by Jeramy Gates
I noted a handful of rowboats, canoes, and another sailboat moored nearby. The Neptune was at the north end of the dock, and I could see Joe stealing glances in that direction as he tied us off. I knew what he had in mind. I tried to stop him.
“Forget it, Joe. Just let it be. No harm done.”
I was standing near the bow, and as he came limping in my direction, I realized that I wasn’t the only one our trip had taken a toll on. Joe has a bum hip, the result of an old injury from his days as a cop. Most of the time he manages without his cane, but when the weather turns cold, or he overexerts himself, it starts giving him trouble. Joe bent over to open the stow box to retrieve his cane. He stood upright, scanning the foggy slope behind us.
“Hola!” someone shouted. I followed the sound to a shadowy figure moving through the fog beyond our stern at the south end of the docks. It was too dark to see the man’s face, but he was short with broad shoulders, and moved with the hurried pace of someone who would rather be inside. When he got closer, I saw that he was a clean-shaven Hispanic man in his mid-thirties.
“I’m Miguel,” he said with a thick Spanish accent. “You must be de Shepherds. Miss Charlotte sent me for your bags.”
“They’re down below,” I said. Miguel climbed aboard. He followed me down the stairs, where I showed him our overnight bag and two suitcases. “I know it’s a lot of luggage for a weekend, but I figured we should be prepared,” I said apologetically.
“Good thinking,” said Miguel. “It has been raining for ten days.”
My eyebrows went up. “Ten days?”
“That’s nothing. When the weather gets cold, the rain comes and comes, and it does not want to stop.” He stuffed our overnight bag under his arm and then took a suitcase in each hand.
“Can I help you with those?” I said.
“No, ma’am. Dis is my job.”
As we emerged, I realized that Joe had disappeared. I turned, scanning the fog, and caught a glimpse of his silhouette lurching up the docks. He was just a few yards away from the fishing boat.
“Joe!” I yelled at him. “Stop! Get back here.”
I’m not sure why I even bothered. I knew he was just going to ignore me. That’s exactly what he did. I glanced at Miguel, and saw him staring at me with a curious look.
“Sorry,” I said. “I have to stop him. I’ll be right back.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Miguel said without missing a beat. “I’ll get your bags up to de inn. Come on up when you’re ready.”
I lost sight of Joe, but as I came to the end of the pier, I realized that he had climbed aboard the Neptune. My heart skipped a beat. I threw a glance around the area, looking for witnesses to his crime. To my relief, everything was dark and quiet. We were all alone.
I jogged over, scanning the darkened windows of the pilot house. A light mist had started to fall, and a chill crawled across my skin. I needed to get dry before I ended up sick. I pulled my parka close and leaned over the handrail.
“Joe!” I said in a loud whisper. “Joe, where are you!”
I heard shuffling noises, and he stuck his head out of the pilot house door. “He’s gone. The jerk must’ve hightailed it out of here when he saw me coming.”
“Get off that boat,” I said. “What are you thinking?”
Joe didn’t answer. He squeezed his wide shoulders through the narrow doorframe and climbed over the rail, leaning heavily on his cane as he set his feet back on the boardwalk. I gave him a scolding look, but Joe ignored me.
“Couldn’t have gone far,” he mumbled as he turned to scan the hillside. “I wonder if he’s staying at the inn.”
I grabbed him by the arm. “Let it be, Joe. We’re here for our anniversary, remember? This is supposed to be a vacation.”
It was at that point that the drizzle turned into full-out rain. Joe met my stare and we stood there a moment, the rain pouring down our faces, huge drops splashing off the skin of his shaved head, my teeth chattering from the cold. Clouds of fog drifted lazily by as if to tell us that it didn’t really matter if we were there or not; that the world would go on without us.
I must have looked as pathetic as I felt because Joe pulled off his wool coat and placed it on top of the parka I was already wearing. He pulled me close and mumbled an apology.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’ll behave for the rest of the weekend. Scout’s honor.”
“Good. Come on, our bags are already inside.”
We left the docks and followed the trail up the hill to the inn. A few yards off the beach, the trail merged into a concrete staircase that climbed the hillside, and I had to slow my pace so Joe could keep up.
“Is your leg okay?” I said.
“Fine. Just need to get off my feet. Go ahead without me.”
I was too cold and wet to argue. I hurried past the giant propane tank and up the last flight of stairs. The ground leveled out here in a broad plateau with the tennis courts off to my left, the inn to my right, and a nice patio in front of me. Beyond the patio, the infamous Jeep trail zigzagged up the slope and vanished in the woods.
I walked around to the entrance at the back side of the inn, and waited there for Joe under the shelter of the overhang. From the outside, the place reminded me of an alpine ski lodge. It was big and grand in that fashion, with exposed timbers and cedar and stone siding, and rows of massive windows looking out in every direction. It seemed warm and welcoming on a cold night, and I couldn’t wait to get inside.
It took Joe a minute to catch up. We went inside together. I caught my breath as we entered the lobby. The place seemed even bigger inside. It was majestic: hardwood floors gleamed with a glass-like polish, warmed here and there by thick woven rugs. A broad staircase climbed up to the second floor where an open balcony looked down over the lobby. Stag-horn chandeliers hung suspended by iron chains overhead, casting a soft, warm light throughout the room.
Off to our left was a cozy sitting area with a leather sofa, armchairs, and a tall stone fireplace. There was a breathtaking bronze model of a tall ship against the opposite wall that stretched all the way across the room. It was a good twenty feet long, and the top of the main mast reached up into the second floor. On the outer wall, facing the mountainside, tall windows offered a view of the patio and darkened woods behind us.
To our right sat a service desk, currently unoccupied. Our bags rested on a luggage cart next to it. Joe took everything in with a glance, and then stepped up to the counter and rang the bell.
“Coming!” a woman’s voice called out from down the hall. A few seconds later, she appeared. She was a petite woman in her fifties, no more than five-two with a thin build, a sharp Roman nose, and long straight hair that was a mixture of dirty blonde and gray. She wore designer jeans, a cable knit sweater, and a pair of tall butterscotch-colored boots. Her clothing was casual but expensive, her graying hair recently styled, and she had a confident manner that told me she was someone important; the owner of the inn perhaps, or possibly the manager.
“My apologies,” she said, reaching out to shake my hand and then Joe’s. “Miguel should have seen you to your room. I wonder where that little man got off to. I’m Charlotte Trenton, the owner. You must be Joe and Tanja Shepherd…” she paused for a moment, apparently just noticing for the first time that we were soaked to the bone and shivering.
“Oh my,” she said. “You didn’t get caught in that awful hurricane did you?”
“Hurricane?” I blinked.
“Technically, I think it’s a tropical storm. They only call it a hurricane if it’s in the Atlantic, right?”
“No idea,” Joe said. “It wasn’t that bad, though. We just caught the edge of it.” He shot me a guilty smile. I ignored him.
“Well, it looks like a hurricane on television anyway,” said Charlotte. “They say it’s the biggest storm to travel this far north in a hundred years. Normally, they run into Baja and blow out, but this one just came straight up the coast. You two are lucky to have made it in o
ne piece.”
“Very lucky,” I said, purposefully avoiding Joe’s gaze.
“I’m sure you’d like to dry off,” Charlotte said. “Come, I’ll show you to your suite.”
She started to grab our luggage from the bellhop cart, but Joe insisted on helping. He ended up with one of the suitcases while Charlotte took the other, and I carried the bag. Charlotte led us up the stairs and down a short hallway to where the door to our room stood open, waiting for us. My eyes widened as we stepped inside.
The suite was huge, with a spa-sized bathtub in the corner, a king-sized poster bed on the inside wall, and a big-screen television mounted over the fireplace. French doors opened out onto the balcony, which overlooked the ocean. At the moment, the only thing visible beyond the balcony was a wall of fog and the occasional flash from the lighthouse. The wind howled outside, and the rain crashed against the windows.
“This is beautiful,” I said. “I had no idea it would be so nice.”
“This is our honeymoon suite,” Charlotte said with a smile. “I gave you a free upgrade from the standard suite you had originally booked. When Joe made the reservation, he told us it was your anniversary. Since the room was empty for the weekend, I thought it would make a nice anniversary present.”
“Thank you,” I said. “It’s wonderful.”
Charlotte took a minute to show us how to operate the fireplace, the bathtub, and a few other things. On her way out she said, “Dinner is in one hour. That should give you plenty of time to get cleaned up. There will be a buffet and an open bar tonight, but you’ll have to remember to fill out your dinner cards for the rest of the weekend. Just call the front desk if you need anything.”
“But nobody’s at the front desk,” Joe said with a wry grin.
“Don’t worry, I’ll hear the phone,” she promised. Charlotte closed the door. After she was gone, I punched Joe in the arm.
“Ouch! What was that for?”
“Teasing her like that, and after she upgraded our suite for free. That was rude.”
“Just an observation,” he grumbled.
“I’m going to take a shower.”
“Funny, I thought you’d go straight for the bath. You’re always complaining that you’re too tall for a regular tub. This one looks big enough for three six-foot blondes.”
“Keep dreaming,” I said. “I just need a quick shower to warm up.”
“Want some help?”
“After you tricked me onto that boat in a hurricane, surrounded by sharks and twenty-foot waves? You must be joking.”
Joe sighed. “I think I’ll go wait at the bar.”
“Hang your coat up first. It needs to dry.”
I was already in the shower when I heard the door close. I turned the heat up and closed my eyes, letting the steam envelop me. The hot water cascaded down over my head, my shoulders, my shivering naked body, diffusing the cold and pulling it out of my limbs. The shivering stopped at last, and a soothing warmth pervaded my being.
I was starting to feel like a human again. I reached out to turn off the faucet, and hesitated. Normally, I don’t take long showers, and I knew we didn’t have long until dinner, but it felt sooo good… I turned the heat up a little, and moaned as my skin began to tingle. Dinner could wait.
I was drifting into a daydreamy sort of state when a sudden, heart-stopping kaboom! outside the building shocked me out of it. The concussive blast rattled the windows and shook the inn like a tiny earthquake. I turned off the water, stepped out of the shower, and reached for a bathrobe.
Chapter 4
Joe
After leaving Tanja in the shower, I headed down to the lobby and took a sharp left, strolling down the hall into the dining area. I paused as I entered, leaning on my cane as I cast a sweeping glance around the room. A handful of small, ornately-carved hardwood tables filled the room. There was a glossy black grand piano in the back corner. A man with wavy black hair sat at the instrument, teasing out a low-key jazz piece. He was wearing jeans and a black turtleneck, and he looked like a beatnik to me, or at least the way I always imagined a beatnik might look, having never actually seen one. The jazz music and turtleneck may have contributed to that impression.
A second man occupied one of the tables. He was heavyset, with big jowls, curly red hair, and a ruddy complexion. He was working on a laptop computer, and had an open briefcase full of files and papers spread out on the tabletop in front of him. Neither of the two paid any attention to me as I crossed the dining room and settled on a stool at the bar on the outside wall.
The bartender was a pretty blonde in her late twenties with curly hair and a warm, inviting smile. “I’m Dana,” she said, reaching out to shake my hand. “What can I get for you?”
“Scotch on the rocks. Make it a double.”
“Rough day, or just celebrating?”
I watched her scoop some ice into a tumbler. “Have you ever gotten exactly what you wanted, and then wished you hadn’t?”
“Only if you count that one-night stand I had with Kiefer Cox a few years ago, but that was my own fault. I thought he was exotic. Tall, dark, and mysterious. Came to find out he wasn’t exotic or mysterious at all, just stupid. Guy was dumber than a box of rocks. And he had bad hair.”
I chuckled as she handed over my drink. “At least it was over quick.”
“Yeah, funny how things always look different by the light of day.” She leaned closer, bracing one elbow on the bar. “So what’s your problem?”
“I bought an old boat.”
Dana clicked her teeth with her tongue. “Yeah, that’ll do it. What’s wrong with it, mechanical problems?”
“My wife doesn’t like it.”
“I see. So there’s nothing actually wrong with the boat?”
“Try telling her that. Tanja thinks the ocean is frothing with sharks just waiting to sink their teeth into her.”
“That’s a natural fear. Did you take her fishing, or sailing? Show her the good side?”
“Not exactly,” I said. “I brought her here.”
She winced. “Ouch, bad timing. That really was your fault.”
“No kidding. It seemed like a great idea back in July.”
“This place always seems like a great idea in July. You should’ve come then.” Dana wiped the bar with a hand towel, and then tossed it into the sink. “I have to check on the kitchen. Just call if you need anything.”
Dana stepped out from behind the bar and disappeared down the hall. A few seconds later, I heard someone come through the lobby doors. His soaking wet boots made sloshing sounds as he came down the hall. I glanced over my shoulder to see a man in his late sixties with dark hair and a thick gray beard. He wore a long wool peacoat, which he took a moment to unbutton. I watched as he shook off the rainwater, hung the coat from a hook by the entrance, and hurried over to the bar.
The man didn’t even glance at me as he stepped around the end of the bar, grabbed a glass, and poured himself a beer from the tap. There was no doubt in my mind at that point: it was him. I narrowed my eyebrows and cleared my throat, waiting for some sort of acknowledgement. He pretended I didn’t exist.
After filling his beer, he settled on a stool at the far end of the bar, as far away from me as possible. I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to do something. I figured it was better to confront him verbally than to break his nose. My therapist says so, anyway. Always try the former before the latter. I suppose it’s probably good advice.
I glared at him and said, “Haven’t I seen you before?”
He ignored me. He took a drink of his brew and stared sullenly into the suds. I leaned closer, raising my voice so it would be clear to him and everyone else in the room who I was talking to:
“Do you own a fishing boat called the Neptune? Because you look just like the guy who nearly rammed my sailboat.”
He didn’t say a word. Didn’t even glance at me. The entire time, he never looked up once. Dana reappeared in the doorway at the back of t
he room and said, “Everyone okay?”
I turned on my stool and saw that Jowls and the Jazzman were both staring. Jowls jerked his gaze back to his laptop. The Jazzman kept staring, a slight smile turning up the corners of his mouth. He also kept playing.
The old fisherman grunted and lifted his glass, showing Dana that it was full. Her eyes narrowed. “When did you come in?” she said, approaching the bar. He didn’t answer.
“Jacob, I told you it’s not okay to come in here and help yourself anymore. This is a business, not your own private beer tap.”
“It’s just one beer,” he grumbled into his mug. “And you weren’t here.”
“I’m here now,” she said. “That’ll be four bucks.”
Jacob twisted on his stool. He pulled out his wallet and produced a five dollar bill, which he tossed on the bar.
“You happy?”
Dana pressed her lips together. She rang up the sale and slapped his change on the counter. She put her hands on her hips and threw an authoritative glance around the room. “Anybody else?” she said. “Speak up, while I’m still here!”
The Jazzman winked at her. He took a sip from his beer mug, held it in the air to show it was half full, and set it back down. He continued playing the entire time, without missing a beat. Jowls nodded at his coffee, indicating that it was also still nearly full.
“If you need anything, shout,” Dana said. She shot Jacob one last glare as she hurried back towards the kitchen.
I stared at Jacob, wondering if he was just going to ignore me all night, and whether I should get a little more confrontational or just let it go. Apparently, he was no stranger to confrontation. This couldn’t have been his first encounter with Angry Dana.
“Jacob,” I said, staring at him. “Do you know that when you almost kill someone, it’s customary to apologize-”
