To Honor We Call You: A Florida Action Adventure Novel (Scott Jarvis Private Investigator Book 9)

by Scott Cook

  Next, I peeled potatoes and put them and pretty much all of the cloves from the garlic bulb, sliced of course, into the water. I then put a little Tuscan seasoned olive oil in Nana’s stove top wok and threw in the larger sliced peppers and onions.

  “It’s too bad you’re not single,” Jackie bemoaned with a smile. “I love a man who cooks.”

  I grinned at her, “That’s how I get them skivvies hauled down. Works every time. Hey… you two rode back with us… what about your cars?”

  “Amanda drove hers and I drove my bike down from Patrick,” She replied, sipping her beer.

  “You ride a bike?” I asked, separating four egg yolks into a blender. “Why am I not surprised. A bad ass biker chick, huh?”

  “That’s right… you know you’re turned on.”

  I laughed, “Absolutely… can you reach me one of those lemons, please? Actually, just cut me a quarter wedge and we’ll use the rest later.”

  I already had a stick of butter melting slowly on a back burner. I took the wedge of lemon and squeezed it into the blender. Then I added a little salt and pepper and a pinch of cayenne pepper for extra flavor.

  “Damn, those peppers smell great,” Jackie commented.

  Amanda appeared in the archway to the kitchen and sniffed, “Yeah… now I know why the Colonel wanted you so bad, Scott… needs a chef on the team.”

  I turned on the taters and tossed the beans into the wok and pulled the roasted peppers from the oven. I poured them into the blender as well and turned my attention to the fish.

  Having already thawed in warm water, I set the filets on a plate and patted them dry with a paper towel. In a bowl, I mixed a couple of tablespoons of flower with salt, pepper, garlic powder, onion powder and a little cayenne as well. I stirred the taters and the wok and got a stainless steel skillet heating on the stove.

  “Damn, how the hell do you keep all this going?” Jackie marveled.

  “Practice,” I said. “It does make it hard to have more than one person involved, though. A lot going on and it’s got to be timed right.”

  In the skillet, I put a bit of olive oil and a tablespoon of butter. Once melted, I dredged the filets lightly in the flour mixture and set them in the medium-high skillet. After about forty seconds, I flipped them and then slid the entire skillet into the still heated oven.

  “Okay, that’ll take just a few minutes,” I said, pouring soy sauce over the sizzling and steaming mixture of beans, onion and pepper. I then pulled the taters off and drained them and started mashing, adding my butter and milk in between stirring the beans.

  “Now… can one of you ladies set the blender agoin’ on one?” I asked. “Leave the vent open so you can pour in the butter.”

  Jackie went over and did this as I finished the taters and pulled the fish out. I turned off the beans. “That’s good… now for the plating.”

  “Wow…” Amanda said, inhaling deeply.

  A minute earlier I’d placed five plates on five wooden plate holders and had slid them into the still warm oven. I pulled them out then and began to set them up. I put green beans and taters on each along with one of the filets. I then drizzled the sauce over the fish and a little on the taters.

  “Look at this guy,” Jackie mused. “Even has warmed plates. Mr. fancypants strikes again!”

  “Voila!” I exclaimed proudly. “What’d’ya’ think o’that shit?”

  The women laughed. Amanda and Jackie helped me carry the plates into the back room where Nana and pops were sitting together on the sofa and listening to Tony Bennet.

  “Bon appétit!” I announced. “Now please be careful, these plates are hot… so don’t lick em’… Jackie.”

  That earned me a one finger salute.

  “That smells yummy,” Nana said with a big grin.

  “Thank God for your Italian mama,” Pops said with a grin.

  “Hey, I got some of it from Nana, too,” I said.

  “Oh my God…” Amanda gushed as she tasted the fish. “It’s almost melting…”

  Everyone seemed to love the meal and we enjoyed chatting and watching the evening encroach over the water behind the house. It was just getting dark when I realized I hadn’t talked to Lisa since that morning. I excused myself and went into the front room.

  “Hey,” She said when I dialed her.

  “Hey yourself, pretty lady,” I said cheerfully. “How was your day with your mom?”

  There was a pause, “Well… it was great… eventually. How’s Jack?”

  I frowned, “Good. Amanda Wilson and Jackie Stevvins showed up… after Colonel Grayson showed up this morning. Long story, which I’ll relate later. Short version is that we’re all here at the house. Nana and Pops are going on a little trip and the ladies are here just to keep an eye on things until they go. Now what do you mean it eventually went well?”

  Lisa sighed, “I flew to Key West this morning. Wanted to see what I could find out about the shrimp boat and the Morris brothers.”

  “Industrious,” I said with a chuckle.

  She scoffed, “yeah… and boy did I find out plenty. The shrimp boat met a Zodiac two weeks ago out near Rebecca Shoal. A Zodiac from a cargo ship. Then last week, just before they came in for the last time, Cooper Trent comes along side to grab some of their by-catch.”

  “Sounds fishy to me,” I commented. “Or shrimpy.”

  She chuffed, “Side splitting. But yeah, it sounded a bit law-bendy to me too… I also met with Jeff Pelton this morning and we went over to talk to Tom and Earl Morris.”

  I groaned, “How’d that go?”

  I had a picture of a couple of rednecks ogling Lisa and making rude comments and giving her a hard time. Not that she’d put up with that long, but I wondered how it had gone, even with the Sheriff there.

  “Oh, it was interesting to say the least,” Lisa said with a sardonic chuckle. “Somebody left the gas on in the trailer. Then when Jeff opened the door, it was rigged to create a spark and dammed near blew us both sky high!”

  My stomach did a somersault, “Holy Christ… are you okay?”

  “I’m ducky,” Lisa reported. “Jeff’s got a concussion, though. Luckily some of the gas had dissipated. However, Tom and Earl were dead inside. Maybe knocked out and killed by the gas or killed before that, we’re not sure yet… the flash over partially cooked them, though.”

  It took me a moment to gather my wits, “My God…”

  “When do you come back down?”

  “I can leave pretty soon.”

  She sighed, “Good… I miss you. I’ll fill you in when you get here… then you can fill me in… y’know… fill me in… get it…?”

  “Yes dear,” I said archly.

  “By fill me in, I mean that I wish the two of us to engage in sexual intercourse.”

  I chuckled, “I got it, man.”

  “By sexual intercourse I mean that I would like you to insert your—“

  I guffawed , “For the love! You sure that explosion didn’t rattle your brain? Seriously though… you’re sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m good, baby. Just a little sore.”

  I said good-bye and walked back into the Florida room, “Well, I need to head back down to Miami. More things going on with this case. You sure you’re all gonna be okay?”

  Pops waved a hand, “We’re fine, son. Do what you need to do.”

  Amanda nodded, “I’ll be here for the night and tomorrow. We’ll work out arrangements.”

  “Drop me at the hospital and I’ll follow you down,” Jackie stated.

  I frowned, “I’d feel better if you stayed here, Gunny. At least until the flight out.”

  Jackie grinned, “Oh, don’t worry, it’s covered. I’ve got two Marines watching the house right now. The Colonel has assigned me to you, Commander.”

  I scoffed, “I can take care of myself, Jackie.”

  She shrugged, “I know… but orders are orders.”

  I heaved a sigh, “All right then… Let’s get und
er way.”

  15

  October 16th, 1797

  Catherine Cook, now Captain of the brig Whitby Castle and the American built schooner Sword of Vengeance was jolted to wakefulness by the sounds of thudding feet overhead and the thumping of swabs as the upper deck was wetted and the holy stones began to rasp over the planking. It wasn’t a sound she’d heard overly much on the voyage, certainly not over the past week.

  It was her orders that had set the action in motion, of course. The sound of eight bells and the darkness outside of the sash windows in the transom told her that it was four a.m. Her skeleton crew was beginning the work of the day. The decks would be sanded and scraped and then swabbed dry. Any water in the bilge would be pumped overboard, the pump manned by any defaulters… which there were none, as she hadn’t in fact had time to work the crew up into anything like man o‘war fashion.

  For a long moment, Kate simply lay in her cot, swinging gently to the light swell that rolled under the brig from starboard quarter to larboard bow. The realization that she was truly in command suddenly settled over her, eliciting a mixture of elation and dread. Not only was she now sole arbiter under God at sea… she was master of no less than two ships and barely had enough hands to work one properly. At least in terms of what the Royal Navy would consider proper.

  They weren’t in the navy, of course. The brig was a merchantmen and the schooner a privateer. Yet Catherine Cook fancied herself an officer in the Royal Navy. It was something about which she’d dreamed since she was in small clothes. It was, of course, nothing less than a pipe dream. She was a woman in an age where women wouldn’t be considered for such things. Even if they had been, the proper path to becoming a sea officer was to go to sea at the age of twelve at most, signing aboard as a midshipman or a first class volunteer. Then learning the trade over the course of six years before being qualified to pass for Lieutenant.

  And yet… and yet she did command two ships, whether or no. It had been the focus of her life, her family’s legacy and the culmination of nearly fourteen years of intensive training.

  Her father, James Cook, named for his own illustrious father, had seen to it, at great pains to himself, that Kate received the best tutelage in mathematics, French and Spanish as well as what were commonly known as the manly arts. Fencing, boxing and a course of exercise to strengthen the limb and the endurance which thankfully had included swimming. He’d had her drilled in every aspect of the seaman’s art, as well. Knotting and splicing, rigging, sail handling, navigation and how to work a gun. He’d taken her to sea aboard friend’s fishing smacks and even aboard various ships, even his own sloop of war, unbeknownst to his superiors. There had even been talk that he and one of his friends would enter her on the muster books as midshipman Kyle Cook. A common but illegal practice in the service meant to advance favored sons ahead of their time. However, it became clear by the time Kate was only eleven that she could never pass for a boy. Although already growing tall, she’d not only sprouted up… but out as well. Her feminine charms were already beginning to appear even at that tender age and by twelve she was so prodigiously developed that it’d be next to impossible to hide her girlishness aboard a ship of war.

  So instead, he’d simply taken her aboard and had her serve. His officers didn’t object and the men loved her. She had so many sea daddies – men assigned to teach her the fine points of shipboard duty – that she hardly had a free moment to skylark.

  Her father had declared on more than one occasion that his daughter was as skilled a navigator, as tough a fighter and as capital a seaman as any aboard, including himself. Although they both knew she could never serve the Navy, he did have hopes that she might attain a captaincy aboard a merchant vessel or even a letter of mark.

  He then contrived to get himself knocked on the head. Killed in action when she was but fourteen. It was a tragic blow for the young woman and with his death, there had been a rift between herself and her stepmother. A rift that had led Kate to take permanent lodgings at her Portsmouth school. A school her father had placed her in so that she’d be more readily available for cruising. After a variety of adventures and misadventures, she’d found herself aboard the brig she now commanded and headed back to the United States, where she’d been born. Her mother had died when she was very young, yet her family still lived there, somewhere in New England. Although the Whitby Castle was headed for South Carolina, it was a start. Perhaps the American born English girl could find employment in the U.S. merchant service or even their Navy. Their volunteer service and their more egalitarian philosophy might make room for a tall, strong and well-skilled sailor in spite of her disadvantage of sex.

  She pushed these somewhat maudlin thoughts from her mind as she rose from her cot, threw off her night shirt and slipped into her britches, shirt and coat. Reluctantly, she pulled on cotton stockings and slid her feet into her boots. She preferred going barefoot, yet as the captain, a certain decorum should be observed, at least at times… and going barefoot on the quarterdeck would simply not do.

  “Good morning, mum,” Andrew Danvers said as she emerged from the companionway.

  “Good morning, Danvers,” Kate said briskly.

  “Wind southeast and moderate,” he reported. “Hands are set to and the schooner lies just under our lee.”

  “Thank you, Danvers,” Kate said as she stepped aft to the wheel, where a grizzled hand by the name of Wade was acting as quartermaster and his mate, Sankey, manned the wheel. Palander stood along the weather rail, casually watching the activity on deck.

  With no officers or mates, Palander was the only person on board so far as she knew that was qualified to stand a watch. Kate examined the traverse board and the log board in the light from the binnacle cabinet. Course a steady north by east. An average of six knots giving the ship just over thirty miles of progress since she’d retired.

  “Good morning, Mr. Palander,” Kate said, turning to him. “All well?”

  “Aye, mum,” He said a little gruffly. “Fine sailing through the middle watch. I fear the wind will moderate at dawn, however.”

  Kate stared up at the rigging and the set of the sails. With the wind just abaft the beam, the brig was running under boomed fore and aft main, fore course, main and fore single reefed tops’ls as well as only the flying jib and fore topmast stays’l. A bit conservative, in her view, as the wind couldn’t be more than sixteen or seventeen knots. Then again, with only twenty hands aboard, it was better to err on the side of caution rather than cracking on like smoke and oakum and carrying something vital away before things could be taken in hand.

  “Very good, Mr. Palander,” Kate said, standing beside him and placing her hands behind her back. She assumed an attitude of quiet competency, the very picture of a captain… or she hoped so. “Should it moderate as you say, however, I think she’ll bear more heads’ls and t’gallants We might even shake out those reefs soon.”

  Just after two bells were struck, a lean young seaman appeared on deck and ambled over to Kate. He was barely twenty years old, of middling height and somewhat frail. Not what one would consider as the picture of the salty sea dog. His attitude was a bit timid as well. Not a coward, just quiet and introspective. She’d spoken to him on many occasions, both before and after being taken by the French. It turned out he’d left a very good inn in Sheerness to sign aboard the brig. He knew how to serve the gentry and make good coffee. She’d decided to make him her steward, which would keep him out of the more arduous and dangerous work aboard. He’d proven to be hopeless as a topman. While just about anybody could play at pulley-hauley, his skills could be put to better use elsewhere.

  “Good morning, mum,” The young man said quietly but cheerfully.

  “Good morning to you, Pitney,” Kate replied. “Any hope for a pot of coffee this morning?”

  “Aye mum,” Pitney replied. “It’s just abrwin’ as we speak here. Would you care for a bite of breakfast?”

  “I would indeed, Pitney,” Kate sai
d, resisting the urge to rub her belly. The galley fires were already alight and the hands’ daily ration of oatmeal was already being prepared. “What’ve we got available?”

  “Well mum…” Pitney said, seeming to warm to his subject. “There are plenty of eggs, bacon and a nice beef steak from yesterday… There are still onions and even some good potatoes we got from the schooner. I’m sure I can get Mr. Portly to work you something up. Or I’ll do it m’self.”

  “You cook, Pitney?” Kate asked. “I know that you know your way around a galley, but…”

  “Oh, aye, mum!” Pitney said with real enthusiasm. “We had a Frenchie working at The Whip. I was apprenticing under him when I found myself in a bit o’trouble and… and joined up.”

  Kate didn’t’ pry but simply smiled, “Excellent, Pitney! For the time being, however, coffee for everyone on the quarterdeck… you’ll join me, Mr. Palander? Danvers, Wade, Sankey…? Good.”

  “Aye, aye mum,” Pitney said, knuckling his forehead. “Pot of coffee and five mugs it is.”

  Kate grinned, “On your way forward, Pitney, would you inquire of Mr. Bentley and his wife as well as the doctor and… and Miss Childers. My compliments and should they like to breakfast with me in the cabin. If so please make sure Portly has enough for five, would you now? If so, than the cook can belay my breakfast for an hour or so to give the guests time to rouse themselves out.”

  “Hot coffee for five, compliments to the Bentleys, the doctor and Miss Childers and should they like to take a bite in the cabin, aye mum,” Pitney said and scampered below.

  “Well, Mr. Palander,” Kate said, inhaling deeply of the cool sea air. “We’ve got our work cut out for us today.”

  “Aye, that we do, mum,” Palander agreed.

  “Between the two vessels, we’ve got just over thirty hands,” Kate stated. “Thanks to a dozen defectors from the privateer.””