Her Lucky Catch

by Amie Denman

  I made it a few more blind steps and risked a glance between my fingers. Still there. Still staring at me. And we’d be meeting in about ten steps because both long docks ended in the walkway that led to the marina office. He was giving chase and no way could I win. I stopped and faced him across the thirty or so feet of water between us.

  I held up both hands. “Not now. I can’t do this.”

  “Do what? What’s the matter with you?”

  I didn’t say anything. A tear slid out the corner of my eye, but I didn’t move to wipe it away. I didn’t want to draw attention to it and hoped he wouldn’t notice.

  “I want to know that you’re okay,” he said just quietly enough for me to hear.

  I took a deep breath that ended in a long, shaky sigh. He looked so good. The fury that I saw a minute ago was gone, replaced with the sweetheart side of Kurt that I’d experienced over and over. I didn’t want to be angry with him and I didn’t want to lie. I couldn’t tell him why I’d been on Greenback, and now was not the time to ask him about his pretend wedding. There was nothing to say right now and no way I’d be able to pull it off anyway. Maybe after a margarita at the hands of the goddess Marlena.

  “What happened since yesterday?” he asked.

  Before I could answer, I heard my name being called from the end of the dock.

  “Hey, Jasmine Shepherd!”

  It was Damien Cerberus, standing on the deck of his boat like a cocky jackass. He looked like an eighth grader who had caused a hell of a ruckus and was enjoying the glamour of being a bad boy. I only gave him one glance and then turned back to face the far better man in front of me. Kurt and I locked eyes and I saw the anger smoldering again. Cerberus really set him off for some reason.

  “Pick you up at eight o’clock Thursday night,” yelled captain asshole.

  There was no reason for a repeat of this information unless he thought my DDs made me particularly stupid or forgetful. He was either being a jerk, claiming his territory or both. I didn’t enjoy the fact that he was staking a claim on me right in front of—and probably because of—Kurt. Kurt looked like he was about five seconds away from homicide. I waved at Cerberus, but didn’t even bother with a friendly expression. It was too far away to see anyway and he wasn’t worth it. I hoped the wave would have the same kind of dismissal quality that Old Lady Clark could muster up with nearly any gesture and that he’d disappear into his ostentatious boat like a snake into its hole.

  “Don’t, Jazz,” Kurt said. “Don’t go anywhere near that guy.” His expression was less homicidal and also less sad than a minute ago. It almost looked like fear. I couldn’t imagine Kurt being threatened by Cerberus. He was several inches taller, at least a decade younger and had a lot more muscle. Kurt wasn’t afraid of Cerberus; he was afraid for me.

  An alarm rang a few blocks away. Kurt cocked his head as if trying to place the sound. He was wearing his uniform and I assumed he was on duty. He quickly turned his attention back to me.

  “I’ll be fine,” I said lightly. I hoped to convince myself too. “I’m working at his marina at the end of the week.”

  “Working? The boat show?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You’re a boat…”

  “Ho,” I supplied.

  I didn’t think it was useful to hide that little detail and could see it was painful for him to even say it. Kurt stood and stared at me, his hands open at his sides.

  “Why?”

  “You’ve seen my car. You know where I work. Use your imagination.”

  He raised the index finger of his right hand as if to make some important point, but the radio on his hip started squawking and he was forced to pull it off and listen. The fire department pickup truck pulled into the marina parking lot, and Kurt started running toward it. No doubt he was getting called into service. Before he got very far, though, he stopped and turned around.

  “We have to talk. When I get back I have to tell you something. You have to know.”

  And he was gone. I watched him jump into the passenger seat of the truck before it went screaming away. I wondered what he wanted to tell me. Maybe he knew more than I thought. Or maybe it had nothing to do with Damien Cerberus at all and he was going to confess his eternal love for me. Perhaps he still had that tux and wanted to get one more use out of it.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  I spent the rest of Sunday afternoon hiding in the marina office, glad that things picked up and we were busy. Since school was out and the boating season was in, a couple of teenage boys started work today and were helping Sherman take care of the arrivals and departures. My brief career as a dockhand appeared to be over, and I was not complaining. Marlena was out on the docks mother-henning Sherman, nagging him to slow down and rest. She was hoping he’d save his energy for later so she could finally give him his real birthday present.

  The solitude and the tinted windows of the marina office were just what I needed. I could observe unobserved and have my thoughts all to myself. I watched Johnson hang out on his boat pretending to clean the already spotless Bling. I watched Greenback silently slip away toward the end of the afternoon, to my great relief. I watched the empty fireboat idle at its dock. Kurt had not come back by closing time at six o’clock. Must have been a hell of a fire.

  I was expecting a long walk home and had already grabbed my jacket and purse, but one of the teenagers offered me a ride. The older brother of one of my kindergarteners, he was probably a decent kid judging from the rest of his family. I had to choose between riding in a car with a driver in the highest insurance rate demographic or walking two miles. I could’ve called Harry, but he had put up with enough from me lately. I took the ride, buckled my seatbelt and held on tight.

  The house was empty when I got home. All the better for me. I wouldn’t have to try to get rid of Harry when Johnson arrived with my wire. I had no doubts about his ability to keep secrets, but I didn’t want to involve any more people than necessary.

  I rummaged through the fridge and drank the last Diet Coke while I waited for my company. I couldn’t imagine anything more awkward than Balcheski and Johnson pointing at my chest trying to explain how and where to tape the wires.

  I heard a car door around nine o’clock and glanced at the driveway. Balcheski and Johnson got out of the most nondescript silver sedan ever created. The kind you’d use to commit a crime because there were eighty-five million cars just like it on the road. At least it was better than a cop car or a pimped-out bling-mobile.

  “Hey, Jazz,” Johnson said as soon as I opened the door, “saw you made contact with Cerberus.”

  He walked in without waiting to be asked and the chief followed after one nervous glance over his shoulder. I shut the door behind them and Balcheski relaxed a bit.

  “So, did he take the bait?” Johnson asked.

  “You know,” I said, “I liked you better as a wiener dog. That way when you were obnoxious I could figure you just didn’t know any better.”

  “Jesus. You sound exactly like Sister Mary Rose, my fourth-grade teacher.”

  “Catholic school alum?”

  “Fourteen long years.”

  “That explains a lot,” I said.

  “So…” He paused. I think I scared him with teacher voice, and he was a little more cautious this time. “Did you make plans with Cerberus?”

  “Uh-huh. I’m a boat ho on Friday, and he’s picking me up at eight Thursday night to give me a first-class ride on his boat to his marina. Alone.”

  “Bingo,” Johnson yelled.

  “Easy for you to say,” I said. “I hope I don’t accidentally slip overboard and kill myself.”

  “Don’t worry, Jazz,” Chief Balcheski said, “we’ll have you under surveillance and we’ll be ready to come after you at a second’s notice.”

  “Bling is a fast boat,” put in Johnson helpfully.

  “You can imagine what a comfort that is. So, did you bring the wire stuff?”

  “Yep.” He starte
d pulling a bunch of wires and other electronics out of a small black duffle bag.

  “Busy day today,” Balcheski commented. “Mayor’s office burned.”

  “That’s what the fire was?”

  “Yep. Mayor’s office totally up in flames. It’s attached to the police and fire station, so we were all scrambling.”

  “Do you think it has anything to do with our investigation?”

  Balcheski and Johnson each gave me a look that said, “Duh.”

  “No doubt,” the chief said. “That fire was no accident. I think someone thinks we’re getting close. Paperwork, computers, you name it. Lots of potential evidence up in flames.”

  The sound of a car door slamming in the driveway made us all freeze.

  “Are you expecting someone?” Johnson whispered.

  “Harry?” Balcheski asked.

  “He does live here.”

  Johnson looked puzzled. “Who’s Harry?”

  Before anyone could answer his question, Harry breezed through the door wearing a short denim skirt with long brown fringe, high-heeled cowboy boots and a red bandanna tied around his neck. He also wore a cowboy hat, but no shirt. And he had a whip in his hand. He looked a little drunk and very happy. I doubted that anyone in the room was going to ask what had put that smile on his face.

  We all stared at Harry and he stared back. He’d met Balcheski briefly before and didn’t bother with much of a second glance for him. Johnson held a lot more appeal. Harry gave him a head to toe body scan before turning to me. Hopefully Johnson didn’t mind being mentally undressed by an outrageous, tall cowgirl.

  “Jazzie, dear, want to introduce me to your friends?”

  “Um, okay,” I said. “You know Wally Balcheski, the chief of police, and this is John Johnson.” I gestured toward Harry and said, “This is my cousin, Harry Shepherd.”

  “Uh-huh,” Harry said as if expecting more. I hadn’t explained who Johnson was or why either man was here. And why Johnson had two hands full of wires and electronics. Harry certainly noticed that during the body scan.

  “Shooting a porno?” he asked.

  Balcheski looked like a strong candidate for a heart attack or stroke right then. He couldn’t have been too surprised that my cousin would come home drunk and in drag, but Harry had a way of being surprising even when you thought you were prepared for him. Despite his blood pressure, Balcheski took the professional route.

  “Jazz here is helping us out with an investigation.”

  “Sounds glamorous.” Harry winked at me.

  “Not really,” I said.

  “You see, someone is stealing stuff off boats in the marina,” Balcheski lied smoothly, “and Jazz is going to help us nail him.”

  “Nail him,” Harry repeated with an obscene glance in my direction. “Can I help?”

  His offer was less “concerned citizen” and more “come-hither.” Amazingly, Johnson was looking at Harry with something other than appalled offense. Almost like some vague form of approval or admiration.

  “You know how to use tape and wires?” Johnson asked him.

  “I’ve taped a few body parts in my time. And I’m a quick learner.”

  “I’ll show you how to tape this wire on your cousin and you can get her ready for us on Thursday night.”

  I’d been bra shopping and sharing clothes with Harry for almost a decade, so it didn’t creep me out to have him taping wires under my shirt. Far more disturbing was the nonverbal communication going on between Johnson and Harry.

  “Do me first,” Harry said, thrusting out his bare chest, “that way I’ll know firsthand how to do it.”

  I wondered if Chief Balcheski was a drinking man. If I were him, I’d go home, soak myself in scotch and scratch off lottery tickets hoping for an early retirement.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Harry was making French toast when I came down the stairs on Monday morning. He wore a ruffled apron with green flowers that said Free Samples. He wasn’t kidding.

  “Morning, woman of mystery,” he said.

  I didn’t say anything and headed right for the coffee, sweet nectar of the gods. I poured a cup and breathed in the aroma like a magical elixir. Today couldn’t possibly be any worse than yesterday considering that I was not hungover and had already made my deal with the devil, but I thought it good to fortify myself with caffeine just in case.

  “Anything special you want to share with me about your Charlie’s Angels fantasy role-playing?” Harry asked.

  I made the zipped lips gesture and sipped coffee. He forked French toast onto a plate and handed it to me.

  “Am I too tall to be an angel? I wouldn’t mind if John Johnson was my Charlie.”

  I ate in silence.

  “Two things I know,” Harry said. “One, there’s got to be more to the story than I heard from your visitors. And two, you’re rotten at keeping secrets. You’ll spill it all before the sun goes down. Especially since we have to drive to your parents’ house tonight. I figure you’ll drink too much and then tell me the whole story in the truck on the way home.”

  Damn. I’d almost forgotten Dad’s birthday dinner. I probably ought to use my lunch hour to buy a gift. I didn’t think I could top whatever Harry was going to present, but I could at least get something appropriate. Like gardening gloves or a kick-ass universal remote for his TV. My father was a simple man.

  Even though Harry was waiting for some kind of reaction to his proclamation, I reached for the maple syrup without saying anything. Amazing how useful the power to say nothing was. People should use it more often. He temporarily suspended his line of interrogation and handed me the front page of the morning paper.

  “You might be interested in this.”

  No kidding. The lead headline said Firefighters Injured in Blaze at Mayor’s Office. I hastily read the part of the article on the front page. I already knew a few details about the fire from last night’s visit, but not about the injured firefighters. A fire of unknown cause had broken out in the mayor’s records office and spread quickly before it activated the outside alarm. The article also said that the cause of the fire was under investigation, but traces of accelerant may have been used. Arson was one of the possibilities the state fire marshal would be considering. Two firefighters had been taken to the hospital for smoke inhalation and minor burns.

  I had to turn to page 3A to get the rest of the story. The picture there said the proverbial thousand words. Kurt, an oxygen mask on his face and white bandages down his left arm, was propped up in a hospital bed. Leaning over him with a bunch of flowers was none other than the Virgin Mary. Man, she moved fast. The caption read “Grateful mayor and his daughter visit injured fireman.”

  The story went on to say that the mayor’s office suffered extensive damage, but both firefighters had been treated, released and were recovering just fine. I realized I had been holding my breath as I read and finally let it whoosh out. How wonderful that Kurt would survive to live happily ever after with his beautiful bride.

  I decided that I should stop reading the newspaper. Two days in a row of the Kurt and Mary album had me wanting to volunteer to throw myself off Greenback in a shark bait-soaked wetsuit. Perhaps if I died gloriously in the name of justice, it would be less humiliating than being strung along by a sweet, sexy, supposedly spoken-for man.

  “That picture’s almost as nice as their wedding photo in yesterday’s paper,” Harry commented. “If I were you, I’d try for a photo-op ASAP before she gets any farther ahead in the points standing. Maybe pose naked on the back of the fireboat.”

  I rolled my eyes and stretched my lips into a straight line. I exhaled loudly through my nose.

  “Or go for some emotional appeal—get a baby or a kitten in the photo,” he continued, undaunted by my nonverbal threat. “That girl must have a PR agent.”

  I shook my head, grabbed my purse and headed out the door. My big plan was to make a dramatic exit, but instead I just sat in the passenger seat of his truck
for five minutes until he came out to go to work. I would rather have a ride to the marina than try the thankless task of setting Harry straight on anything—including my fizzled love affair.

  Mercifully, the marina was busy most of the morning and Marlena’s only comment about the article and photo in the paper was that I ought to take another long lunch and visit Kurt.

  “He’s gotta be home resting up. They sure as shootin’ gave him the day off with him being an injured hero and all,” she said. “He’ll be feeling pretty vulnerable and lonely.”

  Knocking on Kurt’s door was number one on my to-do list today. Considering the attraction I’d been fostering and fighting since the first second I met him, I was desperate to see him. For one, I wanted to see for myself that he was okay and check him over from head to toe in case the doctors had missed something. Sort of like a second opinion, but much more fun. I also believed that he would be happy to see me. After our conversation across the dock yesterday before he got called away, it was clear he cared about me. And he had something to tell me. It would make a hell of an excuse to go over there.

  Visiting Kurt was also number one thousand on my list. I was supposed to be keeping my head clear and focusing on accomplishing my surveillance mission without meeting my maker. I was also unclear about why the Virgin Mary was always able to muscle in on my territory and still keep her fingernails perfect. She had talent, that girl, I’d give her that. However, I’d like to have it out with her once and for all about her delusional—I hoped—claim on Kurt. I would distinguish myself with witty repartee like, “Back off, you perfect bitch, he’s all mine.”

  Strangely, I had never even considered fighting for my ex-husband. I didn’t have any desire to go after the women he’d screwed in every nook and cranny of the elementary school. I didn’t bother to seek out and destroy the competition. It simply didn’t matter. He was unfaithful excrement and not worth trying to salvage. Kurt was a different story. He had more honor in one muscular biceps than my ex had in his entire flabby body. With Kurt, it was different. Two weeks of flirtation and one afternoon of awesome sex didn’t constitute a binding contract, and his odd relationship with the lovely virgin didn’t really seem like cheating. It was just a big question mark that I’d like an answer to.