A Dolphin's Gift

by Watters, Patricia

  A DOLPHIN'S GIFT

  Patricia Watters

  STORY DESCRIPTION: Inheriting her uncle's yacht and living on it is just what Nellie Reid needs to get out of the financial abyss she's in and put the lives of herself and her ten-year-old son back on track. But what she initially thinks is a dream come true, quickly becomes a nightmare. Not only is the owner of the boathouse threatening foreclosure for back rent, he claims he had an agreement with Nellie's uncle for use of the boat for his whale study. But if Will Edenshaw cruises off on her yacht, Nellie will have him arrested for grand theft! And Will hasn't the heart to foreclose on a homeless, jobless widow. But once at sea, life aboard the Isadora becomes perilous. Will's in hot pursuit, and there's no place Nellie can run and hide from her heart. But there are also others in pursuit—a grizzled old sea dog and a bald-headed man with a gun—and Nellie and Will don't know why. But as they venture into rough waters, it's evident that whoever's in pursuit is dead set on seeing Nellie... dead.

  A DOLPHIN'S GIFT

  Copyright © Patricia Watters, 2011

  NOTE - also published under the title of IN HOT PURSUIT

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or were used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. The republication or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic or mechanical or other means, not known of hereafter invented, including xerograpghy, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law.

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  BOOKS BY PATRICIA WATTERS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER 1

  Nellie Reid turned onto the dark vacant highway toward Port Townsend and glanced in the rear-view mirror. The car with the dimmed headlight also made the turn. A lump of fear lodged in her throat. She'd first noticed the car when she crossed the Columbia River from Oregon to Washington, and it had kept a constant distance behind, racing ahead when she accelerated, falling back when she slowed to let it pass. Three hours later, it was still there.

  A raw-edged kind of panic gripped her. Why would someone trail a woman traveling in an old mini van, with a child and a dog...

  Unless it had something to do with Uncle Vern.

  Ever since she'd received the grim news, she'd felt a niggling uncertainty about the circumstances surrounding his death. He'd always been a conservative driver, yet his Mercedes was estimated to have been traveling over a hundred miles an hour when it left the road and plunged into the Pacific Ocean, hundreds of feet below. And there were other disparities. All her life, Uncle Vern had been wealthy, yet there was no money in his estate. And over three-thousand dollars back rent was due on a boathouse she'd thought he owned. She'd also learned he'd tried to sell the Isadora. Another inconsistency. The finely-crafted yacht had been his pride and joy. But the worst of it was, the owner of the boathouse filed a lien on the Isadora, and if she didn't pay the back rent, he could foreclose, and they'd have no place to live. But she didn't have anywhere near three-thousand dollars...

  She looked at her ten-year-old son, Mike, in the passenger seat, his little dog Katy curled beside him and the carcass of Mike's scraggly stuffed teddy bear tucked discreetly under his blanket. Reflected light in the rearview mirror softly illuminated Mike's peaceful face, a face in sharp contrast to what she felt. Other than the terrible weeks following Richard's death, when Mike was recovering in the hospital from the accident that killed his father, she couldn’t remember when her life had been in such turmoil.

  In the past three weeks she'd inherited a yacht, lost her job, given up her apartment, and made the decision to move to Port Townsend and live on the Isadora. After uprooting Mike three times since his father's death, they would at last have a place to call home. And as soon as she got a job and paid off her debts, she'd never be in this vulnerable position again.

  In the mirror she caught the lights of a semi passing the car with the dimmed headlight and pulling in behind her. Normally she'd feel anxious with such an intimidating juggernaut thundering behind, but the presence of the truck with its glaring lights offered her a bizarre sense of security, and for the moment she hoped it would remain. But on the downhill, the semi sped past. She glanced in the mirror. The car with the dimmed headlight was still there. Deciding to keep pace with the semi, she gripped the wheel, braced her arms, and stepped on the gas. The van hesitated, though she hadn't let up on the accelerator. Faint at first, then growing in intensity, a singing, reverberating sound emanated from somewhere in the bowels of the engine...

  Mike opened his eyes. "Why's the car making that funny noise?" he asked.

  "I don't know, honey," Nellie replied. "Maybe it's the gas. Sometimes there's water in it. Go back to sleep." She adjusted the pillow behind Mike's head, and he closed his eyes.

  The van slowed again for no apparent reason, and the singing sound grew louder. Mike sat up. "There's that noise again," he said. "Do you still think it's the gas?"

  Nellie looked at the dark, barren highway stretching before her, then in the mirror at the car trailing behind. "I hope so," she replied, relieved as the van surged forward once more.

  "How much farther is it?" Mike asked.

  "About forty-five miles. We'll make it," Nellie said with outward confidence, masking the apprehension inside.

  Several miles down the road she pulled into an all-night diner. To her relief, the car with the dim headlight—a light-colored, older model, four-door sedan—sped past. Inside the diner, she ordered hot chocolate and donuts for Mike, intending to stay a while. She wanted the mystery car to be far ahead when they set out again. She also had a call to make. She and Mike would be staying in a motel tonight, but first thing in the morning, they'd be taking up residency on the Isadora, and Will Edenshaw might as well get used to the idea.

  She punched in his number on her cell, and a deep voice intercepted the third ring. "Yes?"

  "Mr. Edenshaw?"

  "Speaking."

  "I'm Cornelia Reid. My uncle, Vernon Sinclair, owns the Isadora. That is, he owned the boat—it’s mine now and—"

  "I'm glad you called, Miss Reid," the man interrupted.

  "Mrs. Reid," Nellie corrected.

  "Mrs. Reid," Edenshaw repeated. "I was very patient with your uncle about the back rent due on the boathouse, in spite of the fact that he made no effort to pay anything for the last seven months, but I can't continue to carry this debt. I must have payment at once or I'll have to foreclose on the boat."

  "I'm sorry about my uncle's debt, and I don't know why he got so far behind in the rent," Nellie said, nettled by the man's overbearing attitude and his callous mention of her dead uncle, "but I assure you, you'll be paid every cent he owed."

  "I'm afraid we're not talking pennies," Edenshaw said. "The rent's well over—"

  "Three thousand dollars," Nellie interjected. "As I said, you'll be paid."

  "I'd appreciate that," Will Edenshaw said. "So, if you and your husband will cut a check, I'd like to square this away as soon as possible."

  "I have no husband," Nellie said. "I'm a widow."

 
After an extended pause on the other end of line, Will Edenshaw said, "I'm very sorry."

  Nellie felt the familiar constriction in her throat that came whenever she acknowledged her widowhood. She was too young to carry that yoke. Though she doubted the condolence was genuine, sympathetic words triggered the reaction. Clearing her throat, she said, "Would it be possible for me to make payments on the back rent, say, fifty dollars a month until it's paid."

  "Fifty a month?" The voice on the other end of the line was incredulous.

  "It's all I can afford right now."

  "I'm sorry, Mrs. Reid," Will Edenshaw said, "but it'll have to be considerably more than fifty a month. I'd need at least five hundred or we'd be looking at a very long-term loan, which I'm not in a position to carry at the moment."

  Nellie felt her stomach twist. Five hundred a month? That would be impossible...

  "Mrs. Reid?"

  "Oh... uh... yes, you said five-hundred." She swallowed hard. "I'll need some time, but I'll see what I can do."

  "I'm sorry, but like I said, I'm not in a position to extend any more credit."

  "I'm not asking you to extend credit," Nellie said, her voice rising. "I'm only asking for a little more time. I've had some temporary financial setbacks—" she paused, realizing Will Edenshaw's voice held no trace of compassion or understanding. Actually it gave no hint of any emotion at all, except impatience. "Never mind," she said. "We can discuss it when I get there."

  "Which is?"

  "Tomorrow morning." Nellie hung up, feeling drained. Would Will Edenshaw foreclose? He'd been quick to point out he could if he chose to. But maybe face-to-face he'd be more open to compromise. However, the first thing she'd do would be to move the Isadora from his enclosed boathouse to a less expensive open slip so the rent tab wouldn't keep climbing.

  Thirty minutes later, they pulled onto the highway. For the moment, the engine problem seemed to have resolved itself, and the road ahead was clear. Deciding that her fears had been unfounded, she focused on the Isadora where they'd soon be living, remembering summers spent as a child cruising Puget Sound with Uncle Vern. She could almost feel the warm teakwood deck beneath her bare feet and the satiny-smooth handrail gliding against her palm. She visualized Uncle Vern at the helm, tall and dignified in his navy-blue yachtsman's coat and white cap with its shiny black bill, his mustache curving when he smiled…

  At a crossroad, a car turned onto the highway. One headlight was dim. Nellie's stomach coiled with renewed fear. Clutching the wheel, she stepped on the gas. The van hesitated, then shifted into passing gear and shot forward. Hands gripping the wheel, she tracked the serpentine road, braking around sharp turns, and speeding on the straightaway, until the sing-song thrumming started again as they climbed a long hill and the van slowed to a top speed of forty miles an hour. The car trailing them maintained a constant distance behind.

  An hour later, with a string of traffic behind them as they crept along the winding road at a top speed of forty miles an hour, the car with the dimmed headlight was lost in the line. As they arrived in Port Townsend, the van slowed even more, and with its last momentum, coasted into a service station and rolled to a halt. Nellie watched for the car that had been following them, but as the vehicles passed, it didn't appear to be among them.

  She turned the van over to the mechanic, who checked it briefly and told her it might need a new transmission. Nellie glared at the old vehicle. Why, after eight years of dedicated service, did it turn on her now? Considering her financial state, the hurt she'd thought she'd come to terms with welled. How could Richard have left her virtually penniless and with a son to raise? And how could she have been so foolish as to entrust everything they had to a man with big dreams and little business sense? She didn't know the business was failing until after Richard’s death, when she learned he'd allowed their medical insurance to lapse. He’d also cashed in his life insurance to finance the equipment for their printing business, gambling nothing would happen. But she also knew that everything Richard had done had been for her and Mike. They'd been his whole life too. She sniffled, surprised to feel teary after so long, and she knew Richard was still a part of her life, just as he'd been ever since his family moved next door to hers so many years ago...

  The mechanic offered to lock the van in the garage overnight and check the engine the next day. Nellie contemplated the hodgepodge of clothes, boxes and bags inside the van and the assorted pieces piled on the luggage rack, and gratefully agreed. Noticing a blinking yellow VACANCY sign on the opposite side of the highway, she handed Mike their overnight bags, took Katy by the leash, and headed for the modest, mom-and-pop motel, hoping they’d allow pets. To her relief, they did, and before long, all three of them were nestled in bed.

  The following morning, the attendant told her to check back in a day or two for a repair estimate. Luckily they were in walking distance of the marina. Nellie carried a suitcase in one hand with Katy's leash wrapped around her wrist, and a sleeping bag under her other arm, and with the other hand she towed a bag on wheels, and Mike toted a sleeping bag under one arm and lugged a large bag on wheels behind him. As they set out, Nellie scanned the area for the mystery car, not expecting to see it, but to her surprise, and alarm, she saw a tan, four-door, older-model Ford parked on a side street, just around the corner from the motel where they stayed. Although she wasn't certain it was the same car, she recorded the license number.

  After a burdensome walk, they reached the docks where boathouses with enclosed slips and apartments above stretched out in one direction, and piers with open slips stretched out in the other. She scanned the lineup of boathouses with enclosed slips, spotting number sixteen, where the Isadora lay moored. She quickened her pace, feeling a flurry of excitement on seeing the elegant yacht again after so long. At the door to the boathouse, she paused to let Mike catch up. Smiling, she said in a voiced filled with anticipation, "Come on, Mike. We're home."

  But when she opened the door and looked at the large vessel, all she could do was stare in disbelief. Green oxidation hid brass that once gleamed bright, varnish curled and flaked off the weathered boards of the cabin, dark green paint buckled and peeled on the window and door frames, the heavy canvas canopy that once covered the afterdeck hung split from dry-rot, and an array of tools and old rags littered the once-elegant teakwood deck, now weathered and smudged with dirt. Nellie closed her eyes, trying to bring back the picture she'd held in her mind over the years, but all she saw was the Isadora in fallen state.

  "You sure that's Uncle Vern's boat?" Mike asked.

  "Oh... yes," Nellie replied, while trying to mask her disenchantment.

  "Yuk!" Mike said. "It's a mess."

  Nellie released the suitcase and turned Katy over to Mike. "Well, it's different than I remember, but it just needs a little scrubbing to bring it back to—" Before she could complete her sentence, Katy started barking, broke from Mike's hold and hurled herself from the dock onto the deck of the Isadora.

  "Katy!" Nellie yelped. "Katy come here right now!" But the little dog continued barking and running in a zigzag path, intent on flushing something from inside a small life boat that hung from davits above the deck.

  "She's gonna fall off the boat!" Mike yelled.

  Before Nellie could stop him, Mike lunged from the dock to the deck of the Isadora and scrambled after Katy. Then losing his balance, he stumbled. Seeing Mike tumbling toward the edge of the boat, Nellie screamed….

  ***

  Will Edenshaw bolted down the stairwell leading from his apartment to the boat slip below, shrieks, and the incessant yapping of a dog making him quicken his pace. He threw open the door and was greeted by chaos. "What the hell!"

  A woman stood screaming on the dock while a young boy chased a shaggy-looking dog around the lifeboat on the Isadora. "Damn!" Will exclaimed, catching sight of the object of the dog's pursuit. Zeke, his black and tan tabby cat, stood stiff legged atop the lifeboat, ears laid flat, back arched, claws hooked into the
stretched canvas covering. Will jumped onto the Isadora, scooped up the dog in one arm and the boy in the other, and hopped back onto the dock.

  "Let me go you big jerk!" the boy yelled, kicking his feet while pounding Will's legs with his fists. "I'll kill you! I'll kill you!" Will released the boy, who stood, fists curled, glaring at him. "Give me my dog!" the boy demanded.

  "Better still—" Will looped a section of line around a cleat "—we'll tie him up."

  The boy gave Will a scathing look. "My dog's not a him. She's a her."

  "Fine." Will looped the line through the dog's collar and tied it to a cleat. The boy crouched beside the dog and shot dagger looks at Will.

  Will hopped onto the Isadora and walked over to the life boat. "Come on, Zeke. It's okay now, boy." He reached for his cat, unhooked the claws of four feet from the canvas, and tucked the animal under his arm.

  It wasn't until then that he took his first real look at the woman standing on the dock, and what he saw made his blood pump hard in his veins. Stunning hazel eyes fringed with thick brown lashes stared at him unwavering. He was vaguely aware of a fine straight nose, softly rounded cheeks, and a chin that held a hint of stubbornness.

  "You're Mrs. Reid, I presume," he said, attempting to assess the situation. The woman was not only a widow, which touched a soft spot inside him, but she also had a son and a mongrel dog. How does one go about foreclosing on a widow with a kid and a dog?

  "Yes, I'm Nellie Reid," the woman said, her gaze locked on his. She blinked those incredible tawny-green eyes several times, and added, "And you must be Will Edenshaw?"

  "That's right."

  "Well, I'm sorry about Katy," she said.

  "Who?" Will found himself struggling to hold his train of thought. Nellie Reid was more than good looking. And the disarray of honey-blond hair framing her face reminded him of corn-silk. He could almost feel it, soft and silky between his fingers…

  "Katy, our dog. She doesn't like cats," Nellie said.