Storm Sail - A Connie Barrera Thriller: The 4th Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Connie Barrera Thrillers)

by Charles Dougherty

  "Yes'm, I see. Reckon I could sure use me a cup of coffee."

  "Help yourself," she said.

  "I's hopin' maybe you'd want some, too. I could take the helm while you fixed it, kinda give you a little break."

  "I don't want any; if you want some, you'll have to get it yourself." She tried to keep her tone conversational, to mask the irritation that she felt at his presumption.

  "Reckon I'll wait. Maybe Paul'll want some, and then you can fix it for both of us."

  She bit her tongue. "What would you do without Gina to do your bidding?" she asked, unable to resist prodding him.

  "Ma'am?" he asked, his confusion evident in his tone of voice, his brow wrinkled. "My bidding?"

  "Never mind," Connie said, annoyed with herself. The stupid bastard didn't know what she meant.

  "Yes'm. Reckon me an’ Gina sound like hillbillies to you, huh?"

  "I told Gina, I don't think I’ve ever met anybody from Appalachia before. I lived in the south for a while, but your accent's not like the southern accents I was accustomed to."

  "No? Where was you livin', then?"

  "Savannah, Georgia."

  "Yeah, I knowed some fellers from there. They do talk funny, for sure. My cellmate, he was from Charleston. That's the one in South Carolina, I mean. Not the one in West-By-God. Paul told you I done time, I reckon."

  "He mentioned it." She glanced at him; he was watching her, looking for a reaction. She kept her features relaxed, giving away nothing. From the corner of her eye, she saw him grin.

  "Bein' locked up makes a man think," he said, pausing, waiting for her to give him an opening. After several seconds, he continued. "They mean for you to think on what you done, what got you locked up. Supposed to make you come to Jesus, I reckon. Lots do. Others, it just makes 'em meaner. They get to thinkin' 'bout their women, what they're prob'ly doin' to pass the time while the old man's away."

  There was another long pause. Connie focused on a frigate bird that was gliding along, swooping down between the masts occasionally.

  "Lots of women gets other men friends. Jodies, they call 'em, them temporary men friends. The women, I mean, they get Jodies. 'Course, some of the men, they can't stand bein' locked up with no women aroun'. Makes 'em real irritable. Some of them gets theirselves man-friends, too. They say it don't mean nothin', don't mean they're bipolar or nothin'."

  Her eyes followed the frigate bird as it swooped behind Dalton. She saw that he was watching her, waiting, looking for a reaction. His eyes were narrow. She didn't like the direction this was taking; the tension was thick in the air.

  "You mean bisexual, don't you? Bipolar's another word for manic depressive disorder. I'm sure you know that, though. Must have been a Freudian slip." She locked eyes with him, deciding that he wasn't going to back down easily. She'd have to confront him.

  "A what?" he said, his face flushing.

  "Sorry. I didn't mean to hide behind big words. Freud was the father of modern psychiatry — "

  "You ain't sayin' I'm crazy, are you?"

  "I'm not qualified to make that judgment, but I sense that you're getting angry. I didn't mean to provoke you."

  She watched the emotions play across his face while she considered how to take him down if he attacked her. He wasn't big, but he was clearly tough. Even in his weakened condition, she knew there was no way she could subdue him without doing him some serious damage. She didn't want to kill him; the aftermath would be too complicated. She decided on a head-butt to break his nose, and then a bar hammerlock with an aggressive follow-through. A broken arm would keep him manageable until they got ashore. She had just begun to shift her position accordingly when he spoke.

  "I'm real sorry, ma'am. I reckon I done let this here drug withdrawal get the better of me. I sure didn't mean to get all worked up, and I can see I done upset you. Please, ma'am, it were just the drugs talkin', or lack of drugs, I reckon.

  She nodded, but continued her subtle movements to get her center of gravity where she needed it for maximum leverage. "Apology accepted. Why don't you get yourself that cup of coffee?"

  "I'll get it," Paul said, from below. "I was just about to make a pot. Give me just a few minutes."

  "How's it going, Dalton?" Paul asked, once they each had a mug of coffee.

  "Fair to middlin', I reckon, thanks. I'm hurtin' some, not thinkin' quite right, I reckon. Done messed up with Ms. Connie without meanin' to."

  Dalton saw that Paul looked Connie in the eye, his eyebrows raised. Dalton held his breath, ready for anything, wondering what she'd say. He swallowed hard when she looked him square in the eye and stared him down. He broke eye contact with her, bracing himself, thinking he'd fucked up for sure.

  "No big deal," he heard her say. "Just a little misunderstanding; Dalton's still sort of confused, aren't you, Dalton?"

  He looked up at her, those deep, black eyes of hers blazing. He could almost feel her stare burning a hole right through his brain. He blinked and said, "Yes'm, that's all, just confused. What I meant to say just come out wrong, is all. I'm sure sorry."

  "I know you didn't mean it," she said, her eyes telling him just the opposite.

  She don't want me and Paul to get into it, he thought. Scared I'll hurt his pansy ass. Fuckin' mama's boy, hidin' behind his spic whore's skirts, and he don't even know she's tryin' to save his ass. "Yes'm, that's the truth. Like I said, them drugs're still messin' with my mind, but that's no excuse, good as y'all been to me and Gina."

  Paul looked back and forth between Connie and Dalton as he took a sip of coffee. "You and Gina going to join us for our midday meal?"

  "Well, sir," Dalton said, "Gina was cuttin' some serious zees right before I come up, and I'm fadin' again myself. Reckon if it's all right, we'll just make us some sandwiches after while."

  "Fine with me," Paul said. "Guess I better get to work in the galley."

  "Dalton?" Connie asked, as Paul got to his feet.

  "Yes'm?"

  "Were you wanting some time alone with Paul?"

  "Well, I was wantin' to ask y'all somethin'. Both of you really, you bein' the captain and all."

  "So ask," Connie said.

  "Well, me and Gina was talkin' and we thought maybe ... We, um, kinda wanted to offer to stand watches. Maybe spread the load, since we's here."

  He saw Paul look at her, waiting to see what she said. Bastard ex-cop didn't have any fuckin' balls at all.

  "Thanks for the offer," Connie said. "We'll think about it and let you know."

  "Yes'm, I see. Well, I better go on and hit the sack. Y'all take 'er easy."

  After they heard the door to the crew's cabin close, Paul asked, "What did I miss?"

  "It's a long story. First Gina came up and bent my ear, and then an hour later, he appeared. I don't know about you, but I'm starving. Why don't you whip up something quick, and I'll tell you all about it while we eat?"

  Paul nodded and went below. In a few minutes, he was back with two steaming bowls of red beam and rice with Andouille sausage.

  "Okay," he said, handing Connie a bowl. "Just exactly what did I interrupt? I could have cut the tension between you and Dalton with a knife."

  "Oh, things were settling down by the time you came along. I was measuring him for a broken arm a minute or two before you poked your head up, though."

  "What happened?"

  "Well, I guess I provoked him a little."

  "You? That's hard to believe."

  "Are you being sarcastic? I'm still wired. I really don't need — "

  "No, no sarcasm. Not at all, Connie. You've been known to turn my crank on occasion, but I've never seen you do it to anyone else. Not on purpose, anyway. Take it easy. I'm on your side, remember?"

  "Sorry; he really got to me. I'm still boiling."

  "Talk to me; that'll help. How'd you provoke him?"

  "You have to hear about Gina, first. That's part of why I had my claws out when he came up."

  "Okay," Paul said. "What's new
with Gina?"

  He listened, eating in silence, while Connie recounted Gina's visit early in her watch. When she finished, he said, "Damn it. Me and my big mouth. If I'd had even a clue that he'd — "

  "Don't, Paul. It's not your fault. I suggested that maybe you or I could explain to Dalton the difference between bipolar and bisexual, but she said if we got involved, it would make things worse."

  "Shit," Paul said. "Excuse me, but I'd like to make things worse for that piece of garbage. We should get her away from him."

  "I felt the same way, but Gina pointed out that Dalton's just 'thataway.' It's apparently not the first time."

  "That miserable bastard. You mean he abuses her regularly?"

  "So it seems. I made a standing offer to help her, but she’ll have to ask for it. Otherwise, it's not really something we can get into."

  "I'm not sure I agree with that. Her acceptance of abuse doesn't make it all right for him to hurt her. You said there was blood on her blouse. That's more than just a little pushing and shoving."

  "You're right, Paul. I'm not arguing with you, but you remember that story about the Boy Scout who showed up for a meeting all bruised and bandaged?"

  "No. Where'd you hear that?"

  "One of you southern story tellers. I thought it was from you, but maybe it was Bud or Phillip. Anyway, this young man hobbles into the scout meeting and gets ready to sit down. He's leaning his crutches against the side of his chair when the scoutmaster says, 'What happened to you, John?' John said, 'I was doing my good deed, helping this little old lady across the street.' The scoutmaster says, 'Let me guess; you got hit by a car.' John says, 'No, sir, I looked both ways before I took her arm.' The scoutmaster asks, 'Then what happened, son?' John says, 'I'm not right sure because it all went so fast, but I reckon I got her message, all right.' The scoutmaster says, 'Her message? What was that?' John says, 'She didn't want to cross the street.'"

  With a wry smile, Paul said, "Well done. There's not much we can do for her if she doesn't want help." He shook his head. "Why would a woman put up with that kind of treatment?"

  "I don't know. I guess she thinks she has reasons, but I'll turn that question around and ask it from a woman's point of view."

  "How's that?"

  "Why would a man treat a woman like that?"

  "I can't imagine." He shook his head. "I've seen enough of that kind of thing on the job, though. I'm not going to put up with it on our boat."

  "I understand how you feel. Now you know my state of mind when he popped out of the companionway a little while after she'd gone below. He had the nerve to say good morning and ask me to make him a cup of coffee, like he was a paying guest, the asshole."

  "I'd guess you told him to make his own damn coffee."

  "Something like that. I was probably too nice about it, though."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Apparently he read my diplomacy as license to push a little farther." She recounted Dalton's lead-up to his denial that he was bisexual. "That was getting a little too close to being inappropriate, at least given that he hardly knows me."

  "I'll say. You should have called me."

  "You needed your rest, and it wasn't anything I couldn't deal with. I was afraid if you showed up, it might get violent. Testosterone, and all that."

  "So how did you deal with it?"

  "Tried to explain that bipolar meant the same as manic-depressive, and that he was confusing it with bisexual. But that just fanned the flames. 'You sayin' I'm crazy?', he asked. He was on the edge of losing it. I said, 'I'm in no position to make that call, but I sense that you're getting angry,' or something like that, and he started sort of talking himself down. I thought for a minute there he was going to attack me."

  "Good thing he didn't. I'd have — "

  "You'd have been just in time to immobilize his broken arm and pack his broken nose. I already had him lined up for a take-down when he backed off. That's about when you showed up."

  They were silent for a minute, thinking. Then Paul asked, "You going to be able to rest?"

  "I'll need a few more minutes to chill out, but I'll be okay. Did you plot us while the food was heating?"

  "Yes. It still looks like another four days to the Virgins."

  "Four long days," she said. "Hope he behaves himself."

  "Me, too. I guess at some point we’ll need to give him an answer on their offer to stand watches."

  "You know what my vote is on that one," Connie said, the muscle at the corner of her jaw starting to twitch.

  "Same as mine, I imagine. Want me to tell him?"

  "It might be better if I told Gina and let her relay the message. No point in inviting him to explode at one of us."

  "He might take it out on her," Paul said.

  "I don't think so. She can blame it on me or you. But if he hurts her again, he's not leaving this boat in one piece."

  "You been taking testosterone shots, lady?"

  "I don't need 'em to kick his scrawny little ass."

  "Whoo! You are still hot. Sit down. Should I break our rules and open the liquor locker? You could use a tot of rum, for medicinal purposes."

  "No. Captain's orders. We don't want to start that. Not with him around. He'd probably drink us dry if he knew there was booze aboard. Then there'd really be hell to pay."

  "You're right. I didn't think of that. Good thing it's locked up. Come sit here next to me and tell me about this wedding we're going to in Martinique."

  15

  Gerry West was eating dinner at his favorite waterfront grill in Eastport, Maryland, watching the six o’clock news on the wide-screen TV over the bar.

  “And here’s Marie Ford, with an update on the manhunt for Devon Egan, the escaped serial killer. Marie, what’s the latest?”

  “Thanks, Jeff. Devon Egan was reportedly seen here in Annapolis, in a waterfront bar in Eastport, where he met up with a young woman believed to be Georgina Smith. The authorities have traced the two of them to a yacht, Blue Wing, which departed Annapolis a couple of days after their sighting. The yacht was reported missing during Hurricane Ian by the owners’ daughter. Her parents had missed their routine email check-in with her. Their last reported position put them in the path of the hurricane. The Coast Guard found Blue Wing, heavily damaged but still afloat, about 40 miles from Bermuda, and the bodies of Marilyn and Harry Lloyd, both in their 70s, were still aboard. The authorities aren’t releasing details, except to say foul play is suspected. Fingerprints matching those of Egan and Smith were found aboard, along with forged passports bearing their photographs. Egan’s was in the name of Dalton Evans; Smith’s was in her own name. The vessel’s life raft had been deployed, and the Coast Guard continues to search for Egan and Smith, presumed to be adrift in the raft.”

  “What a story, Marie. Do we know anything about this Georgina Smith?”

  “She was arrested for solicitation several times in Baltimore and Annapolis while Egan was incarcerated, but the charges were reduced and she paid fines for loitering. It appears that she and Egan have a history; her parents provided foster care for him many years ago in Mingo County, West Virginia, where Dalton Egan went on his killing spree. All of his victims had provided foster care for him at some point, although not all of his foster parents became his victims.”

  “What about Smith’s parents, Marie?”

  “Smith’s father died of multiple stab wounds, tied to a chair. His killer was never found. In hindsight, there was speculation by the local sheriff’s department that Egan may have killed him, but there was no proof. At that time, Egan would have been thirteen years old; Georgina Smith only eight. The other killings, the ones that sent Egan to prison, began when he was seventeen.”

  “Thanks, Marie. And that’s the latest on the manhunt for Devon Egan. Next up, sports.”

  "Paul?" Gina's meek voice startled him; he'd been stargazing, thinking about how to keep the situation with Dalton from escalating over the next few days.

  "Good
evening, Gina."

  "Can I come up and set with you for a spell?"

  "Sure. I've got coffee in the thermos. Grab a mug from the locker over the stove if you want some."

  "Thanks, but I'm good. Just awake and lookin' for a little company."

  "Dalton asleep?"

  "I reckon. He drifts in and out, still. Them drugs, ah ... medicine, you know."

  "Uh-huh," Paul said, allowing her to maintain her ruse.

  "He's doin' better, though. Before I went to sleep a while ago, he'd just got up. Said he was comin' up here and look for you. He thought it was time for your watch"

  "He was a little early, I guess. He and Connie were talking when I came up to fix lunch."

  "Oh," she said, frowning.

  "I offered to fix something for you two, but he said you were sound asleep and he was fading, so he thought you'd just make some sandwiches. You eat anything?"

  She shook her head. "Not hungry, really. I get a little seasick sometimes. If I come up here when I'm awake, I do better, though."

  Paul nodded. "Most people who get seasick do better on deck. Being able to see the horizon helps, I think."

  "Uh-huh. I been enjoyin' settin' up here of an evenin' with Connie, lookin' at the stars."

  "She told me. Sounds like the two of you enjoy one another's company."

  "Yes, sir. That's so. She's a real nice lady."

  "No argument from me on that," Paul said, smiling.

  "She's plumb mad in love with you, too. She ain't said nothin' 'bout it, but I can tell. Just the way she looks at you, the way her eyes look when she talks about you. I see the same thing when you look at her. Y'all are lucky folks, you and Connie. Ain't ever'body got that kinda feelin'."

  "You're right about that. The lucky part, I mean. I was married once, when I was younger, but it didn't feel like this." Paul shook his head. "It didn't work; she said my job got in the way. She was probably right."

  "Dalton said you was a cop. Reckon that's a hard job for a family man. I hear tell that's so, ennyhow."

  "That's true. It was hard enough when I was in uniform, but ... "