Superior Storm (Lake Superior Mysteries)

by Tom Hilpert

  “There are some good trout streams nearby,” I allowed. For some reason she hit me.

  “Hey,” I said, “I was agreeing with you.”

  “You could have fooled me.”

  “It's an adequate town,” I amended, feeling generous.

  “It's a good thing I have such manly shoulders,” I said a moment later, “or all this unwarranted violence might injure me.”

  Truthfully, however, it was a gorgeous little town, and we were arriving early morning on a day that was singularly spectacular for October in the North Country.

  “What a day!” I said when we got out of the car at the harbor and stretched. “It's got to be at least seventy degrees.” Peak color season had passed, but there were still wide swaths of gold and red forest along the shoreline, all the more brilliant in their contrast with the blue water.

  “It's adequate,” said Leyla.

  “I suffer because of my upbringing,” I said. “I was taught never to hit girls.”

  Leyla stood with her hands behind her back, her long dark hair spilling in waves over her right shoulder. Her eyes glittered with mischief. “You could punish me with a kiss,” she said in a small voice. For some reason, I became aware of my heart pounding in my chest.

  “You are bad, aren't you?” I said. I moved towards where she stood, her head bent down now like a naughty school girl. Just then, a car pulled up next to mine. Through the windshield I could see Angela and Phil. I checked my movement, opting instead for pastoral decorum. Leyla grinned wickedly and winked at me.

  I introduced Leyla to the Krugers. Phil seemed keyed up, his dark eyes sparkling and his sensual mouth active and smiling. He was wearing blue nylon pants, the kind some runners wear, and a dark, blue nylon jacket. Angela seemed excited too. Her outfit was almost identical to Phil’s, only the jeans and sweater were clearly styled for the female form.

  I shook their hands and introduced them to Leyla.

  “Wonderful to meet you,” said Angela, glancing from Leyla to me, and back to Leyla again. “Jonah didn't mention that he was married.”

  I felt a little twinge of awkwardness. I opened my mouth, but Leyla rescued me. “Oh, we're not married,” she said. “I'll be the captain for this cruise.”

  Phil glanced quickly at Angela. She wrinkled her brow.

  “Captain?”

  “Yes, I'll be sailing the boat. Jonah isn't really qualified,” she added unnecessarily, touching my cheek with the palm of her hand.

  They noticed the touch, and I saw another glance pass between the Krugers. I cleared my throat, feeling strangely embarrassed.

  “Leyla and I are also, ah, seeing each other.”

  Phil gave a kind of shrug. “Well, this will be terrific,” he said.

  “It will,” I said, hoping I sounded convincing. Now that we were here, I thought it could be a very long weekend indeed, if the Krugers and Stones didn't cooperate.

  Angela looked around, took a deep breath and sighed. “I have really been looking forward to this,” she said to no one in particular.

  “Well,” I said, “let's go find the boat.”

  There weren't that many boats still in the water by that date in October, and we found her easily enough. Tiny Dancer was painted in a loose freehand font on her stern. In fact, it looked almost like an amateur paint job. I wondered about that. My impression of nautical matters is that there was a great deal of superstition involved. Wouldn't someone consider it bad luck to have the name of your boat painted in such a sloppy fashion? Even so, if it didn't bother Red Hollis, it was no business of mine. Maybe he'd painted it on there himself out some other nautical superstition. Some sailors are funny that way.

  She was a nice-looking yacht and didn't seem all that tiny to me. Leyla said she was a forty footer. The cabin, with tiny windows, stood up only a foot or so from the rest of the hull, but ran almost the whole length and width of the vessel.

  “Looks like there will be plenty of room below,” said Leyla approvingly. I took her word for it.

  Ropes and pulleys ran all over the deck and the top of the cabin. There was one mast that towered into the bright blue autumn sky. Near the base of the mast, a pole extended horizontally – the boom. It was wrapped with some kind of bulky blue canvas cover. At the bow of the boat, a steel cable climbed to the top of the mast. Around that cable was wrapped a sail.

  “That's the foresail or jib” said Leyla, seeing me looking at it. She was looking around too. She pointed to the base of the foresail where a kind of wide, flattened pulley was installed.

  “That will make things much easier,” she said. “It makes it much simpler to control the sail.”

  “Yeah, I was just thinking how nice it was that we had one of those,” I said, dodging a blow from Leyla. “I thought sailing was supposed to be a simpler, old-fashioned thing,” I added, looking at the spider’s web of ropes draping the vessel, “I've seen computers less complicated than this.”

  “Oh, it's not so bad,” she said. “It's basically the same as that catamaran we go out on sometimes. Just bigger, that's all.”

  At the rear end of the boat (aft as I learned it is called) there was an open cockpit. It didn't seem all that large. Behind that, was the wheel, about two feet in diameter, apparently made of steel tubing. It was attached to a small pedestal that also held a compass, an engine throttle and a GPS unit. The walls between the outer hull and the inner cockpit were very thick.

  At the front of the cockpit was a doorway that was blocked by boards and padlocked shut.

  Leyla walked to the marina office to pick up the key, while I went back to the car for our bags. Phil and Angela also picked up their luggage. I have many failings. Among them is great pride in my ability to pack small and light. Leyla, apparently, did not share the same pride. For a moment, I felt slightly embarrassed about the amount I was forced to carry, until I noticed that the Krugers had even more.

  As I went back for the second time, a black SUV with tinted windows pulled up. Jasmine and Tony Stone got out. Stone looked, as always, like his name. His face was flat and expressionless. Like Phil, he wore blue jeans, but he wore a gray University of Minnesota Sweatshirt. There was a small, old-fashioned pager on his belt. He nodded when he saw me, and then went without a word to the back of the blazer for their luggage. Jasmine was animated as always, but in a businesslike way today.

  “Do you have everything set?” she asked.

  “I think so,” I said. “The boat seems to float anyway.” I started to move toward the back of the blazer. Jasmine stepped into my path, stopping me.

  “Tony is very particular about our stuff. I wouldn't offer to help him, if I were you.”

  “Farthest thing from my mind,” I said without thinking. “I mean,” I added when I realized how that sounded, “I had other things I was thinking about.”

  Jasmine smiled and laid her hand on my arm. She stood a little bit closer to me than I felt comfortable with. “It's okay, Jonah,” she said. “We're very grateful that you are willing to help us.” I could smell her perfume and for some reason that was unsettling. Her black hair was pulled back into a tight pony tail held with a lavender band, and she wore a matching outfit of lavender-trimmed blouse and pants.

  When I got back to the Tiny Dancer with the second load, I found Leyla had opened up the hatch. I stepped from the dock to the deck around the cockpit, and then down into the cockpit. Two more strides took me to the hatch and companionway. There were four more steps down, and by the time I reached the bottom, I was pleasantly surprised. I could stand up fully without banging my head. In front of me was the saloon, or, main cabin. It was a long room with a padded settee on each side. It was neat and well-appointed, with polished wood paneling and cupboards. It even seemed a little spacious, like a large and unusually wide camper-trailer. On the right hand side slightly toward the front, the settee was formed into a wide U around a table. The table had a little lip on all around it, presumably to keep things from sliding off the edge when
the waves tilted the yacht. Directly to my right was a small, but neatly ordered, galley, complete with stove, refrigerator and sink. The counter formed the back of one arm of the U-shaped settee. I looked over my shoulder and saw a narrow door aft of the galley. I swung it open to find the tiniest toilet-shower room that has ever been built. I bet the Pilgrims had bigger facilities on the Mayflower. I swung back to the left and found another door that seemed to lead toward the back of the boat. I opened it to find the small stern cabin. I could stand up in the area right next to the door, but the bed was underneath the floor of the cockpit. Sleepers would lie with their faces only a foot or two from the ceiling. The outside wall had two long narrow windows. The inside wall, I assumed, separated it from the toilet.

  There was another cabin at the front of the boat, under the bow. It was, not surprisingly, v-shaped. Once again, at that point, the cabin no longer protruded above the deck, and the sleepers would be tucked in fairly close to the low ceiling. There was a skylight above the bed, which apparently could be opened and used as a hatch.

  In the main saloon, on the port side, aft of the straight settee, was a little desk. Like the table, it has a small lip all around it. Above it, set in the wall, was a bank of electronic equipment. It held what looked like a CB radio and possibly a GPS unit, or maybe a depth finder, I wasn't sure which. There was also an ordinary stereo of the kind you might find in a car. The CB radio was on, a mechanical, computer-generated male voice droning out a weather report. It sounded promising.

  Leyla came down the steps into the cabin. She turned to the radio and switched it off. “Well, the radio works and the weather sounds good.” She turned to me. “What do you think?”

  “It's kind of like a camper,” I said.

  She regarded me with a long, level gaze.

  “A big camper,” I amended.

  The look did not waver.

  “A big, fancy camper,” I added, “with sails.”

  “This could be a long trip,” she said for some reason. “We've got these berths,” she said, turning and gesturing at the settees, “which one do you want?”

  “I guess I'll take the one on the left,” I said.

  “I beg your pardon?” said Leyla.

  “Sorry,” I said, “port.”

  “That's better. We might as well make this as authentic as possible. When we are facing forward, left is port. Right is starboard.”

  “Aye-aye Cap'n!” I saluted.

  She eyed me with twisted lips. I returned her look with wide-eyed innocence. “A really long trip,” she muttered, turning away.

  There was a little flyer on the table. It read, “Welcome aboard the Zephyr.” It was some kind of pamphlet for a rental yacht, which was apparently quite similar to the Tiny Dancer.

  “Hey look at this,” I said to Leyla. “Whoever was on here last was thinking of renting a different boat.”

  Leyla looked at the flyer. “I don’t see why,” she said, shrugging. “It’s exactly the same model of boat.” She looked more closely. “Basically identical in fittings, actually.”

  “Maybe the owner of the Zephyr charges less than Red Hollis,” I said.

  It took about half an hour to get everyone's luggage stowed. Both the Stones and Krugers insisted on handling all of their own bags, so I was occupied stowing my things, and then Leyla's, in cupboards in the main saloon. After that, I transferred our food from the coolers in our vehicle to the galley on the Tiny Dancer.

  When we had completed everything, Leyla called us all together in the cockpit outside. I introduced her to the Stones.

  “OK,” she said. “I need to go over some things. You may have heard that at sea, a captain functions as supreme dictator of his ship.”

  “Or her ship,” said Angela, a little more loudly than was necessary.

  “Yes,” said Leyla. “The point is, there is a reason for that. At times, decisions may have to made quickly, and actions may have to be taken immediately or we could experience major disaster.” She paused. “I mean, life-ending kinds of disaster. I don't expect that sort of thing to happen. But if we do get into a tight situation, you have to do what I say immediately, without arguing, or questioning, or something very bad could happen. Are you with me?”

  We all agreed that we were with her. At this point, my phone vibrated, signaling I had a text message. I ignored it steadfastly, paying close attention to the captain. I generally enjoyed paying close attention to her.

  “Another thing. We use certain terms in sailing, like port for left, and starboard for right. Using these terms while we are on board will keep everything clear so that we all understand each other in an emergency, and even for just sailing the boat.” She glanced significantly at me. I looked up at the mast.

  “So, just so you know what we're doing, and you can help sail if you want to, and so you won't be confused in an emergency, let's go over the terms.”

  She went over port and starboard again. The very front of the boat was called the bow. Anything toward the front was “forward.” Anything toward the rear was “aft.” The very back of the boat was called the “stern.”

  Leyla also showed us where the life jackets were stowed, under one of the cockpit benches. “It if gets rough,” she said, “we’ll want to wear these whenever we are in the cockpit or on deck.” There were short metal railings around the bow and the stern. Between them on each side stretched metal cable life-lines, running through stanchions set along the sides of the boat. There were two cables, one at about shin height, the other maybe thigh high.

  Tony Stone was regarding Leyla with a level of attention that was a bit more than polite. Jasmine noticed this and elbowed him so hard, he grunted. I pretended not to notice the sound, or the look she gave him. It all reminded me that I had my work cut out for me, and it was not going to be all fun and games out on the lake.

  If only I had known how true that was.

  CHAPTER 30

  It was about eleven o'clock when we set sail. Well, technically, we didn't set the actual sail until after, but we left the marina at that point. Leyla turned a key and the big diesel engine rumbled to life below decks somewhere. I unhooked the ropes that tied the Tiny Dancer to the dock, and then jumped back on board. We chugged slowly backward out of our berth, and then slowly forward out of the harbor into the wide channel between Bayfield and Madeline Island.

  To my surprise, we were towing a little dinghy on a long rope behind us. “What's that for?” I asked Leyla.

  “If we anchor in a bay, we can use that get to shore without swimming,” she replied. I nodded. “It has other uses too,” she added, “but we won't need it for that.”

  “Doesn't it slow us down?” asked Phil.

  “A little bit, maybe,” said Leyla, “but we aren't racing here, and it doesn't slow us much. This isn't like a speed boat – it isn't going to bounce around in our wake like a water skier.”

  “It'll slide smoothly through the soft, silky water,” I said. Nobody paid any attention. I thought about repeating it louder, but ultimately went for the dignity of silence.

  It was still a perfect day. The lake was as blue as the eyes of a blond Norwegian child, mirroring the perfect sky. They were both the kind of blue that you only see on fine fall days – never in summer or winter. On shore, it had been almost seventy-five degrees. Out on the water where the wind blew, it was probably closer to sixty, but for autumn on Lake Superior, that was spectacularly and unusually warm. The trees on the shore were mostly leafless or brown, but there were vibrant stands of dark pine, offset by the stately muted hues of orange oaks. If this atmosphere couldn't help the two couples work through their differences, I didn't know what could. The setting was picture perfect.

  That sparked a thought. “Camera!” I said out loud.

  “Me, too!” said Jasmine.

  I went below, and she followed. I opened one of the cupboards in the saloon to dig out the camera. Jasmine hovered for a moment, and then Angela came quickly down the four steps of th
e companionway, stumbling as the boat shifted in the swell of the great lake.

  “Are you OK?” I asked, turning and reaching out towards her, rocking a little on my feet as well.

  She waved me off. “I feel a little woozy is all,” she said, grimacing. “I guess maybe I'm not a good sailor. I think I'm going to lie down for a little while.” She continued past me to the bow cabin. An unpleasant thought popped into my mind. This would hardly be a weekend of marriage restoration if they were lying around sick the whole time. I realized, feeling a little sick in a different way, that I hadn't even brought any motion-sickness medicine for anyone.

  Jasmine disappeared into her cabin under the cockpit. She emerged a second later, shaking her head ruefully. “I can't believe it. We forgot our camera.”

  “Don't worry about it,” I said. “I'll give you copies of everything I take. If you want to take some shots yourself, feel free.”

  She glanced at me. “Do you have a video capture mode too?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Knock yourself out.”

  “Okay,” she said. “I'll borrow it later.”

  Back in the pristine Superior air, I took some shots of the lake and the brilliant fall colors of the shore.

  I turned to capture an image of Leyla behind the wheel. She stuck out her tongue as I clicked the button.

  “Nice,” I said. “Maybe that one should go on the Internet.”

  She laughed, her hair billowing in the breeze and eyes sparkling. Then she set her face in a more somber expression.

  “OK, do it again.”

  As I snapped the second picture, she deepened her expression into a severe mock-frown.

  “Seriously!”

  She was laughing again. “All right, this time I promise.” But I had already taken two shots of her laughing at the wheel. I felt a strange joy as I smiled and said, “Never mind.”

  I turned and took some candids of the Stones and then Phil Kruger, lounging on the deck in front of the mast.

  Jasmine saw me and offered a stunning smile for the camera. Tony Stone just looked at me without expression.