“Well,” I piped up and nudged Bugsy. “Bugsy here suggested Fleet’s In, which I personally love.”
I looked up and to my right to see an unamused Hagen, though he gave it a good shot. He and Bugsy were never what you’d call friends, and as long as I stood between them, they probably never would be. Though I can’t for the life of me understand the attraction one bit.
“Either one’s fine, I think,” Hagen offered apathetically.
“Yeah, but don’t you think—“ Sefton began to say.
“Alex, could I see you for a minute?” Hagen interjected and tapped me on the arm. “Sorry, guys, I have to take her away for a second.”
“Sure,” I replied dismally, sensing Hagen was still suspicious of my young friend. “Johnny, let me know when to come over for a ride, ok?” I called over my shoulder as I marched to my doom.
“You got it. An hour or so and she’ll be in the water,” he shouted back, blissfully unaware of Hagen’s suspicions.
Hagen and I walked in companionable silence toward his cruiser parked beside Aggie’s place. When he stopped walking, I did as well. He leaned against the driver’s side door of the car and smiled charmingly.
“Yes, Officer Hagen. What can I do for you?” I asked and offered him my own cheeky smile.
Hagen smirked and searched my eyes for sympathy or forgiveness, I wasn’t sure which. “I want to apologize.”
“Ok, go ahead.”
“Go ahead?”
“Yeah, you want to, so go ahead and apologize,” I said and looked down at my nails to clean the gunk out from under them.
He sighed. “Ok, I’m sorry about last night.”
“Me too.”
“But— “ he began to say.
“Oh, come on, you were doing so well with the apology and everything,” I cut in to say.
Hagen hitched his thumb toward the gang down the dock. “Did Sefton just say that Johnny was in track and field? He’s a runner?”
“Well, so am I, but I didn’t rob the bakery or the pharmacy. Honest,” I said, crossing my heart.
“What about that hoodie he’s wearing?”
“What about it?”
“One of the witnesses who looked out from her window the night the pharmacy got hit said she saw someone wearing a hoodie with a white or yellow graphic on the back.”
“Ben, I have a navy hoodie just like it. Pike hands those things out like Halloween candy. You should be looking into that Russ Shears guy.”
“Who?” he asked, looking back at me, scrunching up his nose in the most delightful way.
“Russ Shears,” I said, using air quotes. “The guy I told you about. The one who claims to be Shears’ grandson but is never around when you are.”
“And I take it you don’t believe him.”
“Of course not! Drifts into town with no ID, hardly any money, and claims his grandpa told him he could stay on the boat while he’s in Europe.”
Hagen looked up and to the right, then back at me.
“Can’t you take his fingerprints or something? Maybe search the boat for prescriptions he took from the pharmacy or the safe from the bakery.”
“Not without probable cause, dear.”
“How about if I get his fingerprints? Could you run them?” My fiery enthusiasm was doused by Hagen’s wet blanket of an eye roll.
“You’re just going to surreptitiously get his fingerprints? For me to run?”
“Sure. I can get them. I bet Aggie’s covered in ‘em.”
“What’s she got to do with it?”
“Oh, he’s her latest. Don’t ask me why. He’s barely old enough to vote.”
He smiled. “Then I think I know why.”
“Can’t you at least talk to him, give him the smell test?”
“I’ll think about it,” he said, and in a move that completely surprised me, he leaned down toward me. “I’d rather give you the smell test.” He sniffed my neck, I’m sure to his great disappointment, because all he’d get a whiff of is Ivory soap and sunscreen. Speaking of smell tests, when I turned my head to the side to give Hagen a whiff, I got a glimpse of Jack Junior walking down the dock toward the Fortune Cookie arm and arm with a woman. Lisa, I presumed. I was staring at them when Hagen’s words jarred me back to the present.
“How’d you like to go to Weener Fest tomorrow night?” he asked.
“Is that a colloquialism?” came the voice of an eavesdropper rounding the corner. Bugsy. He said the smart remark like a drive-by shooting and kept on walking.
Hagen scowled in his direction, though Bugsy didn’t turn to catch it. He turned back to me. “Whaddaya say? The music, the midway, the food on a stick.”
“Sure, I love food on a stick. Besides, I think I’m on deck for selling shirts for the dog rescue tomorrow,” I said, smiling up at Hagen. “I’ll see you there.”
✽✽✽
When two o’clock rolled around and I headed to Johnny Fleet’s headquarters, I quickly realized that my invitation on the yet-to-be-named vessel was not an exclusive one. Jack Junior, Sefton, Seacroft, Doctor Richards, and Peter Muncie had all assembled for the ride, and I tried to recall the capacity of the vessel. I nodded as I did the headcount. We were safe. As Johnny eased the boat away from the dock and through the channel, still overflowing with enthusiasm, he gave me a lesson, explained the features of the boat as though he’d built it himself and generally seemed ecstatic with the purchase. When Sefton asked for a turn at the controls, I indicated that I could be found on the bench seat toward the stern where Jack Junior was bouncing, the wind in his hair, his light blue fishing hat clutched in his hand.
“So, you had another date with… what was her name again?” I shouted to him over the sound of the twin Yamahas.
“Lisa,” Jack replied, and his face lit up when he said her name.
“Oh yeah, that’s right. Things must be going well.”
“Yeah, kid, I guess you could say that.”
“Well, why don’t you tell us all about it at poker tonight. My night to host, right?” I did a mental checklist. Yep, the salon of my boat was clean and the head was as tidy as it was going to get.
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, kid. I was thinking we’d change the venue.”
“Change the venue?” I asked, wondering if all my cleaning would be in vain.
“Yeah, to my boat. You know, Lee wants to play hostess and all that. She came to see it earlier today and—”
“Hostess? After a couple dates?”
“You know how women are,” he said, waving at the air.
“Well, I have a vague idea, considering I am one.”
“Considering you am one what?” Doctor Richards plunked himself beside me on the bench seat.
I gave him a mildly disgruntled expression. “Considering I am... oh, I am a woman,” I said.
“Well, after twenty-odd years of practicing medicine, I can’t argue with you there,” he said and leaned back and let the wind blow through his hair. He looked relaxed. Relaxed like I’d never seen him. My eyes lingered a bit on his rugged yet refined features. His silver aviator glasses concealed his light blue eyes and a part of me wondered where he was looking, though I was still smarting from his comments the other night about my motives.
“Woman…” Jack tapped me on the leg. “You were saying?”
“Oh, nothing. I forget. If you want to have it on your boat, that’s fine. I’ll be there at seven. You want me to bring my special recipe cookies?” And by “my special recipe cookies”, I meant the chocolate chip and black walnut numbers I generally whipped up to the MMM Bakery to get on nights I host.
“Um, well, uh—“ Jack floundered more awkwardly than usual.
“What?”
“Well-well-well, it’s just that, you know Lee has this idea of making poker night a little classier. She’s, you know, she’s upscale.” Jack’s eyes flickered past me to the water around us.
“Oh. I see. Well, should I wear a cocktail dres
s or a formal gown?”
“Gown,” Richards said matter-of-factly. I didn’t think he’d been listening. “Low cut,” he added.
“Just bring your money. And… “ Jack’s words trailed off.
“And what?”
“And, well-well-well, you know, Lee is new to the gang and I’d like her to stick around so—“
“So, go easy on her? Don’t unleash all my natural charm at once?”
“I’m sorry, did someone ask for charm?” Doctor Richards leaned forward to say.
My eyes followed him with a blend of mock consternation and bemusement. “I’ll behave, Jack.”
“Get it in writing,” Doctor Richards chimed in. He’d clearly taken his sassy pills before starting his vacation time.
✽✽✽
I arrived at the Fortune Cookie, ready to behave but eager to learn more about Lisa and wondering if the two agendas were mutually exclusive. I’d never been successful at behaving–my otherwise enviable academic record was dotted like a dalmatian with incidents of truancy, impertinence, and even the odd protest. Still, my desire to know more about the new woman in Jack Junior’s life, aka the hostess with the mostest, meant I should at least try to be on my best behaviour or a close facsimile thereof. So, there I was in my jeans, white cotton sweater, and Chucks, my ponytail swinging from side to side, a six pack of vodka coolers in hand. I’m never one to show up empty handed, even when I’m explicitly told to.
“Ding dong!” I sang out as I stepped onto the deck and grabbed to turn the doorknob and let myself in like usual. Except it wouldn’t turn. This had something to do with the hand on the other side of it. And it was then that I was greeted by who I can only assume was Lisa.
“Good evening,” came a squeakily breathy voice that reminded me of a Marilyn Monroe impersonator I saw once in Vegas.
“Good evening,” I said in a normal human voice. “I’m Alex.”
Lisa’s eyes drifted down to the six pack of bevies in my hand, and it seemed to evoke in her a visceral reaction, and a sneer formed on her heavily made-up red waxy lips. The red of them snaked up into the rivers of wrinkles above her top lip, she must have been a smoker at one time. The sneer punctuated the artist’s pallet on her face which included what I believe they call smoky eyes, with fake lashes to fan the fire. From where I stood, I could also see the cakiness of her foundation and whiteness of the contouring powder she used. Yes, although I don’t myself subscribe to the necessity for makeup, I’m familiar with the theories and methodologies. I guess Lisa was relying on bad lighting or Jack’s poor eyesight so she’d never have to explain the texture. Maybe she was hiding reptile skin or something? When I looked back at her, I wondered how Jack was going to react if he ever woke up beside her and saw the mudslide on the pillow.
“Why thank you, you shouldn’t have,” Lisa said, and I really felt she meant it. She reached out and took the drinks by the cardboard handle as though I were handing her steaming dog feces. “Won’t you come in?” she said, and I followed. In fact, I could have followed her blindfolded she was so pungent. It took me a second, but it came to me, a cross between pine-scented cleaner and the cosmetics counter on the day the clerk is spritzing you with whatever new perfume just came out. “Thanks,” I said, and a brief look around the salon of the boat told me Lisa was already putting her stamp on things, like a cat marking its territory. At least I’d not previously noticed the dusty rose napkins or fake hydrangeas on the sideboard placed between a plate of sausage rolls and something that was either a fondue pot or a candle warmer.
“Oh, hey kiddo, I see you two have met,” Jack greeted me cheerily as he came from the direction of the stateroom. He was buttoning the top of what looked like a freshly pressed shirt. “Lisa Claire, this is Alex Michaels.”
“Yes, Alexandra and I were just getting acquainted.”
I nodded and wondered why she’d used my full name and how she’d guessed it wasn’t something like Alexis.
Jack interrupted my inner monologue and possibly read my mind, though I wasn’t going to break out the tin foil hat just yet. “I told Lee all about you.”
“Oh?”
“Oh yes, I think I remember you mentioning her,” Lee said, disappearing with my beverages, and I instantly regretted the decision not to have one before I left my boat.
“Remember! Remember? Why, of course you remember,” Jack hollered into the galley after her. “She runs a boat brokerage and—“
Lisa reappeared. “Oh, that’s right. Jacky says you have a boat here as well,” she said in that contrived affect I equated to something like nails on a chalkboard.
“Oh, is that what Jacky said?”
“That you even live on yours. Well, good for you, I must say.”
I nodded. “Yes, I live on it.”
“Jacky said he might even rename his boat after me,” she went on.
“Oh,” I said and nodded again. See, I read somewhere that you can’t nod and roll your eyes at the same time. It looked like I was going to do a lot of nodding around Lisa. I thought for a moment of telling her that it’d be bad luck for him to rename the boat, though I got the feeling that Lisa might just be bad luck in general.
“What’s the name of your boat, hon?”
Being called hon by total strangers isn’t my thing, just so you know. Nodding again, I replied, “Alex M.”
“Oh.” She nodded and I saw her eyes sweep over the horizon until they halted. Haltingly.
“That’s your boat? Over there? The um, big thing?”
I nodded once more and clenched my jaw to keep from telling her off.
“Oh. What kind of boat do you call that?”
“It’s called a tug.” I looked at Jack who offered me sympathetic eyes. Ok, I’m the first to admit you don’t see many boats like mine in a marina like this. You see cruisers and trawlers, sailboats and sloops, but my hundred-foot steel behemoth with the black hull and red superstructure could quite rightly inspire you to start singing that classic kids tune “One of these Things is not like the Other.”
“How quaint, hon,” Lisa said and disappeared toward the galley again. Mercifully. She wasn’t overly merciful, mind you, because she came back and with her was a tray of bite-sized triangle sandwiches that made me wonder what sort of afternoon tea party she must have catered last. She urged me to take an isosceles from sandwich mountain. Crab as fake as the woman herself, I’m still not sure how I choked it down.
“So, Lisa, do you live around here?” I asked, just making general conversation, staying this side of controversy, for the time being, and still what I’d call well-behaved, since that was my mandate.
After a pause, she replied. “Oh, yes, I just moved here with my son. Do you know the Brentwood Court community?”
“Yeah, I think I’ve heard of it.” The truth was I had heard of it. I’d even been there. Officer Ben Hagen lives there. Brentwood Court is a gated community of muckety mucks and well-to-do folks. There are security guards at all the entrances and every place comes standard with an alarm and wide crown molding. I believe there’s also a bylaw specific to that part of town that prohibits dog ownership owing to their destruction of the “natural landscape”.
It seemed like an eternity before the rest of the gang showed up to the boat, but the wait was worth it. A people-watcher by nature, I was engrossed in the airs Lisa put on. Watching her give the treatment to the guys as they arrived, I pegged her as the poor man’s Scarlett O’Hara. Fishing for compliments and doling them out, but not as successfully as you could tell she’d hoped. When she greeted Seacroft with “What a nice young fellow,” I about died. He doesn’t look a day under sixty-five. And when she was introduced to Doctor Stephen Richards, I swear I saw her blush. The good doctor probably gets that a lot, though and I can only imagine what a hopping place his practice would be if he specialized in gynecology. Sefton and Muncie were the last to arrive, and each received a mock scolding from Lisa who threatened to paddle them the next time they were tard
y. That was just plain weird.
As I sat at the poker table, watching the Lisa Show, I couldn’t help but notice her attire. It’s what I refer to as “yold”. It’s when an older woman dresses inappropriately young for her age. Subscribing to trends for the sake of trends that don’t suit her at all. Now, Lisa has what I’ve overheard the gang call a “bulbous bow”, meaning she’s well endowed—either by nature or a surgeon, it doesn’t matter. But what does matter is how you dress it. The low-cut vee neck sweater she wore over tight fuchsia capri pants screamed “Look at me!” It wasn’t long before I felt a nudge from beside me.
“You’re staring,” Doctor Richards sort of whispered, sort of mumbled.
I stopped immediately, shifting my gaze to the window ledge where there were lined up a quartet of pumpkin-spice scented candles I’d never noticed before.
Sefton must have been taking inventory of our hostess as well. “Those are some fancy shoes,” he said.
“Manolo Blancos,” Lisa replied.
I nodded. Even I knew she had mangled the designer name.
As the rest of the gang got seated, and Jack doled out the cards, they got some polite chatter out of the way. “So, you live over in Brentwood Court, I hear,” Sefton said.
Lisa didn’t immediately respond.
“Lee, honey, Sefton asked you a question,” Jack said.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I was wondering about–“
“About the ring?” Jack interjected, and he seemed bothered.
“What ring?” I asked, hoping Jack Junior wasn’t lonely enough to have already popped the question.
“Oh, Lisa lost her diamond ring today. Darned thing slipped right off her finger,” Jack said, shaking his head. “I told you, sweetie, that it must be because you’re wasting away.”
“Where’d you last see it?” I asked. I’d always considered myself somewhat good at finding things, and I was willing to give it a go, even for Lisa.
“On the boat here, today,” she replied weakly.
“Oh, really?” I asked, and I noticed my tone went up an octave.
“Three carats,” Jack smirked.
“Three, huh?” I nodded and I wondered how many of the carats were real.
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