by Norma Huss
He chuckled. “Hey, think of fish guts all over the carpeted salon deck. Think of the husband who goes fishing to get away from his wife.”
“Think of the newly-weds who can’t stand being away from each other.” From his lop-sided grin and shrug, I knew he wasn’t buying. I added, “I’m really wondering, what will my boat be worth? Any idea?”
“For my fishing fleet, not much. And she’s too much boat to hand over to my Sea Scouts.” As he swung over the rear railing he said, “She’s a hybrid, you know. Neither fish nor fowl.”
“But built for comfort.” I punched my combination into the lock and led Gregory inside the cabin. I went into tour mode. “The seats on each side convert into two single beds. The V-berth in the bow has a thick mattress, but it’s covered with junk right now. Looks like a garage just before the big sale.”
Gregory took a peek. “Oh, boy.”
“Yep, due for a big-time cleaning. I think the main cabin needs a complete reworking. The little stove is cute and seems to be in good shape. Maybe leave one of the single folding beds and put up built-in storage along the other side. I’d do that if I had the money. I can see advantages, but I won’t be making any big changes. As it is, I’ll have to go to work to afford her.”
“Have you taken her out?”
“I brought her in. She was at Bayside Marina. After the end of the month, I’ll probably find a mooring.” Or possibly snag a slip by Granny’s four-plex, but that wasn’t in Smith Harbor.
“Why not leave her here?”
No way would I go into the whole bit about a gangster about to get out of jail. “Too expensive.” Hoping to change the subject, I asked, “You said something about your Sea Scouts? What’s that?”
However, he wasn’t diverted. “Too expensive? But you bought her, you say?”
“No, I didn’t say that. I inherited Snapdragon. She was Nicole Joline’s.”
“As in the Nicole Joline who was just murdered?”
I nodded. I knew the questions would keep coming.
“So how come?”
“Long story.”
“That’s all you’ve got to say, right?”
So he remembered a few things about me. “Right.”
“Speaking of long stories, how are the classes going? One of my captains moved to North Carolina. I could use you right away.”
Was that the reason for his visit? “Another week of classes, then I take the test. I’ll have to take the Red Cross CPR test too.”
Gregory stepped down the two steps into the V-berth. “Cozy,” he said with a smile that brought back unwelcome memories. “Crowded now, but could be nice. How’d you end up with the boat again?”
I hadn’t exactly told him, so “again,” wasn’t the word he wanted. I remembered a few things from our past too, like how persistent he was to counteract my stubbornness. “Nicole couldn’t afford to pay me, so she sort of signed the boat over to joint ownership. I have the title.”
“Sort of? And the title, or some scrap of paper that won’t stand up in court and doesn’t prove anything?”
He had to pick out that, “sort of.” Why had I mentioned that? “Nicole said it was legal. We even had a witness.”
“A boater who’s already on his way to points north or south?”
“Nope. The marina manager.”
“Cyd, you need someone to watch over you.” He licked his upper lip and added, “You really believe anyone would give you a boat just for a little waxing and elbow grease?”
I didn’t need the sarcasm, and if he wasn’t a hiring captain, he’d be out of my life completely. I tried to keep the snarl out of my voice, but probably failed. “You don’t believe me? I’ll show you!” I pulled open the folded bed, grabbed the book, and brought out the title. “See?”
He took a close look and even poked the paper. “Wrinkled, but it looks okay.”
“God damn right it does.”
“Who said that?” I whispered. No one but Gregory in sight. Maybe I heard Nicole’s voice before. I didn’t want to hear it now. But something moved in a corner. The shape was almost formless.
“I said it looks okay,” Gregory repeated.
“Ah... Can we do this later?”
Gregory hesitated, then said, “What’s wrong?”
I held my hands over my mouth, shook my head. I couldn’t speak.
He lost that quick grin. “Yeah, I get it. Too soon. And Al. He’ll always be between us, right?”
Silently, I watched him go. I pulled the title toward me, then looked at the thing in the corner. It grew from a crumpled lump. Stretched. Smiled at me.
“Nicole. You’re dead.”
“Tell me something I don’t know. Like who the hell killed me. And why. Damn, this is the absolute pits.”
I collapsed onto the settee. Shook my head. Finally I said, “But you’re dead. I’ve never talked to a dead person before.”
“Get over it. I’ve never been a dead person. You owe me. You’ve got my boat, and I need to know who killed me. And why.”
“I can’t. I never...” That had been Nicole...the night she died. Nicole, telling me...what did she tell me? Someone, no, “he” killed her. Find him. And, what else? “Take it, it’s yours.” Even then I’d known she’d meant the title—and the boat. And I took it. Right out of her pocket. I’d slipped my hand inside the cold, wet pocket and took.... I took the title, even knowing what she asked. I owed her. But how....
“So I guess this will be the first time for both of us, right?”
I put my head down on my folded arms and nodded. I closed my eyes. Maybe, when I looked up again, Nicole would be gone.
Chapter 4
She wasn’t. Gone, that is.
“Why me?” I asked. I didn’t expect Nicole to answer, but she did.
“Simple. I’m stuck with you. You have my boat. You hear me. You. No one else hears me.”
“No one else?”
“You helped me before. Ask your sister. She knows.”
The ghost—Nicole—wasn’t making a lot of sense. What did Kaye know? How could I have helped Nicole when I didn’t know her? But, no one else heard her. “Did you see who killed you? Who attacked you?”
“If I knew that would I be asking you?”
“Okay, who were you going to get the thirty dollars from? You must know that.”
Nicole’s answer came from a blurred denim streak. “Find him.” Then nothing. She was gone.
“Nicole, come back.” I scanned the settee surface, looked into the V-berth, walked to the hatch and peered out, seeking something that was never there. I sat cross-legged on the cabin sole and smoothed the title between my fingers. The words hadn’t changed. “Nicole, the boat belongs to you or me. You have to help me. I can’t do it alone.”
But there was no answer, no strangely moving pile of silk and denim.
Why did I have to have a nagging ghost, one that I owed big time? According to her. But did I ask for her boat?
I had Snapdragon, her part of the bargain. I had to deliver a killer, but how?
~ ~
Friday, July 21, early morning
Slim was an institution at Bayside Marina, and before that, at Smith Harbor Marina. He was the weekend sailor’s go-to guy, and the serious mariner’s life support. He polished, sandpapered, and varnished. He cleaned, resurfaced, and restored. And, he taught me everything I knew about taking care of boats. Growing up with battling parents, I hung around the marina, watched him turn a weathered sloop or dory into a shiny, seaworthy craft. He tolerated my questions and finally gave me a job. “Wash down that there hull that’s up on them jack stands,” he’d said. I did. I’d gotten myself completely drenched. I could still feel the absolute elation of the moment. After that, I was his number one assistant.
I followed one bit of his advice with my first boat right after I named her Honey.
“You remember, gal,” he’d told me, “no matter how new, or how old a boat be, you test her out yourself.”
>
I’d been busy cleaning Snapdragon, but today, whether she was mine or not, I would follow his advice.
First on my agenda was the power plant. The engine was recessed under the floor boards. I opened the lift-up panel and checked for leaks, rust, and any corrosion. Wiped down everything. Things were a bit oily, so I worked on that a while. Checked thru-hulls. Made sure the in-take was open to provide water to cool the engine. Checked the diesel level.
Time for the engine trial, but I hesitated. It hadn’t sounded so hot when Nicole had me bring Snapdragon to the marina. I turned on the marine radio and made sure it worked by tuning into the weather and hailing channels. Finally, I pressed the starter. Now it was Snapdragon’s turn to hesitate, but after a cough or two, she started. Sounded pretty good. I kept her in neutral and revved her up, then down, then up again. Finally I settled into a low neutral and listened. That’s when she coughed a bit more and rattled.
I shut her off before she died.
Something was definitely wrong. Possibly the fuel filter. Maybe a leaking air hose. I knew just enough to know that I didn’t know everything. Snapdragon needed a professional overhaul and my expertise certainly didn’t extend that far.
I tracked Wes down heading for the Travelift. First I asked if he had any work I could do. He didn’t bother answering. I followed him, nagging all the way. “Varnishing? Teak? Clean-up?”
He just kept walking.
“I’m hoping we can trade work. That is, if Bayside hasn’t taken all your jobs.” He didn’t reply to that either. “How much to overhaul Snapdragon’s engine?”
Finally Wes turned. “Cyd, you’re gonna keep after me, right?” At my nod, he shrugged. “You know that depends. What’s wrong with her?”
“The boat’s been sitting a while. Probably needs a new fuel filter for starters. Maybe a lot more.”
“You’re asking for a complete tune-up, right? I’m too busy now. After July. Maybe August. Or after lay-up in October.”
“Come on, Wes. You aren’t that busy.”
“Talk to me later. I don’t want to work on that boat. Not just me, nobody wants to get on the wrong side of Pop.”
“Hey, you saw the title. It’s my boat now. Pop has nothing to do with it. Didn’t you say he’s in jail?”
“Getting out,” Wes said and hollered at his assistant. “Got a boat coming in. Move the Travelift to pull her out.”
Wes walked off, but I kept up with him. “If you did work on Snapdragon, how much?”
Wes turned back and named a figure that he knew I couldn’t afford. Not without several weeks of work, and probably more than he’d charge for any other boat as well. But I needed those repairs. “Okay, put me on the schedule.”
Wes kept stonewalling me, claiming vacations, too much work, he even offered to tow Snapdragon out of the marina for free.
“Oh, yeah. That will make Pop happy.” I backed off, headed toward my slip, then turned suddenly. “Why are you afraid of a guy named Pop? That’s certainly not a killer name.”
Instead of answering, Wes asked a question. “Ever wonder why Pop had a boat named Snapdragon?”
“It’s a flower. I mean, if a guy names a boat after a flower, he’s nobody to fear. Right?”
“Snap, Crackle, Pop.” Wes turned, aimed at his left arm with a quick karate chop, then left.
“What’s that supposed to mean? He’s the muscle, a killer? He hits people and they go ‘pop?’”
Wes grinned, but he didn’t answer, which sent a gruesome message.
“What am I going to do? Sit at anchor outside Smith Harbor Marina? Will Pop like that any better?”
Wes glowered, then asked, “What’s today?”
“The twenty-first. And a Friday.”
“Six o’clock, tomorrow morning. And you’re the gofer.”
At last! We cut a deal. Five dollars down and pay whatever I could with two percent interest a month. Way too much, but still, an offer I couldn’t refuse.
“Keep me in mind for any job that comes up,” I added, although that was unlikely to happen.
But the repairs would. And I’d be able to pay him—eventually.
~ ~
So why was Kaye sitting on the deck box when I returned to Snapdragon?
“You forgot, didn’t you,” she said.
“Evidently. What did I forget?”
“The charity group luncheon. Remember? Last week you promised to attend. I’m a bit early, so there is plenty of time for you to change. I’d say, clean slacks and shirt. It is a working luncheon and you will be a true asset to the group with your boating experience.”
To me, charity group equals work without pay. “I’ll pass. I need to find a job to earn money, not give away freebies.”
“Did I mention the free lunch? We are encouraged to bring those with any knowledge or interest in boats. I promise, no strong-arm recruitment.”
“Um....”
“The lunch is at the Breakwater.”
I didn’t need to check my cupboard. Free lunch always sounded good. Especially at Smith Harbor’s top restaurant.
~ ~
When we walked into the private dining room at the Breakwater set up with a head table and several smaller tables, a tall, thin woman with half-glasses sliding down her nose pounced. “Kaye!” she said in a sharp voice. “Oh, goodie. You brought a friend.”
“Vivian, this is my sister, Cyd,” Kaye said. “Cyd, Vivian is one of our most enthusiastic volunteers.”
“Join me at my table over there,” Vivian said with a nod of her head. “The new charity is getting organized, so I’ve recruited a few boating specialists as well. For input, you understand. The program is supposed to be presented today, but I’m afraid the gentleman in charge won’t be here. His daughter just died, you know.”
“Yes, I heard.”
I glanced at Kaye who was studiously ignoring me, so I asked, “Who is the man in charge?”
“Why, Mr. Joline.”
Kaye waved at someone across the room, then headed for a table. What could I do but follow?
Vivian took over the meeting. She stood at the table we’d gone to and announced to the group, “Of course we all know about the death of Nicole Joline last night. Although Mr. Joline was to speak after lunch, he’ll be home with his wife. We can still discuss his new charity. Anything we do now will take a burden from Edward.”
Just as the group settled into chairs and began dipping spoons into their soup, Mr. Joline walked through the door with another man right behind him. The room stilled instantly. He said, “Please, I know what you all want to say. But don’t.... I can’t stand any more sympathy.” And, despite a bit of whispered buzz, all complied with his request.
Since I was only the person who found the body, and a complete nobody to this entire collection of sympathizers, I sat quietly eating with the others as the noise level gradually rose. Crab bisque, hot sirloin strips over a salad of field greens, and dessert of chocolate mousse with a triangular cookie stuck into it like a fallen kite.
Mr. Joline stood as I lifted my cookie and licked the pudding from a pointy end. I hoped it would be quick, but I feared the worst.
Actually, Mr. Joline looked pretty bad—older even than the newspaper photos. Sallow. Worry lines creased his face. Kaye had not been complimentary about him at all. He’d not been a good parent, evidently. Still, bad parents can grieve too. As he presented his plans, he had only to mention a wish and others approved.
The whole idea sounded unreal to me. A charity to provide boating experiences to severely handicapped individuals. The group unanimously voted to approve organization of the new charity called Total Living Futures. When Mr. Joline said, “Our first goal is fund-raising,” they all agreed. With almost no discussion, they voted to fund the charity and raise five million by subscription, with nearly two hundred thousand pledged by the volunteers.
They had thousands to throw at dreams? My limit would be two bucks! I stared at Kaye who ignored me and lis
tened to the questions that finally came.
Vivian asked, “What do our contributors get for their subscriptions? For instance, will we have plans to show them? An outline of our purpose?”
Kaye chimed in with another question. “Do we have boating organizations and marinas who will cooperate?”
“Excellent questions. I’m so glad we have dedicated people in this group. Kaye, will you choose one of the others to work with you on contacting marinas and boaters? Vivian, you will organize these people?” He hesitated slightly, waiting for them to nod, then continued. “I have some ideas about premiums and perks for our donors. Vivian, I’ll work directly with you on that. Now, we’ll need a finance committee.”
After people volunteered for everything a charity could possibly want, Mr. Joline said, “We put all our efforts into the bottom line. We raise the first million, then we start providing the service—as we continue to raise funds. It will snow-ball in a place like Smith Harbor with all our proud boat owners and our water access.”
Yeah, right. Could I see anyone volunteering a small private boat and taking responsibility for non-boating strangers, let alone handicapped people? The man was severely deluded.
Nearly an hour after lunch was over, an hour’s waste of my time, I might add, Edward Joline and his shadow left, but not before he said, “My daughter’s boat will be the first in the fleet. I’m sure she would have wanted that.”
Kaye looked at me with an “Oh, oh,” in her eyes. She said, “He’s wrong about Nicole wanting him to have her boat. She was one of my most brilliant students, but she and her father didn’t agree on anything.” She started telling Vivian about how different Nicole was from her parents, how shy she was when she first started at Hanson Academy, and how she’d refused to leave Smith Harbor to escape from her parents.
Which made Vivian say, “If you feel so strongly, why did you volunteer to help? Obviously you’ve worked with him before, yet you seem to dislike the man.”
“Mr. Joline is charismatic. He is a successful organizer,” Kaye said. “The charity does sound different, and worthwhile.”
