“Never mind,” I finally said, unable to look at him. I bit my lip to keep from saying something I’d probably… no, most certainly, regret.
“Mm-hmm. Well, I have some idea,” he said, and I glanced at him, a little ashamed, more because I’d been caught than anything. His gaze drifted around me unnervingly, and I wondered what he was looking at. “Did it ever occur to you that I wouldn’t just hand that woman over the key like she wanted me to? The police only just finished their work over there and, besides that, she’d have to prove legal title to the boat and its contents first. Which she has not done,” he said, unfolding his arms and turning back to his coffee. “It might please you to know that she was rather annoyed when I told her that, and I assume she’ll be asking you for a membership application in the I Hate Bugsy Club.” He stood, pulled a couple bucks out of his pocket, and put the money on the counter. “Thanks for the coffee.”
After he left, I looked back at Aggie sheepishly. I wanted to go back to bed and start the day over again. However, in my experience, bad things always happen in threes, and I just wanted to get the other two over with. As it turned out, I didn’t have long to wait.
✽✽✽
Later that morning, when I was immersed in painting the white railing and trim on my boat, bad thing number two accompanied Aggie as she scurried up the dock with a message for me to contact Mr. Tranmer at the office of Tranmer and Boyer, Barristers at Law.
Phone calls from lawyers were never good. I’d only ever used them to chase down money for my previous employer, and at lightning speed I scanned my mental balance sheet and wondered who I’d forgotten to pay.
The woman who left the message with Aggie said she was having a hard time reaching me, a fact I couldn’t dispute since my dressing down from Bugsy had me questioning my social skills, and I’d lodged my cell phone under the cushions of my sofa so I wouldn’t say something stupid to anyone.
“Office of Tranmer and Boyer, Miss McCardle speaking.”
“Good morning, it’s Alex Michaels calling for Mr. Tranmer.”
“One moment please,” the cheerful older woman on the phone replied. It was Saturday and I wondered why she was so dedicated to working on the weekend and had such a good phone manner about it to boot.
“Cary Tranmer here.”
“Hello, Mr. Tranmer, this is Alex Michaels. I’m told you’re looking for me, which I find curious considering I haven’t committed any crimes lately,” I said, using humour to ease my nervousness.
“Ah yes, Miss Michaels. I’m sorry to have to track you down like this, but I’ve been trying to reach you regarding Nat Grant.”
“Nat? Have you heard anything? Is he ok?”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. “I’d like to see you about Nat’s boat. Would you have time to come into my office today?”
When he didn’t answer my questions about Nat, my heart sank a little, and what he’d said finally registered. “Today? As in today today?”
“Yes, I’m sorry for it being such short notice, but it’s rather important and I’d come there myself but I’ve got a rather full schedule today and I’ve got to attend a benefit tonight. I don’t mean to impose but—"
“It’s no imposition,” I cut in. I was still deflated that he didn’t have any news about Nat. “What time would you like me to be there?”
“The latest I can do is three. Will that work?”
I glanced down at my watch, speckled with paint. “Sure.”
Tranmer gave me the coordinates to his office and, as soon as I hung up the phone, I regretted it. Attending lawyer offices generally ranks up there in my estimation with such unpleasant activities as major dental work and colonoscopies. That aside, the problem is I don’t own a car. In my downsizing and streamlining vigor and self-righteousness, I’d sold my Volkswagen when I moved to the boat and replaced it with a bike with a basket on the front. Incredibly cute but not permitted on the thruway.
Not having a car for the past year and a half had not been an issue for me until that particular day, and the irony of the situation was not lost on me. Nat was the reason I required transportation to get to Eagleton, and heretofore, he’d been my most reliable means of getting places that weren’t within biking or walking distance.
I’d tag along with him or he’d offer up a ride and we’d head out on errands or one of our adventures. When I’d have to go take photos for a boat listing or show a vessel, Nat and I would happily pile into his vintage light blue 1957 Chevy step side truck. We would be armed with drinks and road food like Slim Jim’s and other salty snacks with a shelf life that extended to a date when teleportation will be a reality. Pepper usually joined us, his ears and jowls flapping in the wind as he stuck his big head out the window or roamed around in the bed of the truck.
Just after one, I changed out of my coveralls and painting garb and headed to Aggie’s store on the hunt for other transportation options. On my approach, I was happy to spot a familiar truck parked out front, its bumper sticker read ‘Work Like a Captain, Play Like a Pirate’. Pike was obviously in the store.
As I got closer, I found Bear on the passenger side, sitting high like a person — a person with an unfortunate condition of manufacturing buckets of drool. After patting my friend on the head, I bounded into the store, ready to schmooze Pike into giving me a ride out of town.
“Pike! Just the handsome devil I was looking for,” I said a little more buoyantly than usual, hoping he’d be charmed by my exuberance into coming to my aid. He was seated on one of the stools at the counter and looked to be waiting for the sandwich Aggie was whipping up not far away.
“Oh no, here it comes.” Pike sighed and shook his head, and I think I saw him share a knowing look with Ags.
Now, I’d learned young that you ask for the something you don’t think you’ll get before you ask for the something that appears more reasonable. This way the askee doesn’t feel like such a dope for giving you what you want. “How would you like to lend me your truck?” I asked.
“How about no,” he replied with barely a moment’s consideration. The words I’d thoroughly expected.
I tried my best to appear defeated, though not unattractively so. Ags shot me a quick, discreet wink. She was on to me. “Geesh, why is it that no man ever trusts a woman to drive his vehicle, Aggie? As if I’m just going to rip and roar the moment I get in it. Like I’m going to use it to practice parallel parking in impossibly tight spaces.” Of course, I wasn’t going to do any of that. I hadn’t driven in over a year, and parallel parking was certainly out of the question.
Pike cleared his throat in mock-consternation. “Well, the last time you borrowed it, it took me a week to get the smell of your perfume out of the upholstery, you changed all my radio presets, and the seat was stuck in the moved ahead position. Besides that, I’m on my way to get a transmission.” He grumbled though he appeared bemused, and paid for his purchase – a sandwich to go — and his CAT diesel travel mug filled up with ice water.
“Darn it, Pike,” I said with a pretend pout, and I restrained myself from the inclination to stomp my foot, knowing he wasn’t a fan of histrionics.
He looked down into my eyes and asked through a huff, “Where do you have to go?”
Yes! An offer of a ride was heading my way. I smiled big and broad. “Eagleton, for three,” I said hopefully, so sure he’d offer to take me that mentally I was already in his truck talking to Bear and dodging flinging webs of drool.
Pike shook his head. “Sorry, doll, I’m going the other way. Hamilton. I gotta get going. Told the guy I’d be there in an hour and I’m cuttin’ it close,” he said, and before darting out the door, he nodded his head in the direction of Bugsy who I turned to see was on a stepladder just closing the electrical panel near the kitchenette.
“Oh yeah, you have that lawyer thing, right?” Aggie asked as she wiped down the food prep counter and then shook out the cloth over the garbage pail. She’d been at my boat when I called the
lawyers and was as intrigued as I was.
“Yeah,” I said and searched the floor for another option as though it were written there. I’d have asked to borrow Aggie’s motorcycle, but on the one hand she treats it like her baby and on the other hand I’ve never driven a motorcycle. Though it does look fun, I’d likely end up in the hospital. Another on my top five places to avoid.
“How about Jack Junior or one of the guys?” Aggie asked.
“They’ve headed up north to some benefit for vets,” I said and my mind raced through options.
“Why don’t you just take an Uber?” she asked.
“I like to sing in the car.” I smirked back at her. I paced in front of her as I thought out loud. “Plus, an hour in a car with a stranger isn’t up my alley. Sure, I could hit the jackpot and land the world’s most interesting driver, but the odds aren’t good.” I looked over and shook my head at her. “I’d be forced to make idle conversation and inevitably jump out of the car somewhere between Marysville and Eagleton.” I sighed. “I’d probably die of thirst on a hot dusty road or be picked up by some guy in a van who’ll get fifty bucks for me on the human trafficking market.” When I looked back at Aggie, her face was screwed up like a question mark.
“You think?” she snipped back and looked at me like the only car ride I should be taking was to the mental ward.
Bugsy came from the direction of the kitchen with the folded stepladder I’d seen him on earlier. “I’m going to Eagleton today,” he said and leaned the ladder against the wall by the sink.
I locked eyes with Ags and then watched from my peripheral vision as Bugsy went to the refrigerator of fruit juices and selected two bottles. When he walked to the counter to pay for his purchase, he cocked his head at me and gave me the kind of smirk that told me he knew my options were few and that he wanted me to ask him for the favor of a ride.
You know, I can’t really account for what comes over me on some occasions or be accountable for what comes out of my mouth on most occasions and yet, despite my hour of need, I couldn’t suppress my sassy tendencies. I turned to face him, crossed my arms in front of my chest, and looked into his sapphire blue eyes. “When I think of you… and it’s not often… I don’t generally think, ‘Gee I want to sit in the car with him for two hours.’”
“So, do you want a ride?” he asked without a moment’s hesitation, putting his change in the donation jar Aggie kept on the counter for the local Humane Society. My words had ricocheted off him like bullets off Superman.
I pursed my lips, considering in an instant the whole Uber ride/human trafficking option. “Ok… thanks.” I sighed.
“Be ready in ten minutes,” he said.
“I am ready,” My tone was incredulous after looking down and giving myself the once over.
“You’re going like that? To see people?” Bugsy’s eyes made a quick survey of me from head to toe. He did it one more time, and I wondered if I should pirouette like that ballerina in the jewelry box I had when I was a kid.
“What’s wrong with this?” I asked, again giving myself the once over but taking a little extra time on this go around just to be sure.
“Well, first of all, if you plan to go in my truck, you’re going to have to get that paint off of you.”
I looked down at the faint dried remnants from my painting chores. “It’s oil based, it isn’t going anywhere,” I said. Sure, I had a few errant glops of paint on my hands and a couple on my knees from earlier in the week, but I considered those badges of honor for the hard work I’d done sprucing up the Alex M. and helping at Aggie’s. How else would anyone know how hard I’d worked?
“Just go clean up, and I’ll give you a ride.”
“So, you think that paint that won’t come off with soap and water and nothing short of sandpaper or a wire brush is just going to magically wind up on your precious truck,” I said, using a flourish of hand gestures for emphasis.
“Do you want a ride or don’t you?” He cocked his head and squinted at me. Serious Bugsy was irritatingly good looking.
My options were few and my patience was waning. Something in the back of my head told me that this was one of those occasions where Nat would want me to play nice. “Yes, give me five minutes. Please.”
“I’ll give you five, and you’ll take ten. Meet me outside in fifteen or I’m leaving without you,” Bugsy said as he stood close and towered over me. I was sure he was using his height advantage to intimidate, though he only had about four inches on me. In an uncomfortable pair of heels, we’d be eye to eye.
✽✽✽
I left Aggie’s and quickly trotted down the dock to my boat, taking note of the time. Each step made me a little more sensitive about how I looked. What if we all think we look better than we actually do? All the time? I considered whether I’d rather live a blissful life of delusion or a pained existence of insecurity and decided to sort that one out later.
After the seven-and-a-half minutes it took me to give myself a makeover, deciding that nothing short of plastic surgery would yield a better transformation, I reluctantly admit that I felt much better. Dark pink scrub marks and slightly irritated skin replaced the smudges of paint on my arms, and eradicating the paint from my fingers meant nothing short of removing a layer of skin and my fingerprints in the process. Choosing to cover — rather than scrub — the paint on my knees was well hidden by the white capri pants I threw on. I slipped into my “dressy” white sneakers and topped off my ensemble with a yellow cotton blouse. My hands were clean, my teeth were brushed again, and I sported a fresh ponytail. I’d vowed to myself to give Bugsy nothing about which to complain.
When I made my way back to Aggie’s, I found my driver leaning against his truck, speaking to one of the marina members. Whether he knew it or not, and I suspected he didn’t, Bugsy was smiling in my direction and those damn dimples were mocking me. I stood before him and submitted to a protracted scrutiny of my appearance to rival that of an art historian detecting a fake. Then I positioned myself at the back door of the crew cab and motioned to flip up the locked door handle.
“What are you doing?” he asked with a half-smile and furrowed brow.
“I thought I’d like to ride in the back and pretend you’re my chauffeur.”
“Get in the front, Miss Daisy.” He smirked and I pulled myself up and into the passenger side where I watched as he sat on the driver’s seat, door ajar, hung his legs over the side, and clapped the dirt off his shoes before he committed to getting comfortable. I wondered if this ritual was unique to him or if everyone was doing it nowadays.
Once he was in and had adjusted what looked like command central on the space shuttle, I felt my derriere begin to cool. Obviously, he’d made some adjustment to the climate control on my behalf and I wondered what made him think I had hot buns.
“Here,” he said matter-of-factly and pointed to the bottle of juice in the cupholder nearest me.
“Oh, thanks,” I said, surprised at the gesture. I had no complaints but wondered how he paired me with strawberry-banana-kiwi and if I should read anything into that. What is banana juice anyway? A moment later and we were mobile.
The ride to Eagleton would take slightly over an hour, getting me to the office of Tranmer and Boyer just on time for my three o’clock appointment. Slow conversation and music not to my taste were the highlights of the first part of the trip. I did a lot of looking out the window at hills that undulated under a pale blue sky that was dotted here and there with cartoon-like puffy clouds. I hadn’t much missed not having a car, but I did miss the rides with Nat. I was staring out the window getting misty-eyed thinking about him and wondering what happened to him and, when news of Nat’s disappearance came on the radio, Bugsy moved lightning fast to mute the volume temporarily.
“You, uh, missed a spot,” came the low, penetrating voice from beside me.
“Oh really? Where?” I crooked my neck at Inspector Beedle.
He reached over and tapped me on the back of the
neck, just below where my ponytail started. “Right there,” he said, and I felt his fingertip momentarily. It wasn’t long enough to send any shivers down my spine.
“Oh, well I won’t lean back on your upholstery,” I said, smiling back at him, and in the interest of my need for transportation, I opted not to tell him to keep his paws to himself.
Bugsy laughed and turned up the volume on the radio. Apparently, he’d been keeping it at a politely subdued volume until the awkward silence had been shattered. Given his musical taste, I might have preferred the lower volume and higher tension, and I wondered how much he’d mind if I changed the radio station. Probably a lot.
Depressing ballads with rock anthems and tumultuous choruses were never my thing. Every song sounded the same, and Bugsy stared ahead down the road, hypnotized by the soundtrack of the troubled-teen set. The music, if it could be called that, grated on my nerves, and I speculated on if I would make it to Eagleton or if I’d go spontaneously manic and veer the truck off the road in a fit of temporary insanity. I was relieved when, during one of these crashing, life is short, angst-ridden tales of woe, like a pilot giving announcements on a trans-Atlantic flight, Bugsy informed me that we would be stopping “for gas and a nature break”.
“Thanks, I’m fine,” I said when he asked again about the state of my bladder, and when he exited the truck, I mentally tossed a coin. Heads, I bolt screaming from the vehicle. Tails, I change the radio station while he’s paying for gas and taking a leak. I closed my eyes and flipped the imaginary quarter. Tails.
When he disappeared into Glenn’s Gas and Go, I feverishly tuned the radio to something that didn’t make me want to go deaf. When the pilot returned to the truck, I aimed forward. When he inserted the ignition fob, I prepared for battle. To my surprise, I was met with a ceasefire.
“I don’t remember leaving this station on the radio.” He chuckled, staring straight ahead at the gauges on the dash. In profile, I could see the corners of his mouth were turned up ever so slightly.
Ahoy! Page 9
