Buoy

by Maggie Seacroft

  “You mean, like, for work?” He wiped his fingers on a raft of napkins he pulled from the dispenser.

  “Yeah. Work or like work. What’s your occupation?”

  “I’m, like, just trying to find myself right now.”

  I nodded. I was at half-smile by this time. At twenty-five, Russ was old enough to have found himself, and I considered the merits of giving him one of the old map books from Nat’s truck if that’d speed up the process and get him on his way. “What courses did you take at the University of Ohio?” I asked as though I had any interest in being his career counsellor.

  “Oh, you know, math… geography.”

  I fixed my gaze on the counter to keep him from seeing my rolling eyes, wondering if he truly grasped the irony of the bozo with the geography background trying to find himself.

  “What time’d you say Aggie’d be back?” I glanced up at him to ask.

  “I didn’t,” he said coolly, the words delivered in a flattened voice that made me wonder if he’d chopped her up and put her in the deep freeze. There was a buzzing noise and Russ pulled a cell phone from his rear pocket, looked at the screen, made no facial expression whatsoever, and returned it to his backside.

  “Oh, I see you found your phone,” I said, taking a sip.

  Russ shook his head. “It’s a new phone,” he said flatly, turned his back on me and went to the refrigerator to suss out some breakfast I presume.

  The air between us was quiet. The only sounds in the room came from the cooler units in the corner of the store, Russ rummaging in the fridge, and the sound I made when I sipped my coffee. You know how it goes when you try to keep that quiet and it ends up sounding like you’re slurping ramen. “Thanks for the coffee. Tell Ags to call me when she has a chance, please,” I said in Russ’ general direction, my cup still half full, my suspicions topped up, wondering where Russ got the funds for the new phone.

  It was a couple days before I went back to Aggie’s. I had texted her, you know, just to make sure she wasn’t in fact in the deep freeze, and she reminded me that she was helping her cousin move apartments a couple hours away. Her part-timer Bailey would work a couple of shifts—which I interpreted to mean that Bailey would be checking in on Russ. Ags was sheepish about asking me if I’d also keep an eye on him and her place and she said she’d be back as soon as possible. So, while I avoided my usual coffee and (sometimes) fritter routine, I did take note on my daily walk or jog that Aggie’s place was still standing. On the third day of dodging my hangout, Jack Junior approached me just on my way to walk Pepper around town; he was on his way out of Aggie’s place looking caffeinated.

  “Hey, kiddo.”

  “Hi, Jack.”

  “How, uh, how come you haven’t been in lately for coffee and your fat bomb?”

  I shrugged. “Just not in the mood, I guess. Hey, have you heard anything from Shears yet? About whether—“

  Jack was already shaking his head. “No. Still don’t trust the boy, huh?”

  I kicked at the ground, debating which part of my Gemini would surface for this round. Turns out it was the brassy one. “Well, does anyone other than me think it could be more that just a coincidence that the bakery was robbed just as this man claiming to be Russ Shears comes to town?”

  “Oh, that-that-that’s nonsense,” Jack groused.

  “Is it?” I asked

  “Sure, it is. Look, kiddo, I was in Dallas in November ‘63. That doesn’t mean I shot Kennedy, does it?”

  “Probably not.” I sighed. “See ya, Junior. We have some walking to do,” I said, and Pepper and I headed up the hill out of the marina. We were not long into our walk when a young lady named Morgan Kennedy added fuel to the fire that Russ Shears had started.

  We were on King Street, an area of Marysville that conveniently has automotive specific establishments clustered together. On one stretch of King you can have your car serviced by Kelly’s Auto Master and Collision, and if those repairs were going to take a while you could rent a car at the Enterprise franchise a few doors down. If things really went south with your vehicle, you could even shop for a new one two doors down from there at the GM or Ford dealerships on opposite sides of the street. Pepper was enjoying a good sniff at the base of the tree in front of Enterprise when I saw a familiar face. Morgan Kennedy, the daughter of the local vet, Marcy Kennedy, was taking down some information on a rental car on the lot.

  “Hi, Morgan. How’s the new job going?” I asked. At seventeen, Morgan, the eldest of the Kennedy kids, had already graduated and was working for a year to save up for college. Her proud mother had given me the scoop during Pepper’s last vet appointment.

  “Oh, hi there. Hi, Pepper.” Morgan bent down to Pepper’s eye level. He’s a hit with the ladies. “I actually love this job,” she looked up at me to say. “Everybody’s got a story when they come in. Some reason they need to rent a car. It’s interesting.”

  I smirked. I’d never imagined the car rental business to be so stimulating. And it was then that I remembered the day Russ Shears came to town and that he said he’d returned the rental car that he’d driven all night. “Hey, Morgan, do you happen to remember a guy a few days ago, about five foot nine, dark hair, five o’clock shadow, early twenties, and sort of looks like an Abercrombie and Fitch model?”

  Morgan’s eyes got wide the more I described Russ Shears. “No. Do you have his number?” She smiled.

  “Trust me, your mother wouldn’t approve.” I flitted my eyes. Marcy keeps a tight reign on her daughters. “He said he returned a rental car and that he may have forgotten something in it,” I fibbed, a tiny bit. “This is the only rental place in town, right?”

  “That’s right.” She nodded. “We have a lost and found box in the office, but the guy you described hasn’t been in.”

  “And you’ve been working every day this week?”

  “I’ve been working overtime actually. Every day for going on nine days now. Really banking the hours, but it’s good for my college fund.” She shrugged.

  “I bet.” I nodded. “Well, I’ll let you get back to work. Tell your mom I said hi,” I said, and Pepper and I went on with our constitutional. A thoughtful one at that.

  ✽✽✽

  Now, I’ve always been the type who could entertain herself. Even as a child, I remember my babysitters splitting their earnings with me because they felt so guilty about what little work was required of them when they were summoned to the house I grew up in. I’d either read or work on building some Lego masterpiece, and if it was during the evening hours, I’d gaze up at the stars with the telescope I got for my ninth birthday. On this night, restless and hot on the heels of having new information about Russ and the rental car he lied about, I opted to entertain myself with a little spying. I told myself it was in the best interests of Ags and the rest of the gang.

  From the darkened wheelhouse of the Alex M., I aimed my binoculars out the stern porthole toward the Summerwind. Nothing much happened at first, but the wait was worth it. There was Russ in the salon of the boat sitting in the banquette just off the galley; for the longest time he had his neck craned toward his phone. Then I watched as he got up from the bench seat and headed toward the stateroom. I’ve played enough poker on the Summerwind to know the layout like the back of my hand. The curtains in the stateroom were almost entirely pulled shut and I couldn’t tell what he was doing in there. A moment later, he reappeared in the salon with something in his hand. I slid the lever on my binoculars to zoom. Russ looked down at what was in his grasp and used his other hand to count it out—like you’d do with money. When he was done counting, he tidied the stack and put it on the table in front of him, then folded his arms behind his neck and leaned back, looking contemplative or satisfied, I couldn’t tell which from that distance. It could have just as easily been gas. A moment later, his head snapped toward the stern door. I followed with my binoculars to see that someone had boarded the boat.

  Russ hastily grabbed for what he’d la
id out on the table and stuffed it behind the toss cushion on the banquette. I’d given Robert Shears that cushion for Christmas the prior year in our Secret Santa exchange—navy blue and screen-printed in white on the front were the words “Work Like a Captain, Party Like a Pirate”. I saw Russ mouth something and turn and look back at the banquette before heading to answer the door. I was hooked, watching the Russ Show in magnified view with my binocs—good thing I’d opted for the lightweight version—when my cell phone went off. I jumped and turned to look toward it, finding the screen now casting an upward glow on Pepper’s face where he lay on the wheelhouse bunk. The effect made him appear like someone about to tell a ghost story around a campfire.

  “Jesus!” I said and thought my heart would leap out of my chest. The phone buzzed again and I looked at the screen. Aggie. I tapped to answer it.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  I froze. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s a pretty simple question. I just wondered what you’re doing.”

  “Can you see me?” I asked.

  “No. Why? Why are you acting so weird? I just want you to come over.”

  “Oh.” I let out a sigh of relief and went back to the stern porthole to see what I was missing. “Sure, I’ll be there in a few minutes,” I said, tapped the screen to end the call and watched the lights go out on the Summerwind before Russ went down the dock with his visitor.

  I took Pepper down the main level of my boat, tucked my family in for the night, and headed off to Aggie’s where, as soon as I crossed the threshold, I could smell fresh coffee wafting from the kitchen, and a roast beef sandwich lured me to the counter as if I were being pulled by a string.

  “Ok, what is it?” I groaned, knowing the sandwich was clearly a bribe.

  “How’d you like to help me paint?”

  “How about your man-child? Can’t he help you?”.

  “He said he has some things to take care of. You don’t think he’s seeing someone else, do you?”

  “Who, that catch? Not likely.” I rolled my eyes. As far as I could tell, Russ’ lifestyle was being funded by his grandfather who had provided for him a place to stay, the gang and I during our last poker night, and Aggie and the odd jobs she gave him. Though I did wonder if it was cash he had counted out on the banquette table. “I don’t know what you see in that kid. What could you possibly have to talk about?” I asked as I went to the counter and poured myself a coffee.

  “Girl, we don’t get together to talk.” She shot me a roguish smile and spread a drop cloth on the floor.

  “So, it’s just sex.”

  “It’s not just sex. It’s two people who enjoy the company of one another. And don’t you always say life is short? Let’s hear it for a little hedonism. Think of it like my therapy.” She went on, and I wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince me or herself. “See what I save in psychiatric bills?”

  “Mmhmm, I’ve always said you’re the poster child for mental health. I still don’t get it, though. Not with him,” I said, taking a sip.

  “Be nice.”

  “Ok, I’ll be nice,” I said and wondered at what point of being nice I could reveal that Russ was a big fat liar and that he had not, as he’d claimed, returned a rental car to the lot uptown. I decided to bank my concerns until I had something more substantial to offer.

  “Hey, how’d you know I was going to ask you to help me paint? You even came dressed for it,” she said as she shook a gallon of paint.

  “Ags, I’ve been wearing this all day,” I said, looking down at my ripped jeans, long sleeved t-shirt, and paint-splattered shoes before shaking my head at my abysmal fashion sense. “So, we’re painting these walls I’m guessing?” I looked at the two walls dotted with slightly discoloured rectangles, reminders of the prints that had been removed.

  “Yeah, I just want it freshened up, you know, for the dinner.”

  “Russ coming to that too?”

  Aggie cocked her head and squinted at me. I gathered the answer was yes. “Bugsy’s invited too.”

  “Oh yeah? That’s nice.”

  “Even though—,” she said as though the rest of the sentence had broken off.

  I knew what “even though” meant. That “even though” was an invitation for me to ask what “even though” meant.

  Ags pried open the lid of the can and poured some Cottage White into a tray for me and some for herself while I slid the rollers on their cages. The air between us was dead quiet while I debated asking what the “even though” was that she was dying to explain. After a protracted wait that was probably a solid two minutes, I caved. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, even though what?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “You know damn well what I said. Even though what?” I dipped my roller in the paint.

  “Oh, you mean about Bugsy?”

  “Swear to God, Ags, if you don’t just come out with it—“ I waved the paint roller at her.

  “Ok, ok, calm down. I was going to say Bugsy’s coming, even though he’s being evicted from his cottage.”

  “He’s what?” I asked, searching her face.

  “Yeah, he came in the other day and told me his old man is booting him out of free accommodations.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Oh, he’s pissed at him. You remember this summer, that land deal Bob Beedle had going?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, Bugsy effed that up for him. Apparently, he knew the land was contaminated and Bob figures it was him who told the buyers and they backed out of the deal.”

  “Oh, I see.” I nodded and started rolling on paint.

  “You know the buyers were going to put a rec centre on the property for kids, big outdoor soccer complex and—“

  “Well that’s too bad… I mean for him.” I rolled some more. “So that’s why Bugsy’s been kind of moping around?”

  “I think so. That and…”

  I looked at her. “Ags, why don’t you ever just finish a sentence like a normal person?” I dipped my roller into the paint and waited for the other shoe to drop.

  “Ok, well, we were talking.”

  “We?”

  “Me, Bugsy, Junior, you know,” she said while she rolled on white.

  “Oh, right, the little Mensa group you’ve formed.”

  “Never mind then.”

  “Ags, would you just tell me.”

  “We were talking… and we wondered if maybe you would rent the Splendored Thing to Bugsy and I would rent the cottage.”

  “Why don’t you just rent him above the store?”

  “Well, Johnny Fleet wants to rent above the store.”

  “Really?” I asked, dipping and rolling.

  “Yeah, seems Granny Fleet has a new boyfriend and she’s looking for some privacy.”

  Oh great, another love connection in my midst. “Wow, good for her. What is she, eighty?”

  “Yeah. If he stays here, he’s close enough to keep an eye on her without having to listen to the springs in the mattress bounce when her beau is over. So, whaddaya think?”

  “About what?” I looked at her to ask.

  “About renting Nat’s boat to Bugsy.”

  “No.”

  “You didn’t even take two seconds to think about it.”

  “What’s to think about?” I said, although in the split second I’d had thought about it. A million thoughts ran through my busy female brain. I didn’t want to make any rash decisions about Nat’s boat. Sure, I knew Nat wasn’t coming back. Everyone had figured that out. But I saw no need to rush into things. My mind ran the scenarios. What if Bugsy rented Nat’s boat? That boat’s docked precariously close to mine, and what if I’m subjected to a parade of women on that boat? Doing the walk of shame in the morning, carrying away their inappropriate footwear. The boat’s docked close enough that I’d hear giggling or romantic music or God forbid moaning or other carnal jungle noises. No thanks. If Bugsy was going to undertake that type of behaviour, I di
dn’t want to see it or hear it or smell it. Then again, what if Bugsy and I got together and it didn’t work out? Then I’d have to collect rent from him for God knows how long. That’d be awkward.

  “Well, Nat’s boat is just sitting there empty,” she went on, pleading Bugsy’s case as though she’d been hired to.

  “It’s not exactly empty, Ags.”

  “Well…” She paused. “It could be. I mean, do you really think he’s coming back?”

  “Aggie, it’s not for me to–“

  “But you’re the caretaker of the boat. His lawyer said so, didn’t he?”

  “That doesn’t mean I can rent it out to every Tom, Dick, or Bugsy… And what if Nat does come back? Then what? He finds Bugsy’s been sleeping in his bed and crapping in his john?”

  She giggled. “We’re talking Bugsy, not Goldilocks here.”

  I flashed my eyes at her. “Ags, it’s not mine to rent out.”

  “Well, could you at least discuss it with his lawyer Tranmer and see if he has any objections?” She paused. “Get it?” she giggled and motioned toward me with a paint roller.

  “Yeah, I get it. Lawyer. Objections… I’ll ask him.” I feigned a smile, hoping it’d mean we could move on.

  “Perfect, and if he’s around he can come to Thanksgiving too, he’s kind of cute. You know, in that older man way.” She batted her eyelashes.

  It’s amazing how much catching up needs to be done when you haven’t spoken to your best friend for a couple days. Fortunately, we moved on from talk of Bugsy’s housing crisis. I listened to her dish a little about Russ—who had already settled into her rotation of companions, I asked her how the move went with her cousin, and I vented about a few boat deals I had on the go. We were well into the second coat of paint, had split the roast beef sandwich, and were midway through a couple spiked lemonades, gabbing like old ladies going over old times, when a late-night knock jolted us. It was well past midnight where the only logical answer to who’s at the door has to be the escaped serial killer. Not so this time. It was Pike Murray and his dog Bear.