The Mist of Quarry Harbor

by Liz Adair

  “I’m beginning to believe it.” Cassie called over her shoulder. She climbed the steps to the pier and walked across, descending the other side to B Dock. The fuel station was located on the pier, but there were parking spaces all along B dock for boats to tie up to and fuel with long hoses that were rolled up on huge reels. Next to that was a public area for dinghies and skiffs to accommodate people coming in from anchored boats or from outlying islands. Down at the end of B Float there were four slips. Cassie walked to the next-to-the-last one and read the number posted on the dock in front of it. “B-three. This is it.”

  The boat was nothing at all like she had expected. Knowing Chan, she would have thought to find something sporty, something obviously fast, a high-performing powerboat, like the one Mr. Jensen’s grandson had been washing. Instead, an older boat was tied up in the slip. A double-ender, it had a shiny red hull and a white house covering all but a small back deck. Cassie walked down the float alongside, resting her hand on the gunwale as she leaned over to peer in the window.

  “Looking for something?”

  Cassie straightened and quickly turned around to meet the dark, angry eyes of a man mending nets on the back deck of a fishing boat tied up at the end of the dock. Hackles rising at his tone and demeanor, Cassie said, “I own this boat, and no, I don’t need anything.”

  Cassie turned her back to him and continued her inspection. At the sight of the brass padlock on the door to the cabin, she remembered that the harbormaster had the key and that if she wanted to look inside, she’d have to go back and brave his arctic stare again. Sighing, she began to wonder why she had come this long way, just to be stared at and spoken rudely to, and for a moment she was irked with Chan that he would put her through this.

  Conscious of the net-mender’s gaze, but careful not to look at him, she walked with back straight and head up in long, determined strides back to the harbormaster’s office.

  He met her at the door with a cup in his hand and an apology. “I’m never civil until I’ve had my coffee,” he explained. “By the way, I’m Halvar Knuteson. Come in.”

  Cassie extended her hand. “How do you do, Mr. Knuteson. As I said, I’m Cassie Jordain.” She stepped into the cozy living room/office of Mr. Knuteson’s floating home.

  Closing the door, the harbormaster asked, “Did you find her? Red Swan?”

  “I did. I’ve come back for the key so I can get inside.”

  “The key . . . the key . . .” Mr. Knuteson mused. “I have it, you say?”

  “Mr. Jensen said his grandson brought it over last week and left the key with you.”

  “Oh, yes. I hung it on the key board. I remember.” He began checking the tags of the keys on a board by the door, reading each name in an under voice so intently that when a young man entered, he didn’t look up.

  “Are you the harbormaster?”

  Cassie was amused to see the icy stare fastened on the young man. “Be with you in a minute,” Mr. Knuteson said and turned back to the board.

  The young man seemed not to mind. Of medium height and muscular build, he had copper-colored hair sticking out from under his baseball cap, and he was chewing on a toothpick. His hazel eyes had an intelligent look about them, and he stood patiently while Mr. Knuteson finished his search.

  “Here we go. Red Swan. I knew I had them.” Taking the keys off the hook, he handed them to Cassie.

  “Red Swan?” the young man said. “I’ve come for the Red Swan.”

  “Who are you?” Cassie and Mr. Knuteson both asked the question at the same time.

  “I’m Luke Matthews. I work for Island Charter Service out of Shingle Bay. A couple of weeks ago someone contracted with us to have the Red Swan brought from here over to Madrona Island today. The owner is going to pick it up there this afternoon.”

  “Madrona Island!” Mr. Knuteson’s shaggy brows went up. “What for? It’s a state park.”

  “I just know what I was hired to do,” said the young man.

  “Do you have anything to prove what you’re saying?” Cassie asked.

  “Let’s all sit down,” Mr. Knuteson said. “Sit down, Mrs. Jordain. Let’s get this sorted out.”

  Cassie sat in a rocking chair in front of a gas fireplace. Luke Matthews took off his hat and sat on the couch, and Mr. Knuteson pulled a straight-back chair over and sat between them.

  “Mrs. Jordain asked a good question,” he said to Luke. “Do you have any paperwork that says you’re to take the Red Swan to Madrona Island?”

  “I do.” Luke produced a folded-up paper from his jacket pocket. Mr. Knuteson unfolded it, scanned it, nodded, and passed it to Cassie. Her heart skipped a beat as she recognized the signature at the bottom.

  “It’s signed by my husband,” she said, folding the paper and giving it back to Luke. “You’ve come on an empty errand, though. The owner won’t be picking it up this afternoon.”

  The toothpick wiggled as Luke Matthews regarded Cassie. “With all due respect, ma’am, do you have any paperwork to prove what you’re saying? I’ve contracted to do a job, and I don’t think—”

  “My husband is the one who hired you,” Cassie said. “He died a week and a half ago. As I said, he will not be there to pick up the boat this afternoon.”

  The toothpick stopped. “I’m sorry,” Luke mumbled, looking down at the hat in his hands.

  “From the contract you brought, it appears that you were paid in advance. Is this so?” Cassie asked kindly.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Luke met her eyes, uncertain where the question was leading.

  “Would you be willing to take me out for a little while? I’d like to see how the boat rides, and I’d like to see some of the islands.”

  Luke brightened. “Sure. I can do that. Do you want to go right now?”

  Cassie looked out and saw that the mist had burned completely away. “Yes. Right now is fine.”

  Standing, she extended her hand to Mr. Knuteson. “Thank you,” she said.

  “If you need anything else, come by and see me,” he invited.

  “I will,” she promised before stepping out into a sun-drenched world. “Ow! I need my sunglasses,” she said, digging them out of her purse. “What a change from this morning.”

  “Do you know where the boat is?” Luke asked.

  “Follow me,” Cassie said, confidently leading the way. Coming down the stairs to B Float, she was relieved to see that the fishing boat was no longer tied up at the end.

  When they reached the Red Swan, Luke whistled. “What a beauty! I think I’ve seen her underway; you can’t miss that red hull. The keys?”

  Cassie handed them over and stood beside the boat as he stepped aboard and unlocked the padlock. Swinging the cabin door open, he fastened it back and began opening and closing cupboards as soon as he was inside. Peeking through the window to see what he was doing, Cassie’s attention was drawn away by the rumbling diesel engine of a fishing boat that was leaving the fuel dock and approaching her. Standing on the back deck with feet spread apart, wearing a turtleneck sweater, a Greek fisherman’s hat, and a five-o’clock shadow over a set jaw, was the net mender. A ragged scar on his cheek stood out against the dark stubble of his beard, and his brown eyes held hers as the boat slid past. Cassie looked away, wondering what he had against her.

  17

  The sound of Red Swan’s engine starting called Cassie back to the matter at hand, and she turned away as the fishing boat turned the corner around B Float.

  “Do you want to cast off?” Luke called from inside.

  “Yes,” Cassie called back over the rumble from the stack. She set her purse on the back bench and spared one last glance at the departing fishing boat. The net mender was standing just as he had been, watching her. “Get your eyes full, fella,” she muttered as she bent to examine how the rope was tied.

  “Do I undo it from the dock or from the boat?” she called to Luke.

  He appeared at the door. “Have you ever been out on a boat this size?”r />
  She shook her head.

  “You cast off from the dock,” he explained, “and take the lines with you. But first, look at the way it’s tied up. I’m going to teach you to do that, so that when we return you can be ready to tie ’er up as soon as she’s in the slip.”

  Cassie had her first lesson in seamanship right there as Luke showed her how to use the cleat on the dock to stop the forward motion of a boat without being pulled into the water, and how to quickly make it fast. Then he taught her that she must always coil the line neatly and put off to the side.

  “A loose line is an accident ready to happen,” he cautioned. “Now, are you ready to cast off?”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” Cassie couldn’t help but grin.

  “Undo the bow line first. Then you can undo the stern line and step aboard. Careful, though. You’re not wearing boat-friendly shoes.”

  While Cassie did as she was told, Luke found the boat hook and extended it. “The tide is going out, and we don’t have a lot of room to maneuver. I’m not familiar with this boat, so if I kill the motor, or if she isn’t as responsive as I think she should be, you can keep us from drifting in where it’s too shallow. I don’t want to foul your prop.”

  Wondering what Luke meant by “too shallow,” Cassie gripped the boat hook and stared at the water as they backed toward the rocky perimeter wall. When she heard a shifting of gears and felt the slow throbbing of the engine pushing them forward, she relaxed. Following Luke’s orders, she took in the bumpers and collapsed the boat hook and stowed it under the starboard gunwale. Then she sat on the wooden bench that ran across the stern.

  Cassie looked with interest at the boats lined up in the marina. There were huge boats, twice the size of the Red Swan, shiny and new, with flying bridges and davits for swinging a dinghy overboard. There were scabby-looking wooden sailboats that looked as if they needed lots of TLC. Commercial fishing boats, sport-fishing boats, family boats, show-off boats: it’s a whole ’nother world, thought Cassie, and she misted up, thinking that Chan wanted to share it with her. “Thank you, Darling,” she whispered.

  As soon as they were out of the marina, Luke increased the speed. The steady pulsing of the engine was hypnotic, and as Cassie leaned her head back and felt the sun on her face, the cry of the gulls overhead and the smell of the salt air seemed to draw the sorrow out of her soul.

  They spent a couple of hours tooling around, exploring coves and straits, following coastlines. Luke stayed in the cabin and Cassie was content to sit on the back deck in the sun and listen to the whoosh of the water as the prop churned through it.

  The sun was well over the midpoint when they slid through a narrow passageway between two islands and entered a wide, open area where a solitary sailboat was coaxing a couple of knots out of a fickle breeze. A huge boat shooting a great rooster tail roared past them and Luke turned to cross the wake head on. Cassie braced herself as the boat rocked forward and aft, forward and aft, and then continued placidly along.

  Luke appeared in the cabin door. “Have you got anywhere special you want to go?”

  Cassie shook her head. “No, this is wonderful. It’s like a drug, it’s so soothing. Oh, wait. Maybe there is a place we can go.” Cassie opened her purse and took out Chan’s day-timer. Turning to October twelfth, she looked to see if there were any numbers written on that date. Seeing that there were, Cassie showed them to Luke. “Can you find this place?”

  Luke looked first at the long and lat and then at Cassie. “Yeah . . .” he said tentatively. “If that’s what you want to do.”

  “Why not?” she asked. “I have a reason for wanting to go there.”

  “Oh?” Luke waited, but she didn’t tell him that her dead husband had been going to take her there. After a moment he went forward and got a chart to plot the course. “I thought so,” he called. “It’s just on the other side of that island.”

  Cassie looked at the notation below the long and lat. One point five P. Looking at her watch, Cassie saw it was one o’clock. We’ll be Johnny-on-the-spot, she thought. I wonder what kind of a surprise Chan had planned.

  When they reached the other side of the island there was nothing in sight but an old crab boat chugging along, dropping crab pots overboard. Fluorescent buoys marked the crabber’s progress across the bay. Luke cut the power and came aft, letting the boat drift. It rose and fell as the wake of some far-off boat reached them. Otherwise, the sea was flat calm.

  “This is low slack,” Luke said, chewing on his toothpick.

  “Low slack?”

  “There’s an hour after low tide when the sea doesn’t move. The currents quit running. That’s slack tide. Then the tide turns and it’s not still again until after high tide.”

  “High slack,” Cassie guessed, pulling off her fleece.

  “Right.”

  “That sun is really warm while we’re just sitting here,” Cassie said. “It’s so peaceful, and the whole world seems to be blue. The sky, the sea. Even the islands have a blue tinge to them.”

  “You have on blue sunglasses,” Luke observed. “And that crabber is a pretty ugly shade of yellow.”

  “He’s coming toward us. Are we in his territory?”

  “There’s no such thing as territory. Anyone can put a crab pot here.”

  “Well, I would say they’re getting mighty close. Is there such a thing as pirates? They don’t look very reputable.”

  “No, they don’t, do they? I think I’ll start the engine.”

  By the time Luke had the engine running, the crabber had swung around, pulled alongside, and thrown lines around Red Swan’s starboard cleats. Her heart suddenly racing, Cassie dropped her purse to the floor, kicked it under the bench, and pushed her fleece off on top if it. “What do you want?” she shouted above the roar of the engines.

  One of the crabber’s crew jumped aboard, while another hoisted a wooden crate to the davit and swung it around so it was suspended over Red Swan’s deck.

  When Luke stepped out of the cabin carrying a flare gun, the visiting crabber looked surprised and asked a question in Spanish.

  Cassie grabbed a gaff hook that was hanging under the port gunwale. Brandishing it, she said, “You’d better take off, fella! I don’t know what you’re selling, but we aren’t buying any of it!”

  Backing away, looking from Luke to Cassie, the swarthy crabber repeated his question. The two crewmen on his boat looked at each other and then started scanning the horizon with anxious faces.

  When he got no answer, the uninvited visitor shouted to his crew and vaulted over the gunwales while one cast off the lines and the other pulled the davit back around. Then with a roar, the boat took off straight across the bay.

  Cassie wiped her palms on her fleece. “Hoo boy! I really thought they were pirates. I wonder what that was all about!”

  The toothpick was still as Luke stared hard at her. Without a word he went forward and climbed into the captain’s seat. Slowly the Red Swan turned and began chugging back to the marina.

  Gradually, Cassie’s pulse returned to normal. What a tale I’ll have to tell Punky, she thought. Adventure on the high seas! But for some reason our good pilot is out of sorts. Maybe he didn’t like me taking an active part in chasing them off. Or maybe he was scared, too, and doesn’t want to talk about it.

  Before long they reached Quarry Harbor. As they slowed to wakeless speed in the marina, Cassie remembered Luke’s instruction and put out the bumpers. Holding the bow line, she stood up on the gunwale, steadying herself by holding onto the teak handrail on top of the cabin. As Luke pulled into the slip, she stepped off and made the forward line fast as he had showed her. Then she went quickly back and fastened the stern line.

  She heard movement in the cabin: a drawer closing, a cupboard opening and closing, switches clicking. Then Luke emerged and closed the cabin door, fastening the padlock. Cassie leaned over to pick up her purse, and Luke grabbed her wrist.

  “Ow! What are you doing?”

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nbsp; The hazel eyes were intense as he brought his face close to Cassie’s. “I want you to listen to what I have to say.”

  Cassie tried to pull her hand away, but his grip was too strong. “All right,” she said through clenched teeth. “Say it. I’m listening.”

  “I don’t know what you meant by that little exercise out there, but I didn’t find it amusing.” He turned his head and spat out his toothpick.

  “Little exercise? What are you talking about?”

  “Just answer me this question. Where did you find that long and lat?”

  “What is that to you?”

  Luke’s grip tightened. “Where did you get it?”

  “Ow! It was my husband’s.”

  “It might be better if you forgot you had it. Better for your health.” Luke flung her hand away, tossed the keys on the bench, and stepped over the gunwale.

  Cassie rubbed her wrist as she watched him stride up the dock. “Maybe he’s a diabetic,” she muttered. “They get cranky if they miss lunch.” Gathering her purse and the boat keys, Cassie headed back to the hotel.

  * * *

  Later, Cassie sat in her room with a tuna sandwich and a glass of chocolate milk, alternately making phone calls and puzzling about the episode on the boat just an hour before. She wondered if she should say something about it to someone. But to whom? People didn’t seem to be going out of their way to be friendly and helpful. Luke’s reaction was positively bizarre, and he had been there. No telling what someone else would think.

  Using the phone in her room, Cassie dialed her cell phone message line and listened to three messages. One was from Punky, just checking in. Ben was coming to dress rehearsal tonight, she said, since he had to work tomorrow evening. Ben called to report that they didn’t have anything back from the lab yet, but he would keep her posted. Bishop Harris called just to check in.

  Cassie got her address book out of her suitcase and looked up the bishop’s number, taking a chance that he would be home. He was.

  “How are you doing, Cassie?” he asked, concern evident in his voice.