Buoy

by Maggie Seacroft

  “Wild night out there. Come on in,” he said, squinting into the rain that was coming down sideways.

  “Thanks.” I shook the drops from my soaked hands as I stepped into the salon. My eyes drifted around the space, remembering the times Nat and I spent watching movies and philosophizing, testing out new recipes and shooting the breeze. As I stood in the entrance by the hooks that still held Nat’s windbreaker, I picked up the faint smell of his cologne. It’s funny, it wasn’t hard to see Cary Tranmer enjoying the space—they were life-long friends—but had it been anyone else, I’m not sure I would have felt the same.

  “Martini? I’m just mixing one for myself.”

  “No, no thanks.”

  He nodded. “Have a seat. How are you tonight?”

  “Good. Thanks,” I said and shrugged out of my raincoat, hung it on the brass hook by the door, and sank into one of the down-filled sofa cushions. “Hey, I wonder if I could jog your memory.”

  “Be the most jogging I’ve done in a while, unfortunately, but shoot.” Tranmer smiled and landed on the cushion beside me.

  “Earle Davidson,” I said, looking into his eyes, waiting for a reaction.

  “What about him?” Cary’s eyes narrowed and he took a sip of his cocktail.

  “You remember the name?”

  “Oh, sure, I remember that one,” Tranmer said, placing the glass on the teak side table. “He knocked over the banks in Hamilton and Evanston and– Hey, why do you want to know about him?”

  “Just curious. His name came up today.”

  He raised his eyebrows, a little surprised. “Yeah, I think he might have died in prison. That was an interesting case. Glad I wasn’t involved.”

  “The case was here?”

  “No, not really. Funny, though, there’s a connection. Matt Martin from the MMM Bakery, I remember he was the jury foreman. Lived in Hamilton at the time.”

  “Really?” I said, connecting the dots.

  “And, uh, Brooke Rain. He was also on that jury,” he said, and for a guy who wasn’t really involved in the case, he seemed to recall some pretty important details.

  “Brooke Rain?” Still relatively new to town, the name didn’t ring a bell.

  “Yeah, his kid owns Stokes Pharmacy.”

  “Oh?” More dots connected.

  “Yeah, I think the sentence was twenty years or so, but like I said, I heard he had a heart attack in prison. Something like that anyway.”

  I nodded and looked across at Tranmer. The light in his eyes told me how much he enjoyed talking shop.

  “If I’m not mistaken…” Tranmer pinched his eyes tight to try to remember the next detail. “Someone ratted him out, someone close to him.” He shook his head. “Can’t remember who, or if it ever came out. Where did his name come up again?”

  “Oh, I saw it in an old newspaper clipping.”

  “You know what’s funny…” Tranmer looked vacantly at the glass in his hand.

  “What’s that?”

  “That Albright guy… You went to see about listing his stuff, right?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Albright married Earle Davidson’s wife after she divorced him when he went to prison,” Tranmer said and took a sip. He smiled, looking pleased to be back on track remembering details.

  “You don’t say.” My eyes ping ponged around the room.

  “Sure you don’t want a drink, kiddo? Warm you up on a night like this.”

  I nodded. “Actually, I will take one after all.”

  ✽✽✽

  I spent the next hour or so piecing things together and wondering what to do with the jigsaw puzzle once it was done. I’d already felt like the girl who cried wolf, what with my suspicions about Lisa and Russ—suspicions that were valid in their own right but not the big news like I thought I had about Earle Davidson. I paced, I talked things over with Pepper and George, I drafted yet another PowerPoint in my head about the subject and wondered how I could relay my findings to Hagen without looking like a Nancy Drew wannabe. Slide one—Zane Wilcox, aka David Earle, aka Earle Davidson served time for robbing banks. Slide two—that same Earle Davidson buys the Vine Street Inn and not long afterward the bakery, pharmacy, and jewellery store are robbed. There’s an asterisk on this slide; the bakery and pharmacy are tied to the jury that convicted Earle. Slide three—Russ Shears wins in a poker game from a guy matching Earle’s description, the heart pendant probably taken in the jewellery store robbery. Slide four—the header on this slide is Questions. In bullet points, they included: Are Lisa and Roddy involved with the robberies? Is that why they didn’t press charges against me? Was Davidson responsible for what happened to Jack Albright’s boats?

  I’m not sure how, but I finally fell asleep.

  ✽✽✽

  ”Aggie’s dinner” written in red and circled for extra impact stood out on the calendar in the galley of my boat. The boat calendar, another giveaway thanks to Pike Murray, and while we’re on the subject of his promotional products, if he were only more discriminating about who he gave his hoodies to, it’d be much easier to narrow down who the papers were calling the ‘Bayside Burglar’. That hoodie had been spotted at no fewer than two of four places that had been broken into. While I figured Earle Davidson was involved, I still wasn’t convinced that Roddy and/or his mommy dearest were not. I pondered that and other mysteries of life as I went about the business of baking. I’d let Ags know I’d be making the two pies that morning—apple and cherry—and that I’d be over after they’d cooled. I was in the midst of pie prep when, as typically happens to me, a visitor stopped by.

  “Hello!” I heard a voice shouting up on the main deck of my boat.

  I went from the prep area in the galley to the narrow set of stairs that led to the main level. From the second rung up, I could see Doctor Richards standing in the stern doorway.

  “Down here,” I said and turned back to face the mess I had created. In the time it’d take him to get down there, I could neither clean nor hide my mess. I usually opt to store messes in the oven when I have an unexpected visitor, but seeing as how it was on preheat, this wasn’t going to work for me. Best I could do was wipe the flour from my fingers.

  Doctor Richards caught my eye as he descended the stairs. “Do you mind?” He motioned toward the galley and I nodded that it was alright for him to step into my laboratory.

  “Sure, what’s up?”

  He took the last rungs down. “Jack Junior asked if I’d, uh, check on you.”

  “Oh?” I said curiously. The way he said the words made it sound like he wouldn’t have been there save for the request.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked flatly, his bedside manner nowhere in sight.

  “Right as rain.” I smiled, figuring one of us ought to.

  “How are the ribs?”

  “A little sore,” I lilted.

  Richards flitted his eyes and looked down at my jeans. “And the cut? You change the dressing?” he asked in a gruff manner still not like him.

  “Yes. I changed the dressing.”

  “Good,” he said and turned to go up the stairs to leave.

  “Hey, hey wait a minute,” I said and reached out to grab him by the forearm, the material of his shirt my only purchase. He turned and looked at me, his blue-grey eyes flashing. His greying hair had been tossed by the wind, but it still fell into a place that looked good. I think that’s a guy thing. “Are you alright? You don’t seem yourself.”

  “Right as rain.”

  “People who say that are usually lying.” I shot him a crooked smile, trying to break the ice that had suddenly formed between us. “So, how are you really?”

  Richards searched with his eyes for the words he wanted, as if they were written somewhere up and to the left. When he found them, he looked at me again. “You’re perceptive, you know that?”

  “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong? You seem mad. Are you mad at me?” I asked, my tone surprisingly incredulous although I should just na
turally assume that someone somewhere is mad at me at any given time.

  Richards leaned against the stainless-steel prep counter opposite me and crossed his arms in front of his chest. His gaze floated from the deck to my eyes, fixed on him with intrigue. “I wish you’d be more careful.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you. Whatever really landed you in jail, the thing at Aggie’s, and I know there’s something else you’re not telling. You just… “

  “What? I just what? I don’t think? I don’t care? I don’t what?”

  Richards heaved a sigh and sported an exasperated look. “You don’t realize...”

  I looked at him, waiting for him to finish his thought.

  He continued after a pause. “That you’re important to people here.”

  I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Why, every time Richards and I spoke one on one, did I feel completely admonished by the man? I didn’t really need him to tell me this. I knew what he was getting at. Jack Junior and I had become as inextricably connected as Laurel and Hardy, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance kid. Sure, we had our ups and downs, but what family doesn’t? And the gang, I guess they’d gotten used to me too. I nodded and told myself I’d try to use a bit more forethought in the future, and I’ll admit I’d been on a bit of a reckless streak.

  “Ok,” I said.

  “Ok.” Richards nodded once and turned to go up the steps.

  When he left the galley, I made an immature facial gesture and returned to the task at hand. He could see himself out. I popped my head into the fridge for more chilled butter and, when I closed the door and turned back to the stainless-steel counter, there he was again, so close that my hands pressed against the chest of his dark red cotton shirt. The fabric soft and crisp at the same time. My breath caught in my throat and, when I looked into his eyes, he placed one hand on each side of my face. I took a step back, feeling the coolness of the stainless-steel fridge against me. He leaned down so close that I couldn’t tell if the breath between us was mine or his. He kissed me hard, then he turned and went up the galley stairs without a word.

  When I heard the stern door close, I stuck my head in the freezer to cool down.

  ✽✽✽

  Even after the pies and I had cooled, I was still wondering what kind of wormhole I’d dropped into or parallel universe I was suddenly occupying that Doctor Richards would plant one right on me in the galley of my boat. I walked my two works of art to Aggie’s place, pausing just inside the entrance, ready to scold the first person I saw for not getting the door for me and my full hands—but there was no one in sight. No Aggie and no gang gathered in the nook to critique the omnipresent twenty-four-hour news channel. I glanced toward the TV and, while the sound was muted, the message was clear. They were playing the tail end of a video from a location I’d been to recently. The words below it read “Sabotage Suspected in Hamilton Boat Sinking”, and I was reminded of the connection to Earle Davidson that Tranmer had mentioned the night before. Jack Albright had married Earle’s ex-wife. That deserves a new slide in the PowerPoint deck.

  “What the hell happened between you and Doctor Richards?” Ags appeared from the back of the store and barked at me before I’d even had a chance to lay the pies on the counter.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked, wondering if Ags was just fishing or if Stephen Richards had a penchant to kiss and tell.

  “He said he won’t be coming to dinner later.” She crossed her arms in front and looked at me impatiently.

  “And you just automatically assume it has something to do with me?”

  “Well, I happened to be looking out the window when he came from the direction of your boat. Then he came in here and said he couldn’t make it for dinner.”

  “Ags, trust me, I did nothing to the man.” I let out a huff.

  “Why’d you say it like that?” she said, pouring me a coffee topped up with Irish cream.

  “Like what?”

  “As if there’s something you’re not telling me.” She eyed me while she screwed the top on the bottle.

  “Ags…” I shook my head and took a sip and felt my face flush with heat.

  “I knew it,” she said and raised her eyebrows at me devilishly.

  I called her bluff. “You don’t know anything.”

  “He’s got the hots for you, doesn’t he?”

  “No.”

  “Your neck is turning red. I know you’re lying when your neck starts turning red and blotchy.”

  I lowered my chin to hide my tell.

  “Psyche! That, my friend, was called a fake out and you just played into it,” she said, raising her arms victoriously.

  I shook my head at her. “Ok, he kissed me. That’s it.”

  “Did you kiss him back?”

  I looked around to see who might be listening. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s being fodder for gossip. “Yes, I kissed him back,” I said just above a whisper, and I took a seat at the counter.

  “And how was it?”

  “Amazing. Ok, it was amazing,” I conceded.

  “Hmph, then I wonder why he cancelled on dinner.”

  “Ags, I have no idea,” I said, and I turned to see who the bell above the door was announcing. It was Tranmer, and he was toting a wicker basket loaded with goodies from the farmer’s market.

  “Hello, ladies. I come bearing gifts,” he said with a smile for each of us.

  “Whatcha got there?” Ags asked and peeked anxiously into the basket Tranmer handed her.

  “Just a few things for the dinner, or pre-dinner, or whatever you want to do with them,” he said.

  Together, Ags and I oohed and aahed over the cheeses and meats and jars of olives and fancy spiced pickles. “Coffee?” she asked him as she took the basket to the kitchen area.

  “Sorry, can’t. I’m going for a run. I really need to get back in shape,” said the man in his sixties who could run circles around any other guy in the marina or, likely, the town. “Hey.” He turned to me.

  “Yes?” I asked, taking a sip. I looked back to the kitchenette to see Ags sorting through the goodies.

  “I had the strangest conversation this morning with Bugsy.”

  “That in itself doesn’t surprise me,” I kidded.

  “Yeah,” Tranmer went on. “He asked me if I needed any more boxes for packing up Nat’s things. Said he was going to get some for himself and wouldn’t mind picking up a few more for me.”

  “Oh,” I said lowly and, looking back toward the kitchenette, Ags was in full eavesdropping mode. Personally, I hadn’t expected Bugsy to bring up the topic of Nat’s boat with Tranmer. “And, uh, what did you say?”

  “I told him he must be confused and that I was only staying once in a while.” Tranmer pulled his right foot up behind him to stretch his hamstring.

  “I see.” I nodded. “And what did he say?”

  “He apologized for the misunderstanding, said he had to work on something, and walked off,” Tranmer said, stretching the other leg now.

  “Oh,” I said. Why did Bugsy have to be so damn mature? The least he could have done is come swear at me or call me a liar.

  “You think we should rent it out? You know, to someone we know? Someone we can trust? It’s a shame to let her just sit there,” Tranmer said. By now, he’d moved on to stretching his arms.

  I looked back toward Ags who was in full stop now, not even pretending to mind her own business. “I think maybe we should talk about this later,” I said sheepishly.

  “Cool beans. I’ll be here a few more days, but for now I’m off. Later, ladies,” he said, and I watched him jog out of Aggie’s store, his dark hair bouncing and behaving like mine never has and with legs I’d kill for.

  I turned back toward my friend the coffee cup and took a sip. There was silence in the store for, oh, I’d say a solid ten seconds before there came an eruption from the kitchen area.

  “You mind explaining that?”

  I looked up from the counte
rtop to see Ags, hands on hips and angling for a fight.

  “Oh, Tranmer? What about him? Nice legs, huh?”

  “You know damn well what I’m getting at, girl.” She sighed. “Why’d you lie to Bugsy about renting the boat to Tranmer?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, and that was the truth.

  Aggie’s behind began to make sounds, and she pulled her phone from her back pocket. From her reaction to the message on the screen, it wasn’t good news.

  “What’s the matter? Who is it?”

  “Guess.”

  “Ags, I can’t. I’m mentally drained.”

  “Bugsy. Now he’s not coming to dinner.” She tapped something into the phone.

  “What? Why not?”

  “I just asked him that, but you know it has to be because of the big fat lie you told him about Tranmer and the boat.” She stared at the screen and shook her head disgustedly.

  “Ags, it wasn’t a big fat lie. It was a little skinny lie. Tranmer is staying on the boat and I certainly would have offered him the option to rent it… if I’d gotten around to it.”

  “Yeah, still. Lie.” Ags smirked at me. “No answer,” she said, motioning with her phone before she tucked it back into her pocket.

  I let out a sigh that made me feel physically deflated. So far, two dinner invitees had declined based on my being there, and I wasn’t feeling good about it. But Ags and I plodded on. By late afternoon, the long plastic and metal tables Ags pulled out twice a year were disguised by black and white buffalo check tablecloths, mini white and gold pumpkins, and hurricane lanterns with candles resting on layers of clear glass beads. The counter nearby had been transformed into a buffet draped in tan linen. A large boat-shaped serving dish already contained the Hawaiian dinner rolls from MMM’s, and other unique and nautically inspired pieces were laid out as placeholders for gravy, roasted and mashed potatoes, turkey and roast beef, Caesar salad, cranberry sauce, and there was an enormous, tempting charcuterie board covered in plastic wrap, courtesy of Tranmer’s contributions. Plates and pumpkins and cutlery wrapped in napkins and tied with blue and white striped ribbon were also laid out. By late afternoon, we were due for a rest, and with the sun sinking low, it wouldn’t be long before guests began to arrive.