Roche Harbor Rogue

by D. W. Ulsterman

  The two sat down and enjoyed a second cup of tea and some more idle chatter until eventually Tilda’s tone grew serious again. “Roland isn’t the only one I haven’t seen around here in some time. How is Lucas doing?”

  “He’s fine. Fully recovered from his injuries and happy to have the re-election campaign behind him.”

  “Are you two still close?”

  Adele could feel her cheeks turning red. She hated that she blushed so easily. “We’re good.”

  The gleam in Tilda’s eyes returned. “Good as in friends or good as in something more?”

  “Good as in it’s none of your business thank you very much.”

  “Ah, I’ll take that as a yes.”

  Adele knew she was being toyed with but didn’t mind. She enjoyed the back and forth that almost always accompanied a conversation with Tilda. “Yes, that we’re friends or yes that we’re something more?”

  “I’m still waiting for you to tell me.”

  “Then sit back and relax because you’ll be waiting for a while. Fact is I’m not really sure of the answer to that myself. Neither of us wants to do something that hurts our friendship.”

  “So, you’re both scared?”

  “No, we’re both being careful.”

  “Is there a difference?”

  Adele nodded. “Yes, there most certainly is. Now please change the subject.”

  “Assuming the rumors about Roland selling the bank are true, could the two things be related?”

  “What two things?”

  “You choosing Lucas over Roland and his decision to cash out the family business.”

  Adele struggled to keep her composure. “I haven’t chosen anyone, and nobody has chosen me. Lucas and I are currently just friends. That’s it.”

  “And what about Roland?”

  “What about him? Same thing—just friends.”

  “So, you’ve managed to stick the two most eligible bachelors on these islands into the friend room? Why, Adele, I never knew you could be so cruel. Well done, young woman. Well done.”

  Tilda got up and went to the window while sipping the last of her tea. Something she saw outside made her frown.

  “What is it?” Adele asked her.

  “There’s a man on the docks standing next to your sailboat. Come here and have a look for yourself.”

  Adele put her face close enough to the glass she nearly touched it with her nose. The man was tall, lean, and wore a tweed ivy cap. His dark pea coat was buttoned tightly around wide shoulders and a slim waist. He kept glancing at something in his hand and then looking at the sailboat.

  “Do you recognize him?”

  Adele shook her head. “I’ve never seen him before.”

  “Well, he certainly appears very interested in your little home. You know, there’s something vaguely familiar about him, but I can’t quite put my finger on it—like a faint reflection of a memory just beyond my ability to recall.”

  “He doesn’t look too dangerous.”

  Tilda squinted at the glass. “Dangerous? No, not dangerous and certainly not a Russian. He does have a roguish quality about him though.”

  Adele whirled around and headed for the door. Tilda started to follow. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to go down there and ask this mysterious Roche Harbor rogue why he’s hanging out in front of my boat.”

  “By yourself?”

  “Yes, by myself, though you’re welcome to come with me if you want.”

  Tilda appeared startled by the invite. “Oh, well, I think I probably should. Just let me get my coat.” She scurried into the adjoining bedroom.

  Adele folded her arms and tapped her foot. “Hurry up old woman. I don’t have all day.”

  When Tilda returned wearing a dark wool trench coat, she gave Adele a hard look that was difficult to tell how serious she was. “There’ll be no more of that, young lady. Green belt or not, don’t think for second I still can’t break the likes of you in half.”

  Adele wasn’t sure how true that was, and she had no intention of ever finding out.

  2.

  “E xcuse me. Can I help you?”

  The clean-shaved face that turned around to greet Adele was handsome in a uniquely unconventional way. Like the body it was attached to it was also long and lean. The deep-set blue-green eyes were similar in color to the waters that surrounded the San Juan Islands. His warm smile revealed slightly crooked white teeth. When he removed his cap, the light brown hair underneath was a disheveled mess. The entirety of his features reminded Adele of geometry—a mix of sharp angles that bordered on awkward but that collectively somehow managed to make sense.

  “You’re the owner of this sailboat, yeah?”

  Adele glanced at Tilda and then nodded. “I am.”

  The man’s smile widened. “Oh, that’s lovely. I can’t believe I found it so quickly. Just about walked right up to it. The picture seemed the same, but you never know. One boat can look so much like another.”

  That voice, Adele thought. I know that voice.

  It was deep, playful, and thickly accented. Adele felt something and looked down to see Tilda nudging her.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” she whispered.

  “Huh?”

  Tilda leaned in closer. “He sounds just like him. It’s remarkable.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The accent—it’s Irish.” Tilda rolled her eyes. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. You’re supposed to be the investigative reporter here. He sounds exactly like Delroy.”

  Delroy Hicks was the man largely responsible for Adele’s permanent residence on the islands. It was his sailboat she called home in the Roche Harbor marina. He had meant it as a graduation gift—one that would allow her some time to find herself without having to deal with the burden of paying rent. Adele still felt Delroy’s playful presence inside the boat’s cozy cocoon.

  The man put his cap back on and cleared his throat. “Uh, the sailboat was my father’s. It’s my understanding he called it home for quite some time.”

  Adele looked up at Tilda who in turn arched her brows. “See,” she said. “That’s what I was trying to tell you. As you well know, Delroy’s manner of speaking, that voice, it was unmistakably his own.” Tilda looked the man up and down. “What’s your name, young man?”

  “I’m really not so young. I’m 36.”

  Tilda’s smile resembled a grimace. “From where I’m standing 36 is still plenty young. Now tell us your name.”

  “Of course. My given name is Finnian Kearns, but for as long as I can recall everyone just called me Fin.”

  Adele recovered quickly from the shock of hearing Delroy’s voice again as her investigative instincts took over. “Why are you here, Mr. Kearns? Is it about the boat? Because if it is—”

  Fin shook his head. “No, that’s not it. I wouldn’t travel all the way from Ireland for a boat. Goodness no. Time is far too precious to be wasted on something so material as that. It’s what the boat represents.”

  Adele cocked her head. “What do you mean by represents?”

  A sudden gust of wind nearly blew his cap off before Finn pulled it tighter over his head. “Is your name Adele?” he asked. “Adele Plank?”

  “How do you know my name?”

  Fin smiled. Adele didn’t. “Your newspaper,” he replied. “I read it online all the time.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Yes. I assure you my motive for being here is in no way a threat to you, Ms. Plank. I’m a huge fan of your work. The stories of your adventures, well, they’re quite remarkable.”

  “I’ve never included a photo of my sailboat in any of my articles, Mr. Kearns. How did you know to find it, and me, here?”

  “Again, from your articles. Oh, and this picture as well.” Fin removed a photograph from his pocket and handed it to Adele. It was of her sailboat. On the back written in ink it said, My home, Roche Harbor.

  “It was sent to my mothe
r in Ireland.”

  Adele stared at the words and then looked up. “I recognize Delroy’s writing.” She handed the photo back to Fin. “How did he know your mother?”

  “Ah,” Finn said as he put the picture back into his coat pocket. “I was told by her that they were friends, then for a brief time they were lovers. I was the result of that . . . experiment.”

  “Experiment?”

  Fin nodded. “Yes, that was my mother’s word for it. Back then, my father apparently had an undeniably adventurous spirit when it came to matters of the heart. He traveled a great deal with his work as a professor and author of anthropology, met many different people, and had quite a lust for life. He was neither heterosexual nor homosexual but rather an opportunist.”

  “That’s a long-winded way of saying the younger version of Delroy was a shameless slut.” Tilda chuckled. “No offense intended.”

  “None taken. My mother would have agreed.”

  “Would have?” Adele said.

  Fin shoved both hands into his pockets and shrugged. “Yes, she passed away last year. Told me about my father just days before it happened. The photo of the sailboat came from a box of letters he used to send to her after the relationship ended. Mother never replied. Not even once. She kept her relationship with Delroy a secret for all those years. After some time passed, I decided I’d journey here to try to learn more about him.”

  Tilda’s eyes widened. “So, Delroy never knew he had a son?”

  “No. Mother made that quite clear. He never knew about me.”

  Tilda clicked her tongue. “My goodness, there’s more than a bit of tragedy in that. I don’t care for people generally, but even I tolerated Delroy while many more on these islands loved him dearly.”

  Fin’s face brightened. “Yes, like his friend the famous author.” He looked at Adele. “I know of him from your articles as well. I had to march right on out and find a copy of his book, Manitoba. Didn’t like it. Not even a little. Rather long-winded for my taste.”

  The sound of Tilda’s laughter was carried on the wind as it skipped across the marina waters. Adele couldn’t recall ever hearing her laugh so hard. Tilda extended her hand and stepped forward.

  “I’m so pleased to finally meet someone who’ll admit to not liking Decklan’s oh-so-famous opus. My name is Tilda, Tilda Ashland.”

  “That’s right,” Fin said while shaking hands. “You own the beautiful old hotel over there. It’s wonderful to now see it in person.” His gaze continued up to the top of the hill behind the resort and then his brows drew together. “What is that supposed to be? It almost looks like a castle.”

  Tilda’s lips pressed together as she shook her head. “That is a big waste of money by a man with far too much of it while also having an equal deficit of common sense. Funny how those two qualities so often go together.”

  Fin snapped his fingers. “Roland Soros. Am I right? That’s his building.”

  “You seem to know an awful lot about us, Mr. Kearns,” Adele said, “but we know so little about you.”

  “That only makes sense. It’s from your wonderful stories. Every article is like another thrilling chapter in your lives. I felt as if we were already friends before I even arrived here. So, I take it I guessed correctly? That is Roland Soros’s house? The Roland Soros? Oh! And what about the sheriff? Lucas Pine? Is he here as well? I would love to meet him. The writer, Decklan Stone, his wife Calista, Roland Soros, and Lucas Pine, I’d love to meet all of them.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for just Tilda and me for now. Both the sheriff and Roland are out of town and Decklan and Calista are traveling abroad again. They won’t be back until the summer.”

  “Ah, that’s fine, that’s fine,” Fin replied. “You’re the real reason I’m here, Ms. Plank. It’s having access to you that’s most important.”

  Tilda stepped forward, putting herself between Fin and Adele. “Why do have such a strong interest in her? And don’t lie to me. I’ll be able tell.”

  Fin’s smile dissipated like fog bombarded by the heat of Tilda’s sun. “I merely meant that it was her stories that made my coming here such a necessity, namely her friendship with a father I never knew. In fact, I was hoping it might be possible for me to see inside his sailboat. I’m just looking for a bit of closure—the chance to understand who Delroy really was.”

  “It’s my sailboat,” Adele answered. “And it’s really not worth much if that’s what you’re after.”

  Fin glared at Adele. It was just a moment, but she saw it. The accusation annoyed him. “This isn’t about money,” he said.

  “You understand our suspicions, right?” Tilda remained in protector mode. “A stranger shows up unannounced poking around and then announces he’s the biological son of a man everyone here knew as being a happily devoted homosexual. I admit to being intrigued by your story, Mr. Kearns, perhaps even charmed by it, but we’re a close-knit group on these islands and don’t easily suffer those who would attempt to take advantage. And if you feel I’m being overprotective of Ms. Plank, wait until you meet Sheriff Pine. If he has any suspicion of wrongdoing on your part that involves Adele, he’s likely to break you in half first and ask questions later. This young woman means a great deal to a great many of us. Am I making myself clear?”

  Fin took off his cap, held it in both hands, and nodded. “I apologize. Perhaps my coming was a mistake. At the very least I should have been more considerate of the backstory and its impact on those here who knew my father.”

  “You can see inside the boat,” Adele said.

  Tilda’s head snapped around. “What?”

  Adele moved past her. “It’s okay. You’ve done nothing wrong coming here, Fin. I should be the one to apologize. I’m being rude. The memory of your father and all that I owe him deserves better.”

  Fin’s voice cracked. “Thank you. It really would mean a lot to see his home. To sit where he sat and look out at this wonderous place as he once did.”

  “Have a look around. It won’t take long. There’s hardly room to move in there, really. We can talk. I’ll do my best to answer your questions about Delroy, and then, if it’s okay with Tilda, we’ll walk up to the hotel and enjoy a drink by the fire.”

  Tilda pointed to Fin. “If you do one little thing out of line, Mr. Kearns, you’ll be the next log I burn on that fire. I promise you that.”

  “I’ll be on my very best behavior, Lady Ashland.”

  “Cut the ‘lady’ crap. Men who attempt to play cute don’t work with me. I have my eyes on you, Mr. Kearns, and I don’t blink.”

  Adele looked at Fin and then tilted her head toward the sailboat. “C’mon, we better get going before Tilda convinces herself she really doesn’t like you. She’s getting that look about her.”

  “What look is that?” Fin asked.

  “Believe me,” Adele said with mock seriousness, “you don’t want to find out.” She smiled at Tilda. “We’ll be done here soon. Couple hours at most. See you at the hotel?”

  The wind whipped Tilda’s long hair around her head and shoulders as she stared at Fin and nodded. “I’ll be waiting.”

  3.

  T he tour of the sailboat’s cramped quarters was brief. Fin sat at the small pull-out dining table adjacent to the galley and looked around. “Hard to imagine that a man who I’m told had such a big personality lived in such a small space for so long.”

  Adele joined Fin at the table. “When it came to resting his head, I don’t think Delroy required much. He was a big personality but appreciated the simple things. I knew him as a much older man than your mother did. He’d get tired easily due to age and illness, but he still enjoyed a good time and a bit of adventure.”

  Fin leaned forward, his eyes as wide as his smile. “Go on. Tell me more about him. That is, if you don’t mind.”

  “I won’t ever mind remembering Delroy Hicks. He truly was one of a kind. The fact is I wouldn’t have been able to save Calista Stone if it wasn’t for
your father’s help. He was right there with me, ignoring the danger, offering advice, and pushing forward. I know Decklan and Calista will be forever grateful to him for that.”

  “Yes, that trouble with the old sheriff and that remarkable mystery of Calista’s disappearance that played out on these islands for decades. I read every word of your article about it and then all the other media reports that followed. I still find it hard to believe I’m sitting here talking to you in person. It’s a bit of a mind bender, yeah? You’re so famous yet . . . here we are.”

  Adele scrunched her face up. “Famous? No. Hardly. I’m just me. Especially around here.”

  “Ah, you’re far too humble, Ms. Plank. You are famous. I’d wager that where I come from that little paper of yours is read by more people online than the Dublin Daily.”

  “Oh,” Adele said while suddenly getting up. “I almost forgot. I have something I know you’ll want to see.” She went into the stateroom and came back holding a framed photograph of Delroy and her sitting together and laughing while hanging their legs over the bow of the sailboat. She handed it to Fin. “It was taken just a few weeks before he passed.”

  Fin looked down at the image and then blinked back tears. “He looks so small. My mother said he was a wisp of a man but surprisingly strong. Like a reed that bends but never breaks.”

  “What Delroy lacked in physical stature he more than made up for in character and intelligence. The world would be a far better place with more like him.”

  A seagull cried out as it flew over the boat. “This was my father’s place,” Fin said. “And now it’s yours. I’m glad to know he passed it on to you just as I’m also pleased that you were able to provide him one final adventure before the cancer took him.” He traced Delroy’s image with the tip of a finger. “Too many die alone. You made certain he wasn’t one of those.” Fin handed the photograph back. “Thank you.”

  “How did your parents meet? I assume it was in Ireland.”

  Fin nodded. “Yes. Mother explained how Delroy was there studying the gypsies. He took to their world like a fish to water and they in turn welcomed him just as warmly.”