Buoy

by Maggie Seacroft

  “Well, would you look at that.” I was stupefied. “Where did you—“

  “Russ. Isn’t it gorgeous?” Her smile was bigger than I’d ever seen and she got that weird dreamy look in her eyes.

  “Yes, it is.” I had always thought so when I admired it in the store window. I really was at a loss for words, at least on the subject of the pendant, and I let my eyes drift over to the Splendored Thing. “I love it, but you know, I have to go.” I hoisted the coolers. “We’ll talk later, ok?” I said, noticing the gang was filing onto the boat nearby, Tranmer meeting them with a tray of drinks as they boarded.

  “Yeah, let’s chat later. I can hardly wait to tell you what he said when he gave it to me.” Her voice lilted and I restrained myself from scrunching up my nose.

  I did miserably at poker that night. It wasn’t because Ags had the diamond pendant and I didn’t, or that Lisa had the matching earrings. I just couldn’t for the life of me figure out how those deadbeats Russ and Lisa could afford them. The only saving grace of the evening was that Lisa didn’t show up.

  CHAPTER 12

  The pins and needles in my feet were sending shots up my legs like bolts of lightning. I struggled to move. I willed myself, knowing I had to kick. It was either that or sink. I heard the whir of engines and I frantically looked in every direction through the darkness, but I couldn’t see a boat. After that, all I heard was the lapping of water on my ears. My arms were cold and heavy, my hair drenched, my clothes thick and weighted down with water, making each stroke a struggle. I was alone in black water again. A red flashing beacon barely visible, the lights of shore a distant memory. I screamed out. “Whyyyyyyyy!” I opened my eyes. I was in my bed, the sheets were on the floor, Pepper put his paw on my shoulder, and I let out a deep sigh.

  With not a chance in hell of getting back to sleep, I spent the pre-dawn hours in my office at the computer. I printed out a few spec sheets to take with me on my upcoming trip to Hamilton where I’d promised to collect information on the items Jack Albright wanted me to list while he was out of town. Once those were prepared, coffee in hand, I watched the sun come up while I made my latest to-do list. Number-one priority, if I was venturing out of town, was to get an oil change for Nat’s truck.

  As it turned out, when I mentioned to Junior over coffee in Aggie’s that morning that I wanted to get the truck serviced, he immediately sprang into problem-solving mode and called his friend Rick who runs the Chevy dealership in town and who is also a vintage truck fanatic. Jack’s beguiling ways and connections finagled me an appointment for two hours later.

  I humored the dealer’s fawning over the truck and knew that it would be in good hands when I settled into the waiting area with T for Trespass and a complementary cappuccino. The odd announcement over the PA became less annoying the more I waited and the more engrossed I became in my reading. I couldn’t ignore them altogether though. “Service, line five,” the receptionist would say or “Parts on one,” she said another time. But when I heard “Roddy to bay four,” my ears perked up. Roddy?

  I stopped reading, turned down the corner of the page, stuffed the book in my canvas bag and went in search of bay four. I wandered to the service desk and nonchalantly looked beyond the service advisor and into the garage, visible through a massive window. While I made small talk with Linda, the lady who takes the appointments and makes out the invoices—I found out she’s from Oklahoma, has four cats, and is a fan of the Star Wars series—I caught a glimpse of the action in bay four and, wouldn’t you know it, there was our Roddy. Washing a car. Oh sure, he was in coveralls and had swapped out those uncomfortable loafers for work shoes, but it was him. I don’t think he saw me though. I finally settled up with Linda and drove back to the marina, wondering what the deal was and adding the latest factoid about Roddy to an ever expanding list of lies.

  ✽✽✽

  I’m coming over. I looked down at my phone and read it again. Three little words, coming from the same number that had told me to stop snooping the day I’d been peeking into the windows of the Summerwind.

  I didn’t answer the text—what could I say? I went to the stern porthole and looked out, then I dialled Aggie’s number. No answer. I paced. I didn’t have a getaway plan, and if this guy, Russ or Roddy or whoever it was, was watching me, they’d know if I made a run for it. I dialled Ags again. “Call me, will you just call me.”

  I walked down the passageway of my boat to the galley in search of a weapon and pulled a big carving knife from the drawer. ”That ought to do it,” I said, and by the time I’d returned to the corridor I could hear footsteps on the deck. I exhaled a deep breath. There came a banging on the door. Oh crap, I thought. Then I wondered, What kind of a serial killer knocks anyway?

  Knife in my right hand and hidden behind my back, I opened the door to find Bugsy, and I felt my body relax. “Thank God, it’s you.”

  He smiled. “I get that a lot, if you can believe it.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Can I come in?”

  “Of course,” I said and looked behind him to see if the serial killer was on his way. Nope.

  “You looking for someone?”

  “No. Was it you that texted me?”

  “Yeah,” he said into my confused eyes. “Oh, that’s right, I didn’t give you my new number yet.”

  “You got a new number?”

  “Yeah, along with getting the boot from the cottage, they pulled the plug on my phone. That is, if it had a plug, which of course…”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I get it.”

  “Head office was either going to start charging me for my personal usage or told me I could get my own phone and charge them, so I figured, rather than have them look at the numbers I dial, which is what got me into this mess to begin with, I’ll just get a new phone and—“

  “And a new number.” I nodded. “I guess you saw me the other day around the Summerwind.”

  “Snooping. Hey, I was just teasing. Happened to see you peeking in the windows, just didn’t want you to get caught. You do have a nasty habit of snooping, though.”

  “Thanks for looking out for me. Hey, you know Russ gave Ags my pendant.”

  “Your what? Oh, that thing from the jewellery store?”

  “Yep.”

  “Hmph,” Bugsy said.

  “Hmph is right. Where do you suppose he got the money for that?”

  “Not from robbing the bakery and pharmacy.”

  “You’re pretty sure of that,” I said, and Bugsy looked back at me with tired eyes. The kind of tired eyes that told me something was on his mind. “Anyway, what’s up?”

  “Can we talk for a minute?”

  I braced myself. Nothing good ever followed those words. Your mother has gone to sort herself out. She never came back, by the way. Or your husband was in a car accident, and you know how that turned out. Or sweetie, I’m sick. You can’t blame me for dreading serious conversations now, can you?

  “I’m kind of busy.”

  “You don’t look busy,” he said eyeing me, looking for signs of this busyness I claimed.

  “Looks can be deceiving,” I said, pulling the carving knife from behind my back and placing it on my desk.

  “You cooking or something?” Bugsy tilted his head so his nose was in the air, trying to catch the scent.

  “No,” I said and smirked down at the knife.

  “Well, I just want to know if… if I’ve offended you in some way.”

  “What do you mean?” I scrunched up my face to ask. It’s usually me doing the offending, not him. “Please, sit down,” I said, and he took a seat beside me on the grey tufted sofa in my salon. He stretched his arm out across the back of the couch and looked comfortable.

  “The boat. Nat’s boat.” He looked across at me. “Have you spoken to Tranmer about it yet?”

  I looked at my hands and picked at my fingernails, then finally I found the courage to find his eyes. “You, uh, you think I’m scared, don’t you?”


  “Maybe… Am I scary?”

  “No…” I said and shook my head. I let my eyes drift down to the opening in the collar of his blue and white plaid shirt. I could see curls of blonde hair, and I picked up the faint scent of the soap he used.

  “Well, what then? Is it Hagen?”

  I let out a sigh. “No…” How could I tell him that I hadn’t had so much as a real date in the three years since my husband died on his way home from the fishing trip to Canada? I’d either sound like a nun or a nut. Or a nutty nun. How could I look into those blue eyes and tell him I really was scared? Scared of having him for a neighbour, scared of messing up something that hadn’t even started yet, and scared of what was underneath that superficial layer of sarcastic comments and jabs we shared? Like the dark water Hagen was plunging into, I was scared of what was below the surface. That maybe I wasn’t good enough or maybe even that I didn’t really like him so much. So, I lied.

  “I’m sorry, but I’ve rented it to Tranmer.”

  “You did?” Bugsy was surprised.

  “Well, he needs a place to stay when he’s visiting, and he thinks he may buy it and he is one of Nat’s closest friends.” As soon as I was done explaining, I thought how, if I had been listening to me, there’s no way I’d have believed me.

  “Oh, oh I see. Well, that’s different. That makes sense.”

  “I… I just didn’t want anyone’s feelings to get hurt. I know you and Ags practically had it all sorted out, but Tranmer—“

  “Oh, you don’t have to explain. I get it,” Bugsy said, looking quite disappointed.

  “Besides, I don’t want to see the endless parade of nubile young bodies leaving your boat.”

  “What?”

  “Yep.”

  “Where’d you come up with this idea?”

  I shrugged.

  “Listen you, while I appreciate the sentiment and you think I’m that desirable—“

  “I don’t remember those words passing my lips.”

  He winked at me. “They were inferred.”

  “No, they weren’t! They may have been implied, don’t you know the difference? Hey, do you want to come to the market with Jack and me? We’re getting a few things for Aggie’s dinner.”

  “Thanks, but I can’t. I’ve really got to finish my work on the laundry building. I might be living in it one day.” He chuckled. “You have fun.” He smiled and the dimples came out again to make my day.

  ✽✽✽

  I had a mission to complete, and I don’t mind telling you that it was good to have a distraction even if it was just going to the Marysville farmers market and procuring some fancy items for the soiree Ags was throwing. You see, once a week, the local organic farmers and folks who specialize in artisan items including fancy chutneys and cheeses gather together to sell their wares. This week’s event was touted as one not to miss with samples from hard cider distilleries and the local wineries permitted to attend. When the gang and I clamored out of Jack Junior’s SUV, we broke off in separate directions. Sefton and Muncie headed to the booze tasting area, Seacroft and Tranmer went in search of items for the upcoming dinner, and Jack Junior, Stephen Richards, and I hit the cheese and chutney aisles looking for samples that, in aggregate, would constitute a late lunch. And while the market seemed to stretch out forever, it quickly became apparent what a small town Marysville is.

  “Dirk! Diiiirk! Euphegenia!”

  I froze when I heard the words and my head snapped towards Junior. He had just popped a cube of smoked jalapeno gouda into his trap, and I was mentally preparing to give him the Heimlich manoeuvre. We exchanged horrified looks and, in synchronized fashion, we turned toward Doctor Richards who sported a handsome but perplexed expression.

  “Dirk! Euphegenia!” the voice called again, louder this time.

  Zane was nearly upon us. I eyed the closest exit path, clogged with seniors and dogs.

  “I’ll give you twenty bucks if you play along,” I mumbled quickly to Doctor Richards, who didn’t have time to respond before Zane was directly in front of us.

  “Why, I didn’t think I’d be seeing you so soon. Dirk, how are ya?” The man from the Vine held out a hand toward Jack Junior.

  “Oh, fine, just fine. Uh-uh-uh, Zane, isn’t it?” Jack’s tanned face was suddenly blanched.

  “That’s right.” Zane nodded and looked toward our third, Richards.

  “Uh, Zane, this is—" Jack began to say and, to this day, I long to know what fanciful name he would have come up with for the good doctor.

  Doctor Richards glanced down toward the corner of the bill I’d poked into his jeans pocket. ”Jackson. Andrew Jackson, nice to meet you.”

  I looked at the ground and rolled my eyes. Doctor Richards needs to work on his creativity.

  “Imagine seeing you here.” I smiled at Zane and nodded curiously at the fancy nutmeg in his hand.

  “Oh, this? I put it on my oatmeal. They say it’s a superfood, whatever that means.” He shrugged.

  “What are you cooking up, Andrew?” Zane asked Doctor Richards, a spice jar in his hand as well.

  I stepped on Richard’s size twelve Blundstone boot. “Andrew, what are you going to make with the saffron you have there?”

  “Oh, right,” Richards got himself back on script. “Well, I’m planning to whip up some saffron rice and chicken for the little lady here. It’s an aphrodisiac, you know,” he said, put his arm around my shoulder, and pulled me close.

  “Oh.” Zane’s voice went flat.

  “Yeah, she’s a good eater,” Doctor Richards went on, nodding smugly. “But she’s worth it.”

  I hung my head and clenched my jaw. How I ever got mixed up with these crazies, I’ll never know.

  “I see. So, you’re an item,” Zane said.

  “An item? Who, them?” Jack got that mischievous twinkle in his eye that always worries me. “Why, some nights I have to turn the volume up on the TV just to drown out the sound of these two.”

  “Ok, that’s enough. You ready to go, dear?” I asked through a stiff smile toward Doctor Richards. “Nice seeing you again, Zane,” I said and tugged at the shirt sleeves of the comedians as I led them away.

  Two booths past the lady who specializes in red pepper jelly, Richards spoke up. “So, what was that all about?”

  “It’s a game we play with that guy. We gave him fake names the last time we saw him so now we have to keep it up,” Jack explained, something I really couldn’t since the genesis of the whole thing involved me doing recon on Lisa. “Guess you’re stuck with Andrew Jackson.” Junior chuckled before he stopped to sample some mango chutney on a gluten-free cheddar cracker.

  Eventually, we rounded up the rest of our gang. Muncie and Sefton were tipsy from the tastings, Tranmer could have opened his own cheese store with what he’d bought, and Seacroft was loaded down with chutneys and crackers. If, for some reason, the car broke down on the way back to the marina, we’d be able to subsist for weeks. We stopped at the organic farmers on the outskirts of town and picked up the turkey and prime rib Aggie had ordered and, before long, we were back on home turf. Trouble is, someone else had been there too. You know how you can tell someone has been in your space? That’s how it was. I could smell cologne when I stepped into the salon of my boat.

  CHAPTER 13

  It was not an offensive cologne, but since my spritz testing with Jack, I had been sensitive to scents of all kinds. This one seemed familiar. Like I’d encountered it once or twice maybe in the past week or two.

  “Pepper! Pepps!” I shouted out – one of the butchers at the market had sent me home with a bone for my dog, he was sure to be over the moon about it. Normally when I come home, and particularly when he smells food, he bounds up from wherever he’s been sleeping and his swooshing hairy tail greets me almost immediately. Not so this time. I took tentative steps further into my boat, which seemed strangely quiet. George was also nowhere in sight. On my way through the main deck, I peeked into my bedroom. No coma
tose cat or dog lying on the king-sized bed, nor in the en suite bath and nothing to indicate that anyone else had been there except the trace of cologne.

  The office/salon area was also devoid of animal companions. My desk looked undisturbed. Computer still in sleep mode like I always leave it. I took the narrow steps down to the galley and flicked on the lights. From the steps, I scanned the U-shaped layout from starboard to port. The table and bench seat, the sink area, the pantry, fridge, prep area, and broom closet. I made that kissing noise, known the world over for attracting cats and dogs. I made the noise again and took the last couple of steep steps down into the galley and, somewhere mixed in with my ridiculous smooching sounds, I heard a faint meow coming from the port side of the galley. I smooched the air again and tracked the meowing response. I opened every cupboard George could have trapped himself into, looked under the stainless-steel prep counter, and finally unlatched the broom closet. There he was, sitting in the red mopping bucket I should use more often.

  “Meeeeow,” he cried at me, and his yellow eyes glinted in the light.

  “Oh, baby,” I said and scooped him out of the bucket. I put him on the galley floor to make sure he wasn’t injured and could walk alright. He seemed fine once he’d taken a few steps, but then again who wouldn’t be a little slow to move after being cramped up in a bucket like that.

  I closed the closet door and secured the catch. Then I opened it. Then I pulled on the latch which sits at about three feet off the floor. Weird. In the two years or so I’ve lived on the boat, not once had George trapped himself in the broom closet. Not once had I ever come to that closet to find it unlatched. “Where’s your brother?” I asked him.

  I called out Pepper’s name again. Nothing. I opened the heavy door to the engine room and called his name. Silence. George and I scrambled to the main level, and his incessant meowing and the broom closet trauma earned him the can of salmon I plunked down on the floor for him. I went out through the stern door and stood on the deck and yelled, “Pepper!” My mind raced. Were it not for the gnawing feeling that someone had been on my boat and George’s curious hiding spot, I’d have been more relaxed. Enough people in town and the marina know Pepper to know where he belongs, and if he had gotten out somehow, they would return him or let me know. But this was different. Someone had been there, and they had messed with my family.