“Thank you so much.” I galumphed to the table, poured a steaming cup of coffee with the aroma of chicory in it, and gulped down half the cup before I uttered another sound. Feeling warmer and actually human again, I turned to the over-process blonde woman.
“I guess the philosophy is you should put everything up because of possible flooding, huh?”
Her smile faded. Even her hair seemed to droop. I’d only asked the question as sort of an ice breaker. I really need to stop doing that. I didn’t want to be thrown out of the place before I could buy a rain slicker.
“You hope for the best but prepare for the worst. That’s my motto.”
Okay, so it was a motto, not a philosophy. Got it.
“The boats that are leaving.” I changed the subject. “Where are they going?”
“The ones heading out to the Intracoastal Waterway?”
The man asked the question crossing the room to help the woman. I nodded and he talked as he helped her move merchandize from lower shelves to higher ones.
“The people lucky enough to be around to protect their crafts are motoring up the Mississippi trying to outrun the storm. They have to get out of here before The U.S. Army Corps of Engineers decides to close three of the barge gates, now that the storm is on the move. The Corps mentioned the possible closure on the news fifteen minutes ago.”
“Is that right?”
“Once the gates go in, the boats will be trapped, unable to go anywhere. A lot of these folks are from up there, anyway. You know, Ohio and the like.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize that. How big a boat does it take to go on the Mighty Mississip?”
“At least eighteen feet,” the woman said, taking over the conversation. “There are fierce currents out there. Matt and I know from experience, it doesn’t do to be in too small a craft on that water.”
She giggled and lightly punched the man in the side. He giggled back and stroked her arm. I assumed he was Matt, but really didn’t want to shift the conversation to their experience on the Mighty M in a small craft. I wanted to keep it on track, although, I wasn’t sure what track that was.
“What happens if you head the other way?”
He looked at me with puzzled expression. “You mean, if you went down the Mississippi?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, you would be heading toward the Gulf of Mexico and into Harold.”
“Who’s Harold?”
Now he looked at me like I was crazy. “Harold’s the name of the tropical depression coming our way. What’s out there right now could turn into Hurricane Harold any minute now,” he said. His voice showed his question of my sanity. Actually, he wasn’t the first to do so and won’t be the last. I wasn’t thrown by it.
“Right, right.” I walked away and began fingering a wetsuit on display, complete with goggles, flippers, and snorkel. “We don’t get many hurricanes where I live,” I said, half paying attention to the conversation. An idea was formulating in what was left of my brain.
“Where’s that?” Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw the woman turn to the man with a raised eyebrow.
“California.”
“California!” The woman’s revulsion toward the state came across in the one-word reply. “You couldn’t pay me to live where they have all those earthquakes. Give me a hurricane every time.”
“You may get your wish,” I muttered, unfolding a full black wetsuit. “How much is this?”
Now the man looked at me with dollar signs in his eyes. “What stock we have left is on sale. You’re holding a fullsuit. Good for all types of water temps around here, with five-four-three insulation. Regularly $385, reduced to $295. It’s a Roxie, so you know it’s a real bargain.” He came over and took it from my hands. “Yes, this looks like it would fit you. It’s important to have the right fit.”
“Could I try it on?”
He was one happy man. I think the lousy weather made for even lousier sales. The woman, who made it clear she preferred her hurricanes to my earthquakes, seemed to glitter a bit more, too. The man turned to her.
“Faye, please bring this young lady a towel from the backroom so she can dry off.”
“Of course.” Faye disappeared behind a lime-green curtain only to return a second later with a thick, white fluffy towel. I eyed it with glee. With a smile, she handed it off to me. I set down my empty coffee cup and picked up the towel, blotting my face and hair with the soft cotton. I love terrycloth.
“Thank you, Faye,” I said politely. “This feels really good.”
“There are fitting rooms right over there.” I heard the man’s voice behind me. “Take your pick.”
“They’re all free or should I say available?” Faye’s humor much improved, she pointed to three side by side slated doors in the wall, tossing her blonde locks about.
I crossed to one of the doors but turned back. “And I’ll need a hood, goggles, flippers, and a waterproof pouch. You got something like that?”
“Yes, yes.” They said in unison. Both almost did a jig as they scampered around looking for the items. I shut the door then opened it again, addressing the man.
“Your name is Matt, right?” He nodded eagerly. “Matt, do you think you could help me with these boots? They’re a little hard to get on and off.”
“My pleasure.”
Leaving the door half open, I dropped my purse to the floor, and sat down on a petite club chair, upholstered in the same shade of lime as the curtains. With Faye keeping a watchful eye, Matt came inside the small room and pushed the door wide open. My suspicion Faye was his loving wife seemed to be on the nose. Speaking of noses, I felt mine clogging up, while Matt eyed my heart-encrusted boots without hiding his distaste.
“A gift from my mother,” I lied. “A bit ostentatious, but what can you do?” Somewhere in New Orleans my mother’s ears were burning. And if she ever found out why, she’d probably sue me for defamation of character. Regardless, I went for broke. “Her taste is in her mouth, but you can’t hurt a mother’s feelings, can you?”
“Certainly not.” He lifted one of my ankles, turned around with his backside to me, and straddled my leg. “Now you push with the other foot.”
I placed my boot right below the small of his back. He pulled, I pushed, and after a certain amount of huffing and puffing, the boot slid off. Then we did the other one. I’ve never owned two-person footwear before. I mean, these are really not for someone living alone.
He left the room closing the door behind him. I stripped off my dress, threw it in a corner, and towel dried my hair and body. You have to be as dry as possible in your tug-of-war with a wetsuit.
I experienced the putting on and pulling off process when I took snorkel lessons in the Bahamas one summer. And that was in a ‘shortie’. The fullsuit has long sleeves and legs to the ankles. Wonderful in colder water, but a bitch to put on if you’re moist in the least.
I struggled into the suit, grunting and groaning. It fit the way they should, not too loose, which allows too much water to come inside, but not too snug, where your movements are restricted. By the time I zipped up, there was a knock on the door and I heard Faye’s voice.
“How are you doing in there, dearie?”
“Just fine.”
I opened the door and she stepped inside holding a matching rubber hood, goggles and mask. I took the lot, threw them on the chair, and proceeded to pull my hair back in a ponytail on top of my head with a rubber band I found at the bottom of my purse. I pulled the hood over my head and tucked the bottom into the suit. Once again, not too loose, not too tight, just right.
“What about flippers?” For what I was about to do, I needed as much help propelling around in the drink as possible. Flippers were a must.
“We don’t have any women’s sizes left.” She shook her head with deep regret.
“Bring me what you got. Maybe we can make something work.”
Faye got into the spirit of it. “Just a moment. Maybe you could wear a pair
of Jelly’s inside one of the men’s. They would take up a lot of room.”
“You mean the plastic beach sandals?”
“Yes, I think we’ve got hot pink and purple left. What size shoe do you wear?” She threw the question over her shoulder, as she hurried back into the store.
“Size nine,” I yelled after her. I followed her out in my bare feet. I did a few small Karate moves in the suit and almost took out a mannequin sporting cruise wear I hadn’t noticed. Matt dashed over to steady the tottering dummy, as if he did this sort of thing all the time. Maybe he did. Such is a merchant’s life. But the suit felt good. And warm.
“We’ve got size nine in both colors, hot pink and purple.” Faye gestured for me to come over to the corner where all the women’s shoes lived. “Which color do you want?”
Like it made a difference. “I’ll take the purple.”
I sat down and put them on. She brought me the smallest men’s flippers in the bunch, and with a few minor adjustments and the sandals, they fit okay. The Jelly’s looked silly, but what can you do? Life is filled with purple Jelly’s.
Matt brought me two waterproof pouches with clips and a belt to attach them to your waist. I chose the larger pouch, big enough to hold a phone and a gun or two. As I was zipping and unzipping the pouch my phone did an announcement that it was working and I had a text message. An expert at this now, I went to texting and read:
L - Where R U? Phones in and out. Am with Devereux. He wants U. Be safe. Luv G
I looked up at Faye and Matt, who were hovering nearby awaiting my next command. It’s good to be queen.
“Bag up everything; I need to get going.” I went into my handbag for my charge card, which was getting a lot of use these days. “Oh, one more thing, I need a rain slicker. You got one?”
Wearing a slicker over the wetsuit might make it look like I had on Capri pants from a distance. No use advertising I was about to take a dunk in the Intracoastal waters.
Matt’s eager hands reached out for the card. “Yes, we do. Yellow or red? Short or long? You can’t go wrong. Genuine Oilskin.”
“Don’t you have black?”
“We keep a couple of blacks for tourists passing through, not going on the water, but we don’t recommend them. If you fall in, you want to be seen.”
Not for what I’m doing. “I’m going to go with the black. Short.” I spoke as I texted Gurn back.
G – At Orleans Harbor Marina. Think M here on boat. Tell D to go suck egg. Luv L
Faye handed me the slicker and I shrugged into it. “Okay. Thanks. I’m in a hurry. What do I owe you?”
Her smile faded just a little and she looked up at my head. “You’re wearing all of that out? Even the hood?”
“It’s pretty comfy. I can change when I get home.”
I offered them a bright smile. Their hesitant, returning smiles and furtive glances to one another convinced me that Matt and Faye definitely thought I was a whack-a-doodle. It was an opinion shared, no doubt, by yesterday’s barkeep. I wasn’t sure I would be allowed back in the state of Louisiana in the near future.
“It comes to $964.22. A real bargain with all the sales.”
“Lucky me.”
After a small flurry of card and paper exchanges, they handed me two bags. One contained my wet dress and cowgirl boots. The other contained the mask, flippers, and pouch.
I went back out into the storm and wondered if with the way things were going, I could ever afford to retire. Not the way I was spending money.
Even though my feet were getting wet in the Jelly’s, I noticed they gripped the slick pavement well. A bonus to being foot-bound in purple.
I returned to the car warmer and dryer than I had been most of the day and climbed inside. I opened the waterproof pouch and transferred my phone into it. Then I took Lady Blue out of my handbag, the steel hard and cold in my hand.
The seriousness of what I did for a living hit me full force. If Mama Biggs was right and I was going to be shot, then by God I was taking Manning out with me. The only light at the end of the tunnel was hopefully finding and freeing Reed, a kid with his whole life before him. If he was still alive. There was that. People like Manning have no thought about innocent lives.
After loading Lady Blue, I put her inside the waterproof pouch. I thought only a split second about the Smith and Wesson before I pulled it out of the side pocket of my handbag. With a dry mouth, I loaded the gun. I checked to make sure the safety was on then practiced again and again how to release it in an instant and fire. Funny, I didn’t feel in the least bit like Rambo.
Chapter Twenty-six
Wet Chaos
In Pier C nearly half the boats were gone or pulling out. Looking over to the backside of Laura’s Folly, I noticed the wide swim platform. I’d chartered a boat with one of those in the Bahamas. They make it easy to get in and out of the water, thought they can be slippery. I eyeballed the distance I’d have to swim to get from one pier to another, hoping I didn’t have to get out of the way of any escaping boats. Strategically placed in various locations on each pier were swim ladders going from the deck into the water. I went to the ladder at the end of Pier C, sat down next to it, and looked around.
No one was paying attention to me that I could tell, so I lay down, rolled over the side, and onto the ladder. Pulling off my slicker, I stuffed it between pilings, and put on my flippers. I reached behind into the pouch and pulled out my phone and went to texting. I tapped in both my brother’s and Gurn’s phone numbers.
G&R – About to take boat ride. Don’t know where. More later. L
After I returned the phone to the pouch, I lowered myself into the rushing waters, always keeping an eye on Laura’s Folly.
To my surprise, I saw the young black man I chased earlier bound out of the pilothouse. He took the stairs two at a time, and hopped onto the lower deck of Laura’s Folly. I pressed myself against the ladder, in case he looked my way.
He was in one big hurry, but lost some time when his hat and scarf blew out of his hands and onto the boat deck. He chased after and retrieved them then jumped from the boat onto the pier and took off for parts unknown, lithe and sure-footed. But I knew from experience, this was one fast and wiry dude.
A second later, Manning came out of the pilothouse and onto the upper deck. He also came down the stairs to the lower deck, but not as fast. Age will tell.
He began to cast off docking lines with the expertise of a man who had spent his life around boats. Then he moved to the front of the boat. Duh, he was leaving! I don’t know why it took me so long to catch onto that. Once he pulled out, I’d never catch up with him.
Slipping into the water up to my neck, I began the forty or so yard swim to Pier B. Despite the wetsuit, I was shivering, a combination of anticipation, anger, and fear. No, not so much fear. I was too mad to be afraid. I hated this man for all I was worth. The anger helped me plow through the water like Johnny Weissmuller in an old Tarzan movie. Fortunately, no other boat got in my way, because the mood I was in, I would have smacked it to the other side of the marina.
Aided by the flippers, I got to the boat’s stern in no time, even with the madness of the water. I grabbed onto the rails at either side of the center of the swim platform and hoisted myself up and in the nick of time. Just then the boat jerked and came to life. Fluttering like a kite caught in the wind, the Laura’s Folly took off with a speed I didn’t think possible. It backed out of the slip, made a left and haul-assed down the alley between the piers and out of the marina.
Clinging on for dear life, I removed my flippers and dropped them into the water. I wrapped one arm and a leg around the two center rails.
It was a bouncy, perilous ride hanging on the back. Not so much because of the waves or wind, but swim platforms are not designed to be used when a boat is under way. If I hadn’t had the rails to hang on to, I would have never been able to stay aboard.
But Houston, we had another problem. Once out in the Intracoastal Wate
rway there were other boats. Around one hundred yards behind us, a tugboat began tooting his horn. Maybe he wanted to let someone on the boat know a straggler was attached to Folly’s butt. But whatever, I waved brightly and hoped he would stop tooting. Also I hoped that way up on the upper deck, where the pilothouse was, Manning wouldn’t notice and come down before I was ready for him.
We outdistanced the tugboat in nothing flat, but I waved again, like I was out for a jolly ride. The surface of the Intracoastal seemed smoother, maybe because of the wake, or maybe it was the speed of the boat cutting through the water. In any event, I managed to get up the three steps at the top of the swim platform leading to the lower deck. Mercifully, that area was covered in some kind of slip proof carpeting. On the left side of the narrow back deck was a long white box with the words Emergency Supplies stenciled along the top. Rows of lashed down diesel fuel cans ran along the railing out to the bow. Or was it the aft? I can never keep that straight.
The emergency supply box was big enough to crawl behind and far enough away from the railing for me to lay flat. I didn’t wonder about the diesel fuel. Manning was on the run. He needed all the fuel he could get.
Unfortunately, the railing was solid except for a couple of inches above the deck. I had no way of seeing where we were. I felt rather than saw us turn left into the Mississippi. Once heading south on the river, we picked up momentum big time. No longer with other boats to hinder him, Manning put the pedal to the metal. Air and water rushed by at a speed I wouldn’t have believed such a big boat could do.
For a short time there was the sameness of the up and down rhythm of the boat slapping into the oncoming waves. Gradually the crests and valleys became more pronounced. We were heading out into the Gulf and a showdown with Harold.
Hanging onto the rail, I rose to my feet and assessed the situation. Being a stowaway was one thing, but I couldn’t spend what was left of my life hiding behind emergency supplies. I had to know if Reed, or if anyone else besides Manning was aboard. I crept across the deck to the cabin wall with a line of portals in it. Rising up to one side of the last portal, I pressed my face to the last portal, and stared with a mixture of horror and relief.
DEAD....If Only (The Alvarez Family Murder Mysteries Book 4) Page 20
