Death of a Hot Chick (21 page)

Instead of answering, he waved his finger in
circles.

With my reserved judgment building toward
mad, I spun around. When I again faced him, he said, “You’ll have
to get a new pair of boat shoes. No socks. Crisp, freshly pressed
white shorts would be appreciated as well. But the legs are right
up there. Yeah, you’ve got the legs, CeeCee.”

“
Will that be all, Captain Sir?” I
demanded. Definitely mad. I darted past him and bolted out the door
into the pilot house. Why had I ever told him that Granny named me
after the dancing Cyd and both my parents deferred to her? Long
baby legs had certainly never made me a dancer. I stood, arms
crossed close to my body, and stared at the water, trying hard to
calm myself. I heard his step behind me, but I didn’t
turn.

“
I could always get you going,
couldn’t I?” he asked. When I still didn’t turn, he touched me
lightly on a protruding elbow. “Just teasing. Okay?”

I felt his breath on my ear. I jerked away
and turned. But lashing out would only keep him teasing me. I took
another deep breath and forced a smile. “Yes, Sir. Will that be
all, Sir? Or, do you have other duties you wish performed? I’m an
excellent navigator. I’ll be happy to set our course. What will our
destination be for today?”

“
That’s it. Navigator and galley
slave.” His eyes gleamed. He knew damn well I was close to
exploding. “Will you program my guidance system as well? Then I’ll
sit back and watch you not steering the boat because you haven’t
taken your captain’s test yet.”

He also knew all his equipment was newer
than anything I’d used when I worked commercially. I wouldn’t blow
up. I swallowed my anger, widened my eyes and smiled despite an
urge to kick him where it would do the most good. “I’m just an
old-fashioned girl. Do you have any paper charts and a compass?” I
hesitated, then added, “Sir.”

“
Sorry, Cyd. You are just so
teaseable. I’ll behave like a proper captain from here on
in.”

“
Well, that’s a relief. Sir.” Apology
made and accepted, but not quite as if the intervening years had
never occurred. No, I could no longer bounce back. Too much had
come between.

He chuckled. “The course is all ready to go.
But you could check out the refreshments. After we get underway
we’ll feed the troops, so get things prepared while I set up on
deck, then come up on the dock with me to greet our guests.”

However, either the men were early, or I was
too slow finding where the serving dishes were, checking what foods
needed what dishes, and lining them up, for I soon heard voices on
deck. I fanned the napkins on trays and headed up through the
hatch.

They were all on the bow, checking out the
two fishing seats Gregory had installed. Five men, all dressed in
some nautical catalogue’s idea of the perfect fishing costume from
their captain’s caps to their white, gum-soled boat shoes. I untied
the stern line, looped it around the cleat, then over the safety
line, ready for quick release. I hopped off the boat and headed
forward on the dock. On the boat, the men were getting the full
tour.

One of the men asked Gregory, “So, you know
all about the fish out there, right?”

“
As much as anyone,” he
answered.

Some fishermen, I thought as I stood ready
to catch the forward line, should Gregory toss it, or even notice
me.

“
I thought we’d have our refreshments
on the way out to the site,” Gregory said. He added, “If that’s all
right with you, Mr. Joline.”

Oh, Oh. Mr. Joline, here. Why didn’t I ask
who his client was? I pulled my visor down, but it didn’t hide my
face. I peeked.

“
Of course, of course.” That was Mr.
Joline, and he kept talking. “Curtis, I’ll guarantee you a big
fish. Even if I have to buy it on shore.” He laughed, and so did
all the others.

Big joke. Big joker.

Gregory said, “Hey, Cyd, catch.” He tossed
the forward line. As I looped it over a hook on the piling, he
added, “Remove the stern line too. Start the engine, then take
charge of the spring line.”

“
Yes, Sir,” I muttered. I stepped
aboard mid-ship, released the stern line and leaned down to swing
it over its hook on the piling. Fortunately, I remembered how to
start an engine. He’d been going on trust there. After I adjusted
the fuel to keep her at a steady idle, I double-ended the spring
line and stepped on the dock, ready to push off and step aboard
before
Norris Wave
got too far
away. I tugged at my visor even though it didn’t hide my face. I
kept my eyes down.

Gregory led his customers back. “I’d like
you all to wear life vests,” he said and opened the deck box.
“That’s Cyd on the dock, my second in command today.”

After a chorus of greetings, I replied.
“Good morning, Gentlemen.” I didn’t look up. I stood, one hand on
the life line.

Gregory passed me the spring line and
whispered, “What’s with the incognito?”

I shrugged, then placed the line on its
hook. Spend a day on the boat with Mr. Joline? Maybe I’d just push
the boat off and forget to climb aboard. But I knew that wasn’t an
option, not if I ever wanted to work for Gregory again.

Chapter 16

Gregory gave me a hand-up, completely
unaware of my “get-out-of-town” instinct. “Check the drinks box
back there,” he said with a wave of his hand. “That kid is new.
Make sure he included the ice.”

“
Yes, Sir,” I mumbled. When I got my
ticket punched, I’d be the one giving orders. To someone
else—definitely not to him.

“
Oh, and put that life vest on. Gotta
stay professional.”

I grabbed the vest first. It was one of
those skinny automatic-inflatable PFDs, not a nice fat one that
would cover the name on my T-shirt. Still I managed to push most of
the name underneath. I opened the drink chest. Full of ice. I
couldn’t hide my face as easily as I’d hidden my name. But Gregory
would call me again, by name.

I’d anticipate, do everything I could think
of so he wouldn’t call me. Spend a lot of time below. Yes. “What
time do you want to serve lunch?”

“
Take us forty-five minutes to get
there. Say, in fifteen minutes. Give them a half hour to eat before
fishing.”

“
Will they eat below or up
here?”

“
Hey, you’ve been on a fishing boat
before. Keep them topside. If they’re gonna puke, it won’t be in my
salon.”

“
Gotcha!” I charged below. A
hanging-around-the-helm lunch. Gregory did have plenty of cup
holders clipped on the lifelines. He had a small table to unfold in
the cockpit. I arranged vegetables and dip, chips and dip, assorted
wraps and condiments, plus cheese squares and pretzels on the
large, covered serving trays conveniently stacked near the fridge.
I took a couple of large trash bags topside and clipped them to the
lifeline, one on each side of the boat.

Gregory had set the auto-pilot and was
forward, making jokes. Or something. I opened up the little table,
and went below. About ten minutes later I had the serving trays
ready.

“
Just hand the food up,” Gregory
said.

After I passed the last tray, he took my
hand and pulled me up the stairs. Then, still firmly grasping my
hand, he said in a nice loud voice, “Gentlemen, lunch is served.”
As they came closer, he added, “And, like every ecologically
correct mariner, we have a few rules to observe. Cyd will tell you
all about them.”

I bit my lip, shook my head, all to no
avail. “Cyd?” he repeated.

He was going on trust again–maybe even
hoping I’d goof up big time. He winked, and that did it. Definitely
putting me on the spot. What had I told customers those many years
ago? So I didn’t remember the exact words, but I could certainly
wing it. Looking directly at a man who wasn’t Mr. Joline, I
began.

“
Gentlemen, we believe in protecting
the Chesapeake Bay, and keeping care of it for future generations
of not only fishermen and women, but the wildlife and plants that
struggle to live in this environment.” How did the rest of it go?
“To that end, we will not throw anything in the water. Note the
trash bags on either side of the boat. Please place everything you
don’t eat into one of the bags. The management thanks you. The bay
thanks you. And, generations to come thank you.”

Somebody clapped. I ran down the stairs,
passed through the galley, and locked myself in the head. I placed
my elbows on the sink, my chin in my hands, and stared at my
reflection. Yep, I still looked like myself. Nope, Mr. Joline
hadn’t hollered at me for living on “his daughter’s” boat. Not yet.
Had he even looked at me? Heard my name?

Okay, what could he possibly do?
Holler—yeah. Accuse. He certainly couldn’t kill me in front of so
many witnesses. Unless he pushed me overboard, accidentally. I
would go topside. I would face—whatever. Maybe not face him. Maybe
try to stay in the background, keep my head down. I yanked my
visor, unlocked the door, and headed for the stairs.

Nobody jumped out at me. Mr. Joline and the
other men sat or stood, munching and chatting, talking about big
fish. Mr. Joline kept changing the subject.

“
Wonderful how able-bodied people can
enjoy Chesapeake Bay and the many sports and activities, isn’t it?”
he said.

“
Yeah, what is this new charity you’re
talking up?” one of the men asked.

Another said, “What, exactly, does Total
Living Futures mean?”

Mr. Joline went right into his pitch,
describing the handicapped who miss so much of the human
experience, extolling the pleasures of wheel-chair fishing,
children on crutches feeling the breeze in their hair, and the
elderly reflecting on a more active past. Not a one of the men
asked how he was going to get a wheelchair up on the bow of a
boat.

They were still talking when Gregory said,
“Cyd, take the wheel while I set the anchor.”

“
Really?” I said quietly.

“
Allowed. I’m in control. Checked it,”
he whispered. With his back to the others he pulled his thumb
toward himself. “Back up,” he whispered. Quickly, and quietly, he
told me his signals for forward, gun it, slow, and kill the engine.
“Got it?”

I had it. Things were coming back to me. I
wouldn’t have needed his signals to know what to do. Setting an
anchor was still the same as when Finley and I were beginning to
get small commercial jobs.

After we anchored, I finally began to relax.
Evidently Mr. Joline didn’t remember me. I didn’t push it, but I
did fasten a trash bag forward and pass fresh drinks around when
the men began to fish. Mostly, Gregory stayed near them, answering
questions, at the ready in case anyone wanted to know more about
the area or his charter service. And, mostly, I enjoyed sitting in
the back, reveling in the sky, the birds, and mostly, the bay.

I was half asleep and hadn’t noticed Gregory
join me when he said, “Wonder what Mr. Joline meant?”

“
About what?”

“
Hey, that’s why I had you take the
wheel.”

“
About what?” I repeated. “What did he
say?”

“
He said, ‘Guess your assistant
doesn’t know much about boats.’ ”

I jerked upright. “What?” I leaned back. “I
mean, what did you tell him?”

“
I didn’t go into details, if that’s
what you want to know.” He leaned forward with that grin that, face
it, could still turn me into jelly. “Told him you were my
right-hand man. Could be true, you know.”

“
My sister told him I was a boat
expert,” I muttered. There were two kinds of “turning to jelly,”
and the second kind overtaking me wasn’t good. I rushed below, out
of Mr. Joline’s sight, should he turn around to look. I didn’t need
to lock myself in the head to realize things were not going well
and there was absolutely nothing I could do. I had to tough it
out.

When we returned to the dock, Gregory put
the engine in neutral, I grabbed a line from the piling, and looped
it several times around the cleat. Gregory put the engine in
reverse for a moment, and the boat halted, right beside the steps
on the dock. I opened the gate and stood aside as the passengers
left. Mr. Joline was last in the line. He stopped in front of
me.

“
Ms. Denlinger,” he said, “I
understand you claim to own my boat. We’ll have to see about that,
won’t we?”

~
~

Late afternoon, and cutting it close for any
office to be open. I convinced myself that if I hurried, I might
make it to the law office of J. Smith Owens, Esquire. Instead of J.
himself sitting in the lobby, a woman of indeterminate age, but
definitely determined mein, sat as the gatekeeper.

I didn’t have an appointment.

Yes, J. was present, but fully booked.

I could wait if I wanted, but she couldn’t
guarantee anything. So I waited. And watched the time go by. And,
after an hour, the gatekeeper stood, opened a drawer, took out her
gigantic purse, and suddenly remembered me.

“
Excuse me. Are you still here?” she
asked. After she scanned my dazed expression, due to nearly falling
asleep over an ancient
NYU Law
Review
, she said, “He left some time ago.” Then, in
explanation, she added, “There is another door.”

I was already late for our detecting meeting
at Finley’s. She wanted us there by five. I called Kaye’s cell
phone. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m late,” I said. “Be there
in ten.” I hung up before Kaye could complain.