No More Time

by Suzanne Trauth

  Yes, he was. The shore receded into the background as the remaining lights of Candle Beach vanished. John joined Tiny on the deck and the two of them struggled to gain their footing. Roaring wind blasted our bodies as the boat lifted and dropped. John motioned to the pilot house, The Bounty reduced to idle speed.

  “Get him first,” John ordered Tiny who released Jackson from the chair, pushing him into the railing.

  “No!” I fought my ropes. “At least untie us. If they find us like this, they’ll know it was murder,” I screamed into the wind.

  Tiny grunted, struggling with Jackson. “Ha. The fish’ll get you first.”

  Sharks. All at once Jackson bit Tiny’s hand, the fixer howled into the night, I threw myself on John as the boat tilted sideways, dislodging his gun, and a brilliant light exploded from a Coast Guard cutter that sped into place alongside The Bounty.

  “Cut the engine!” boomed a voice from a loudspeaker.

  * * * *

  I huddled under a blanket in the galley of The Bounty, my teeth chattering, sipping hot coffee. I was soaked to the bone. No slicker could provide protection against such a violent storm. Jackson sat opposite me, equally wet, cold, and exhausted. On deck, lights and voices blared, the thunder of feet thumping as officers transferred John, Arlene, Tiny, and the pilot to the cutter to be transported to the Candle Beach PD for immediate processing, before being handed over to the state police to answer to murder and kidnapping charges, as well as their part in the auto theft ring.

  Bill emerged from the activity up top. “How you two doing?” he asked, all sympathy.

  “F-fine,” I said, wrapping my hands around the hot mug.

  “Think you can steer this bucket home?” Bill asked Jackson.

  Jackson threw off his blanket and pulled on his slicker. “I’m down for it.” He stuck out his hand. “Thanks, dude.”

  Bill took it, they did their bro handshake.

  Geez. Jackson climbed the steps to the deck and Bill settled in beside me.

  “Have to hand it to you,” he said.

  “You do?” I asked warily.

  “You outdid yourself this time.”

  I winced. “I did?” I was afraid of what he was suggesting.

  “Tying Vinnie’s murder to the car theft ring. And getting Jackson off,” Bill said.

  “I suppose so…” My radar was on high alert. Who was this understanding guy and what had he done with my boyfriend? After all, there was a lot I kept from Bill. Of course, there was a lot he kept from me—

  “Kind of nifty pursuing the address in Walker. Finding the warehouse full of stolen vehicles. And the black book? That was outstanding work,” he said with a smidgen of admiration.

  “What’s up? How did you find out about the address and the book?”

  Beneath us the engine of The Bounty rumbled to life as Jackson slowly directed the boat toward its berth in Candle Beach. Bill pulled me to my feet and enfolded me in his arms, blanket and all. He kissed my neck, then my cheek, and finally my lips. “I have my ways.”

  He planted a solid kiss on me and my knees, already wobbly, went weak. My pulse raced. I was not going to be distracted. “C’mon. Give.”

  Bill hugged me tighter, the warmth of his muscular body penetrating my damp clothes. I relaxed into his embrace. Oh well, he can keep his secrets. This is all that matters.

  His lips toyed with mine. “Pauli should really consider a career in law enforcement.”

  I leaned away from him. “P-Pauli? You know about Pauli?” My magic bullet. “How?”

  “You’re not the only one with detective skills.” He grinned and headed for my lips again.

  I held him off. “But…”

  “He phoned me after you didn’t respond to his texts. The kid was afraid for you.”

  Pauli…

  “Nice to have a good friend,” Bill said.

  Yes, it was. Especially nice to have a really, really good friend. I wrapped my arms around his neck, the blanket fell from my shoulders, and he smiled a second time before covering my lips with his.

  Yowza!

  19

  Labor Day. A day of rest after last night’s escapade. Our summer vacation was coming to an end in three days. I dug my toes deeper into the sandy beach outside Grody’s restaurant as early evening shadows deepened along the shoreline. I knew summer was over when I received an email from Henry asking about next week’s food inventory. Etonville seemed like a million miles away at the moment…a distance I intended to maintain for the next seventy-two hours. The ocean was calm, the surf gently rolling onto the shore, a slight breeze lifting the hair off the nape of my neck. The nasty, schoolyard bully of a storm was becoming a dim memory—both the weather and our brush with death.

  My cell phone pinged. I checked my texts. “It’s the video from the theater,” I said to Bill who was semi-dozing in the setting sun. He was also enjoying his last days of freedom before heading home to police chief responsibilities in Etonville without having to worry about his BMW. When I’d seen the ELT crew off this morning after minimal sleep, they promised to send the video Vernon had taken on his cell phone as the New Jersey Community Theater Festival announced its first-place winner. A tie between The Sound of Music and Arsenic and Old Lace! I was dumbfounded—as were the ELT members. Not that I wasn’t over-the-moon happy for my theater friends. It must have been Abby and Edna “Puttin’ on the Ritz.”

  I tapped on the video and witnessed emcee Graham apologize for the delay as the audience waited for the backup generator to kick in. Then he, once again, opened the envelope with great anticipation and grinned broadly before he announced the winners. “It’s a tie! The Sound of Music and Arsenic and Old Lace!” This year’s entrants “demonstrated extraordinary talent,” Graham gushed.

  The Sound of Music was ready for their award and glided onstage, Maria, the kids, and the nuns, and basked in the glow of their accomplishment. The Arsenic and Old Lace company was totally discombobulated. Walter ran out, stopped, stared into the dark house like a deer caught in headlights, gestured wildly to the cast offstage who bumbled on: Lola, ever the diva, graceful once in the light; Romeo swaggering, hands in his pockets; Abby, eyes like saucers, couldn’t believe it; and Edna beaming, hands clasped above her head in a victory salute. The audience went wild! I supposed going off-script on the closing night’s performance didn’t hurt either winner, probably much to Maddy’s chagrin.

  As the ceremony ended, no one seemed to notice the sponsors were missing. Arlene, John, and Sam had bigger fish to fry. Arlene and John were already on their way to dispose of Jackson and me, and Sam, who had begun to realize something was up with Tiny’s warehouse arrest, had offered to give a deposition to the Candle Beach police. Regarding Arlene and Tiny, Sam added two and two and came up with five. Rumors circulated this morning that Sam and Arlene were effective business partners when it came to Baldwin General Contractors, but lousy marital partners. Arlene was happier with her brother John.

  Early this morning I met the ELT folks in the parking lot behind the theater where they loaded out their costumes and props. They’d been partying late into the night but were none the worse for their extended celebration.

  “Oh Dodie, I’m so glad you’re safe. You and Jackson both.” Lola flicked her blond hair over one shoulder. “Speaking of Jackson…”

  I put an arm around Lola. “He’s off to Iowa to mend fences with Tammy. Said he’s had enough of the ocean for a while.”

  Lola sighed. “All for the best. I’m going back on the Internet and do a bit of browsing.”

  “You go girl,” I said and hugged her. “Don’t give up.”

  “Never!” Lola said grimly. “I’m a woman on a mission.”

  Edna stacked prop boxes in the back of the van. “Hey, that must have been some kind of wild night for you and Jackson. A 10-29F which could have been a 10
-32. Luckily no 11-42 or 11-80. Still a 207 is nothing to sneeze at.”

  “Copy that,” I said, stifling a grin.

  “Let’s go. Into the van.” Penny corralled Walter and the actors.

  “Hooray for you, Dodie. Solving the crime, getting Jackson off, catching the real murderers.” Edna winked. “I think the Chief should get you an office in the Municipal Building.”

  “10-4.” As if. Bill and I had yet to talk through the entire Vinnie-murder-car-theft-ring caper…

  Penny checked her clipboard, jammed her pencil behind one ear, and pushed her glasses a notch up her nose. “O’Dell, some people don’t go looking for trouble, it finds them,” she said.

  “Okay.”

  “So, if you’re on a bridge over troubled water, remember, there are no accidents and either you sink or swim.”

  Yikes. “Got it.” I waved as Walter drove the van out of the parking lot.

  The theater was becoming my second home, third really after the Windjammer. Acting fascinated me from the day I first stepped foot in the Etonville Little Theatre, watching Lola and other cast members get onstage and pretend to be someone else. Convincingly. It was something I could never do. Pretend to be someone I was not. Yet, I’d seen plenty of acting this past week that had nothing to do with the ELT. Arlene acting like she was only a community theater director when she was the maven of a multimillion-dollar stolen car ring, keeping track of Vinnie’s customers and their rides with her underling Tiny, whose bail she posted. She’d cunningly schemed to partner with Vinnie on The Bounty, convincing Sam that it would be an excellent investment, conveniently hiding the car theft plot.

  John? Pretending to be a regular gent, even flirting with me, when he knew I was such a threat to his criminal venture that he had to bump me off. As he did Vinnie when the former dude got greedy and threatened to inform Sam about the car theft business. John Bannister had half a dozen aliases in as many states.

  Simply based on appearances, I would have pegged Sam for a Jersey crime boss or a money-launderer. When in fact he was a genuinely decent guy. An honest, true friend of Vinnie’s who, at Vinnie’s request, agreed to keep his partnership of the JV silent and a secret from Jackson, even as Sam helped to pay off some of his partner’s debts.

  Vinnie was the most convincing player of all—acting as though he was Jackson’s friend when he was willing to ensnare his “friend” in an illegal racket to settle his gambling habit.

  And then there’s Jackson, continuing to act the part of the-ex-boyfriend-surfer-dude who left me stranded during Hurricane Sandy when he arrived in Candle Beach, only to have that façade torn away in time to recognize who his true friends were. Bill, Maxine, Tammy…and me. I had come to appreciate Jackson during these last days. I remembered what had bugged me about him; now I also remembered why we’d been a couple. Our past was about fun and living in the moment, beach days and boardwalk nights. And the occasional outing on the JV. Jackson was a sweet, laid-back aspect of my pre-Sandy life. I wished him the best.

  Which left Bill. So credible as the victim of a stolen automobile that I was totally stunned when he showed up during the raid on the warehouse. I never presumed that he’d rigged his BMW to help trap the bad guys.

  I’d left him snoring at the bungalow when I came to say good-bye to the theater folks. I needed coffee, food, a shower, and sleep, not necessarily in that order. I had one more errand to run before I returned to him. I’d spent the past days avoiding the obvious—my former residence in Candle Beach. Until this morning I couldn’t bring myself to visit the scene of that horror four years ago. Now having gone through yesterday’s traumatic ordeal, I was ready to see the place and let go of my Hurricane Sandy past. I cruised down Ocean Avenue and cut over Atlantic to Elm Street. I slowed as I neared number 114, steered my MINI Cooper next to the curb, and clicked off the motor. There it was. The roof had been repaired where the elm tree had smashed it, the old paint replaced with green siding, and new young trees planted in the front yard—peaceful, cozy, a warm and inviting home. A woman in her bathrobe opened the door and walked onto her porch. She picked up the morning paper and looked at me. She smiled and waved. I waved back.

  I wasn’t immune to the acting bug that had hit Candle Beach this summer. Though I acted as if I was the same person who’d left Etonville ten days ago, I knew that Dodie had bitten the dust. In confronting my superstorm past, I released the terror and anger that had weighed on me these last years. I was Sandy-free.

  * * * *

  “Hey, Irish, how about another round for you and the cop?” asked Grody later that night. He grinned, holding a tray with two drinks, a gin and tonic and a Creamsicle Crush, and a plate of fried oysters. He hadn’t waited for us to signal the waiter.

  The last bit of sunlight slipped below the horizon, the light of the tiki torches muted and romantic.

  “Thanks.” Bill took the tray.

  “Nice work, Surfer G,” I teased.

  “You two deserve some R&R…hope the next couple of days are completely boring. No cops, no crime, no boats…”

  “No theater,” I said.

  “Especially no theater,” said Bill. “I think we had enough performances to last a while.”

  Grody laughed. “Enjoy this show.” He pointed down the beach to where a fireworks display began. “Serving shrimp boil tonight. I’ll send a waiter.” He walked back to the bar.

  Explosions of color erupted into the night—red, blue, green, and white pinwheels and stars burst in the sky. The pyrotechnics were astounding. “Wow! I haven’t seen fireworks like this in a long time.”

  “Me neither. Unless I count most days around you,” Bill said dryly.

  “Meaning?”

  “Life’s always exciting with you.”

  “Then it’s lucky you get a break from me sometimes.” I sipped my drink.

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” he said.

  “Oh?” I was about to make a smart remark on the benefits of living alone when Bill sat up and dug something out of his beach jacket. It was small, lost in his hand.

  Those hairs on my neck were bopping. What was going on? He flipped open the lid of a jewelry box. My pulse went nuts. I blinked to make sure I wasn’t seeing things.

  “How’d you like to—”

  “Yes!” I took the ring out of its setting, the diamond brilliant in the light of the flaming fireworks, and eased it onto my finger. Bill kissed me sweetly.

  Double OMG!