Feta Attraction (16 page)

“Hi, beautiful.” I could feel myself blush, but Jack didn't seem to be looking at me so I guessed it didn't matter.

“Hi,” I said.

“What are you doing?” he asked. “Want to come over tonight after the restaurant closes so we can complete our unfinished business from last night?”

The heat in my face intensified and I knew I was tomato red.
I'll be back,
I mouthed to Jack and got up from the table and headed toward the hallway by the restrooms. “Uh, we're closed tonight.”

“You're kidding. How did you talk Sophie into that?”

“She's staying with Marina.”

“Even better. Shall I come over there?”

“Uh, I'm not home right now.”

“Oh, where are you? Want me to come and pick you up somewhere?”

“Uh, no, I have my car. I'm out at Jo-Jo's having dinner.”

“I'll join you—tell Patty to hold your order and I'll be there in ten minutes.”

“I'm not alone, Keith.” I didn't know why I was so reluctant to talk to him. I should have been grateful that somebody would know where I was.

There was a silence. “I see,” he said, coldly.

“Keith, I would like to get together again. Maybe next week after Pirate Days is over,” I offered.

“But not tonight?”

“Uh, I've got some things going on tonight, so I can't.”

“I'll bet you've got things going on,” he said icily. “Good-bye, Georgie.”

“I'll talk to you soon,” I promised.

“Maybe,” he said, and rung off.

Well. We weren't even dating—how did he get off being so huffy with me? It wasn't any of his business who I was with. I slapped my phone shut and dropped it into my bag, returned to the booth, and slid in, wincing as I dragged my thigh painfully across the sticky duct tape on the seat. The drinks had arrived and I took a big slurp with the straw, then squeezed the lemon into the glass.

“Everything okay?” Jack asked.

“Yeah, just fine.”

Patty came over and set my plate down unceremoniously in front of me. She dropped the basket of fries next to the plate, spilling some on the table but not bothering to apologize or pick them up. She placed Jack's sandwich down gently and made sure she accidentally brushed his hand, giggling as she did so. I wanted to vomit. Why did grown women make such fools of themselves? I could understand a little flirting, but this pretending you were thirteen when you were middle-aged was for the birds. I poured a puddle of ketchup next to my burger and dipped in a French fry.

“Where were we?” I wanted to smack that self-satisfied smile off his face. Where did he get those teeth anyway? He must have spent a fortune on cosmetic dental work. And what kind of a guy would do that? Well, my husband might, I had to admit.

“You were telling me that you think something is going on at”—I lowered my voice and looked around, but there was nobody at this end of the counter and nobody in the adjacent booth—“the farm.”

He lowered his voice too. “Georgie, you must have figured out by now that there's a money operation going on out there.” I wasn't sure how he knew that I knew that, but I nodded and let him go on.

“Well, I think there's more. I think there's a drug operation too.” That wouldn't surprise me. The people who lived there were aging hippies with a lot of acreage in a remote area. The chances were good that they were growing some recreational (or, at this stage of their lives, it could be medicinal) marijuana.

“Is that why you're involved?”
If you're really with the Coast Guard,
I wanted to add, but didn't.

“My interest is personal, not professional. The Coast Guard wouldn't have the authority to investigate that far inland, any more than the army over at Fort Drum would.”

“Looking to make a purchase?” I couldn't help asking.

He ignored my little jibe. “I'm going to level with you, Georgie. My best friend was in the Reserves and was killed in Iraq. His son, who's been like a nephew to me, has moved out to the commune with his girlfriend. I think he's in over his head out there.”

My heart broke for this poor boy who'd lost his father that way. “I'm sorry about your friend and his son, but I don't see what this has to do with me.”

“I think we can help each other.”

“Again, I don't see how.”

“Spiro was involved with the SODs.”

I guess if Liza could find that out, other people could too. “I just learned that. I don't know anything about it other than that there's a connection.”

“My sources tell me that he invested quite a bit of capital with them.”

“Our finances are kept separately. I don't know what, if anything, he does with his money.” Small fib there. I knew that at least seventy-nine thousand dollars was missing.

“Look, I'll cut to the chase. You want to find your husband. At least, I assume you do.” He looked at me pointedly. “I want to find Brian and get him out of the trouble he's either in or going to get himself in. Drugs and teenagers don't mix. The chances are very good that Spiro is being held somewhere out on that farm if he hasn't skipped town. So I'm saying, let's take a ride out to the farm and see if we can find out anything.”

The cheeseburger was at my lips and rested there, unbitten. I set it back down. “Are you suggesting that I get in a car with you, a man I know nothing about, and go out to a farm in the middle of nowhere that is run by a bunch of drug-dealing loan sharks? You've got to be kidding.”

He looked at me levelly. “I will tell you anything you want to know about me, anytime. In fact, I'd love to.”

I squirmed uncomfortably. This wasn't going the way I wanted it to. “Look, you seem like a nice guy.” I was surprised to find I almost believed that. “But I'm just not the type to go snooping around a commune full of criminal types with somebody I don't know. And I have somewhere I have to be tonight, if that's what you're suggesting.”

“Was that your boyfriend on the phone earlier?”

My face grew hot. “I don't have a boyfriend. I'm married, remember?”

“You should have a boyfriend.”

He could be right. In fact, he was right. I resolved to call Keith tomorrow after he'd cooled off and tell him I wanted to give it a try. So there. My God. I was acting like I was . . . thirteen.

“Where are you going tonight?” He was maddeningly cool.

“None of your business,” I snapped. If I'd had some gum I would have pulled a long string of it out of my mouth and twirled it around my finger.

“No, it isn't, but I'd like to help, if I could.” Why did he have to be so nice? I thought of Ted Bundy again, so handsome and smooth—and also a serial killer.

I took a big bite of the cheeseburger and felt a glob of ketchup ooze out onto my chin. Jack grabbed a napkin and reached over, dabbing it away. His fingers brushed my jaw as he cleaned me up, and I understood what had driven Patty to want to touch him. It was all I could do not to jump over the table and beg him to put his arms around me. This was nothing like my wanting Keith to kiss me the other day—the attraction was strong and deep on some animal level and my breath caught. He wadded up the napkin and placed it under the rim of his plate, then leaned back and smiled, tucking in to his sandwich. There was that smile again that made me want to slap him, although I was afraid if I did, I'd never take my hand away from his face.

“I could go with you.”

“No!” I gulped.

“Does anybody know where you're going?”

“Look, it's my business, okay? I have something I have to do, that's all. In fact, I should be going.”

“Give me your cell phone.”

“What?”

“Give me your phone. I want to program my number into it so if you need me, you can reach me.”

I considered, then gave it to him. It wasn't a bad idea. He punched in some numbers and handed the phone back to me. “I put myself as number one on your speed dial,” he said. “All you have to do is press and hold the one key, and it will call me.”

That was presumptuous. Not that I had anybody in my speed dial, since I didn't know how to program it myself. “Fine,” I said huffily.

I replaced the phone in my purse and pulled out my wallet. “No, no, this is on me,” he said.

“I'd like to pay for my own dinner.”

“I insist. It's been a long time since I've taken a woman out to dinner. Next time I'll take you someplace nicer.”

“I own someplace nicer,” I said, and got up.

He stood up too and took my hand, looking into my eyes. “Call me if you need anything. Anything,” he emphasized. “And if Spiro doesn't come back tomorrow, please consider going out to the farm with me and having a look around.”

I forced myself to let go of his hand. “I'll think about it. I hope you can help Brian.”

“Me too. Be careful.”

I was certainly planning to do that. I walked down the aisle and turned my head back as I reached the door. Patty was sliding onto the seat next to Jack. Well, he was a big boy and looked like he could take care of himself.

SEVENTEEN

The sun was low on the horizon as I drove back into town. I parked at the docks at the farthest edge of the lot with my front end facing the water. The
Lady Liberty II
was loading for its daily sunset booze cruise on the river, and I intended to wait a decent interval after it left to make sure the docks were clear before I loaded the table onto Liza's boat. My little blue car was as nondescript as they came. I closed my eyes and leaned back. It had been a long, long day, and there was no end in sight. I was dog tired.

Forty-five minutes later I awoke with a start. Damn! I had not intended to fall asleep. The sun had not quite set but was close to, and the big tour boat was gone. I exited the car and popped the trunk with the remote key. I maneuvered the wrapped table out with care, set it down, and closed the trunk lid. A quick scan of the parking lot and docks showed just a person here and there, no one I recognized. Hefting the table, I began the trek to Liza's boat, which was moored down near the end of the main dock. I set my bundle down on the boards, stepped onto the
Heartsong
, and reached over the edge of the boat to clumsily lift the table onto the back deck. A deep pain stabbed my side, causing me to suck in a breath. A pulled muscle, no doubt, caused by my unaccustomed feat of strength. I massaged my side and turned toward the cabin doors.

“Hi, Georgie,” a thick voice said from my left.

I'd been spotted. I turned toward the speaker. It was Brenda Jones, her hands resting on a shopping cart I recognized as coming from inside the front door of the Big B Supermarket out on Route 12. It was filled with cans and bottles. She had apparently just emptied the trash can on the land side of the dock and was headed to the receptacle at the water end. Her hair, wild and frizzy, was a peculiar shade of Raggedy Ann red today. Her eyes were bloodshot, the crimson veins making the blue of each iris stand out in almost three-dimensional contrast.

“Uh, hi, Brenda. How's it going?”

“Not too bad. I'll have a pretty good weekend, what with all the pirates coming into town,” she said.

“Well, good luck with that.” I had to get rid of her. It was getting late. “I don't want to keep you. It looks like you need to go empty your cart.”

“Yeah, I probably should.”

“Okay, bye, now.” I started back toward the cabin doors.

“Where you going?” she asked. “I've never seen you driving a boat before. Course, you were riding in a boat with Keith Morgan the other night. You know, the night you found Big Dom?” She gave me a watery wink and waited expectantly for some more information, but I didn't give her any. “What's that thing you've got all wrapped up there?”

“Brenda, did you check out in back of the Bonaparte House? I left you the returnables in the usual spot.”

A lame attempt at distraction, but it seemed to work. Or she allowed it to work. I was pretty sure there was a lot more to Bonaparte Bay's Dumpster Diva than met the eye.

“I guess I should go before it gets too dark here. See ya, Georgie.” She pushed the cart back to shore, the wheels rattling across the boards of the dock.

I breathed a sigh of relief and grabbed the table. I took it belowdecks and stowed it inside one of the beds—what do you call those things? Berths, that was it. I fumbled around for the latch on the cabinet over the sink in the tiny kitchen and located the coffee can, which contained the set of keys Liza had promised. I fisted the keys and went back up the few stairs to the captain's chair.

Now what? I sat down and put the key into the ignition. The engine caught on the first try. Success made me cocky. This was going to be easy—just like driving a car. I pushed the throttle forward and bumped the boat in front of me. Panicked, I pushed the throttle back, and bumped the boat in back of me. The front end of the boat (the stern? the bow? Oh, what did it matter anyway?) swung out away from the dock and pointed toward the open water. This was good! I pushed the throttle forward again and the boat refused to go anywhere, despite the engines making a lot of revving noise. Something was holding me back, so I gave it some more gas. The boat ripped free. My body jerked forward but I somehow managed to keep myself upright. Over my shoulder I saw the ropes—which I had neglected to untie—drifting on the water, tethered to a big chunk of floating wood that had been ripped away from the dock. Oops.

The boat was racing right toward a pair of big sailboats moored out in the harbor. I tried to pull back on the throttle but that didn't stop the forward momentum and I had to steer like an Indy 500 driver between them. I congratulated myself on making it through unscathed until I realized I was headed right for a big green buoy. My eyes closed involuntarily, then opened to see that my maneuver had been successful. I'd missed it, though I'd steered too hard to the left. The boat listed, then righted itself.

My pulse increased. This was crazy. I should have just told Detective Hawthorne everything and let people who knew what they were doing handle it, even if it meant I was under suspicion for a while. But what choice was there? Spiro and Sophie could be hurt. If all it took to ensure their safety was an old wooden table, I had to try. Of course there was no guarantee the perpetrator would honor the deal, but I had to think this was about money, plain and simple. Once I had Spiro back safely, we'd all lawyer up and present ourselves to the police.

And to add to the Top Ten List of Crazy Things Georgie Has Done, I was not wearing a life vest.
I clearly needed one. I was far enough out into the main channel by now that I thought I could safely drift for a while, so I cut the engine. Where had Liza said the life jackets were? In a compartment somewhere up on the deck. I searched around in the fading light and finally lifted up a cushion just in front of the outboard engine to find a vest, which I quickly donned.

Feeling safer, I turned the engines back on and guided the boat downriver. I didn't know how far it was to my destination, but I knew it was in this direction. There was still some dim light from what had been a spectacular sunset, and I should have just enough time to get to the small island and unload my cargo before it got totally dark. What I would do after that, I did not know, but I would worry about that later.
Do boats have headlights?
I wondered.

I gave the boat some gas and it accelerated. This was kind of fun. The breeze was cool and I wished I'd brought my light fleece jacket. My hair whipped back and I reached up with one hand to brush the stray strands from my eyes, which turned out to be a mistake because I narrowly missed a chunk of wood floating on the water. I didn't know what kind of damage I'd already done to Liza's boat, but I didn't want to do any more. I decelerated and decided to keep both hands on the wheel.

The island shouldn't be far downriver and should be coming up any moment now. I scanned the shore for familiar cottages to use as a guide, but the number of times I'd been out for a ride on this stunningly beautiful piece of the earth was shameful, and nothing was recognizable. I'd spent the last twenty-three summers working seven days a week, sometimes sixteen or seventeen hours a day, and I'd never made the time to get out and do anything. See anything. That was going to have to change.

I decelerated more and kept watch to my right. I was pretty sure I would not be able to miss the gaping maw that was the entrance to the cave, and it was only five or so more minutes before I saw it. I was about to cut the throttle but realized that I was coming toward the rocky shore of the island too fast, and so I decided to motor around it and make another attempt. This time I slowed the engine as low as it would go and steered the pointy front end of the boat toward the cave opening. There were some rocks on the shore but they didn't look too big, so I cut the engine and just let the boat go forward with its own momentum until it hit land with a thud that made me jerk backward, then forward in the captain's chair, hitting my head on the steering wheel. Damn!

The blow to my head hadn't been that hard, and I shook it off. All in all, that had gone pretty well and a small feeling of accomplishment washed over me. Until it occurred to me to wonder how much money I was going to owe Liza in repairs.

Well, I knew a pretty good boat restorer. Once this was all over I planned to make up with Keith and see whether our friendship could go any further. He was handsome and kind and funny, and I thought maybe I could love him someday. It would be nice to be in love again. Why should my husband be the only one in love? I realized with a pang that if I didn't get this package delivered, Spiro might not live to be in love. Panic rose again as I wondered whether whoever had him could reach across the ocean and get to Callista. I willed myself to relax.
All I have to do is stick to my plan
. I would deliver the table as instructed, and hope that the kidnapper would honor his end of the bargain and deliver Spiro to me.

I looked over the side of the boat. Now what? There was no dock. The bow of the boat was up on the shore, and the back end was in the water. Options included jumping over the side onto dry land, an unappealing eight-foot drop, or I could go over the back wall by the engines and get awfully wet—less appealing, but the safer alternative. I went belowdecks and brought up the wrapped table, depositing it near the engines. The water must be at least three or four feet deep based on how low the engines were riding and the sharp angle at which the boat was pitched. This was a problem, just one of many on this little adventure. How was I going to get a half-million-dollar table onto the island without soaking it? I did not have enough confidence in my wrapping job to think that it would keep out all moisture.

I looked around the boat, hoping for inspiration. A tool or implement of some kind—that was what I needed. If some Neolithic humans could figure out how to make fire, bring down mastodons, and survive the Ice Age, I could figure out how to get a table onto an island.

My first scan yielded nothing. The second time I hit the jackpot. A long pole with a hook on the end was secured to the outer wall of the boat. I undid the Velcro with a satisfying rip and awkwardly removed the pole from its bed. The pole was the telescoping kind, and it extended to about seven feet, more than adequate for my needs. I hooked the end under the ugly belt securing the shower curtain to the table, and gave a test lift. The pole bowed in the middle, but it looked like it would hold. I lifted the pole awkwardly and lowered my bundle, which had started to swing rather wildly, over the side. There didn't seem to be any way to slow it down, since any movement I made intensified the swinging. I said a quick prayer and decided to go for it, hoping that the blanket and the shower curtain would provide enough padding if my fish decided to drop. I lowered the swinging bundle, leaning over the side of the boat. My weight caused the boat to list and I wondered whether it would tip it over, but it stopped at about a thirty-degree angle. The table now rested safely on the shore. The soft metal of the boat hook had bent into a gentle arc, and it didn't look fixable. One more thing to replace for Liza.

Now for me. I went to the back of the boat and peered over. The water was black and weedy. I had a sudden vision of the live tank downtown that contained specimens of some of the marine life residing in the river. A sudden onset of the willies caused me to shiver. I steeled myself, opened the short door that led out onto a platform next to the engines, and jumped down into the water.

Cold and wet doesn't begin to describe the experience. I found myself standing in water almost to my crotch. Something brushed against my leg and I choked back a scream. Snapping turtle? Muskellunge? Giant river sturgeon? The display down at the docks said those prehistoric beasties could grow to twelve feet or more and I felt a deep knot form in the pit of my stomach.
You can do this, Georgie
.
You have to do this
. I held on to the boat as much as I could to prevent being dragged down into the depths of the river by some nasty monster and made my way around to the shore, grateful beyond words when my soggy left Teva sandal reached the island. I stood for a moment to calm my breathing, difficult since I was also shivering, and made my way to the mouth of the cave.