Sometimes it’s subtle, but pay attention and you’ll know when a crab is nibbling on the bait.”
“Then what?”
“Then you’ll tell me you think you have a bite, and you’ll very slowly, like inch by slow inch, raise the string. You don’t want the crab to feel it’s being lifted. When you can see the crab, I’ll come at it from underneath with the net and scoop it up.”
“That sounds easy enough.”
“We’ll see how easy you think it is when you’ve lost the first dozen crabs on your line.”
“Are you having a line, too?”
“I already do.” He pointed to his left hand where a string looped over his finger.
“How can you pick up mine with the net if you’re trying to catch some yourself?”
He held up the net with his right hand. “Baited string on the left, net on the right. Not my first day on the dock.”
They sat side by side in silence for several minutes until Cass whispered excitedly, “Owen, I think I’ve got something.”
“Okay, stop swinging your feet,” he whispered back as he reached for the net. “Now pull it up as slowly as possible. That’s good. Really slow, now . . .”
He dipped the net into the water, and the crab fled.
“Damn.” Cass frowned. “You scared it away. That net went into the water like . . . like . . .”
“I scared it away?” He snorted. “Maybe if you hadn’t tugged so hard those last few inches . . .”
“Phfft.” She waved away his protest. “Next time, I’ll do the net thing myself.”
“You’re not ready.” Owen shook his head.
“You’re at a weird angle to my string. That crab could see the net coming.”
“Oh, one bite and she thinks she’s an expert.”
“I’m going to net my own crabs. If they’re on my line, they’re mine. I get to net them.”
“Okay. Let’s see what you can do, big talker.” He placed the net between them.
Owen watched as she let the chicken neck drift back into the water. Moments later she tapped him on the arm.
“I felt another tug.” She lifted the net with her right hand and lowered it slowly into the water several feet from the string.
Owen practically had to sit on his hands to keep himself from grabbing the net because as she raised the string, he could see the crab—a large blue claw—clinging to the bait.
“Oh, boy,” she whispered, her face lit with excitement.
“Slowly, now.”
“Shhhh.” The crab was less than two feet from the surface, the net slightly below it. Cass eased the net until it was under the bait, then snapped the net over the crab and pulled it and the bait to the surface.
“I got one!” she shouted with both surprise and delight. “I caught a crab! And, Owen, look how big she is!”
Owen stood and grabbed the net from her hands. “He. Look how big he is.”
“How can you tell the difference?”
Owen held the net over the larger of the two buckets he’d brought with him and turned it so they were looking at the back side of the crab.
“See that long, narrow shape there on its abdomen? If this were a female, that would be wider and more round. They say the male’s looks like the Washington Monument, the female’s like the dome of the Capitol. And actually, we don’t say abdomen, we say apron.”
“Got it. That was fun.” She sat down again and dropped her line into the water, then glanced at Owen. “No nibbles yet?”
“Sometimes it takes a few minutes for the crabs to find the bait. No worries,” he said confidently. “I expect a nibble anytime now.”
The only nibble was on Cass’s line. She happily netted her second crab, which Owen helped disentangle from the net and drop into the bucket. The crab landed facedown.
; “It’s a female.” Cass pointed to the crab’s abdomen. “There’s the Capitol dome, right there.”
“You’re a quick study.” Owen resumed his place on the dock and once again wound the string around his finger.
Cass did the same. “Thanks. This is fun.”
Within three minutes, her line twitched again. Another crab to add to the bucket. “Another female.”
“A sook. A female is called a sook. Males are jimmies.”
“Thanks.”
It seemed to Owen she had an even harder time hiding her pleasure when the next tug came on her line. Another sook, another plunk as it dropped into the bucket.
“We should be keeping score.” Cass grinned and leaned over the bucket. “That would be Cass, four, Owen . . . how many did you catch, Owen?”
He made a face and she laughed out loud.
“Someone is feeling pretty damned smug right about now, isn’t she?”
“Yes, someone is.” She dropped her line back into the bay, a broad smile on her face.
“Wait, I think I have one.” Owen peered over the side of the dock, then grabbed the net. Moments later, he lifted the net with the bait and the crab.
“Cass, four, Owen, one. You’re catching up.”
He laughed good-naturedly and let the crab fall into the bucket.
By the end of an hour, the score was Cass, nine, Owen, six.
“Beginner’s luck,” he told her after they decided to call it a day.
“Maybe. Could be technique.” She held up the string with the now-chewed-up bait still attached. “What do we do with this?”
“Just untie the chicken neck and let it drift on down into the water. Might as well let the others have a feast since we’ll be back again sometime to catch them, too.”
“We will?”
“Sure. It’s still one of the best places around for crabs, as evidenced by the fact that a total novice just made quite a haul.” He reached a hand down to help Cass stand. “You can’t tell me you don’t want to do this again?”
She smiled as she brushed off the back of her shorts. “I would do it again. Where did you say you got those chicken necks?”
Owen shook his head. “Secret source. You want crab bait, you have to go through me.” He held up the bucket of crabs. “I think we have enough here for a couple of crab cakes. You in?”
“I wouldn’t know what to do with them.”
“I’ll clean the crabs and make them into the best crab cakes you ever had. You bring the beer. But it has to be really, really cold beer, because the crabs are going to be spicy enough to make your tongue tingle.”
“And where would this be happening? The cleaning? The cooking? The beer drinking?” She paused. “Didn’t you have some wine from the dinner at Mrs. Hart’s?”
He looked at her as if she’d blasphemed. “Cass. One does not drink wine with crabs in any form.”
“Why not?”
“Because it would be a sacrilege.”
“Who declared that?”
“It’s tradition. You’re so set on upholding traditions, this is one you need to keep. You can drink wine with fish, which you will note we have not caught.” He picked up the bucket with the bait in it. “Crabs. Beer. End of story.”
“Okay.” Cass sighed. “When and where?”
“Tomorrow night. The general store. Be there or . . .”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Or be square.”
Chapter Six
Owen zipped up the top of his wet suit and walked to the end of Jared’s boat, which Gordon Chandler, Jared’s father, had named the Cordelia Elizabeth, after his lady love, the mystery writer Delia Enright. The diving platform was in place and Owen’s equipment all ready to go. His half mask hung around his neck, and around his waist he wore a belt that held a flashlight, a knife, and an underwater camera with which to record his finds.
“I’d feel better if you waited for Mario.” Jared came out of the cabin and crossed the deck. “You know that diving alone is basically a dumb thing to do.”
“The water’s not all that deep here. I’m thinking maybe thirty-five feet at the most. I’ve been in water a lot deeper and rougher than this on my own. Diving in a river as calm as this one is a piece of cake.” Owen leaned over to put on his fins. “Besides, I don’t plan on being down there all that long. Just long enough to check out the scene. Twenty minutes, tops.”
“You know, you could wait for me to suit up.”
“Not necessary.” Owen strapped on his air tank.
“If anything looks off, come right back up.”
“Don’t worry, pal. The last thing I’m going to do is risk this pretty face.” Owen descended the steps to the platform and went to the edge, easing into the water before securing the mask on his face and placing the regulator into his mouth. Just as Owen flipped forward, he was aware that Jared had begun to say something, but it was lost as Owen propelled downward.
Owen knew the water in the river would be dark, but even he was surprised at just how low visibility was. He turned on his flashlight and aimed toward the bottom, eager to see what lay below. Alone in the silent dark, he swam at an angle to his destination, stopping every ten feet or so to equalize the pressure. Soon the light picked up shapes and shadows on the river bottom, and he descended more rapidly, his heart beating just a little faster at the sight unfolding before him.
The outline of the ship appeared like a phantom, the hull mostly buried in silt and sand, but there was no mistaking what it was. Because he’d only brought one flashlight, he was unable to take in the entire vessel without moving the beam of light from end to end. Next trip down, he’d bring lights with broader beams and other divers to hold them.
Owen drifted slowly along the broken hull. The current was not swift today, so he easily observed the condition of the wood and the placement of the ship. He shot picture after picture until he had photographed the wreck from every angle. Later, they’d map the entire area and uncover what was left of its cargo, if anything, and what might lie beneath the layers of sand.
He swam over and around the wreck several times, memorizing its shape and the areas where the cargo had most likely been. He noted what he saw as well as what he didn’t see. When he was satisfied, he headed toward the surface.
He rose as slowly as he’d descended and found Jared leaning over the side of the boat to watch him emerge from the water.
“What did you find?” Jared asked even before Owen had pulled himself onto the diving platform.
“Pretty much what we thought we’d find.” Owen pulled off his mask and stepped onto the ship’s deck. “Whether it’s the merchant ship Ruby talked about, or another, we won’t know until we can get some better light and some equipment down there, get the airlift going to suck up the sand. See what’s left in the hold, if anything.” He lowered his air tank carefully to the deck. “I couldn’t tell if it rested on another vessel, though. We’ll have to wait to determine that.”
“The magnetometer located something else in the bay,” Jared told him. “Farther out. It may be that 1812 warship the state had contacted me about before this became a priority because of the construction that had already begun on the dock.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me to find there’s more than one vessel down there. The one in the bay poses no obstacle to Brian Deiter’s construction operation, but the one in the river is going to require some changes to their plans to build a dock. I think he’s going to have to build elsewhere, so he might as well start looking now rather than wait for the state to make a determination on this site. It’s going to take a while.” Owen stripped off the belt, then the top of the wet suit. “Doesn’t surprise me at all, though, that there’s something right where Ruby said there would be.”
“She’s pretty spooky sometimes,” Jared agreed. “Did I ever tell you about the time I stopped by to see if you were around and she invited me to dinner?”
“No. When was that?” Owen rolled down the neoprene diving shorts t
hat he’d donned over a bathing suit.
“A few years ago. Right before you married Cyndi.” Jared paused. “What ever happened to her, anyway?”
“She moved to Boston after the divorce.”
“Why Boston?”
“A job, I guess. She didn’t exactly fill me in on her plans. I was in Alaska at the time.”
“I never understood how you could leave a woman like her home alone all the time. I mean, I like my freedom as much as the next guy, but still . . .” Jared rubbed his chin.
“What does that have to do with anything?” Owen sat on a bench that ran along the side of the boat. He opened a cooler and searched amid the contents for a beer. He found one, popped the top, and took a sip. “You were going to tell me about stopping by the store and talking to Ruby.”
“Oh, right. So she invites me to dinner and we’re eating at that table in the front of the store, that round one over on the right near the window? And out of the blue, she says, ‘Jared, you be heading south before long.’ Well, yeah, I was headed back to South Carolina where my dad had opened up his new headquarters, so I said, ‘Yes, ma’am, I am.’ And then she says, ‘You take care, be stormy weather by and by. Mind your instincts.’ ”
“So?”
“So before I could even join my dad, he calls me and tells me he wants me to fly down to the Gulf and take over a job from another salvor who had turned out to be a sham. Didn’t bother to get permits from Florida, didn’t have the proper equipment on board, that kind of crap. The guy who’d found the site knew of Chandler and Associates’ reputation, so when he needed a replacement for the dud, he called my dad in a panic.”
“I repeat, so?”
“So I get down there and something seems off. I didn’t like the look of the boat, and the equipment was suspect. The crew was sloppy, the divers were sloppy—nothing was up to our standards. I didn’t want the job and told my dad. The guy running the op offered me everything but his firstborn. I admit I was tempted—but something told me to back off. Which I did. Of course, they were able to find another salvor to take over. Four days into the job, a hurricane blew up and the boat went down with everyone on board.” Jared blew out a long breath. “How do you figure Ruby knew?”
The Chesapeake Bride Page 10