On Tour

by Christina A. Burke

  "Sounds like there's more to this story," I teased.

  "No comment."

  "What happens on the island stays on the island."

  "Something like that," he replied easily. "So, I hear they got The Spider before he got you."

  I let him get away with changing the subject. There'd be plenty of time to grill him for details in person. "Looks like it. So what's your plan? Are you joining Carlos in California? I'm going to help Carol with Greene's for the next month. No more rock star for me for a while."

  "My plans are up in the air right now. Since you and Carlos are all set, I might take a little time off." His voice was casual, but there was a note of excitement I hadn't heard before.

  "Maybe with a certain redhead?"

  "No comment," he replied.

  Ashley and I spent the rest of the afternoon painting and hypothesizing about what happened on the island. Mark kept quiet on the subject. I was pretty sure he knew more than he was letting on, but I didn't push it since he was doing all of the heavy lifting on this kitchen project.

  We finished painting just as the school bus dropped off Justin and Josh. An hour later Dan's truck rumbled down the driveway, followed by two more pickup trucks.

  "Oh, what's he up to now?" Ashley grumbled as she looked out the kitchen window. The kids and dogs bounded out to greet him.

  Mark and I exchanged an interested look. Dan "up to something" was always entertaining. We put aside our paint supplies and headed out to the backyard.

  "Lookie here, kids! Ain't they beauties!" Dan had the lid off of a large wooden box. I caught a glimpse of movement inside. Like snakes or…

  "Are those crabs?" I went in for a closer look.

  "Yep," Dan said proudly. "George got two bushels today out of the Wye River."

  George tipped his John Deere cap at me and took a swig from his Budweiser. "Me an' my brother, Randy, took his boat out today. Things were just 'bout hoppin' in the boat." Randy came up and peered into the basket.

  The crabs were impressive. "Looks like all number ones in there." I hadn't had any crabs this season, and my mouth was watering just looking at the squirming bunch of crustaceans.

  "No doubt," Randy agreed.

  "There's three hundred bucks worth of crab there if in there's a dollar." Dan spit tobacco on the ground.

  George shrugged. "We could've sold 'em at Buddy's Crab Shack, but these were just too pretty. Gotta share 'em with friends and make a night of it."

  Oh, boy. I'd been here for Dan's Friday night crab feasts before. The last time, one of Dan's friends had gotten drunk and tried to jump his Harley over Dan's truck using the picnic table as a ramp. I don't think he'd worked the aerodynamics out before taking the leap.

  Ashley came up behind us and peered into the wooden crate. Dan seemed to hold his breath. I think he was anticipating a bunch of lip from Ashley about the impromptu party.

  But all she said was, "Nice. Hope you got some corn to go with it."

  Dan beamed and pulled another big box from his truck bed. "You know it! Straight from Mason's Farm."

  "Then get me a beer, and let's get moving. These things aren't going to cook themselves."

  Dan let out of holler and picked Ashley up like she was a doll and kissed her.

  "Put me down, you goof," she ordered with a laugh. When he complied, she raised a finger at Randy and George. "No daredevil stunts tonight. I'm not having the fire department out here again."

  Randy waved a hand. "No ma'am. That was Crazy Lenny. Can't imagine why he thought he could jump your truck with his Harley."

  Dan shook his head and grinned. "Couldn't no one talk him outta it, though. Man, that was a party. But he won't be here tonight."

  George chimed in. "Yeah, ever since he got his new liver he ain't been a bit of fun."

  "Lenny New Liver's what we all call him now," Randy said with a nod. "Man can't stop preachin' 'bout the evils of drinkin'."

  "You'd think gettin' a new liver an' all that he wouldn't be so worried about it," Dan said seriously. "I mean he could get a lot of miles outta it."

  George and Randy nodded in agreement. I excused myself to help Ashley in the kitchen. Mark gave me a pleading look as I waved goodbye.

  Ashley was getting out the Old Bay from the cabinet and assembling the necessary utensils for cooking up the corn and crabs.

  "You're taking this party in stride." I grabbed a box of plastic ware and a stack of paper plates.

  Ashley shrugged. "Dan went dancing with me last night. I figure it's the least I can do."

  I looked out the window. Dan and the brothers were gesturing wildly about something. Poor Mark appeared to be having trouble following along.

  "At least there won't be a repeat performance by Lenny," I said.

  Ashley shook her head in wonder. "I've lived with Dan for almost a decade. You'd think I wouldn't be surprised by anything that goes on, but I am. Did I tell you about going to the funeral for one of the guys in Dan's gun club?"

  I shook my head. This ought to be good.

  "The guy was cremated, and they had the memorial service at the gun club. Can you believe they took his ashes stuffed them in bullet casings and then shot the guy's remains off in a twenty-one gun salute? The guy's wife—dressed in a really expensive black suit—fired one of the guns. I'm standing there thinking someone's going to run out and yell 'gotcha' or something." Ashley waved her arms in the air.

  "I don't want to ever hear you tell me my life is wacky. Not after that story."

  "Diana, you had a hitman named The Spider trying to kill you, and you sing with pirates. I'm not sure my life comes even close to that."

  She had a point.

  An hour later, we were all seated at big long picnic tables covered in newspaper. Piles of steaming crabs and sweet corn lay in front of us. A cooler of sodas and beer was close by, and rolls of paper towels stood at the ready.

  Everyone dug in at once. Crab guts and shells were separated from sweet, white meat. Mark elbowed me.

  I'd already picked my first crab and was enjoying the fruits of my labor. God, it was so good. "What's wrong? Why aren't you picking your crab?"

  He leaned over and said in a low voice, "I don't know how."

  "Really?" I asked through a mouthful of crab. "Don't you like crabs?"

  "Yes, I've just never picked them before."

  "How's that possible?" I looked pointedly at little Tiffany ripping off the legs of her crab and then expertly plying apart the shell. "I don't think I've ever dated a guy who couldn't pick a crab," I teased.

  "I'm not from here. We don't have crabs like this in Atlanta. Geez, call me a pansy just because I don't know how to pick a crab like Lenny New Liver." Mark grabbed a mallet and made a move to hammer his crab.

  I put my hand on his arm and shook my head. "Mallets are for pansies."

  "Your sister's using a mallet." We looked down at Ashley. She gave us a crab covered wave.

  "She's a pansy."

  Mark sighed. "I see a drive-thru in my future."

  "Nah, just follow my lead." I held up my crab. "First you pull the tab off. Then all the legs."

  Mark did as instructed.

  "Now some of those legs might have a nice little chunk of meat on the end so eat it if you got it." I sucked on one of my crab legs. Mark tentatively picked up one of his legs.

  "Now you pry the shell apart with your fingers and scrape all the mustard and lungs out. Some people like to dip them in water, but that takes all the flavor out. If it's really yucky, you can get a paper towel in there. But tapping it on the table usually does just fine."

  "This is disgusting."

  "Yep, but we're almost to the good part. Now break that in half and just crack the shell like it's a boiled egg. Lift the shell off and voila," I held up a lump of crab meat and tossed it in my mouth.

  Mark tossed a mouthful of his crab into his mouth. Crunch. Crunch. "Is it supposed to be crunchy?" he asked through a mouthful of shell.

  I
looked down at his crab. Something had gone wrong along the way. Shards of shell were mashed into the perfect lumps of meat. "Nope." I picked the rest of the meat from the packed shell of my crab and put it in front of him.

  "Now, that right there's true love," Dan called from his end of the table. "Got yourself a real woman there, Mark." He gave Mark a wink.

  George and Randy nodded.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  On the ride back to Annapolis the next morning, the reality of the boat explosion hit home. The boat had been Mark's house while in Annapolis. Sure, he stayed over with me when I was home for brief periods during the tour, but we'd never lived together. I was a little nervous about the whole arrangement.

  "I can stay at the Executive Suites downtown, if you think it's going to be too cramped at your place."

  I glanced over at him. "Do you think it's going to be too cramped at my place?"

  He sighed. "I don't think so, but I don't want to impose."

  It was my hitman after all that had blown up his boat. Okay, so I know it wasn't my fault a hitman was after me, but trouble seemed to follow me like a stray dog. I felt like I was responsible even though I didn't have control over it. Maybe I should get a skull and crossbones tattooed on my forehead. Dual purpose in case I hit the road as a singing pirate again.

  Mark peered over at me. "Let's just try it on a temporary basis," he suggested.

  I don't know why, but that got my fur up. "Why? Because this relationship is on a temporary basis?"

  "Where'd that come from? I didn't say that."

  I waved my arms around. "It felt like that's what you were saying."

  "I just meant—" He paused. "You know, I don't know what I meant."

  He sounded confused. I wasn't comforted. "You're nervous about living with me, right?"

  "I guess I am," he said.

  I sat back in my seat. "Well, I'm nervous about living with you, too."

  "Doesn't mean we shouldn't try it," he said, putting his hand on my leg.

  "It seems like we should be excited about it. Isn't that the way it's supposed to be?"

  He shrugged. "I don't think there's a rulebook for this sort of thing. I really miss the boat."

  "I'm sorry about Ed's boat. I can't believe it's gone." We'd had a lot of good times on it. "How did Ed take it?"

  Mark laughed. "He said Marci wants to take the insurance money and buy a new yacht."

  "I thought Marci didn't like being on a boat?" Ed's trophy wife was not one of my favorite people. Neither was her son, David for reasons described earlier. His snotty attitude and gold digger tendencies set my teeth on edge.

  "She seems to be okay if it's a yacht with a hot tub on the deck."

  I wouldn't mind that myself. But I doubted Mark's Uncle Ed would be volunteering his new yacht to us anytime soon.

  Mark looked in the rearview mirror at Max. He was seat-belted in using his harness and whining about his inability to see outside. "It's okay, boy. You'll be home soon."

  I looked back at Max. His ears pricked up at the word "home." His mouth looked a little drooly.

  "He doesn't look so good, Mark."

  Max made a retching noise.

  "I think he's car sick."

  "Pit stop," Mark called and pulled into an exit lane in the Kent Narrows area, several miles from the Bay Bridge. "Want to stop for lunch?"

  It was almost noon, but we'd had a big Dan breakfast that morning. I suspected Max had had a big Dan doggie breakfast as well. Which would explain why he was so green around the gills. "I'm not that hungry, but I wouldn't mind stretching my legs. Max can sit with us at the Jetty as long as we're outside."

  "Jetty it is." Mark pulled into the gravel parking lot of the ramshackle restaurant and bar.

  I hadn't played here since last summer. It could get a little crazy when all the bikers were in town. A fight had erupted when I'd launched into "Margaritaville." The bikers had roared for me to stop, and the Hawaiian shirt crowd had demanded I continue. Interestingly enough, the Hawaiian shirt crowd had been ready to throw down to keep the song on the set list. The bouncers had to pull two old guys in shorts and flip flops off a younger biker with a bandana. I played "Margaritaville" that day. Old people rule.

  We had to walk through the bar area to the outside seating that ringed the pier. I waved an arm at the bartender. "Alvinnn!" I did a fair impression of the Alvin and the Chipmunks guy.

  Alvin looked up. "Lady Di in the house! Yo, we got celebrity status dining with us today. And my man, Max! How ya doin' boy?" He gave me a broad smile and patted his knees at Max.

  Max jumped up and gave him a hug. Alvin got a good look at Max's new do. "Woah! Man, looks like he ran into a hedge trimmer." He scratched Max's head.

  "It was a five-year old with scissors."

  Alvin shook his head. "Chin up, man. Long as you got wag, you got swag." Max wagged his tail.

  We exchanged a few pleasantries, and he handed us menus. "No table service until four. Just find a seat, and I'll be out in a few."

  We walked around the empty pier until we found a spot out of the direct sun. A family of ducks immediately flocked over to our table next to the water to wait for their share of our food. Max was having none of that. He barked sharply at the ducks, and they scattered away with irritated honks and squawks.

  Max jumped up on the chair next to me and curled into a ball with a sigh. "Happy with yourself?" I asked giving him a poke.

  Mark laughed. "All in a day's work. He couldn't have those ducks horning in on his treats."

  Max's ears perked up at the t-word.

  "This place is amazing," Mark said as he looked around the pier. "The inside restaurant goes all the way back to the road. Must be close to an acre of land here."

  I looked over the menu at him. "Don't you have enough work to do with the Greene commercial building in Annapolis?"

  "I've been a hard-working man while you've been off playing rock star."

  I stuck my tongue out at him for that dig.

  "I'm done with all the planning. We're just waiting on the city to approve everything, which could be awhile," he added ruefully. "I doubt we'll start actual construction until spring."

  "Thought you had some new CIA obligations to fulfill. Something about a small project?" I watched him closely.

  He nodded. "I do but nothing full-time or predictable. When they need me, they'll call."

  "And you'll take off in the middle of the night and go to God-knows-where." My voice started to take on a panicky note.

  Mark placed a hand over mine. "And I'll be gone a few days, and then I'll be back. I'm a logistics guy, remember? I'm not going to be raiding compounds looking for terrorists."

  I sighed. We'd been round and round on this topic before. Alvin came over to take our orders.

  "Sure you don't want to order crabs, Mark?" I teased.

  Alvin lit up. "Man, we've got some awesome number ones in today."

  Mark held up a hand. "I'm good, thanks. I'll just have a beer."

  "Iced tea and an order of rockfish bites for me, please." I handed Alvin back the menus.

  "Hey, Alvin, do you have the owner's contact info?" Mark asked.

  "Sure do," Alvin replied. "But he's not going to sell. Man's ninety-two years old and likes things the way they are. Don't care if he's losin' money every month. Stick around. He's usually in for a drink on Saturdays."

  "I'd like to talk to him just the same."

  Alvin brought a business card with our drinks. We watched people ride jet skis around the bay and sipped our drinks.

  "So what would you do to this place?" I asked.

  Mark looked thoughtful. "I'd make this into the Eastern Shore live music venue. Depending on how much waterfront real-estate there is here, I'd probably add boat slips. I'd add villa-style condos behind us. Probably twenty or so. And on the top floor, I'd build us a penthouse."

  I had been looking around as he spoke, picturing the changes. He'd had my attention at "live music
venue." My head whipped around. "Penthouse? For us?"

  He nodded.

  "Aren't you getting a little ahead of yourself?" I asked.

  "I have a feeling our temporary arrangement is going to work out just fine." He smiled at me, and I melted into his warm brown eyes. A penthouse was heady stuff. I found my mind wandering through the rooms. The deck. The views!

  "I can tell from the expression on your face that you've already moved in."

  I laughed. "Can't blame a girl for dreaming." I glanced behind us and imagined the three story condo building. An old man sitting at the bar caught my eye. He was wearing a monocle.

  I looked at Mark and nodded my head in the man's direction. I pointed to my eye.

  "Don't see that every day," Mark commented. "I wonder if he's the owner."

  Where do you even buy a monocle these days? Not that there's anything wrong with it. And I'd sure rather see someone with a monocle at this point than a patch.

  We finished lunch and said goodbye to Alvin. "Don't be a stranger now that you're famous, Lady Di."

  "Never. I'll give you a call in the spring to book something for the summer."

  Mark paid the bill and chatted with Alvin for a few minutes.

  The guy with the monocle leaned over and said, "Didn't you blow up a boat recently?"

  Startled, I stammered, "No, uh, someone was trying to blow me up on the boat."

  "You're with that singing pirate, right?"

  "I was on tour with him for a while."

  He pointed a boney finger at me. "There's your problem." He shook his head knowingly. "Gettin' mixed up with pirates always ends badly."

  I didn't even try to explain it wasn't Carlos' fault. I'd found that pirate prejudice ran deep. But the old guy did have a point. If Carlos hadn't stolen my song in the first place, I'd have never been in Puerto Rico and had that run-in with Tyrell.

  "I'm trying to avoid pirates these days."

  "Wise girl." The old man nodded. "What's your boyfriend want with my restaurant?" He nodded sharply at Mark.

  "He's a real estate developer. He's looking for a new project." I was starting to get fidgety. Making eye contact with a monocle wasn't the easiest thing in the world.