Dark Waters (The Jeff Resnick Mysteries)

by Bartlett, L. L.

  “What kind of boat are you talking about?” Evelyn asked, her voice filled with reproach.

  Richard reached behind him for his wallet. He took out a folded photograph and handed it to her. “It’s a Slipstream 9000 — a forty-six footer.”

  Evelyn let out a horrified sigh. “Oh, my.”

  “Lemme see,” Da-Marr said, reaching to take the picture from her. His eyes grew round. “You know how to drive one of these things?”

  Richard shrugged. “Not yet. But we’ve already taken boating safety courses. Jeff found all the specs online so we know how it operates, how fast she’ll go. Now we just need a bit of experience on the water. It should be a piece of cake.”

  Brenda snorted.

  Richard threw a look at Jeff, but he seemed preoccupied, staring at his plate.

  “Are we all going to retrieve this — this boat?” Evelyn asked, her tone conveying her lack of enthusiasm for joining the adventure.

  “I wasn’t planning on it,” Brenda said and buttered her roll.

  “Maybe you’d like to come along, Da-Marr,” Richard said.

  Jeff’s head snapped up, his eyes wide, the muscles along his jaw taut.

  “Sure, sounds cool.” Da-Marr shoveled a large piece of meat into his mouth.

  Jeff looked at Richard. “We only have two life jackets.”

  “We can get more,” Richard said.

  “I don’t need no life jacket,” Da-Marr said.

  “Can you swim?” Brenda asked.

  “Ya think the boat is gonna sink?”

  “The Niagara River has a strong current. Better safe than sorry,” Richard said.

  “You’d probably die of hypothermia first,” Jeff muttered into his wineglass.

  Da-Marr turned on him. “Wha’d you say?”

  Jeff lowered his glass. “The water’s cold — about sixty-five degrees this time of year. If you fell in, you’d likely suffer hypothermia. That can kill you.” It almost sounded like a threat.

  “How would you know?”

  “I nearly died from hypothermia a year ago.”

  “I thought you got mugged.”

  “This happened after that.” Jeff’s icy stare could have drilled a hole through solid granite. Da-Marr met it with equal disdain.

  “I might not be available,” Jeff added. “I’ve got to be at work at noon.”

  “That’s no problem. The Slipstream salesman is supposed to meet us at nine. We’ll still have time to give her a trial run.”

  Jeff stared at Da-Marr and then shrugged.

  Brenda cleared her throat and forced a smile. “Anybody ready for dessert?”

  “Jeffy was in rare form tonight,” Brenda said, pulling back the spread on the king-sized bed.

  Richard grabbed the other side to help her. It was damage control time. “I think what happened to him this afternoon rattled him more than he cares to admit. And you know how he feels about the prospect of consulting yet another physician. After his experience last spring, he’s paranoid to — ”

  “Oh, come on, you know damn well his accident had nothing to do with that.”

  Richard straightened, deciding to play dumb. “What are you talking about?”

  She let out a breath, her face tight with anger. “Da-Marr.”

  Oh, hell. “Okay, so they didn’t hit it off. Why are you so upset?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  Richard hesitated. “No.”

  She let out another harsh breath. “Da-Marr’s a young, black man.”

  Maybe bluffing was the better part of valor. “So?”

  “So, what type of male do you suppose beat Jeffy with a baseball bat?”

  “He never said.”

  “Did he need to?” she challenged.

  Richard said nothing.

  “When Da-Marr walked in, Jeffy looked at him as if he was responsible for that beating. That’s unfair. That’s — that’s positively racist! And I never would have thought that Jeffy — ”

  “Brenda, calm down,” Richard whispered. “Our guests will hear you.”

  She pursed her lips, her fists clenched at her side, breathing loudly though her nose.

  Richard crossed to her side of the bed and took her in his arms, but she stood rigid in his embrace. “Come on, sit down,” he said, pulling her down on the bed. “Think about it logically. Jeff was traumatized by the mugging. It changed his entire life, and not for the better. It’s not surprising he still has unresolved issues around it. He doesn’t come into contact with young people, black or white, on a regular basis. And the fact he fell off the ladder an hour before he met Da-Marr could’ve brought back all the angst he still hasn’t dealt with.”

  “And never will,” Brenda said bitterly.

  Richard sighed. “You may be right. But you can’t take his reactions personally.”

  “Da-Marr is a guest in my home, and I won’t stand for anyone — not even Jeffy — insulting a guest. And did he have to bring up the boat in front of Evelyn?”

  “We are taking possession tomorrow.”

  “Yes, but talking about it seems like we’re flaunting your wealth. I don’t want Evelyn going home to tell my whole family how uppity and pretentious we are.”

  “Are we?”

  “I don’t think so, but I can’t predict how our good fortune appears to others. And I still don’t understand why you feel you need such an extravagant toy.”

  “We had a great time on Tom and Olivia’s boat this summer. I thought it might be fun to tool around the lake on a boat of our own.”

  “Not with a baby in tow.”

  “Lots of people take their kids out on boats.”

  “Kids, not infants.”

  “Betsy won’t be an infant by summer.”

  “No, she’ll be toddling around, fall off, drown — ”

  “Now who’s paranoid?” She wouldn’t look at him. “Brenda, what are you really angry about?”

  She blinked back tears. “I just told you.”

  He shook his head. “There’s something else bothering you. Now, what is it?”

  She looked away. “Nothing. I just — ” She wouldn’t look at him, her lower lip trembling, her eyes now overflowing with tears. When she spoke, there was a catch in her voice. “What if Jeffy is so prejudiced against African-Americans he can’t accept our baby because she’s not white?”

  Richard cupped her chin, turning her face toward him. “Well, for one thing, she won’t be a teenaged boy. And a toothless baby in diapers isn’t all that threatening.”

  Brenda’s mouth dropped open; she glared at him. Then her anger dissolved into a giggle. “You have incredible power over me, Dr. Alpert.”

  Richard shrugged, struggling to keep a straight face. “It’s a gift. Look, you know Jeff loves you. He’ll love the baby. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

  She gave a grudging nod, but her eyes were still troubled.

  “If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll talk to him about it in the morning,” Richard promised.

  “What about now? He’s only downstairs in Curtis’s old room.”

  “Ha! He waited for us to come up here, then snuck off to his own place. He’s probably the worst patient I’ve ever seen when it comes to following orders.”

  “Do you think he’ll be all right?” she asked.

  Richard smiled. Trust Brenda to worry about Jeff even when she was angry with him. “Yes. You’ve had a busy day, too. You ought to get some sleep. It’s only another five days until the baby arrives.”

  “If she comes on time.”

  He helped her into bed, crouched beside her, pulled up the covers, and kissed her lips. “Go to sleep.”

  She pouted, but said, “At least I always follow doctor’s orders.”

  A swell of tenderness welled within him. “Like hell you do.”

  Chapter 3

  The baseball bat smashed onto my raised arm, breaking my ulna. My knees buckled and slammed into the wet concrete sidewalk. The bat
arced over me and clipped my shoulder. It came at my head again, fracturing the squamous part of my skull.

  Blackness engulfed me, leaving me suspended in an inky void.

  I was caught in a whirlwind, cold air freezing each and every cell in my body, engulfing my soul. With no way out, I was powerless against the sucking wind that spun me higher, higher into the vortex.

  I awoke with a start, gasping, heart pounding, and sweat covered. Two scary dreams had merged into one experience. I rolled onto my back and stared at the darkened ceiling above me. The clock read six fifty-nine. It was way too early to get up, but I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep.

  I threw back the covers and grabbed my blue velour robe, tied the belt around my waist, and headed for the galley kitchen and the coffeepot. Morning noises brought my cat Herschel flying around the corner and skidding to a halt in front of his bowl with a smart “Yow!”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’ll get to you,” I rumbled, and drew water from the tap, filling the carafe and attending to the coffee first. While it brewed, Herschel feasted on turkey and giblets cat food. I’d sniffed it before putting the bowl down on the floor. Disgusting.

  I tried not to think about the nightmare, instead turning my thoughts to the Slipstream 9000. I parked my cup on the coffee table, sat down on the couch, and grabbed the color pictures and text I’d printed off the Internet.

  Richard had called it “our” boat, not that I’d contributed a nickel. We’d only been aboard her the one time just before the auction. I can pick up bad vibes like tuning into a radio station. Richard was concerned that something sinister had happened on the boat before or during its seizure and he’d asked me to play human divining rod. We both felt much better when I’d picked up nothing out of the ordinary, and Richard easily outbid the competition.

  Too bad the boating season in Western New York had officially ended on Labor Day. The marina Richard had chosen on Grand Island had a derelict feel to it now that most of the boats had been mothballed for the winter. Ours would be going into the water for a few days of test drives before it, too, would be stored until spring.

  The thought of another long, cold winter depressed me. My gaze swung to the framed picture of Maggie on my end table. We’d had a rough, strained summer as we’d tried to heal the wound of her infidelity. It had only scabbed over during the summer, but we’d been taking it slow, afraid to trust one another. Things had been getting better until about two weeks ago. I’d been busy at work, and presumably so had she. I’d called a few times, leaving messages, but she hadn’t returned my calls. I wondered if I should just show up on her doorstep, but decided not to intrude. I should have asked Brenda, Maggie’s best friend, what was up but now it was out of the question. Her hostility quotient the night before had been off the chart and I had an inkling why, but wasn’t eager to push it.

  I felt the need to vent my feelings about what had happened that day — the near-death experience and the tumult I’d relived when I’d laid eyes on Da-Marr — but I wasn’t sure Maggie would be receptive to that crap. And I was afraid to mention it again to Richard — and definitely not Brenda.

  No, I’d have to deal with this myself or find someone else to confide in.

  But who?

  Heavy dew covered the grass the next morning. Richard looked out the kitchen window to examine the day and saw Jeff kneeling in front of the south flower garden, weeding.

  Anger coursed through him and he grabbed his coffee cup and headed outside.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he called as he approached his brother.

  “I’m weeding. What do you think I’m doing?”

  “I told you not to.”

  “And I’m doing whatever the hell I please, which is to keep this garden looking its best for Brenda. Besides, I’m wearing gardening gloves. Nothing’s going to sting me.”

  “Says you.”

  “Says me,” Jeff agreed.

  Richard felt angry enough to pour the remains of his coffee over Jeff’s head. He had a few more choice words to deliver but didn’t have the opportunity when Jeff stood, picking up the basket and heading for the garage. He tossed the weeds and dried blossoms onto the compost heap and entered the garage, putting the basket and gloves away.

  “Why did you have go and invite him along?”

  Richard eyed his brother’s rigid back. No need to identify who ‘he’ was. It was so unlike Jeff to be petulant. He stood here like a stone statue, his face hidden — turned to the back of the garage. Jeff so seldom showed emotion that Richard almost welcomed the outburst. It made his brother seem more ... human.

  “What kind of host would I be not to include a guest?”

  Jeff rounded on him. “You didn’t invite him to stay with us, and neither did Brenda.”

  “Yeah, well he’s here now. And he’s part of Brenda’s family.”

  “No, he’s not. He’s related to her sister’s brother-in-law, not her sister.”

  “Then he’s part of Evelyn’s family — which is the same thing to Brenda.”

  Jeff withdrew keys from his pocket, clicked the fob and unlocked the Mercedes. He picked up the new, still plastic-encased life jackets and tossed them into the car’s trunk, slamming the lid.

  “What is your problem with this kid?” Richard pressed.

  Jeff’s breaths came out in short gaps — like an asthmatic’s, but he didn’t answer.

  “Brenda says you were mugged by black men. That you’re unfairly projecting that experience on Da-Marr.”

  Still no answer.

  “Were the guys who mugged you black?”

  Jeff swallowed, looked away, biting his lip before answering. “Yes.”

  Richard exhaled harshly. “You can’t condemn an entire race because of one incident.”

  Jeff said nothing; he still wouldn’t face Richard.

  “Brenda’s worried you won’t love the baby because of the mugging.”

  Jeff looked up, his gaze piercing. “Cherry pie?”

  Richard frowned. “What?”

  “That’s how I think of Betsy Ruth. It’s my pet name for her.”

  “If you say so.”

  Jeff shook his head, the hint of a smile gracing his lips. “You haven’t got a clue. You don’t know.” A silly grin brightened his features. “I already know her. What she’ll be like — who she’ll be. Trust me, this little girl will be the best thing that’s happened to all of us.”

  An unreasonable surge of jealously swelled through Richard. Was Jeff spouting bullshit, or through his emphatic sensibilities — his own brand of extra sensory perception — had he already connected with the unborn baby? The idea both thrilled and repelled Richard.

  “Brenda will never have to worry about me and this kid. I couldn’t love her more if she were my own.” He took a breath. “I guess I better have a talk with Brenda.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt.”

  “Okay, later.” His gaze strayed toward the house. “You’d better go get your ... friend.”

  But that wasn’t necessary. The back door to the house opened and Da-Marr stepped out, looking like a caricature of a rapper, with his earrings and do rag. Not the typical denizen of Sundowner’s Marina.

  “You guys get up way too early,” Da-Marr complained.

  “Jeff’s got to be at work at noon,” Richard reminded him.

  “You don’t have to come with us,” Jeff said, rather snidely.

  “I ain’t stayin’ here to listen to those women talk baby shit all day, either.”

  “You might want to bring a jacket,” Richard said. “It’ll be cold out on the water.”

  “I don’t need no coat,” Da-Marr asserted.

  “Suit yourself,” Richard said.

  “Hey, man, I gotta sit up front. I get carsick. You don’t want me blowing chunks in the back of your pretty car.”

  Richard glanced at Jeff, willing him to submit.

  “Why don’t I just stay home and finish the gardening?” he
grated.

  “Why don’t you just shut up and get in the car,” Richard said, plunking his coffee mug on a shelf on the wall.

  They all piled into the Mercedes. “Buckle up,” Richard told Da-Marr, and was surprised when the young man complied. Jeff slumped down in the back seat, scowling like an angry child, and even Richard could sense the anger emanating from him. It was going to be an uncomfortable twenty-minute drive.

  Somehow, I managed to survive the trip across town for Sundowner’s Marina on the southeast shore of Grand Island. Da-Marr took control of the radio and blasted hip-hop, and Richard didn’t stop him. I grabbed a tissue from the box Brenda keeps on the backseat and stuffed my ears, which probably saved me from one of my skull-pounding headaches.

  The marina’s parking lot was nearly empty. Not many people had come out to brave the gray day, choppy water, and gusty winds. Huddled in my jacket, I followed Richard down the dock to slip forty-seven, where we met up with Jerry Hasper, a local Slipstream salesman Richard had contracted to give us a quick-and-dirty overview on the ins and outs of boat ownership. I’d practically memorized the information I’d downloaded from the Internet, but reading and practical experience were two different things.

  We stood on the dock staring at Richard’s beautiful new-to-us boat. The boat still bore the last owner’s moniker, “Easy Breezin’” in black vinyl letters on the stern.

  “Damn, we need to come up with a new name,” Richard said, gazing at the sleek, white fiberglass beauty.

  “We’ve got all winter to do that,” I told him.

  “Hot Mama — that’s what I’d call it,” Da-Marr said.

  I ground my molars together. And I’d choose to call it anything but that. Why did this friggin’ kid think we needed his opinion on anything, let alone the name of our boat?

  “Come on,” Jerry said, “let’s go aboard.”

  Easy Breezin’ was one hell of a beautiful lady. With three sumptuous staterooms, cherry wood cabinetry throughout, and two heads, she had a tiny but elegant galley kitchen with Corian counters and a raised dinette. The area known as the salon was L-shaped with an ivory leather couch to port and matching barrel chairs to starboard. The whole area was enclosed by tinted sliding glass doors to the outdoor deck. Up top, the bridge deck was equipped with not only every boating mechanism known to man, but had conformable banquette seating for six, with a fridge and a wet bar that could host a pretty damn fine happy hour. The boat even had a washer and dryer. Easy Breezin’ had everything a man could want in a luxury yacht, and boy did I wish it was mine. That it now belonged to Richard was the next best thing.