Ahoy!

by Maggie Seacroft

  “Oh, I changed it. It was my good deed for the day. You really shouldn’t listen to that junk. Plus, my fingers are clean. You saw them yourself,” I said and offered him another visual of my palms, then flipped them over. Even my fingernails were clean for once.

  “Mm-hmm. I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard the expression ‘don’t look a gift horse in the mouth’?” He looked over to ask.

  “Sure, but you’re no gift.” I smiled back, showing off my bright smile and clean hands again like a proud five-year-old.

  Bugsy looked from my eyes to my smile to my hands then the radio and made an overly strained face, then craned his head so his ear was angled toward the speaker in the dash. With a perturbed expression, he asked as if he didn’t know. “What is this?”

  “This is called music. The kind where you can tell what the song is about and it doesn’t make you want to jump off a bridge,” I said, and the Beach Boys began a melodic trip down memory lane. I felt like I was back in the company of good friends.

  I depressed the button to put down my window and, for the next forty minutes, I rode with the sun shining on me and the wind whipping the strands of my hair that had escaped the elastic of the ponytail. For whatever reason, Bugsy humoured my commandeering of the radio.

  ✽✽✽

  By the time the “Welcome to Eagleton Population 16,005” sign came into view, I felt betwixt, relieved and reticent. We had spent the latter half of our road trip listening to good music and trading a few get-to-know-you stories. I learned that Bugsy had been in the army for six years – which explained among other things a certain rigidity in him; that his last vacation was three years ago – which might explain why he was grumpy, owing to being overworked if that seemed plausible; and that he’d received a post-secondary education in geology – which explained, well, nothing really.

  He rolled the truck up to the Main Street address of Tranmer and Boyer where a century home had been converted into a commercial building. The landscaping and clean lines added modernity to the place but not so obnoxiously as to detract from its original features. Then he cut the engine.

  “I guess you can come back in an hour,” I turned to say and unbuckled my seatbelt.

  “Oh, I’m coming in,” he said, unbuckling his.

  “Coming in?” I asked, wondering how and why he’d come to that decision.

  “Yes, I called Mr. Tranmer. He’s the emergency contact on file for Nat’s boat. He asked me to come see him.”

  “And you didn’t think to ask me if I needed a ride?” I was incredulous.

  “I did ask you if you needed a ride, remember?”

  “Oh, never mind,” I said. Bugsy had acquired a talent for unnerving me, and I think he knew it.

  As we walked past the meticulously manicured boxwood at the entrance of the office, I took a deep breath and steeled myself. There’s just something about being back in a professional office that makes me anxious. Beyond the heavy-smoked glass door, we were greeted by a blast of arctic-cold air and an equally frosty-looking woman sitting behind an over-sized, dark wooden desk. Diligent for a Saturday.

  She was an older woman, dressed conservatively in a navy-blue skirt suit, and the bun in her hair was pulled so tight that it looked like it hurt. Once she was satisfied that we were not looking for directions or spare change, she ushered us into a room just off the lobby where I stood and read a few certificates and citations on Tranmer’s wall of fame. Smack dab in the middle of the accolades was a framed photo of a man standing with John Wayne. Duke looked like he knew him. Assuming the other man was Tranmer, he had a kind face and looked like someone I’d hang out with.

  “Hello, I’m Cary Tranmer.” The man in the photo entered the room and jarred me from my daze of staring at my western idol. “You must be Alex Michaels.” He extended a hand to greet me. He was an attractive man, probably in his sixties, though parts of him could have passed for much younger. “I’m Mr. Grant’s personal and corporate attorney.” I took the hand he extended, and my other hand immediately went to cover the back of my neck where Bugsy’d pointed out my splotch of paint. There’s nothing like feeling like an unmade bed in front of a handsome man.

  “Yes, I’m me,” I said, chuckling nervously, but I’d hoped charmingly.

  “And you must be Mr. Beedle,” Tranmer said, shaking hands with the Bugster. “Thank you for coming in. I’d have come to see you at the marina, but I have appointments booked solid for most of this week and I’m attending a fundraising dinner in two hours for the Wounded Warrior Project,” Tranmer said and gestured for us to each take a seat in the matching leather armchairs facing his desk.

  The lawyer was fit with longish dark hair, but it suited him. Behind his desk, he had framed a few of those pictures they take of you along a marathon route. In my experience, they take several photos of you along the way and hope that you buy the one that makes you look least like you’re having a heart attack.

  “Miss Michaels, I received a phone call from Mr. Beedle who has apprised me of the curious situation with Mr. Grant.” Tranmer looked at each of us and then retrieved a small packet of papers from the top right drawer of his desk. “Now, along with being Nat’s attorney and good friend, I’m also his power of attorney for all financial and real estate matters, including physical property.”

  “The boat,” Bugsy piped up, nodding in my direction.

  “Yes, I understand English, thanks.” I smirked back.

  Lawyer Tranmer smiled and cleared his throat. “Now, in my position, I am to oversee such matters if Nat is not available to do so. And, given your proximity to the vessel and the nature of your relationship with Nat, I am giving you, Miss Michaels, authority to be caretaker for the boat, etcetera.”

  “Me?”

  Tranmer nodded. “Yes, if you’d agree to do so.”

  “Well, certainly. I have no issue with that at all,” I said. I couldn’t think of any reason to object to taking care of the boat for a while and shrugged mentally to myself.

  “Good, good,” Tranmer said.

  “I can certainly do that until he comes back,” I added in hopefully.

  Tranmer looked from me to Bugsy. The man looked like he had something to add, but he didn’t go there. “Now you’ll need money for expenses, of course. This morning my assistant deposited funds into a trust account for the boat and the expenses you’ll incur for dockage, miscellaneous maintenance, and the like.”

  “Oh, I guess I should tell you that I took in Pepper, Nat’s dog,” I said. Although I didn’t see any reason why the man would take issue with it, I felt he ought to know.

  When Tranmer smiled and said, “I thought you might have,” it made me curious as to just how much Nat had told him about me.

  “So, this means I get the key to Nat’s boat?” I asked, emphasizing each word.

  “That’s right,” he said plainly and nodded.

  “Ha! In your face, Bugsy! Pony up that key.” I smiled and held out my hand palm up, toward the man sitting beside me. He was a little red-faced, and it would have been charming if he’d not been such a thorn in my side.

  “I’ll have one made for you,” he whined through a sigh.

  “Here’s the information on the bank account,” Tranmer said, handing me a paper from the small stack on his desk.

  “Ok, I’ll get you a monthly reconciliation of expenses as they’re incurred,” I said, fearing my finance background was showing. I’ve tried to keep that in check since leaving the insanity of the corporate world, though I am by nature loathe to be anything but up front, at least where money is involved.

  “Oh, that won’t be necessary. We’ll just keep an eye on it,” the lawyer replied.

  “But—" I tried to finish my thought.

  “Miss Michaels, there’s something you should know.” Tranmer looked down at his papers and back to my face. He was suddenly more serious.

  “Ok?” I said, my tone changing to match his.

  “Mr. Grant’s very fond of you,�
� Tranmer said.

  “Well, I like him too.”

  “No. What I’m getting at is that he has provided for you in his will.” The lawyer looked at me, gauging my reaction.

  I guffawed. “Well, let’s not talk like that.”

  Tranmer shifted in his seat and took a deep breath. “Miss Michaels, when the time comes— Would you prefer to go over this in private?” he asked, glancing toward Bugsy.

  I looked in Bugsy’s direction as well. “If it comes, and no, he doesn’t give a damn anyway,” I said and rolled my eyes.

  “If it comes,” Tranmer corrected himself, humouring me no doubt. “As it stands now, you’re listed as his primary beneficiary.”

  “Oh. That’s interesting.” My eyes wandered around curiously as I tried to process the information. “So, I take it you mean the boat, right?” I asked. I hadn’t remembered Nat protesting about making mortgage payments on the Splendored Thing, so I assumed she was owned free and clear. The boat would probably fetch something close to seven figures, and while the gesture did surprise me, it’s not the strangest thing I’d ever heard of in the disposition of assets. At least Nat hadn’t left everything to Pepper.

  Tranmer continued. “As it stands now, you’d inherit just over… ten million dollars in equities,” he said, glancing down at the paper in front of him. “Plus his boat and a small home he has on the Isle of Capri in Italy.”

  “What?” My tone was of the you-could-have-knocked-me-over-with-a-feather variety.

  “What?” came the echo from the seat beside me.

  “I think I heard you wrong,” I said. Had all that bad music at the outset of our road trip messed up my hearing?

  “Her?” Bugsy asked in a tone I didn’t think would have been physically possible for him to reach.

  “Here, stick this in your pie hole, will ya?” I said, handing him a candy from the dish in front of me. “Sorry, Mr. Tranmer, he’s on a day pass from the institution,” I said and heard a throat-clearing noise from Bugsy who shifted in his chair beside me as he unwrapped the cellophane on the candy. I briefly wondered if my ride home was in jeopardy.

  “Me? That’s crazy,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Crazy or not, if and when the time comes, the last will and testament makes you his primary beneficiary.”

  “What about his ex-wife? Or kids?” I stammered to inquire.

  “Cynthia received her last cheque almost six months ago. And Nat’s only son, Josh, died in active duty some years back. He has a nephew that he no longer speaks to and that’s it. His favourite causes are also provided for, of course: navy vets, SPCA, and an equine rescue center,” Tranmer said as his eyes skimmed over the page to his right.

  I shrugged. “Alrighty then.” Now I’m the type of person who considers found money discovering the five-dollar bill the couch ate, so I had no idea if my response was appropriate. If and when the time came, I’d figure out what to do. Like always. The difference this time would be that, if and when the time came, Nat wouldn’t be there to advise me.

  “Miss Michaels–” Tranmer began.

  “You can call me Alex,” I interjected unapologetically. My manners had long since left the building.

  “Alex, Nat was - is more than just a client to me. He’s one of my best friends. I’d say you and I are two of the best friends he has in the world,” Tranmer went on to say.

  “He wants you to have it. Trust me. We spoke about it several times.”

  “I honestly didn’t realize he has money. Of course, I don’t ask questions like that, but...”

  “And that’s one of the things he likes about you. That you don’t pry and that you don’t measure a man by the size of his bank account.” Tranmer smiled at me the fatherly type of smile Nat used to.

  I shrugged again. My shoulders were getting a workout with all the shrugging I’d done that afternoon, and I’d have to quit it unless I wanted to look like a linebacker. We went on to discuss other things, like how we’d found the state of Nat’s boat and, as though in an unspoken pact, Bugsy and I avoided the key-stealing antics of which we were mutually guilty.

  “I have a question,” Bugsy piped up, and it surprised me. “Mr. Grant has a vehicle parked on the marina property. What’s being done with that?”

  “I’ll look into that, just give me a day or two to get back to you. In fact, I hope to get out there to the marina in the not too distant future,” Tranmer said, and he glanced at his desktop calendar then his watch and proceeded to tidy the papers on his desk—the universal sign for “this meeting is almost over”.

  “Please do come to the marina. I think we’re still having a thing on the Fourth if you’re around,” I said as I got up to shake the hand of the man who had single-handedly succeeded in changing my opinion of lawyers.

  “That’d be nice. I haven’t spent much time on a boat since Nat and I were in the navy.” Tranmer smiled. “Junior Ross still there?”

  “Oh, Jack Junior? Yes, he’s still there. He’s practically the honorary mayor.” I chuckled as Tranmer walked Bugsy and me to the foyer of his office where, by the looks of things, his secretary was preparing to leave and hopefully unleash that taut bun in her hair that made me wince when I saw it again.

  ✽✽✽

  An awkward silence marked the beginning of the return leg of my trip with Bugsy. It wasn’t the same silence as there had been at the outset of our voyage, and the difference between the two is hard to describe. But it was definitely different, and it seemed like something was bothering him.

  “So, which way to the electrical supply store?” I asked. The silence was giving me a headache.

  “What?” Bugsy snapped back in an intensely incredulous and borderline offended tone.

  “Didn’t you say you had to get something to fix the HVAC at Aggie’s?” I asked sheepishly.

  “No. I mean yes, but—"

  “But what?” Bugsy didn’t seem like himself, what little I knew of him anyway.

  “Well, won’t you at least tell me what the deal was with the old guy?”

  “Excuse me?” I was perplexed. I didn’t know what he was getting at, and I didn’t think his making it clearer would make me like it, but I had to find out.

  “Why would some guy leave you all his money and assets?”

  “How should I know! I mean, we’re friends.” That was all I could think to say. After all, it was the God’s honest truth.

  He shook his head. “Oh, come on! You must have been more than friends.”

  “You don’t think men and women can be friends, is that it?” I turned and gave him a scolding look.

  “I don’t think I’d leave ten million bucks and my boat to a woman who didn’t… you know.” His voice trailed off.

  I smiled. I so wanted to say something nasty to Bugsy and quietly prided myself on my restraint. What I wanted to say went along the lines of, “You couldn’t pay me twenty million bucks to be that friendly with you”. However, we were still an hour away from home and no one would believe that I was a future millionaire hitchhiker who was at that moment carrying the sum total of eight dollars and fifty cents.

  “Well, who can account for what people do?” I offered in a more tactful reply.

  There was a long pause between us, and the break in the conversation caused me to notice that the oldies station was still tuned in and Elvis was telling the world he was a hunka burnin’ love – as if the female population wasn’t already aware of that fact.

  We stopped at the Tool Box, Eagleton’s answer to every man’s Nirvana. It’s the sort of place that attracts everyone from the weekend sports warrior to the man kitting out his man cave to the fella souping up his driveway hot rod. In other words, its appeal was lost on me.

  Bugsy wasted no time in strutting straight to the customer service desk where, apparently, the clerk had been asked, or knowing Bugsy, ordered to hold for him the thingamajig he needed to fix the HVAC problem at Aggie’s. The woman behind the counter tossed her hair an inordinate nu
mber of times and adjusted her unflattering orange smock. She was obviously flirting with him and I thought he could do worse, but we were in and out of the store before I had the chance to embarrass him and set up their first date.

  Another long, awkward silent treatment later and I wondered what Bugsy was thinking and if I could pry it out of him over an early dinner. “Do you want to stop and get a bite to eat?” I asked.

  “Sorry, I have to get back,” he said.

  “Do you have a date or something?”

  “Actually, I do,” he replied, and even though I was only looking at him in profile, I could see a big smile on his face. He didn’t divulge any more details, and I didn’t ask. I considered his date as number three in my trifecta of bad things. If Bugsy was already intolerable, I couldn’t imagine how annoying he’d be in love. The rest of the drive home was largely quiet, though fortunately the music was to my taste.

  CHAPTER 7

  I heard Bunny before I saw her. My first impression of her was that she was insipid. However, I realized I had been quick to judge. She wasn’t just insipid, she was a bona fide idiot.

  Back from Eagleton, I relayed little else to Aggie except that I was the newly appointed, trusted caretaker of Nat’s boat. I was sipping on my iced tea, minding my own business — more or less — and reading the local paper in the lounge area exchanging newsy tidbits with Ags when Bunny’s footwear announced her arrival. My back was to the door and, as I turned to look over my shoulder, I did a double take before I watched with wide eyes as she sauntered toward the counter where Aggie was filling the chrome and glass sugar dispensers.

  “Can I help you, miss?” Ags asked after looking up from the counter to see what the stilettos had carried in.

  I watched from the safety of my oversized club chair where I was nestled with Pepper, to see a woman I’d never laid eyes on. I’d have remembered her.

  She was probably five-foot-nothing, but the strappy stilts she wore brought her up to about five-foot-five. Her hair was long and may have been all hers, but I sincerely doubted it. The streaks in it ranged from shades of blonde to brown to red, though I gave her credit for keeping it frizz-free given the humidity we were experiencing that day. She was tanned from head to toe and the expertise with which it was executed made me wonder if she made a career out of it.