Hooked (A Romance on the Edge Novel)

by Tiffinie Helmer

“That’s the only way I get answers. If it bugs you, start volunteering information.”

  “I come out here every year to fish. That’s all I want to do. I don’t get involved in the politics between the set netters and the drifters, or jump through the hoops the cannery makes you jump through every year. I just fish.”

  “Whether you like it or not, you’ve caught someone’s attention and they want to stop you from fishing. The smallest amount of information might be the lead we need to put an end to this before someone gets killed.”

  She regarded him for a minute and then came to a decision. “Look into the sinking of the Mystic.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Sonya boarded the Double Dippin’ after making sure Peter would be fine, and entered the pilot house. “Wes,” Sonya greeted on a whisper. “How’s the head?”

  “Pounding.” Wes lay on the bunk with an instant cold pack on the top of his head. He’d draped a sock over his eyes to cut out the light. She hoped it was clean. He lifted the toe of the sock, and looked at her out of one eye. “You look as bad as I feel.”

  “We’re quite the pair.” And here she’d thought her wounds seemed better today.

  “For Halloween maybe.”

  “I’m so sorry, Wes.”

  “Don’t. What happened today isn’t your fault. For all we know Margaret’s pissed someone off.”

  Sonya chuckled. Grams would be the least likely to offend anyone. Wes couldn’t be hurt too bad if he was making jokes. Either that or he was dying and putting up a good front. “Maybe these will make you feel better.” She uncapped the lid to the plastic container full of Monster Mug-ups.

  “They would if you have milk to go with them, and not the powdered stuff?”

  She pulled a carton out of the bag she’d carried on board. “I stopped at the General Store.”

  “Now, you’re talking. It’s been way too long since we’ve had fresh milk.”

  “I can’t vouch for the freshness, only that the milk hasn’t passed its expiration date. We’d better hurry and drink it.” Sonya fetched two paper cups from the cabinet next to the mini fridge, and poured milk into each of them.

  Wes gingerly sat up and she passed a cup to him. She hitched a seat beside him, and placed the container of cookies between them.

  “I’d thought Peter had scarfed down the last of these.”

  “This is my secret stash.”

  He bit into one and moaned with pleasure. “Almost makes getting beamed in the head worth it.” He winced as he moved his head too fast. “Almost.”

  “Garrett told me what he thinks happened. What do you think?”

  He was quiet for a long while. Sonya waited. She knew from experience when something really mattered, Wes took his time. He finished his cookie, washed it down with a gulp of milk and then reached for another. “I think Peter’s right, and we need to be armed.”

  That was the last thing she thought Wes would say. He didn’t like guns. Even when a bear ventured too close to camp, his last resort was to shoot at it. Scaring it away with loud noises, throwing rocks—that sort of thing was more his style. Never guns. It told her more than words could how shaken he was over what had happened.

  “I’m really sorry, Wes. I never thought my decision to drift would bring about all these problems. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but I didn’t think someone would go far enough to hurt one of us.”

  He squeezed her knee. “I’ve been thinking and I believe whoever is causing us trouble would have done so with or without you drifting. Plus, we have no idea if that was his trigger or if it’s something else. It could very well be something that’s been brewing for a long time.”

  “You’re talking about the sinking of the Mystic?” That was twice today she’d mentioned the Mystic.

  “A lot of unresolved issues with that.”

  “I’m the one who lost the most when she went down.” Her father, her mother, her twin. “What more could the person responsible want?”

  His somber gaze sunk into hers. “You.”

  “What do you know about the sinking of the Mystic?” Garrett asked Skip as soon as he boarded the Calypso later that evening after returning from Sonya’s. He remembered Skip and Judd touching on it during his debriefing when he’d first arrived.

  “I wondered when that would come up.” Skip sighed and stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing his ankles. “Any time the Savonskis and Kendrick are mentioned in the same sentence, the mystery of the Mystic resurfaces.”

  “Sad, sad times.” Judd shook his head, his eyes trained on the aluminum deck of the cabin. “It was my first summer out here.” He raised his head and looked at Skip. “It’s been what, fourteen years now?”

  “Yeah, coming up on the anniversary in about a week.” Skip rubbed the back of his neck. “Sonya’s dad, Mik, had purchased the Mystic around the end of the season.”

  “Let me guess,” Garrett said. “He bought it from Chuck Kendrick.”

  “Yep.” Judd nodded. “Mik wanted to get into drifting.” He gave a humorless chuckle. “Like father, like daughter.”

  “Except Mik had two daughters then,” Skip added.

  Garrett’s gut churned. Sonya had lost a sister along with her parents? No wonder she was so protective of Peter. Other than her grandparents, he was all the family she had left. “What happened?”

  “The family was on board, taking the Mystic for a spin, so to speak.” Judd leaned against the wall, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “The boy, Peter, was just a toddler, so he stayed on shore with the grandparents. So it was Sonya, Mik, her mother—Kyra I believe her name was—and Sonya’s sister.”

  “How old was her sister?”

  “Twin,” Skip added. “Identical. Her name was Sasha.”

  Shit. Could the news get any worse? “Give me the rest.”

  “No one knows for sure what went wrong,” Skip said, “but from accounts—mostly Sonya’s—there was an explosion below in the engine room, and then fire.”

  Fire aboard a boat was a fisherman’s worst nightmare. Garrett hardened his jaw at the thought of Sonya fighting for her life in a no-win situation. “How did they die?”

  “Mik was never found and was presumed killed in the initial blast. Kyra had a head injury, one she probably never would have woken up from even if rescue had gotten to her sooner. Her death was ruled as drowning. Along with Sasha’s.”

  “How did Sonya survive?”

  “Apparently, Sasha and Sonya were having a race over who could get in and out of their survival gear the fastest. Sonya still had hers on when the explosion happened.”

  “Not Sasha.”

  “No. They figured Sonya was in the water for over an hour before she was rescued.”

  “The boat was never recovered?” Garrett knew the answer before Skip sadly shook his head.

  “You know how these tides are. The ocean swept it out to sea along with any evidence that could have been recovered.”

  “Kendrick has always been suspected because it would be like him to sell a compromised boat,” Judd said.

  “Actually, back then, Kendrick wasn’t so bad,” Skip said. “Guess with all the speculation, he must have given in to his true nature.”

  How had Sonya survived in that cold ocean alone, knowing her family had perished? Died right in front of her. “How old was Sonya?”

  Skip answered. “Fourteen or fifteen, I believe.” He looked at Judd. “That sound right to you?”

  Judd nodded. “Not old enough to handle losing her sister and parents all in one evening.”

  When was anyone old enough to handle a tragedy like that?

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Garrett demanded, finally locating Sonya down at the Cannery’s General Store the following evening. He needed a tracking device attached to her. The woman was never in one place for long. If Peter—keeping watch on the Double Dippin’—hadn’t informed him that his sister was off shopping, Garrett wouldn’t have found her.

  Tonig
ht, she wore a t-shirt that proclaimed, “Life is Simple—Eat, Sleep, Fish.” It would be nice if life were that easy.

  She gave him a once over, scowled at his uniform and then went back to filling her hand-held basket, doing her best to ignore him. “Tell you what?”

  “You know what I’m talking about.” She added a few packages of jerky and continued down the aisle like he hadn’t spoken. “The Mystic,” he pressed.

  The pause in her step was the only indication that the subject rubbed at a tender spot. “I don’t like to talk about it.” Sonya turned the corner down the next aisle, trying her best to keep him behind her, and grabbed half a dozen Cup of Noodles off the shelf, adding them to her already hefty basket of easy-to-prepare foods.

  He reached for the basket.

  “What are you doing?” she asked in an angry whisper, holding tight to the handles. She glanced around at the almost empty store. “Would you leave me alone?”

  “No one is paying us any attention.”

  “Don’t kid yourself. Davida sees everything.”

  “What is she seeing here besides me asking you questions?”

  “You carry my basket and she’ll have us going steady.”

  He laughed, and she slapped his arm. “Stop that. You can’t look like you’re enjoying yourself with me.”

  “Believe me, I’m not.” He rubbed his arm as her frown furrowed deeper. He let her have possession of the basket. “Getting off the subject. If you don’t want to answer my questions here, then where?”

  “Hades?”

  “Now who’s being funny? You asked me to look into the sinking of the Mystic.”

  “I’m sure your fish cop buddies filled you in on what happened.”

  “I want to hear the statement from the only eyewitness.”

  She sucked in her breath and added three packages of Nutter Butters and an equal number of Chip Ahoy’s to her basket. “Fine.” She carried it to the counter.

  Davida looked Sonya over and then glanced at Garrett. “This all for you today, Sonya?”

  “Do you have any ice cream? I’ll even take vanilla, if you have it.”

  “Not going to happen, Sonya.” Davida shook her head, her spiky calico-colored hair not moving. “No matter how many times you ask. Might as well ask me for steak. That would be easier to come by.”

  “Ooh, a steak would do me a world of good.” At any moment Sonya was going to start salivating. “I’m so tired of eating fish. I don’t care what they cost. Add a few steaks to the order.”

  “I said steak would be easier to come by than ice cream, not that I could come by them.” Davida indicated Garrett with long French-manicured nails. The manicure seemed as out of place in South Naknek as a Starbucks. “If it’s red meat you’re after…” She let the sentence trail off into innuendo.

  Sonya scowled and did her best to pretend Garrett wasn’t standing next to her. “Just ring me up. Add a case of Mountain Dew, and I need two spark plugs for a 1985 two-stroke outboard engine.”

  “1985?” she repeated. “I’ll check, but I doubt I’ll have spark plugs for an engine that old.”

  “Is Nikolai making progress on the sunken engine?” Garrett asked, leaning on the counter. She’d be hard pressed to ignore him right in her line of vision.

  “Unfortunately. If Davida has the spark plugs, he thinks it will be fully resurrected.”

  “Your grandfather is one of a kind.”

  A grin softened her face. “Yes, he is.”

  “You’re in luck,” Davida said, returning from the back room with a dusty box of spark plugs. “Two, right?”

  “How many do you have in the box?”

  “Six.”

  “Give them all to me. It’ll save time if Gramps needs more, and he always seems to.”

  Davida began ringing up the items. She printed out the supply list and handed Sonya the charge slip to sign. While she boxed up the contents, she eyed Garrett. “I’m off at eight, if you want to pass that along to Judd.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be pleased to hear it,” Garrett said. Judd had been sulking around the boat like a puppy who’d lost his favorite chew toy.

  “You two have plans tonight?” Davida pried.

  “Yeah,” Sonya said. “I’ve laundry to finish before the opening. I’m sure Garrett has more fishermen to harass.”

  “Is that what he’s doing with you?” Davida asked. “Haven’t heard it called harassment before.”

  “There’s nothing going on between us.” Sonya waved her hand as though dismissing the possibility.

  “Riiight.” Davida gave them a knowing smile.

  “Seriously,” Sonya stressed. “Nothing.”

  Garrett grabbed Sonya’s boxed supplies. “Come on, sweetcakes. She’s going to believe what she wants to regardless of what you say.”

  “Garrett.”

  He winked at Davida. “I love it when she growls my name like that.” He turned and walked out of the General Store without a backward glance, enjoying the frustrated sounds coming from Sonya as she caught up to him.

  “Was that absolutely necessary? Do you have any idea what Davida is going to do with that remark of yours?”

  “Not as much as she would have with you denying there’s nothing between us. Hell, anyone who gets within a few feet of us can feel the heat.”

  “Oh, I’m feeling heat all right.” Sonya went for the box he carried, but he moved it to the side, out of her reach.

  “Nope, supplies are mine until we’ve had a chance to talk. Pick the place.”

  She growled again. “Fine. Fisherman’s Laundry.”

  He followed her to the public laundry room, which was empty as it was the dinner hour and most were either eating or catching sleep for the 2:00 a.m. drift opening. He set the box down on the large table opposite three washing machines and dryers. “Why aren’t you getting some sleep before the opening in the morning?”

  “Because, I didn’t have any clean clothes or food for the drift boat.” She opened a dryer and pulled out a load of clothes, bringing an armful over to the table. In turn, she emptied the two remaining dryers.

  “All these clothes can’t be yours.” He held up a pair of men’s boxers with black bears on them.

  She grabbed them out of his hands. “It’d be petty of me to only wash my clothes.”

  “You captain the Double Dippin’, set net, drift, shop for groceries, and do the laundry?”

  “They say a woman’s work is never done.” She grabbed a pair of jeans and began folding.

  “I take it the men are catching some shuteye while you’re doing chores.”

  She folded a t-shirt, and reached for another. “Your point?”

  “Why isn’t Wes or Peter giving you a hand?”

  “Wes has a headache, concussion remember, and Peter’s with Lana, living it up after his swim yesterday.”

  “You still have stitches that aren’t healed.” He couldn’t keep the anger out of his voice.

  She slowed the folding of a sweatshirt. “Garrett, what would you do in my position?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “You’d carry on. Which is what I’m doing.” She placed the sweatshirt in a growing pile and grabbed another. “I’d rather be busy then laying on my bunk, worrying.”

  He tucked away his anger and grabbed a t-shirt. He understood. Staying busy kept you from going crazy. “I need you to tell me about what happened the night the Mystic sank.”

  She jerked a pair of pants inside-out. If she wasn’t careful she’d tear through the seams. “Why? There isn’t more I can tell you that your buddies didn’t.”

  “Sonya.” He reached over and stilled her hands. Her eyes flicked to his and he saw anger, remembered-fear, and anguish before she glanced away. “Tell me.”

  She tore her hands free of his grasp, dropped the jeans, and stalked to the laundry machines and back. She folded her arms across her chest, and faced him. “Do you know that I can’t get into the water? Every day I’m on that ocean and I’m petri
fied if I get more than ankle deep in it.” She slid her eyes away from him and gazed at nothing. “I can’t even swim in a heated pool without having an panic attack.”

  He didn’t try to placate her with words that he understood. He didn’t. He’d lost friends in battle, men he considered brothers, but he’d been trained to accept it, to expect it. Besides, he loved everything about being in the water.

  “I felt Sasha die,” she whispered. The tone of her voice caused his heart to ache. “Losing my parents was devastating, but Sasha was part of me. For the longest time, I couldn’t go on without her. I still feel like part of me is missing.”

  He wanted to embrace her, shelter her from the questions he needed answers to, but he couldn’t. The more information he had, the better he could protect her.

  “Tell me what happened before the explosion. Where were your parents, your sister?”

  Sonya closed her eyes and swallowed. “Sasha and I were on deck, messing with the survival gear.” Her voice broke, but she worked through it. She returned to the pile of laundry, picked up a shirt, and began the monotonous chore of folding. “Dad was down in the engine room. Mom was handing him tools.” A slight smile touched her lips. “They were arguing over who should be down in the hold. Mom was better with mechanics than Dad was.”

  “Why was your dad in the engine room? What happened to make him go down there?” He picked up a pair of sweatpants, recognizing them as the pair she’d had on the other night. The ones he’d almost stripped her of. Neatly he folded and placed them on top of the individual piles she’d made.

  She narrowed her brow in thought. “There’d been a problem with the lights flickering. You know how a boat lists to the right as it climbs a swell and then lists left as it falls into the gully of the wave?” She continued when he nodded. “Well, each time the Mystic listed left the lights flickered off, then back on when we’d listed right.” She smoothed the fabric of the fleece sweatshirt in her hands. “Sasha and I thought it was cool. Part of the Mystic’s mystique.” She set the sweatshirt on the pile of clothes.

  “Electrical short?”

  She took a renewing breath and grabbed another article of clothing. “That’s what I think. Makes sense. The boat was also gasoline powered rather than diesel.”