Buoy

by Maggie Seacroft

  From the stern deck, I proceeded to the starboard side stairs, climbed one set and then the other to the wheelhouse so I could retrieve my good set of binoculars. I unlocked the door and, to my relief, astonishment, and curiosity, I found my dog. He looked at me with lethargic eyes from the bunk of the wheelhouse and in what seemed like a move that consumed all of his energy, he hopped down from said bunk. In the corner of the room there was a puddle of vomit. I kissed the top of his head and hugged him.

  The next thing I knew, I heard footsteps coming up the rungs of the ladder that led to the wheelhouse. My heart caught in my throat, and I looked around for a weapon. Why is it there’s never one when you really need one? I put on my best scowl and braced myself to do some serious cursing when Doctor Richards popped his head into the open doorway.

  “Hey, I heard you calling your dog,” he said and looked down at the listless animal leaning into my lap. “Everything ok?” he asked in a tone that knew that everything was clearly not ok.

  I let out a sigh of relief at the sight of him. Even though he’d teased me earlier, a friendlier face I couldn’t have asked for, and at over six feet and in good shape, I knew he had a better chance of carrying Pepper to my truck than I had.

  “What’s going on?” His voice was serious, his look concerned and a bit demanding at the same time.

  I was skimpy with the details since, frankly, I didn’t know many of them for sure, except that my dog had been sick. My guess is that he’d been drugged or poisoned, though I didn’t tell Richards that. All he had to know was that I wanted to get my hundred-plus-pound dog into a truck and get him to the vet.

  ✽✽✽

  “He’ll be ok,” Marcy Kennedy said as she patted Pepper on the head. She’d done an exam, taken his temperature, felt him up, and checked his eyes and mouth. “He probably just got into something he shouldn’t have, but he’s a good boy. Yes, you are.” Her baby-talk voice and gentle hand elicited some serious tail thumping on the exam room table and I breathed a sigh of relief. “You have any new foods or cleaners on board lately?” she asked as she made a note on the paper on her clipboard.

  “No,” I said, slowly trying to recall. I’m not overly adventurous with new cuisine, and I’m not that voracious a housekeeper to warrant buying the latest new and improved cleansers. Besides that, I was still somewhat sure that Pepper hadn’t gotten into whatever it was on his own.

  When we exited to the waiting room, I was surprised to see Doctor Richards seated figure four—resting one leg horizontally over the knee of the other leg—and reading Dog Business, a magazine devoted to entrepreneurs in the canine field and not a periodical about the kind of dog business I have to stoop and scoop on Pepper’s rounds. He looked up from the magazine anxiously.

  “Oh, hi, you didn’t have to—“

  “Is he ok?” Richards cut in, asking in earnest. He’d first met Pepper when Nat took him to his doctor’s appointments with him.

  “He’ll be fine,” Marcy said. “Remember lots of water, and here are the antibiotics, and he’ll be good as new. Won’t you, baby?” She puckered her lips at him and rubbed his head.

  “Thanks, Marce,” I said, clipping the leash to Pepper’s collar before Richards and I walked the patient to the parking lot where I saw Richards had parked his car beside my truck. He helped Pepper into the passenger side of the truck and closed the door.

  “You sure everything’s ok?” he spoke to me through the half rolled down window.

  “Mmhmm. Thanks for your help,” I said and smiled.

  He nodded and lingered and looked like he was waiting for more.

  “Well, I’ve got to get some work done back at the ranch,” I said, avoiding eye contact and starting the truck, wishing he’d have left before me so he wouldn’t see my amateur driving skills.

  “Ok.” He nodded. He was curt. Curt like he knew there was more to the story, curt like he didn’t like that I wasn’t telling him, or curt like he didn’t believe me.

  Later that day, as I sat at my desk, clearing emails and transferring salient contents to Salesforce, I looked across at Pepper, curled up with his sometimes archenemy, sometimes bestie George. Pepper was snoring and George didn’t seem to mind. I began to wonder if it was all in my head—the cologne, George finding his way into the broom closet, Pepper being sick in the wheelhouse. How had he trapped himself in there? Had I left the interior door open to the wheelhouse? But what could have jarred the boat enough to shut it? Say it did happen, for the sake of argument—what was in there that Pepper could have gotten into? The brass polish I use on the wheel? I was just about to go up to the wheelhouse to see if that’s what it was when my eye caught it, or the absence of it I should say, and, in an instant, the self-doubt and maybes dissolved. My father’s Rolex was missing from my desk. Someone had definitely been on my boat.

  ✽✽✽

  I sat down at my desk chair and cried. And then I got mad. And then I threw my coffee mug against the heavy stern door. And, finally, I picked up the pieces. Like I always do. “Sorry,” I said to the concerned-looking duo on the couch. I walked around the boat, trying to somehow save the memory of the cologne. What was left of the scent remained vaguely familiar. Someone had been on my boat, violated my space, probably drugged my dog, trapped my cat in a closet, and I was mad as hell. But that’s the thing with being mad as hell. What are you supposed to do about it? Phone a friend? As I picked up the pieces—of the mug, that is—I thought about who to call. Since my first suspect was Russ, there was no way I could talk to Ags about this. She’d tell him and, if it was him, he’d leave town and I’d never see my father’s watch again, or find out where he’d pawned it. Jack Junior? With suspect number two on my list being Roddy Claire, I couldn’t go to Jack for the same reason I couldn’t go to Ags. Stephen Richards? I got the distinct impression he already thought I was nuts, and he had no trouble voicing his opinion about me, to me, and if I told him who I thought took my watch, he’d think I was on another witch hunt. Bugsy? Yes! Bugsy would have the security cam footage and he could help me.

  I dialed Bugsy’s new number. He didn’t pick up. Now, this is not altogether unusual for him. If he’s in the middle of something important or speaking with someone, he refuses to answer his phone, which I have to respect. Unless it’s me that’s doing the calling; then it’s downright annoying. I headed out to the stern deck of my boat, locked the door tight, and made my way down the dock toward Aggie’s. I struck out there, but Ags did tell me that she thought the Bugster was still working on the new laundry building and, I headed off in that direction.

  “Anybody home?” I called out as I entered the laundry facility that was the latest feature in our landscape.

  “Under here!”

  “Under where?” I called out.

  Bugsy came from around an interior corner of the building, wiping his hands with a rag and looking smug. “Made you say underwear.” He smiled.

  I winced up at him. “You been smelling paint fumes all day or did you just turn five?”

  “What may I do for you, Miss Michaels?” Bugsy smiled.

  “Did you notice anyone around my boat today?”

  “Well, no. But I’ve been working over here for most of the day. Why do you ask?”

  “Someone was on my boat.”

  “You sure?”

  “Of course, I’m sure!” I insisted. I hate being asked if I’m sure about things. “Sorry. Look, whoever was on there, I think they gave my dog something and stole something from me.”

  Bugsy’s smile flattened immediately. “What’d they give Pepper?”

  “I don’t know. We just got back from the vet. Marcy says he got into something, but there’s no way he could have locked himself in the wheelhouse. Someone put him there while they went through my place.”

  “Did you call Hagen?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I think there was only one thing stolen and I have a good idea who did it, I just
need to prove it. You have that security camera app on your new phone?”

  Bugsy shut his eyes, exhaled deeply, and looked dejected. “Dammit, I knew there was something I hadn’t done.”

  “Oh,” I said and tried not to look as devastated as I felt.

  “Hey, don’t worry, we can still review the footage. Command central is in the back office at Aggie’s.”

  I pulled a face.

  “What?”

  “It’s just that the person I think was on my boat is—“

  “Russ?” Bugsy’s voice was cold now, severe.

  I nodded, too angry to say the name myself.

  “Well, let’s go find out. We’ll look at the footage and, if it’s him, I’ll...” he said and threw the rag in his hand to the top of his toolbox carelessly.

  I looked up into his concerned blue eyes. “You’ll what?”

  “I’ll kill him.”

  ✽✽✽

  I’m not sure who between us would win a speed walking competition, but I was impressed with the zeal with which Bugsy headed with me to Aggie’s. On the way, I relayed to him how I’d found Pepper and George in improbable locations within my boat, how I noticed the faint smell of cologne, and how I planned to dismember Russ if he was the culprit.

  “Hey, girl,” Ags greeted me as soon as I entered her store. She was seated behind the counter, applying gold paint to a mini pumpkin. A little arts and crafts time.

  “Hi.” I nodded, seething and trying not to let it show.

  “Hey, Aggie,” Bugsy said. “We’ve just got to get something in the office,” he said calmly.

  “Ok.” Ags didn’t seem to care and Bugsy led me to the room in the back of the store.

  The back room is roughly a ten-by-ten space and is one of those multipurpose marvels. In it you find filing cabinets, a safe, a bunch of computer looking thing-a-majigs, a bookcase of office supplies, and extra framed prints for the walls Ags switches out as the seasons change. Bugsy sat at a desk behind a computer. “Come here,” he said, beckoning me to his side. He leaned back and pulled up a stool for me to perch.

  “Let’s see.” He used the mouse to click on the icon for the security cameras. In the username box, he typed the letters B-u-g-s-y, and below them a password that appeared all in asterisks.

  “Hold the phone!” My head snapped toward him. “Your login is Bugsy? Seriously? You gripe at me for calling you that and—“

  “I was thinking you wouldn’t notice,” he grumbled as his eyes studied the next screen.

  “Well, think again.” I shook my head.

  “Look, I picked the most improbable login, cut me some slack.”

  “So, what’s your password?”

  “Alex, I’m not telling you my password.”

  “Is it A-l-e-x? Is it, huh?”

  Bugsy ignored me and clicked on some screens and menus that meant something to him. “Ok, so let me pick this afternoon one to five pm as a range.”

  “Sounds good.” I nodded and watched, waiting impatiently to see the dirty rat that’d been on my boat. I picked nervously at my fingernails.

  “Do you have to do that?” he asked, throwing me a shady look that made me stop what I was doing. “Ok. Hang on a sec,” he said, and I saw his eyes narrow. “Ok, here we go,” he went on, and with that, video from East Camera Two was playing on the monitor. Bugsy put the footage on fast forward and I saw myself leave my dock walking at cartoon fast speed. The time clock on the feed told us that I left at 13:05. Nothing happened for a bit and then the screen went black save for the following sentence that popped up in red in a text box. Your video experienced technical difficulties, Error 1442.

  “What’s that?” I nudged him.

  “I don’t know,” he said and fast forwarded through a black screen until the footage resumed at 16:12.

  “Where’s the rest of it?” I urged him.

  “Hang on,” he said. He clicked a few links until he got to the page entitled “Troubleshooting”. On that page, he typed in “Error 1442”. The results of this query came up as follows: “This error denotes a technical difficulty. Please check your electrical connection”.

  We exchanged simultaneous puzzled expressions.

  “Aggie!” Bugsy yelled out.

  Ags came to the door almost immediately; she was probably eavesdropping now that I think about it. “What’s going on, you two?” she asked, leaning in the doorway.

  Bugsy squinted at her. “Was there a power failure in here today?”

  “Yeah, how’d you know?”

  “Why didn’t you come get me?” he asked.

  Ags looked embarrassed and uncomfortable. “Well, Russ was putting up the Christmas lights and I guess the breaker flipped. We didn’t catch it until later.”

  “Oh? Like a lot later?” I asked, a little testy.

  “Well, he thought one of the bulbs was out on the lights, so he tested them for, oh man, it seemed like forever, until he came in here and noticed the power was out in this room. That’s when he figured the breaker popped.”

  Bugsy gave me a consoling look. “I’m sorry,” he said as soon as Ags left the room.

  I was speechless. I left Aggie’s, asking anyone and everyone if they’d seen anyone near or on my boat. No one had and, over the course of the evening, I resigned myself to the notion that I’d never see my father’s watch again. I also drove to the hardware store and invested in the most expensive padlocks I could find.

  CHAPTER 14

  Somewhere along the way, in some useless, overpriced corporate team building I’d been asked to take part in, I’d learned the six stages of anger. The graphic on the presenter’s childish slide showed a bus and its voyage to what looked like Armageddon. Starts in Bothered Town—that’s where I was when I first met Russ Shears with the vibe he gave off. Further down the road we get to Mild Irritation Ville. This is the place where you know you are right and you can’t help but show it. I got to this point round about the time Bugsy determined Russ was legit enough to stay on the Summerwind and I thought with all my eye rolling I’d end up with vertigo. Next stop Annoyed City. Here, you don’t give a hang what other people think of your opinions; that was me at the poker night Russ crashed, sitting there across from him, sizing him up and letting go with that involuntary tick he evoked. Port Indignation follows shortly after this stop on the anger bus. I felt, though didn’t admit it, a little indignant when Doctor Richards admonished me for my anti-Russ sentiment shortly after said poker fiasco. All of this gets your blood boiling and you reach Frustration Falls. This here is where things get messy and you take out your feelings on inanimate objects, like the mug I smashed on the stern door. Rewarding for the half second it was in mid air, but then came the clean up. Last stop the Hamlet of Hostility. This is where the driver can either take the fork in the road to Rage (a lonely place where the food tastes bad) or Recovery (a less lonely place where they serve fritters and excellent coffee). My eyes flicked past my rifle and I headed off to Aggie’s for a little Recovery.

  “How would you like an all expenses paid trip to Hamilton?” I asked Ags just after the bell above the door in her store announced my arrival. Hearing it again was like hearing an old friend and, still smarting from my previous day’s trauma, I needed all the friends I could get.

  “Hmmm, you make it sound so inviting, but I’m going to have to pass,” she said, poised at the counter, one hand on a hip, the other on the coffee carafe.

  “Oh, come on. A nice visit to a little industrial marina town. We’ll have lunch at the docks.”

  “Again, you really put a spin on things, but I’ve got a meeting this morning.”

  “A meeting?”

  “New distributor,” Ags said, pouring.

  “Where are the guys?” I asked, noting the unusual emptiness in the nook.

  “Let’s see, Jack left town with his honey today. Said they were going antiquing.”

  I laughed.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Oh nothing, just
at that age, can’t they just call it ‘us-ing’?”

  “Oh, bad. That’s a very bad dad joke, you know. You might have to stop hanging around the gang,” she said.

  “How about the rest of them? Where do you suppose they are?”

  “I saw the Gee Spot leave early this morning. Maybe they went for a ride on the boat while it’s still here.”

  I nodded and sipped my coffee. “Hmmm.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I need to go to Hamilton to see those boats and things to list, but you remember, Nat told me to never go alone,” I said and sipped.

  Ags nodded. “How about the doc?”

  “I think he might be mad at me, I’m not sure why. Could be one of a thousand reasons, I guess.” I smirked. “Pike!” I said as if in a eureka moment. Surely, he could be persuaded to go and see some new boats.

  “Sorry, but I made him a to-go cup a while ago. He had to fix an engine somewhere out of town.”

  “Dammit! How about Bugsy? Have you seen him?”

  “I have.”

  “Oh good, where is he? He’s not at his cottage.”

  “Went to see his kid today,” she said, almost as frustrated as I was.

  I let out a heavy sigh. I wanted to get this listing work done. I knew I’d have people interested in what Albright had to sell.

  “You can borrow Russ if you want,” she said and gave me the side eye while she wiped down a chrome sugar dispenser.

  “Mmm.” Rage or recovery? Rage or recovery? My mind kept going back to that ridiculous presentation. On the one hand, rage would feel temporarily rewarding, that is until I became a permanent resident of the Marysville jail. At least I’d get to see more of Hagen. Recovery would mean borrowing Russ for the day. What is it they say, keep your friends close and your enemies closer? Perhaps if I took him with me (and possibly water boarded him) he’d tell me where my watch was. I was having this debate with myself when, as if on cue, Russ appeared from the back room.