A Dolphin's Gift

by Watters, Patricia

  Deciding it was counterproductive to spend the evening speculating about a man who'd be out of her life in a few weeks, she decided to go out on the wharf and get some fresh air, and watch the sunset. But on a whim, before leaving, she removed the band that caught her hair at her nape and ran her fingers through her hair to fluff it around her face, then stepped onto the deck and ventured through the side door of the boathouse.

  While standing on the wharf, she looked toward the row of stalwart buildings that lined the waterfront. The fiery-red sky from the setting sun reflected as copper in the wavy windows of the century-old structures. She looked at the quaint Victorian cottages and stately mansions lining the high bluff overlooking Port Townsend Bay, then scanned the panorama seaward, where jewel-like islands rose from the waters of Admiralty Inlet against a backdrop of mountains. She felt an odd sense of belonging. This place, with its natural beauty and strong sense of history, would provide an environment in which she could build a new life for herself and Mike....

  "One of the benefits of living on the water—" a deep voice interrupted her musings "—an unobstructed view of sunset."

  Nellie turned and looked at Will. Ocher light of dusk flooded his face and shone as tiny lights in his eyes. Her gaze slid down to fix on a pair of masculine lips that curved in a crooked but very appealing smile. Since he didn't smile much, his smile seemed special. She also decided he had a very sensual mouth, a thought she found both tantalizing... and unsettling...

  Will propped his forearm against the boathouse and appeared to be studying her. She said nothing, just stood waiting for him to speak. When he finally did, he said, "I like the color of your hair at sunset. It looks like fireweed honey."

  Nellie blinked several times. Whatever else she might have expected from Will Edenshaw, it was not admiration. But maybe she'd been wanting it when she impulsively pulled the band out of her hair, then ventured into Will's domain. She couldn't deny his nearness made her heart beat a little faster. And from the warmth creeping up her face she knew it was flushed. "Actually it's dishwater blond," she said, unnerved. "But even we dishwater blonds have our moments of glory when the sun's setting."

  Will gathered a lock of hair and let it slip through his fingers. "No, you're not a dishwater blond," he said, toying with her hair. "Definitely not dishwater."

  His gesture stirred in Nellie longings she wasn't prepared to deal with. "Please don't do that," she said, unsettled with their nearness. He released her hair, but when he dropped his hand, a sense of loneliness settled over her, a desolate kind of emptiness that made her feel alone and vulnerable. And right now she needed strength for herself, and for her son. Holding that thought, she turned and fled to the security of the Isadora.

  CHAPTER 3

  To her dismay, Nellie learned that her van needed a new transmission. After pondering whether to pay for repairs or sell the van for junk, she opted on selling. There were no dealers in Port Townsend interested in buying, but the mechanic was willing to take it off her hands for parts and the new tires she'd only recently had mounted. But she needed the money desperately, so she accepted his offer. Since she'd paid for a mini-storage in Medford for six months, she’d deal with the problem of transporting their belongings to Port Townsend later.

  Around the corner from the motel, she saw that the tan sedan with the Oregon license plate was parked in the same location. It looked as if it hadn't been moved. Feeling foolish, and assuming it belonged to someone living in the house near where it was parked, she decided to give it no further thought. There were more important things to worry about, like the fact that without her van she was dependent on Will to transfer her belongings from the van to the boathouse, and he'd also have to take her to the job interviews she'd scheduled for that afternoon.

  Of the phone calls she'd made the day before in response to job listings in the newspaper, a doctor, an attorney, and the curator of the museum were open to interviewing a bookkeeper on short notice. She had no expectation of stepping into a high-paying job. Port Townsend was definitely not a city in the path of progress. But she counted on the picturesque old seaport having a lower cost of living to compensate for a low salary.

  Standing in the master stateroom two hours later, she studied herself in the long narrow mirror on the locker door. Her navy blue pant suit was rumpled, and her black heels were scuffed, but that couldn’t be helped. Nor was she ready to be interviewed. But she had no choice. Although her survivor benefits and unemployment helped offset expenses, after making the monthly payments to her cell phone service, the dentist for her root canal, and the agency that consolidated her debts, what remained would barely cover minimal living expenses. And she had less than eight-hundred dollars in her savings.

  Brushing her hair vigorously, she caught it at her nape and fastened it with a clip, hoping to appear competent and businesslike, a picture of office efficiency.

  "Mom!" A series of sharp raps accompanied Mike's voice. "When are we going?"

  "In a few minutes, honey," Nellie called through the door. "Wait in Mr. Edenshaw's truck."

  She heard a few disgruntled words from Mike that sounded suspiciously like words on his "forbidden word" list, but decided to let it pass. Later, they'd have a mother-son talk about his recent behavior, and his dubious vocabulary.

  When she stepped on deck she found Will standing on the dock across from her, and as she walked toward him, the admiring look in his eyes made her heart quicken. Grasping his extended hand, she stepped from the boat to the dock, balancing on high heels. Feeling Will's fingers curl warmly around hers, she glanced up to find him smiling. "You look nice," he said. "If I were interviewing you'd be hired."

  Nellie smiled back. "But do I look business-like?" she asked.

  Will gave her hand a squeeze before releasing it, and replied, "You look like someone a lecherous boss would chase around the office."

  Nellie laughed, enjoying Will's oblique compliment. It was a light side of him she hadn't seen. Looking askance at him, she said as they walked toward the parking lot, "While I'm at my interview, could Mike stay with you? I won't be long." When Will didn't respond, she looked at him. The humor of moments before had vanished. "I'm sorry," she said, "I shouldn't have asked you to do that. Mike will be fine with me."

  It was another few moments before Will said, in a voice that had lost all its humor, "I doubt you could give it your best with the boy tagging along, so yeah, he can stay with me."

  "Are you sure?" Nellie asked, uneasy with his hesitation, and his tone.

  "No problem," Will assured her. At lease in that, Will sounded confident.

  "Thanks," she said. "That's a big worry off my mind."

  As they approached Will's pickup, Mike promptly hopped out, forcing Nellie to sit in the middle. Will slipped behind the wheel, and Nellie was at once aware of his arm pressed against her shoulder, and his thigh moving against her leg as he propped his foot on the accelerator. "Where to?" he asked.

  "The museum, my first interview," Nellie replied. "My next interview's just down the block, so I'll walk there. Then I'll take a cab to the last interview, which is close to the marina. I can walk back to the boathouse from there." She was a little concerned about leaving Mike with Will so she'd try to keep the interviews short, but even if they ran over, she doubted Mike would challenge Will.

  Knowing she couldn't put off telling Mike any longer, she said to him, "You'll be staying with Mr. Edenshaw during my interviews, but it won't be for long."

  Mike shot daggers at her. "Why can't I come with you?"

  "Because you can't come into the interview with me, I won't give a good interview if I'm worried about what you're doing. Besides, you'd have a better time with Mr. Edenshaw."

  "I don't want to go with him," Mike whined.

  "I'm sorry, Mike, but you have no choice," Nellie said.

  Mike folded his arms and set his mouth in a pout. And Nellie said nothing.

  Which bugged the hell out of Will. She let the boy g
et away with far too much. He also had no idea what to expect once he was alone with Mike. It was obvious what the kid thought of him. But Mike was, after all, just a kid, and not a very big one at that. Certainly he could handle one pint-sized adversary for an hour or two.

  He let Nellie off at the museum and watched her walk toward the entrance. But as soon as the museum door closed behind her, Mike opened the truck door to leave. "Where do you think you're going?" Will asked.

  "I'm splitting." Mike climbed out of the truck.

  Will threw open his door and dashed around the truck, grabbing Mike by the arm as the boy started down the street. "Whoa there," he said. "I told your mother I'd look after you and that's what I intend to do."

  Mike tugged on his arm. "You can't tell me what to do. You're not my father."

  "I am telling you what to do," Will said in a firm voice. "Now get in the truck so I don't have to pick you up and dump you inside."

  "You wouldn't dare."

  "Try me."

  "I'll scream."

  "Go ahead."

  Mike glared at Will, his blue eyes deepening. "I hope the whales eat you."

  "Whales don't eat people. Now, get in the truck." Will released Mike's arm, testing him. Mike looked down the street, primed for his getaway. "I wouldn't do it if I were you," Will said. "I can out-run you any day, and when I catch you, you won't look very big tucked under my arm with your butt in the air. Now get in the truck or I'll put you in there myself." He started to move toward Mike, and Mike quickly turned and climbed back inside.

  At the marine supply store Mike begrudgingly followed Will inside then stood with a dour look on his face while Will made several purchases. Once back in the truck, however, Mike fixed smoldering eyes on Will, and said, "How come you don't like dogs?"

  Will suspected this was some kind of test. "I never said I didn’t like dogs."

  "But you don't," Mike insisted. "You make us keep Katy tied up. I don't see what's so great about cats anyway. Name one thing they can do better than dogs."

  "For starters they land on their feet when dropped," Will said, "and they can creep through brush without making noise, and they're better at finding hiding places."

  "That's no big deal," Mike said.

  "Maybe not, but it helps them survive. And they have exceptional hearing. Their ears turn in the direction of a sound at least twice as fast as the best watchdog's."

  Mike pursed his lips. "They can't bark like a watchdog, so what good is that?"

  "You may have a point there," Will admitted. "I guess we should appreciate cats for cats and dogs for dogs. Katy's a very nice dog," he added. "And Zeke's nice too, but sometimes he can be pretty stuck-up. He thinks humans are big dumb creatures, slow and clumsy since we can't pounce or swipe with claws. He also thinks it's backward that we can't see in the dark or find our way home without a map. Have you heard of Mark Twain?"

  Mike shrugged. "Sure. He was in Tom Sawyer."

  "He wrote Tom Sawyer," Will said, then caught Mike's look of disapproval. He'd obviously embarrassed the kid, which, Will realized, didn't get him any points. "Anyway," he continued, "Mark Twain said that if man could be crossed with cats, it would improve man, but it would deteriorate the cat. I'm sure he'd say that for dogs too," he added. Mike merely glared at him and said nothing. Deciding he wasn't getting anywhere with Nellie's son by lobbying for cats, he switched the conversation to whales. "After we get underway I'll play a recording for you of whales talking."

  Mike's eyes narrowed with skepticism. "You're putting me on. They're just dumb fish."

  "They're not fish, they're mammals," Will said, ignoring the defiant young eyes fixed on him. "They live in families, they have babies like other mammals, they love and care for their young, and they play. Fish don't play."

  Mike eyed Will, dubiously. "Even if they aren't fish, how do you make them talk?"

  "By transmitting music into the water through underwater speakers and recording their responses through a hydrophone, which is an underwater microphone," Will explained.

  Mike folded his arms and glared at Will, and as Will looked at the formidable young face, he sensed he could never have a rapport with this boy. As an adult he'd spent little time around kids, and he vaguely remembered being one while growing up.

  But somehow he and this kid needed to work out a compromise because they were going to be stuck with each other for longer than he cared to dwell on.

  ***

  An hour and a half later, Nellie left her final interview feeling morose. The museum job turned out to be part-time at minimum wage clerking in the gift shop. The attorney at the next interview listened politely while she described her qualifications then smiled his apologies for not telling her earlier he needed a legal secretary. And the doctor was delighted she had a ten-year-old son. He had twin grandsons about that age. For fifteen minutes they discussed the pros and cons of raising children in a small community. A job opening? Maybe toward the end of the month he'd have some bookkeeping. But her spirits lifted as she walked through the historic district, feeling as if she'd stepped back in time, not to the nineteenth century when Port Townsend was a prospering seaport, but fifteen years ago, when she and Uncle Vern meandered through the town, browsing through shops and visiting galleries. The town had changed little since then, maybe a few more souvenir shops, and restaurants, and antique shops.

  After buying an inexpensive pair of binoculars and a northwest bird book for Mike, she walked to the marina, anxious to get back to the Isadora. Only five days aboard and it already felt like home. When she passed the parking area at the end of the dock, however, she was surprised to see that Will's truck was not in its designated parking spot. She suspected Will hadn't finished what he'd set out to do and hoped Mike hadn't been the reason.

  Anxious to change into comfortable clothes, she dashed into the boathouse…

  And froze.

  On the deck of the Isadora stood an old man, his hand on the doorknob, about to enter. "What do you want?" she demanded.

  The man withdrew his hand and touched the brim of his battered cap. "I was admiring the boat," he replied. "She's a beaut. And I apologize if I frightened you. I intend no harm."

  Nellie noted the contrast between the man's articulate speech on the one hand, and his unshaved face and unkempt appearance on the other. She'd thought at first he was a vagrant, and she'd expected his words to be slovenly as well. He seemed nervous. And something told her he was lying. "I'd appreciate it if you'd leave at once," she said in a firm voice.

  The man stepped from the boat to the dock, but before leaving, his eyes scanned the Isadora, from stem to stern. Then he tipped his hat and left. Nellie trailed after him through the side door and out onto the dock, where she stood watching until he'd disappeared around the corner of a boathouse. He could just be curious, but she didn't get that impression when he offered his explanation. His apology seemed contrived, his eyes shifty. And his hand had definitely been poised to open the door. It came to her that he could be the person who followed them in the old car. If they'd been followed. But there was simply no logical reason why anyone would do that. Especially an old man.

  Fifteen minutes later Will and Mike returned. When Nellie told Will about the old man, Will shrugged, and said, "People around here wander in and out of each other's places pretty freely. The old guy probably just wanted to see how the work on the Isadora was going."

  "I think it's more than that," Nellie insisted. "He was about to go inside the boat, and would have if I hadn't come in when I did. I want to lock the boat house when we're gone."

  "There’s no need," Will replied. "No one around here has ever been robbed."

  Nellie eyed the door where the man exited. "Well, I don't want us to be the first."

  Will looked at her, curious. "Did you ask who he was, or where he lived?"

  Nellie blinked several times, while asking herself that question. "Well... no," she replied. "He caught me off guard, and I just wanted him to l
eave."

  Will brushed his knuckle along her jaw. "Okay, if it makes you feel better, we'll lock the boat house, and the boat. But I think you're overreacting."

  "Maybe," Nellie admitted. Still, when she considered the incongruity of the old man's polished speech and unkempt appearance, she felt anxious. More than anxious. She felt frightened. Everything seemed far too coincidental.

  After Will returned to his task, and while Mike was tidying his cabin, Nellie called the Oregon State Police to see if she could get information on the owner of the sedan, though she suspected they’d be reluctant to reveal anything. But to her alarm, she learned that the car with the Oregon license number she’d recorded had been reported stolen. Stolen! She and Mike had been followed by someone driving a stolen car. The police would not give any information about the owner, but they did ask questions about the location of the car and details about the incident. Again, the niggling uncertainty surrounding Uncle Vern's death began to trouble her.

  With all her latest problems—her car dying, worry over job interviews, the work needed on the boat—her mind had been occupied during the day. But at night, when Mike was asleep, she'd begun to put together a list of disparities during the weeks since Uncle Vern's death.

  Contradictions that seemed meaningless at the time now seemed relevant, like the man claiming to be from the company that had insured the Isadora. He'd asked about her relationship with Uncle Vern then followed with questions that seemed unrelated to the issue of Uncle Vern's death. After the man left, she'd mulled over his questions because they'd been so odd, but then she'd dismissed it when the washing machine overflowed and she lost her job. It wasn't until later that she learned there was no insurance on the Isadora because Uncle Vern let it lapse…

  Seeing Will coming toward her, she planted a smile on her lips. She didn't want him to see her concern and begin asking questions. If he suspected something was wrong, he might renege on their contract. And now she was anxious to be far out at sea where she wouldn't have to deal with the fear and uncertainty of this new development.