by Sandra Hill
He was tired of pretending to be poor.
He was tired of arguing with Ronnie over every little thing . . . and her threatening to quit every other hour.
He was tired of waiting for Jake to arrive.
He was sick and tired of Jake’s frickin’ answering machine. Whoever invented those contraptions ought to be drawn and quartered.
He was tired of being nice. Well, nice for him.
He was tired of Rosa making one demand after another. The latest was that she wanted to go out on the boat with them, along with her two sons. She’d already bought a boating outfit, she’d told him, whatever the hell a boating outfit was. He’d told her she might break a nail; she’d told him he might break a leg. There was a hidden warning in that, he’d decided. They’d compromised on one son, period, going out with them. Even that rankled.
He was tired of Flossie’s hot flashes and mood swings. Their bedroom felt like an igloo these days. She was turning into a psycho. Lovey-dovey one moment, Hannibal Lecter the next. Last night she’d burst out crying just because he said he’d never liked Elvis.
He was tired of fabricating reasons why Ronnie’s presence on the boat during the search was essential. If he didn’t convince Ronnie to come along and experience the thrill of treasure hunting, he would never get her to take over Jinx, Inc.
Flossie, on the other hand, who’d had only a passing interest in his treasure-hunting projects in the past, had come up with the bright idea that she was coming along. Rosa had probably put that bug in her ear. But neither hell nor high water nor his bursts of temper were going to stop Flossie. He’d briefly considered telling her she might break a nail, but refrained when he contemplated the body part Flossie would threaten to break. It wouldn’t be a leg, for damn sure. Before Frank left the house this morning, Flossie told him she would be gone all day, probably off to some mall buying a “boating outfit.”
He was tired of all the postponements of the Pink Project. He was leaving for the wreck site tomorrow if he had to row the damn boat.
And he was low on Cuban cigars. Maybe Famosa knew someone who knew someone.
As he pulled into his designated slip before the warehouse, he took in the scenic picture of his diving boat, Sweet Jinx, which was anchored right next to him. God, he loved that boat. She was more than twenty years old and had more patches and renovations than an aging movie star. Formerly named Down & Dirty, she was a sixty-five-foot former tramp steamer that had been gutted and refitted to become a diving vessel with all the latest bells and whistles. The old lady could accommodate fifteen people in a pinch, ten comfortably. The boat was perfectly suited for treasure hunting on the high seas. Not that all his treasure hunts were aquatic ones, but when he did hit the deep waters, Sweet Jinx had all the latest technology and gear to make the operation safe and efficient and comfortable.
Just then, he noticed something. Ronnie and several of the crew members stood on the wharf, talking excitedly. Why were they here so early? And what had them so excited? More problems? He thought seriously about turning his boat around and going to the Anchor for a double shot of bourbon—a little hair of the dog, except that he hadn’t had the pleasure of the “dog” last night.
“What’s going on?” he grumbled once he climbed onto the pier.
The group—Ronnie, Brenda, Adam, Caleb, and John—parted in the middle, and he had an open path to the shiny motor. He glanced from one to the other, asking, “Where did this come from?” It was a brand-spanking-new luxury model of a Vanguard motor, a perfect fit for the diving boat. The thing had to have cost at least ten thousand dollars.
“Did you buy this?” he accused Ronnie. When her mouth dropped open, he remembered his poor man act and added, “We don’t have the cash for this.”
“Not me,” Ronnie said. “Besides, how would I know what kind of motor to order—or get it here so quickly?”
“You?” He looked at Brenda. The woman knew more about motors and how they worked than anyone else in the team.
She would know exactly what kind of motor they needed and how to get it.
Brenda put up both hands and shook her head.
The others were shaking their heads as well.
He thought for a couple of seconds, then told Brenda, “We might as well use it.”
The three guys picked up the motor and followed Brenda over to the boat. This new motor would ensure that they started the search by tomorrow morning, as planned.
Finally, my bad mood has a reason to lift.
He turned and saw that Ronnie was still standing there, frowning at him.
Maybe not.
“I think I know where the motor came from.”
“Where?”
She motioned her head toward Rosa’s son, Tony, who was sitting on a piling, throwing a crab line into the bay. Jersey had some of the best blue-claw crabs in the world, after all. Tony scowled at Frank and Ronnie, then turned away.
Frank frowned. “Are you saying Tony—rather, Rosa—is responsible for this?”
“All I know is that yesterday I wished I had a new computer, and hours later, I had one sitting in front of the office. Then, yesterday afternoon, I heard you wish that you had a new motor. Steve, or Tony, was there each time.”
Was that why Flossie’s manicurist had shown up last night? Had one of Rosa’s sons made Vivian an offer she couldn’t refuse, just because Flossie had wished it? He grinned.
“It’s not funny. They’re probably stolen property. Mafia loot.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
“A person shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”
“A person could end up with a gift horse’s head in his bed.”
“Did anyone ever tell you that you can be a pain in the ass? Don’t answer that.” He turned and yelled over to Tony, “Hey, Tony, did you bring this motor here today?”
Tony didn’t even look up from his crab line. He just shook his head.
“Ask him if his brother or mother brought it here. You asked if he brought it today. Maybe he brought it last night. Go ahead, ask him.” Ronnie gave him a look that pretty much said he should do her bidding . . . pronto.
Not bloody likely! “Your nagging is really starting to bother me. Maybe I should just drop you in the bay. That would shut you up.”
She gasped, and an expression of hurt flashed on her face, immediately replaced with anger.
“Lighten up, girl. I was just kidding,” he said, which pretty much amounted to an apology for him. “Listen, Ronnie, why don’t you go into the office and call Jake? See why he’s not here yet. We’re leaving first thing in the morning, and he’s not answering my calls.”
“What makes you think he would answer my call?”
“Oh, he would answer your call, all right. Jake gets loopy just looking at you. All you’d have to do is crook your finger, and he’d be tripping over himself to get here.”
“You are so wrong.” She inhaled and exhaled to tamp down her temper. “Why are you so determined to have him here on the project? Me, too, for that matter?”
Questions, questions, questions. “Because I want a great-grandchild,” he said before he had a chance to bite his tongue. Oh, well, it was part of the reason. He didn’t reveal that much.
“From me and Jake?”
“No. You and Captain Hook. Of course you and Jake.”
Her mouth gaped open with disbelief. “You want me and Jake to have a baby?”
“Yes, dammit!”
“You’re as bad as my grandmother. She wanted us to have a baby, too, so that she could control the baby’s life like she did mine.”
He could tell she regretted mentioning his ex-wife and admitting that maybe, just maybe, Lillian hadn’t been the perfect role model. But he couldn’t let the comparison of him and Lillian stand. “I’m in no way like your grandmother.”
“Why are you so insulted? You keep telling me that I’m just like her.”
“That’s different. You are. But there’s hope for you yet. Stick around me long enough and you’ll lose some of that starch in your undies.”
“Aaarrgh!”
“Get movin’, girl. Call Jake. Have a baby. Maybe two. But help me find the goddamn pink diamonds first. Treasure now, baby later.”
He began to stomp toward the boat, anxious to get this project on its way, anxious to get out of Ronnie’s way before she hit him.
To his back, she yelled, “Not a chance!”
He just laughed.
Oh, ho, ho, and a bottle of . . . Pepto . . .
Early the next morning, the Pink Project crew got ready to take off.
Veronica watched from the wharf as the gear and supplies were packed on board. Last-minute checks were being made of everything from the new motor to the diving apparatus. All the team members were so excited that a small part of Veronica—the part that fancied walking on the wild side—wished she could be an actual member of the team. With a sigh, she gave a last wave and went back into the warehouse office, determined to find all the missing financial papers while her grandfather was gone.
A few minutes later, Frank rushed into the office, panicked. “You gotta come on board. It’s . . . it’s about Jake,” he told her, then rushed off.
Despite her aversion to water, Veronica followed him, never hesitating to step on board in her concern over Jake. She caught up with Frank down in the spacious cabin, where he was getting a bottle of water from the fridge. “What? What about Jake?” she practically shrieked.
“Uh . . .” He took a long swig from the icy bottle.
“I’m going to dump that water over your stupid head if you don’t tell me right away.”
“Tsk-tsk-tsk! Got ants in yer pants, girlie. Hey, that’s a good one. Ants in yer pants, an itch in the you-know-where, you and Jake, babies. Ha, ha, ha. Okay, okay, don’t be lookin’ all witchlike at me. I finally got in touch with Jake last night.” He paused, indulging in another swig.
“And?” she prodded.
“He’s in New Orleans.”
New Orleans? The Insanity Wedding. Veronica could never think about the Big Easy without remembering her Insanity Wedding there. Elation, and dismay, swept over her at the same time. Apparently, Jake was safe, but he wasn’t coming back. Not that he’d said he would. Not that she wanted him to. Still . . .
“He’s gamblin’ on a riverboat there.”
“Here’s a news flash, Frank. One, that’s nothing new—gambling is what Jake does. Two, I don’t give a hoot where he is. Three, why did I have to board this blasted boat to hear this spectacular news?”
“Just thought you’d like to know.”
A motor turned over then. Very loud. And fine hairs stood up on the back of her neck. “You wouldn’t!”
“Yep, I would,” Frank said, pleased as an accordion player at a Polish wedding.
“You . . . dumbass moron. I swear, I ought to . . . to . . . punch your lights out. And I would, if I could.”
By the time she got up on deck and made her way to the wheelhouse to scream at Brenda to turn the boat around, it was too late. The Pink Project was under way.
“Turn around!” she ordered, first her grandfather, then Brenda, then each of the crew members, who had followed, not wanting to miss the show, even Steve who just peered at her through his dark sunglasses, saying nothing. No one would listen to her.
“It’s for your own good,” Frank said.
“Old man, you are delusional.”
“It’s bad luck to turn around right away,” Brenda contended. A blush belied her words.
“I’ve heard enough about good luck and bad luck to last me a lifetime. I was married to a gambler, remember?”
“It’s gonna be fun, chère,” John said.
“Fun is dinner and a Broadway play. Fun is winning a difficult case in court. Fun is a hot fudge sundae. Fun is not puking my guts out on a freakin’ boat.” She hated the shrillness in her voice.
John just grinned at her.
“Since Jake’s not here, you can be the computer tech,” Adam offered. “I’ll show you how to track the site with the computer mapping system. Every aspect of a dive is recorded on camera; then we study the tapes over and over, like football coaches before the big game.”
Like I care! She gave him a look that said loud and clear what he could do with his proffered help.
Adam just grinned, too.
“How about you, bozo?” she said to Caleb. “Do you have something asinine to say, too?”
“Not a thing.” He put his hands up defensively and laughed.
“You planned this all along, didn’t you?” she accused her grandfather. “Oh, God! That’s my luggage over there, isn’t it? And that diving suit you gave me. I swear, I have fallen into Alice in Wonderland’s garden hole, and you are the Mad Hatter.”
He shrugged, lit a smelly cigar, and walked away.
Meanwhile, the boat chugged its way out to sea. There was no turning back. It appeared as if she might be trapped for as much as a week on the high seas. It was enough to make a grown woman cry.
A short time later, despite all her protests and against her will, Veronica accepted the fact that she was not only on the Sweet Jinx, but was also a full-blown member of the Pink Project team. Just the idea boggled the mind! And her stomach.
Standing on the bow, fortified with Dramamine and Pepto, she watched the boat part the ocean, and, once she calmed down, she had to admit it was a wondrous sight. With the endless horizon of water, she could see why men had such respect for the sea. The ocean scared the bejesus out of her, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t see its beauty.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” her grandfather said, coming up to lean his elbows on the rail beside her.
“No, it’s not,” she replied contrarily.
“You still mad at me?”
“Of course I’m still mad at you, you lunkhead. You tricked me.”
“Well, now, it depends on your definition of trick.”
“Don’t play Clintonese with me.”
“All I did was mention Jake and you took off like a chicken with its head off.”
Now that’s a picture!
“Tells ya somethin’, doesn’t it?”
Like I’m pathetic. She refused to fall into his trap of discussing Jake again, or his desire for great-grandbabies.
That didn’t stop him. “Sooner or later, you two are gonna figure a way to live together.”
I’ve skipped down that yellow brick road way too many times. “Don’t bet the boat on it.”
He chuckled, insinuating that she was going to fall into the Jake trap again.
“The first time we spot another boat, hopefully the Coast Guard, I’m going to flag them down and have you arrested for kidnapping.”
“No, no, no. Whatever you do, it can’t involve the Coast Guard. Boats within a fifty-mile radius listen in on their radio. Treasure hunters from all around will be on our tail if they get wind that I’m out here.”
It was useless arguing with her grandfather. She never won. “Go away. I’d rather be miserable all alone.”
“It would be nice if you could view this all as a great adventure.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Lotsa women would give their eyeteeth to be on board a pleasure boat with five men—not that I want you foolin’ around with any man besides Jake. Nosiree. But see how happy the other two women are here?” He referred to Brenda, who had made her way down to the galley kitchen to prepare lunch, something involving sauerkraut by the smell of it, and Flossie, all decked out in capri pants and a nautical-motif halter top, reclining on a lounge chair under an awning reading—could it be?—the Wall Street Journal.
She homed in on something else her grandfather had said. “Pleasure boat?” It was a refurbished tramp steamer with all the charm of a rusty tin can—on the outside. The decrepit boat from the old Humphrey Bogart movie African Queen came to mind. She h
ad to admit that the inside was spiffy, though, with sleeping accommodations for all of them—cramped, but sufficient—and a complete kitchen, toilet facilities, and a stationary table and benches for eating.
In addition, the boat had a computerized mapping system. Also, a wireless side-scan sonar connected to a laptop took pictures of anything sticking up out of the murky bottom; it mapped the sea floor far below where divers and global positioning system equipment could go. And there was a magnetometer to detect iron and steel, even when well buried in the sand. A water blower powered by wash from the boat’s propellers pushed away sand while sending clearer surface water down to aid the divers.
New devices were being invented daily to allow for deeper ocean recoveries, such as a robot that could be dropped to unheard-of-before depths, her grandfather had explained last night. Such robots cost as much as two million dollars, an expenditure her grandfather obviously could not afford.
Despite the lack of a robot, Veronica was impressed with the Jinx, Inc., operation, though she wouldn’t tell Frank that. At least she now knew where some of the money invested by Rosa and Jake had gone.
“It would be a pleasure boat if you’d give it a chance,” her grandfather persisted. “Why not give it a chance? Why do you always prejudge?”
“I’m getting tired of you always saying that I misjudge people and things.”
“You do . . . sometimes,” he said in a surprisingly gentle voice—gentle for him, anyway.
She frowned her confusion, then shook her head; it didn’t matter. “Why did you have to use underhanded methods to get me here on this boat? In fact, why did you have to use underhanded methods to get me to Long Beach Island in the first place? Why couldn’t you have just asked me? Nicely. For a change.”
