Spring Tide

by Robbi McCoy

  Stef nodded her understanding.

  “Is there a head in this thing?” Marcus asked. “I’d like to wash up before we go.”

  Stef pointed. “Straight down the hall on the right.”

  Marcus held up his grease-covered hands. “You got anything to cut this grease?”

  “There’s a bar of lava soap in the drawer under the counter there,” Stef said, indicating the shelf next to where Jackie stood. “Jackie, can you grab that?”

  “This is a nice little place,” Marcus announced, glancing around appreciatively. “Not bad at all.”

  Jackie pulled open a drawer. Lying face up inside was a five-by-seven framed photo of two uniformed police officers, a man and a woman. She lifted it out of the drawer, recognizing Stef’s face, all smiles, leaning familiarly against a handsome Hispanic man with a thin mustache. He had his arm slung around her shoulders. Near the bottom of the picture was scrawled the message, “Next time, Hot Stuff!” Before Jackie could process what she was looking at, Stef seized the photo from her hand, saying, “The other drawer.” Her voice was sharp. Jackie looked at her face as she shut the drawer on the photo and opened the one next to it to retrieve a bar of soap. Her expression was full of frustration. She was clearly unhappy that Jackie had stumbled on that photo.

  Soap in hand, Marcus walked down the hall, whistling.

  “You’re a police officer,” Jackie stated, suddenly comprehending how much sense that made.

  Stef shook her head. “No, I’m not. Not anymore.”

  “But you were. That’s you in that picture.”

  “I used to be a cop.” Stef turned to the sink, avoiding Jackie’s eyes.

  “It looks like a recent photo,” Jackie persisted. “How long ago did you quit?”

  Stef turned back to face Jackie, her face full of conflict, as if she were battling an internal debate. She was so changed from a few minutes ago, as if she’d fallen from her soaring place in the sky, like a kite that had lost the wind. Jackie was sorry she’d stumbled onto something that was clearly painful, but she was encouraged to think she was on the verge of a discovery. Stef looked, for a fleeting, promising moment, like she was going to open up. But then, just as suddenly, she closed.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said softly. “It’s all in the past.”

  Frustrated, Jackie was unable to let it go. “Did something happen? You can tell me. I’ll understand.”

  “Look,” Stef responded, an edge of anger in her voice, “I said I didn’t want to talk about it.”

  “It’s a little tight in there.” Marcus was on his way back to the main cabin. “But gets the job done. I’ll let you know when I find the parts. Then I’ll get her going. Guaranteed. You’ll see.”

  Stef nodded. “Thanks again, Marcus.”

  “You’re welcome.” He turned to Jackie. “I’m ready if you are.”

  Marcus led the way out and Jackie followed, feeling injured. She paused in the doorway to make a silent connection with Stef. She looked slightly apologetic, but Jackie understood the apology was for her harsh tone of voice, not for her refusal to let Jackie into her world.

  “Bye,” she said quietly, then followed Marcus to the truck.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Gail and Jackie sat down on the bench in front of the bait shop with their ice cream cones, concentrating on licking them down to cone level before they melted. It was morning, just starting to heat up, and they were passing time while deciding what to do with their day. As often happened on Saturday, Pat was working and Gail was on her own. They’d narrowed their choices down to kayaking or a movie, but Jackie, whose mood was dipping below normal, wasn’t enthusiastic about either.

  The bench they sat on was the front seat from her grandfather’s 1957 Chevy Bel-Air. The rest of the car had gone to the junkyard years ago. Jackie had never seen it, but she had seen photos—a chunky looking turquoise and white classic with wide whitewall tires, convertible roof, chrome trim, and pronounced fins in the back, like a rocket ship. The seat was two-tone, turquoise panels surrounded by ivory trim. Grandpa came by and washed it on a regular basis, but the vinyl was cracked in several places and discolored by age.

  “Maybe she’s on the lam,” Gail said between ice cream licks, continuing a conversation from earlier. “Running from the law.”

  “She is the law.”

  “She used to be the law. Maybe she was one of those dirty cops who got caught and made a break for it.”

  “I doubt that. I don’t think she’s a criminal.”

  “If there’s no crime, why won’t she talk?”

  Jackie shrugged. “Something bad happened. Something that hurts too much to talk about.”

  Gail bit into her cone with a crunch. “Then maybe you shouldn’t push her. I know it hurts your feelings that she won’t tell you, but if it’s that painful, maybe you should respect her need to keep it to herself. Maybe someday she’ll tell you. In her own time.”

  “The thing is, I could help.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. For a lot of things, the only cure is time.”

  Jackie sighed resignedly. “You’re right. But I could at least make the time go easier. You saw how much she enjoyed that day out on the river.”

  “You’re taking credit for that?” Gail raised an eyebrow.

  “Not entirely. But the next day, out at Disappointment Slough, I’m taking credit for that. She seemed really happy. Maybe I could just help get her mind off it, that’s all.”

  “Maybe you could, just by being with her. Make her laugh, distract her and try not to worry about the rest. It’ll work itself out.” She sucked liquefied ice cream from the base of her cone. “You too. Try to have fun. You definitely have her interested. She’s tasted the bait. Now land the hook and reel her in.”

  Jackie looked askance at Gail before concentrating on her ice cream and silently considering her advice.

  After popping the last of her cone in her mouth, Gail leaned against the back of the bench contentedly. “This thing,” she asked, returning to the subject on both of their minds, “whatever her dark secret is, are you sure that isn’t the attraction?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know how you are, Jacks. You can’t resist a homeless mutt. The more messed up they are, the more you want to take them in and cuddle ’em up.”

  “That may be true of animals, but it isn’t true of women. Loser women don’t appeal to me at all. Besides, I don’t think Stef’s like that, a messed up mutt. I think she’s just going through a rough period.” Ice cream dripped on the wooden floorboards of the porch next to Jackie’s feet. She finished her cone before continuing her train of thought. “Maybe she’s like a champion horse with an injury. With a lot of care, she can be a champion again. She still has all the potential. She just needs someone to believe in her capacity to heal.”

  Gail sputtered sarcastically. “A champion horse? You’re so confident she can be healed, even though you don’t know what she needs to heal from.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes! What if she’s a homicidal maniac or a drug addict or…she’s got a fatal illness? Whatever it is, it’s bad enough she can’t tell you. You don’t know anything about her, really, do you?”

  Jackie frowned. Gail was right. It could be anything. But she hadn’t even considered the idea of a fatal illness. What if Stef quit her job because she was dying? Floating along the tranquil waterways of the Delta might easily be someone’s idea of a good way to use up her last few months alive.

  About to lapse into despair, Jackie suddenly realized that was a ridiculous idea. Stef was strong and vibrant, the picture of health.

  She punched Gail in the arm.

  “Ouch!” Gail complained, grabbing the spot. “What was that for?”

  “For trying to kill off my girlfriend.”

  Gail scowled her bewilderment before releasing her arm and sinking back into the car seat.

  “You want to see what I got for m
y mother?” Jackie asked, not waiting for Gail’s answer. She pulled a two-piece shorts outfit from her tote bag and held it up by its hanger. The shorts were yellow with white piping and the shirt was white with yellow sleeves and collar. A simple swirl design in yellow and green adorned the front of the shirt, an abstract floral motif.

  “That’s really cute!” Gail said. “Is it her birthday?”

  “No. Just something I picked up for her. I thought I’d give it to her this morning, but she’s not here, so I’ll just leave it with Dad.” She folded the outfit and tucked it back in her bag.

  “I bet she likes it. It’s a little more…coordinated than most of her things.”

  Jackie laughed. “That’s the idea. As long as she thinks I didn’t pay over a couple dollars, she’ll like it.”

  They both came to attention when Rosa’s Brazilian Churrascaria pulled into the parking lot and rolled up to their location. Rosa was in the passenger seat and Ben was at the wheel.

  “Is Mom here?” he called.

  “Not until later this afternoon,” Jackie said.

  “Good. We can catch the lunch crowd before she gets here.”

  “You’re going to park here?” Jackie asked, astonished. “After what happened last time?”

  Rosa leaned across Ben to answer. “This is where people expect us to be on Saturdays.”

  “But if Mom sees you—”

  “You just said she wasn’t here, didn’t you?” Ben replied. “We’ll be outta here by one o’clock.”

  The truck pulled over to the edge of the highway in the usual spot. Jackie shook her head.

  “Do you think my family’s weird?” she asked.

  Gail snorted. “I don’t know. No weirder than any other family, probably.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “Well, cut off my head and stuff me in a suitcase!” Stef called boisterously at the familiar figure stepping out of a beat-up Camaro in her driveway. “Look what the cat dragged in!”

  Deuce was already jumping up Womack’s legs for a greeting. Typical. A stranger drives up and that dog’s all, “Hi! Come on in. Let me show you where the valuables are.”

  Womack hailed her with a wave and broad smile, then pulled a grocery sack out of his trunk. He approached on flip-flops, wearing tan shorts and a short-sleeved cotton shirt, sunglasses covering his eyes, his wavy black hair pushed back from his long face and his left arm almost a solid block of tattoos. He was tall and big. In a police uniform, he was an intimidating presence. But to those who knew him, he was a lighthearted, easygoing fella. The kind of guy you wanted at a party. He knew how to have fun, but he was also a solid cop, somebody you could rely on in a pinch. Stef hadn’t seen Womack for months. She wondered briefly if he’d tried to kill any other cops lately with his lethal homemade pepper spread.

  “Hey,” he said enthusiastically. “Look at you!” He came up and gave her a one-armed hug, then reached for Deuce’s head to give him a pat. “Molina’s dog?”

  “Yes. Name’s Deuce.”

  “Deuce? Why not Ace? Hey, boy, you some kinda second-rate scout?”

  “Molina’s nickname was Ace,” Stef explained. “In his previous life. Nobody called him that anymore except some of his old gang.”

  Womack laughed. “Okay, I get it. Ace…Deuce.”

  “How’d you find me?”

  “I chatted up that cute little Debbie in payroll. I figured they had to know where you are to send you your check. Nobody can hide from Womack, right? But, hell, you’re way off the beaten path, that’s for sure.” He flipped his glasses on top of his head and observed the houseboat thoughtfully. “So this is home sweet home, is it?”

  “That’s right.”

  “How about showing me around?”

  She waved him toward the cabin door and led him inside where he set his bag on the counter. He pulled out a six-pack of Michelob. “Put these in the fridge, huh? And look what else I brought you.” He took a quart jar from the bag. “My hot pepper spread! This is the real deal, the habanero version.”

  Stef held the jar in both hands and laughed. “Thanks! You know I love this stuff.”

  “Exactly! I can still see your face from that day. Hilarious! Sweat, tears, snot. Everything that could come out of your head was pouring out! Molina too. I’ll never forget that.”

  “Me neither. I won’t be eating this by the spoonful, though. It’s going to last a while.”

  After a tour of the boat, they sat side by side in the two lawn chairs on the aft deck with cold bottles of beer. A half-dozen strips of Ida’s World-Famous Beef Jerky lay on a paper towel on the table between them. Womack slung his feet up on the deck railing and leaned back and took a swallow of beer, then smacked his lips. A pair of ducks flew over, momentarily distracting him.

  “What’s this place like?” he asked. “Anything ever happen around here?”

  “It has its moments. Actually, they’re having a little crime wave here lately.”

  “Really? Maybe you can help them out.”

  “Naw. Not my job, not anymore. I’m leaving all that to you masochists. Besides, they’ve got a cop on the beat.”

  “A cop? You mean one cop?”

  “Right. One cop.”

  Womack chuckled. “Really small town. I think I drove through it on the way out here. Right on the river there.”

  “That’s it. Stillwater Bay.”

  “Have you met that one cop? Is he a Barney Fife sort of fella?”

  “Actually, he seems very competent.”

  Stef didn’t mind the small talk. She figured Womack had something on his mind, but she was in no hurry to talk about it. They were work friends, good ones, but hadn’t socialized much on the outside, so his coming all the way out here to share a beer was extremely suspicious behavior.

  “How do you like small-town living?” he asked.

  “Hard to get used to. You can’t walk into a store without seeing somebody you know, even after just a couple of weeks here.”

  “That’s a small town all right. I grew up in a small town. They’re okay. Pros and cons.”

  “Everybody’s very friendly. And by friendly, I mean nosey. They’re not the least bit afraid to ask everything they want to know. Where you from? What do you do for a living? Is there a Mister Byers? Do you sleep in the nude?”

  Womack let out a loud croak. “No kidding.” He sucked a swallow from his beer, then said, “Do you?”

  She gave him an indulgent smile. “What’d you come out here for, you big goof?”

  “Just wanted to see my girl,” he replied, smiling his toothy smile. “See how she’s doing.” His smile gradually faded into a look of concern as his long face grew even longer. “How are you doing, Stef?”

  “Fine. I’m doing fine.” She could tell by the sober look on his face they were done with small talk.

  “I heard you weren’t coming back.”

  “That’s right.”

  “That’s a shame.” He spoke without looking at her. His gaze was straight ahead at the pasture with its dry grass and the tree line beyond that marked the path of Duggan Creek. “The guys all miss you. The girls too.” He glanced at her with a twinkle in his eyes. “Especially the girls.”

  Stef took a swallow of beer, and Womack ripped a hunk of jerky off with his teeth, chewing with deliberation.

  “Did Shoemaker send you out here?” she asked.

  He swallowed the jerky and said, “Not exactly. He mentioned I might want to pay you a visit, that’s all.”

  “Check up on me. See if I’ve gone bonkers or something?”

  “No, no. Nobody’s worried about you. We all know you can take care of yourself. Everybody misses you, that’s all.”

  “I miss you goons too, to be honest.”

  “We sure wish you’d come back.”

  “Anything interesting going on?”

  “Same old, same old.”

  It was hard for Stef to broach a serious subject with a guy like Womack. Their relationshi
p had always been on a different plane. But she was intensely curious about what the rumor mill had been spinning out.

  “What did the guys say?” she asked.

  Womack turned to catch her expression, narrowing one eye. “About?”

  “About what happened,” she said impatiently.

  “It was terrible, that’s what they said. What do you think?” He stuck another piece of jerky in his mouth.

  “Sure, I know that, but I mean about me. Do they think I panicked? Or missed the mark? Or mistook Molina for the perp? They weren’t there. They couldn’t know how it was, so there must have been a lot of speculation.”

  Womack regarded her levelly, chewing. He put his beer on the table and took his feet off the railing so he could face her. “Stef, you know what the place is like when something like this happens. Of course there’s a lot of buzz. There’s a couple of jerks talking about something they don’t know anything about. But anybody who’s worked with you would never think you panicked. None of that shit matters. It’s just talk. The only thing that matters is the facts and the outcome of the investigation. I, for one, knew all along you’d be exonerated, and I told everybody that too.”

  “Did you have a station pool going on that?” she asked cynically.

  “No! It wasn’t like that. Nobody took it lightly. If you think they blame you, that they think you screwed up, you’re wrong. There was speculation. That’s just natural when a tragedy happens and people don’t have the facts. But once the verdict came down, it was over. Everybody accepts that decision and wants you back on the job. Especially me. I’d be happy to work with you any time. It was an accident and it wasn’t your fault. It would have been the same with any one of us.”

  “Thanks,” Stef said quietly.

  “Is that why you won’t come back?” Womack asked. “You think you don’t have the support?”

  She shook her head. “No. Actually, everybody’s been great. No, it’s nothing to do with that. I just wondered what they were saying. You’re right. It’s natural for people to speculate, since they weren’t there and they can’t see this fucking movie that keeps playing over and over in my head.” She drained her beer and set it on the table. “Want another?”