Daiquiri Dock Murder (25 page)

“Wonderful morning, Kane.” I clamped my teeth together to stop their chattering.

“Got everything we need. Fuel. Bait—both shrimp and ballyhoo. Sun screen. Water. Sodas. Lunch. You still like lobster sandwiches?”

“My favorite.” I hoped the Dramamine would kick in before lunch time.

“Mama G delivered them and the Key Lime pie before seven. That woman’s something else.”

The motor throbbed smoothly as Kane executed a no-wake exit from the bay and then headed for the blue water west of Key West.

“Thought we’d try trolling on our way to the reef.”

“Fine with me.” Sometimes I white-lie a little. I consider trolling a silly hit-or-miss way of fishing, believing that trollers enjoy a day on the sea more than they enjoy serious fishing. And even if I manage to snag a fish while trolling, it’s unlikely I can boat it before some larger shark or ’cuda sees it as breakfast and zeroes in on it, leaving me to reel in a dangling fish head. Ugh! Shades of Hemingway’s
Santiago.

I preferred backwater fishing—casting to a target, a permit or a bonefish. Even a ’cuda. Gram taught me to cast years ago, but I knew Kane couldn’t safely take this boat into the back country. We’d go aground in the shallows.

We were barely out of sight of Key West when the steady hum of the motor changed from a purrr, purrr, purrr to a brrr-thump-thump. Brrr-thump-thump. Little wisps of smoke began rising from the motor and I smelled burning oil. Scowling, Kane stopped the boat’s forward motion, reversed it. The same no-purr sound repeated itself. Brrr-thump-thump. Brrr-thump-thump. The wisps of smoke disappeared, but the burning oil smell increased. I moved until I stood upwind of it.

Kane cut the motor and radioed to a captain at Harbor walk dock that we were in trouble, giving our position, but requesting no help—yet. I knew how much having to report a possible need for help wounded Kane’s ego. But the wound was too shallow to put our safety in danger.

“Drat it, Rafa. I had that motor working smooth as my wrist watch yesterday. What the hell!” He opened a gigantic tool box, dragged it to the motor, and began clang-banging with pliers and wrenches. “Don’t be scared. I’ll get it running smoothly again. We’re in no danger. We’ll be on our way in a few minutes.”

“I’m not scared, Kane. You know your way around boats and motors. Take your time.”

I believed Kane. Being stranded for a while didn’t scare me. If he didn’t get his motor working, he knew plenty of tow services in Key West that would rescue us. My chief worry concerned yesterday’s threatening phone call. I felt safe here at sea with only a balky motor to give trouble. My second worry concerned getting back to the dock in time for Threnody and me to make it to our appointment with Snipe Gross.

“Anything I can do to help? Hold a wrench for you? A pair of pliers?”

“Thanks, but I can handle it. Try to relax and enjoy the view. It should take me only a few minutes to get us going again.”

Sensing that my peering over his shoulder might be bothering him, I retreated toward the bow. I watched Kane for only a few minutes longer before I saw this as my opportunity to take another look-see in the bunkhouse. While he worked deftly in greasy motor parts, I slipped to the bunk beds, raised the mattress on a lower bunk. No blue line. Sand-colored line. Maybe I picked the wrong bunk. Lifting the mattress on the other bunk, I saw the same thing. New line held that compartment lid in its slot, too.

Dropping the mattress back into place, my mind whirled when I walked on to the bow to think. Had Kane heeded my warning and changed the line to protect himself in case Chief Ramsey or Detective Lyon ordered a thorough search of the boat? Or had he changed the line to cover his own guilt in Diego’s murder?

Maybe I’d played right into a killer’s hands by agreeing to this day on the water—alone with Kane. But no. I tried to reason that fear from my thinking. Lots of people knew Kane and I planned to be out trolling in nearby waters today. Threnody. Brick. Dolly. They’d heard us making plans. Mama G had delivered sandwiches to Kane this morning. And just a few minutes ago, Kane had radioed our position to potential helpers. I felt ashamed of myself for having suspected him.

Kane wouldn’t have told anyone our exact position if he planned to kill me. I tried to believe that. But what if I fell overboard? What if I had an accident? A fatal accident?

Chapter 31

Kane worked with the motor for over an hour with no success before he threw the wrench and pliers into the toolbox, cut the motor, and radioed for help, giving
Sol Salvors
our exact position and the exact time. Static garbled the response, and Kane shouted our plight and position again.

“They’ll be here, Rafa. They’re dependable. I’ve used their service before.”

He felt more sure of their having heard our message than I did. If we couldn’t understand their response, how could we believe they had heard us? I corked my concern as Kane grabbed his tools again and started working on the motor.

Sometimes it’s hard to tell when you’re changing position on the water, but we were drifting and Kane had been working close to 2 hours now. We were getting closer to some outlying islets. The water around us had changed from deep blue to a sandy brown and I could make out mangroves surrounding the islets.

“Kane. Look. To your left. We’ve been drifting.”

Kane looked, and before he could say anything, our hull scraped against sand. He jumped up, grabbed an emergency paddle from its caddy on the portside gunwale, leaned over the side, and tried to push us free. No luck. The crunching against sand stopped. We were aground—one of a seaman’s greatest embarrassments.

“Damn!” Kane thrust his whole weight against the paddle and the sound of splintering wood required no interpretation.

“Hey, no problem, Kane. The water’s really shallow here. We’ll just go overboard and push the boat free.”

“You ever been grounded before?”

“No. I’ve only sailed with Gram and Dad. They both knew their way around the flats and how to avoid sandbars. They both understood the changing of the tides. But this water only appears to be about waist deep.”

“Right. The water’s shallow, but the bottom is deceptive. It looks firm, but once we’re overboard we’ll sink in to our waist—or worse. I’ll give the radio another try.”

This time the static made it clear to both of us that we were the only ones who heard Kane’s voice.

“We’d better go overboard and try to push the boat free. Or maybe the tide will come in and float us into deeper water.”

Kane shook his head. And pointed to a tide chart. “If we’re where I think we are, the tide’s going out.”

“Maybe someone will pass this way and see us.”

We scanned the horizon, but saw no boats in sight. I waited no longer. Skinning from my many layers of clothes, I dropped them in the wheelhouse, hoisted myself over the gunwale and jumped into the sea. To my surprise, Kane didn’t follow my lead. Instead he ran to the boat’s stern and lowered a small motor. My hopes surged then dropped. The motor barely reached the water.

“You didn’t tell me we had an auxiliary motor!” I shouted.

Kane splashed into the water beside me. “That motor won’t help get us into deeper water.”

“Then why lower it?”

“It’ll give you something to hang onto while you try to climb back to the deck. Keep lifting your feet. Try not to sink any deeper into the muck.” Kane offered me his hand and tried to pull me closer to the motor.

I felt water touching my knees, my crotch, and then my waist. When I tried to lift my feet, I felt myself sinking deeper. I clutched his hand and then got a grip on the motor.

“Hoist yourself up and onto the boat and then turn and give me a hand.”

My grip on the motor was so unsure I almost fell back into the water, but I managed to pull myself up while Kane pushed on my bottom.

“Up. Up. You can do it, Rafa.”

Right. I managed to get aboard. My lungs burned as if I’d swallowed a man-o-war, and I fought for breath while I turned, leaned over the gunwale, and offered Kane a hand. The boat shifted position, but he managed to tug himself onto the motor and then aboard.

We both stood clutching the gunwale and feeling the sandy slime drip from our legs onto the clean deck.

“My fault, Kane. All my fault. I apologize. You were right. We shouldn’t have gone overboard.”

“Could have been worse. We’re still alive. The sea allows a person a few errors, but no real mistakes.”

“Thank heaven the sea called this mishap an error.”

Slipping, sliding, and dripping slime, Kane made his way back to the wheelhouse, grabbed a line and tied it around the bail of a bucket. Then after tossing the bucket over the side, he hoisted it in full of sea water. We washed ourselves and then sluiced the deck before we dropped down to rest.

“What now?” I asked after almost a half hour passed.

“Guess we’d better stand up and hope someone sees us, realizes we’re in trouble. I’ll get my emergency kit and hoist a distress flag.”

We stood for a while and I got a second wind. “Guess there’s no reason why I can’t do some fishing while we’re standing here awaiting rescue.”

“Go ahead. I’ll try the radio again.”

Once more, the radio didn’t work. I grabbed my rod and spinning reel. After baiting the lure with a piece of dead shrimp and wiping my fingers right on my DKNY swim suit, I threw a long cast.

“Not a fish in sight, Kane. No helpers. No fish. What kind of an ocean is this, anyway?”

“What about that dot off in the distance to your right? Fish?”

I looked where he pointed. “Right. A fish. And it’s coming my way. Looks like a black-tip.”

“Have at it.”

I moved in a way that kept my shadow from falling on the water. I waited. Yes, a black-tip. I waited. When I made my cast, the lure landed right at the shark’s mouth. He snarfed it, I fought to keep the rod tip up, and the battle began.

“Good cast, Rafa.”

I hardly had breath to answer. “Gram was a great teacher.”

“You’ve told me before. For two years she thought fishing was more important than school.”

I let the shark run, then I reeled it in a bit. Let it run again. We played that game for over a half hour, before the black-tip gave up and came to the boat. I’m always overwhelmed by the beauty of any fish. The black tip on this shark’s dorsal fin set off its silvery scales, the creamy white of its underbelly. I stood admiring it so long, Kent took the rod from my hand.

“Want me to bring it aboard?” he asked.

“No way. I’m a catch and release person. Gram taught me that, too. Since I caught it, you can release it.”

“I’m going to boat it first.” Kane ran to the wheelhouse and returned with camera, tape measure, and gaff. “There’s a black-tip tournament going on and this fish may win you a prize.”

He pulled the shark onto deck and thrust the leader into my hand. “Now hold it high, and hold the tape at its nose with the numbers toward the camera. This will be proof of your catch.”

I followed instructions and in moments the fish was back into the sea, lying stunned and quiet. I wished I could lean over the gunwale far enough to grab its tail and swish it through the water to help it survive. In moments, I knew the shark needed no help. It turned and streaked toward the horizon, its silvery body glinting in the sunlight and then disappearing first into the shallows and then into deep blue waters.

We’d been so engrossed in the shark scene that we hadn’t noticed the bright orange boat approaching.

“
Sol Salvage
!” Kane shouted. “They did hear us.” He stood waving as if they hadn’t already spotted us. In moments the captain tossed a line to Kane who secured it around a prow cleat. In moments we were afloat again and headed back toward Key West. Slowly. Very slowly.

“It’ll be a long ride.” Kane opened the cooler. “Might as well enjoy Mama G’s lunch.”

And that’s what we did until Kane broke the silence growing between us. He took my hand, squeezing it while he looked into my eyes.

“I love you, Rafa. You know that and believe it, don’t you?”

“Yes. I do know and believe. And I love you, too.” I’d have sealed my words with a kiss had the salvage captain not been peering over his shoulder now and then and grinning at us.

“Our love can’t grow while there’re secrets between us. Level with me, Rafa. What happened in your family to cause your parents to allow you to drop school and live for two years with your grandmother on Big Pine?”

I intended to share the story with Kane—at a time of
my
choosing rather than his. I’d like to avoid thinking about that time in my life, but Kane deserved better from me than secrecy. Maybe this was as good a time as any to talk about my past. I had the slight advantage of catching Kane at a time when his confidence in himself and
The Buccaneer
hung at low ebb. If he hadn’t already heard about my past and preferred to pretend innocence, I’d rather have him hear the whole story from me than from the local gossips.

Chapter 32

The odor wafting from the salvage boat motor, the slap of the sea against
The Buccaneer,
and the whirl of my own thoughts tended to throw me off balance, but I grabbed a deep breath and began my tale.