Brush with Death

by Karen MacInerney

  I glanced down at myself, looking for blood. I hadn’t felt a bullet, but I’d heard you don’t always. Then I whirled around to check Jennifer; had the bullet hit her?

  She was huddled in the back of the boat and crying, but appeared to be intact.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “But there’s a hole in the boat.” I followed her pointing finger to where the water was rushing in, filling the bottom of the boat. We were no longer being held hostage by a lunatic with a gun—but we were in a boat with no engine in the middle of nowhere, with water gushing into our skiff and the murderer still in the boat with us.

  “We need to stop up the hole,” I said, digging in my pocket for a glove and jamming it into the hole. It didn’t stop the water, but at least it slowed it. I looked around for a bailing bucket; thankfully, Eli had left a cut-open bleach bottle in the bottom of the boat. I handed it to Jennifer. “Bail with this,” I said. “I’ll tie up Gladstone.”

  “I wish we could just push him overboard,” she said.

  “Me too,” I said, “but we can’t. Throw me that rope, will you?”

  She tossed me the rope I’d untied just minutes ago—although by now, it felt like hours—and I shoved Gladstone onto his side and reached for his arms, pulling them behind his back. Try as I might, I couldn’t keep them from flopping onto the bench.

  “Need a hand with that?” Jennifer asked as she scooped some water overboard. Getting rid of Gladstone—and having a task—seemed to have revived her. As a cold gust slammed into us, I hoped it would be enough. How would anyone find us out here?

  I pushed that thought away. If I didn’t get Gladstone incapacitated, it wouldn’t matter.

  Jennifer held his hands together as I wrapped the rope around them a half dozen times, then pulled it tight and tied it using one of the knots John had taught me.

  “We should do the feet, too, don’t you think?” I asked.

  “I’ve got another rope here,” Jennifer said, reaching for the second one. Together we bound his ankles together; then we pushed him sideways, so that he was wedged between the back bench of the boat and the motor.

  The water had crept up as we worked; I readjusted the glove in the hole and Jennifer started bailing again. With no motor, no food and water, a hole in the bottom of the boat, and not much to keep us warm—I had a coat, but Jennifer was shaking with cold—we wouldn’t last long. I picked up the oar I’d used to whack Gladstone and then reached for its sister, thankful that there were oarlocks.

  “You’re going to row us back in?” Jennifer asked as she scooped another bucket of water out of the boat.

  “What choice do we have?” I asked. I fitted the oars in and slipped my coat off, shivering violently at the cold.

  “What are you doing?” she asked as I handed it to her.

  “I’ll work up a sweat rowing,” I said. “We’ll take turns.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked, teeth chattering.

  “Take it,” I said.

  I sat on the bench and began to turn the boat around, sending salt water spraying into both of our faces. Jennifer bailed from the front of the boat, Gladstone lay on the floor of the back of the boat, and I fought with the waves, trying to pilot the boat back toward land.

  I rowed hard for what must have been twenty minutes, then looked back over my shoulder. My heart sank at what I saw. The little strip of land I knew was Cranberry Island appeared no bigger, and the sky was already darkening. The temperature was dropping, too; even with the rowing, the wind whipped away any shred of body heat I was able to generate. Gladstone hadn’t come to, but he had groaned a few times.

  “We don’t seem to be getting any closer, do we?” Jennifer asked.

  “No,” I said. Hearing it from her made it more real.

  “What are we going to do?”

  “I don’t know what we can do,” I said. If only I had a cell phone that worked. “You don’t have your cell phone with you, do you?” I asked, wondering why it hadn’t occurred to me earlier.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “But he might.”

  We both looked at Gladstone, wedged into the back of the boat, with something like dread. “I’ll look,” I volunteered.

  I checked his jacket pockets first. The top one was easy, but only filled with Kleenex. It occurred to me that we should have taken his coat off before tying him up. He groaned as I shifted him; I didn’t dare do it now. I dug in the bottom pocket, but only found my van keys.

  “Where did he keep his phone?” I asked.

  “In the back pocket of his pants,” she said.

  To my relief, it was in the pocket closest to me. I felt a surge of triumph as I pulled the rectangular phone from his pocket and jabbed at the button at the bottom. I gave a little whoop as the screen came to life, then turned on the screen and dialed 911. I couldn’t tell them where we were, but if they knew we were out here, at least they could look for us.

  I held it to my ear and sent up a little prayer, but nothing happened. I looked at the screen: out of service area.

  I dropped the phone to my lap and closed my eyes. “No signal?” she asked.

  “No signal,” I said, my last shreds of hope dissipating on the icy wind.

  “Guess we’d better keep rowing then,” Jennifer said. I could hear despair in her voice.

  “Guess so,” I said, and even though both of us knew it was fruitless—the wind was more powerful than we were—I picked up the oars again.

  After another thirty minutes, we traded spots; I took the coat and the bailing bucket and Jennifer began rowing. Jennifer was not in good shape, though, and began huffing after the first few minutes. I tried not to look at the small strip of land, which seemed to be getting smaller by the moment. And darker. Already I could see the first lights twinkling as night began to fall.

  “Maybe we should try the motor again,” I said, shivering even under the coat.

  “Worth a try,” she said.

  I pulled the starter cord, but nothing happened. I tried again, but nothing happened. I pulled again and again, praying that the motor would roar to life, but it remained cold and silent.

  “What are we going to do?” Jennifer asked after I’d pulled the cord for the twentieth time. Why didn’t I know about boat motors? I wished Eli were here. Or John. What had Gladstone done with my van? Surely Catherine had told the police my van was at Gladstone’s house. John must be back by now, and looking for me. But how would he know to look for me a mile out to sea?

  I readjusted the glove, wedging it farther into the hole, and looked at Jennifer. The oars barely skimmed the surface of the water as she rowed; the spray kept blowing back into her face. She looked absolutely miserable.

  “I’ll take over,” I said, shrugging out of the coat again. “Take this and stay warm.” I took the oars and began rowing again, wishing I still had both gloves. I was going to get frostbite on my right hand; already I could feel the numbness creeping up to my knuckles.

  Then again, unless there was a miracle, frostbite would be the least of my troubles.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  EVENING FADED INTO NIGHT, and still we drifted. Gladstone was murmuring now, showing signs of waking. My fingers had grown numb, and my body cried out with every fruitless stroke.

  “Take a break,” Jennifer finally said. “Let’s share the coat.” As the moon rose and the wind howled, we huddled together in the middle of the boat, our feet damp from the leak, our fingers icy as we took turns bailing.

  “I’m so sorry it’s turned out this way,” I said to her as we watched the distant lights of Cranberry Island. They were as far away as the stars. “Does your family know where you are?”

  “They just know I got an acting job, and that I was going to be out of town,” she said. “My last conversation was with my mother; she wanted me to get an office job, and I told her I didn’t want to.” She gave a muffled sob. “I wish I’d listened to her.”

  “You didn’t kn
ow,” I said. “And just because this job didn’t work out, it doesn’t mean you can’t get another, better one.” I realized as I spoke that the likelihood of her getting any job—or getting out of this boat alive—were extremely remote. Still …

  “Do you think?” she asked.

  “Absolutely,” I said.

  She voiced the fear that had been growing in my mind as night fell on the empty water. “It’s a little late, isn’t it?”

  “You never know,” I said. “My fiancé should be home soon, and looking for me. And Catherine—my future mother-in-law—knows we were at Cliffside. Besides, the lobstermen should be coming back soon.” As I had constantly since we began drifting, I scanned the horizon, looking for a boat. Twice we had heard the thrum of an engine and tried to wave the captain down, but both times the sound had drifted away.

  “Why would they look for us on a boat? We don’t even have a light!” Her teeth chattered as she talked, and I huddled closer to her thin, cold body.

  “Eli knows he delivered a boat to Gladstone. When it’s not there, they’ll start looking for it.” At least I hoped so.

  We lapsed into silence, listening to the wind as it lashed the boat—and the incoherent mutterings of Gladstone, who thankfully hadn’t woken up yet. How frustrating to have gotten rid of our attacker only to be stranded in a leaky boat in the middle of the Gulf of Maine …

  Night fell, cloaking us in darkness. The wind picked up, and it began to sleet, soaking our one jacket and tossing the little boat like a child’s toy. Jennifer’s quaking became stronger, and Gladstone began to stir, his murmuring turning to yelling. He thrashed around as I bailed furiously. My hands and feet were now soaked and half-frozen, the stinging pain of cold replaced by a numbness that worried me. Jennifer had retreated into quiet sobbing; she had given up. I was tempted to, but as the water reached my ankles, I found myself reaching for the bailing bucket. Again and again I filled it, dumping the water over the sides with unfeeling fingers. But the cold took its toll on me; I was dumping a scoop of water over the side when a rogue wind knocked the bucket from my fingers.

  “No!” I cried as the bleach bottle skittered over the waves, out of reach, and vanished into the darkness. Panic welled in my throat as I looked down at the hole in the boat; already the water level was rising. I jammed my fingers into the icy water, pushing at the glove, trying to keep the seal. The sleet rained down on me, the cold water seeping up my legs. I had never been so cold in my life.

  I was tempted to pull the plug and let the water claim us quickly, but a glance at Jennifer stayed my hand. She was no older than my niece. How could I make that decision when there was any hope left? I gritted my teeth and cupped my hands, scooping the icy water up and dumping it over the side. I kept moving even though I knew it was no use. The water still rose.

  I knelt, my hands in the icy water, my existence reduced to the water and the cold, fighting off the feeling of faintness and fatigue that threatened to swallow me, when Jennifer cried out. “A motor!”

  I looked up, barely able to focus.

  “And a light. Over there!” she said. She stood up in the boat just as a wave knocked the little skiff sideways. I watched in horror as she lost her balance, then toppled into the water.

  “Jennifer!” A burst of energy from reserves I didn’t know I had shot through me, and I lurched toward her. I thrust my arm into the inky water, searching for her hand. Her head popped up above the water, and I heard her gasp. “Here!” I yelled. “Take my hand!”

  I felt something close around my numb fingers and squeeze them. I tried to pull, but my strength had left me. The boat was already filling with water; I could feel it on my shins now as I leaned over the boat, grasping Jennifer’s hand.

  “Help!” I called, my voice hoarse. The motor was close, and I could make out a light in the darkness. “Help! Over here!”

  “Natalie!” The voice was one I’d thought I’d never hear again.

  “John,” I whispered.

  He’d come.

  _____

  I didn’t speak again until I was swathed in three blankets and encased in the wheelhouse. Terri and John had pulled Jennifer onto Terri’s lobster boat, then me, managing to extricate Gladstone just before the boat went under. John threw a blanket on the agent’s prone body while Sara swathed Jennifer and me in blankets and coats.

  “Take me home,” I said in a voice so dry and small it was hard even for me to hear.

  “Soon, my love,” John said, coming over to press my icy hands between his own. “We have to go to the mainland first, and get you checked out. You’ve got hypothermia, and Jennifer’s in even worse shape.”

  “And Gladstone …”

  “We have to deal with him, too.” He peeled off my wet socks and tossed them aside. The tingling as he warmed my feet made me gasp with pain.

  “Tell me what happened,” John said. “It will distract you.”

  “How did you find me?” I whispered.

  “It was Catherine,” he said, nodding to my future mother-in-law, who was tucking a second blanket around Jennifer. “She saw your note and headed over to find you. When she saw the van but Gladstone said you weren’t there, she got suspicious and called me.”

  I gave Catherine a grateful look, and she smiled.

  “But by the time we got to the house,” John continued, “the van was gone. We found it near Fernand’s house, but you weren’t in it. I had no idea where to find you until Eli mentioned that he’d dropped off a skiff. We’ve been searching for you ever since.” He pushed a strand of wet hair from my face. “I was afraid we were too late. I thought I’d lost you,” he added in a low voice that made my heart ache with love. How could I have wondered if this was the right man for me?

  “You almost did,” I said. “If you’d been five minutes later …”

  “Don’t think about it,” he said.

  “He confessed to killing Fernand,” I said, looking at Gladstone’s prone form. “Jennifer isn’t Nina. I mean, Nina isn’t Nina.”

  His eyebrows rose. “She’s an imposter?”

  I nodded. “Fernand knew the night of the party. That’s why he died. I think Gladstone killed the real Nina, too. And he did it once before.”

  “I ran a criminal background check on him,” John said. “There was one assault case, but no murder.”

  “He wasn’t caught,” I said, suddenly feeling dizzy. “He tried to kill me, and Jennifer. He attacked Gwen, too …” My voice trailed off.

  “Sshh,” he said. “Take it easy. We can get the details later.”

  “Is the van okay?”

  “It’s fine,” he said. “The van’s okay, and I got a call from the attorney today.”

  “Oh, no.” My stomach tightened. “Is everything okay?”

  “Better than okay. They located your mortgage attorney.”

  “Where?”

  “He’d fled to the Yucatan peninsula and was in the process of buying an estate with your money. They’re charging him with fraud and have frozen his accounts. It looks like there should be enough to reimburse the mortgage company—they’re filing suit against him.”

  “So we’re off the hook?”

  “We might have to pay a few extra months of mortgage—the attorney is negotiating that right now—but there’s a good chance that even if we’re out of pocket now, we’ll be reimbursed later. Best of all, they’ve reversed the foreclosure proceedings; the inn is safe.”

  The inn is safe. Despite the cold in my body, those words sent a wave of warmth through me.

  “I love you,” I said.

  He kissed me lightly on the forehead, and I felt my body relax for the first time in weeks. John sat down beside me, wrapping me in his arms to warm me, and I drifted off to sleep with my head on his shoulder.

  _____

  Sara and Catherine stayed with us as the hospital checked us out; Terri had gone out in search of a coffee shop and returned with two steaming cups of good coffee. “Better than hosp
ital fare,” she said, her blue eyes twinkling as she handed me a cup. Gladstone had been taken to a different room, and was under police guard. Evidently the crack on the head was enough to knock him out, but not enough to do permanent damage. He’d be able to stand trial. The police were taking Jennifer’s statement in a nearby room; Catherine had gone with her for support.

  I took a grateful sip of the dark roast coffee and smiled at Terri’s friendly, open face. “Thanks,” I said. “And I wanted to let you know how glad I am you two are on the island—tell Sara I’m sorry Maggie started that stupid petition.”

  “Maggie won’t be here for long,” Sara said from her chair in the corner. Like Terri, she had blue eyes, but while Terri wore her hair close cropped, Sara’s hair was long and pulled back in a low pony-tail. Her cheeks were still pink from the wind; evidently they’d been on the water searching for us for hours, along with the rest of Cranberry Island’s lobster boat fleet. “She’s moving back to Illinois.”

  I almost spilled my coffee. “What?”

  “She got caught up in the mortgage fiasco, too,” John said. “But to be honest, I’m not sure island life suited her.”

  “It’s a shame, really,” Sara said, pursing her chapped lips. “I loved her kids. The school will miss them.”

  “Really?” I asked, surprised at her response. “Even though she started that nasty petition?”

  “Everyone pretty much ignored it,” Terri said, leaning back in her chair and crossing her jean-clad legs. She’d traded her waders in for duck boots, I noticed. “Except Ingrid, and she was backing away from it because it wasn’t too popular and she didn’t want to lose the next election.”

  “I don’t understand what the big deal is,” I said, thinking of Rob, and how he was terrified to let anyone know how he felt about Fernand. And how Fernand was nervous about going public with his own relationship. “Maybe you two will be the vanguard.”

  “We’re just living our lives,” Terri said, her eyes meeting Sara’s. A tender look passed between them, and I instinctively turned to John. His green eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at me.