Thomas Prescott Superpack (17 page)

Chapter 32

I did a U-turn in the door frame, “What do you mean Kellon is a girl?”

Kellon’s dad didn’t answer me, so I pulled the phone base from the wall and threw it over his head.

He didn’t look pleased and screamed, “What in the hell?”

I prodded, “Kellon is a girl? Are you sure?”

He was silent for a second. Thinking. Can you believe that? Two plus two is four, oil and vinegar don’t mix, and your offspring either has a penis or a vagina.

Finally, he said, “Yeah, Kellon’s a girl.”

Highly doubtful. He probably flipped a coin at the custody hearing. I asked,

“Where is she?”

He glared at me. “You owe me a fucking phone.”

“I’m gonna owe you a hefty dental bill if you don’t tell me where Kellon is.” I think he thought I was serious because I’d pulled him over the desk by his shirt collar.

He stammered, “She’s with her mother this weekend.”

Thank God. “Are you positive?”

“Of course.”

I let go of his Bayside Harbor tee and said, “Thank you. The next time you see her, tell her, Captain Dipshit has something for her.”

I took sixty bucks from my pocket and left it on the desk. “Forty is for the phone and twenty is for Kellon for docking my boat last weekend.” I gave him a look that I hope conveyed,
Try me motherfucker, I’ve got a lot of steam bottled up and beating the piss out of a deadbeat dad might just be the remedy I’ve been looking for.

Walking out of the hut, I had a strong premonition Kellon would not only see the twenty bucks, she might even get a hug out of the old man.

As I made my way to the Backstern, I surveyed Alex untying the boat and imagined she’d been similar to Kellon as a child. Penis envy was big at four and five. It was at about the age of ten that girls thanked the Lord they didn’t have to walk around with a Twinkie in their undies.

I thought about how scared I’d been when I’d heard her dad utter the words,
you mean her. Kellon is a girl
. They echoed through my head, a refrain slightly audible behind Tristen’s chorus,
Listen I’d love to chat, but I have a date with a beautiful young lady
.

I was grateful Kellon was at her mother’s this weekend. Kellon once told me that her mom lived in Kittwery. How in the hell had the mother not gotten custody of the child? I’d seen the mother once during the
Summer and while she wasn’t Princess Di, she didn’t seem like Queen-crack-head either.

Alex threw the mooring lines onto the boat and said, “Off we go. Why do you still have the kite?”

“She wasn’t around.”

I saw the word “she” hit her eardrum and blow up like a shotgun shell. Alex’s eyes widened like there were two invisible fingers holding them open. I beat her to the punch, “Yeah, Kellon’s a little girl not a little boy. I freaked too, but she’s at her mom’s this weekend.”

Her eyes said, “Whew,” and she hopped aboard the boat.

We disembarked and I retired to the captain’s chair with Mick and Lob. The three of us studied the ease Alex walked about the boat as only one could who’d grown up on the water. She immediately caught us a breeze, a breeze I hadn’t felt until my brain told my body there must be one if we were moving. I’d say ten knots south by southeast.

I sank my hand into the cooler and handed a beer to Alex. She swigged in silence and did a couple minor adjustments on something called a jib. I inquired as to when the poop deck came into play and was rewarded with an eye roll so violent you’d of thought Alex counted her lashes. When we had eclipsed the harbor she finally sat down and said, “Perfect day for sailing.”

It was perfect. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky or a chop in the water. We sipped our beers and chatted, and every so often she would get up to correct the sails or jimmy this or jimmy that, all the while spatting all sorts of sailing jargon. In hindsight, I would have forgone Hieroglyphics in high school and opted for Sailish.

We traded war stories from the high seas, hers having mostly to do with inclement weather, mine, inclement brain activity. She thought I made up the part about The Maine Catch and I told her I could prove it. But I couldn’t prove it and melted into my boating under the influence parable, my personal favorite.

She smacked her leg and said, “What’d you do while the kid sailed the boat back?”

What a stupid question. “I drank.”

She put her beer out and the two of us toasted the high seas. We ate some sandwiches we’d picked up from a deli near the kite store and Alex cut the sails, which I learned does not involve scissors. So that’s where I went wrong. With me it was like
Amelia Bedelia Goes Sailing
.

I went to check my cell phone and the next thing I heard was a splash. I glanced up and saw the majority—nope, make that all—of Alex’s clothes lying on the boat deck.

Gulp
.

I walked to the edge of the boat and peered down. Alex was treading water and I could see the tops of her buoys. She waved for me to come in and I think I saw one of her nipples.

I love sailing.

Chapter 33

I did a spot check. The only boat close enough to see us would have needed binoculars and appeared to be heading in the opposite direction. I unbuttoned my shirt. Slowly. Pulled my shorts down. Again slowly. That one nipple had awakened Paddington Bare and I didn’t want my paddle out when I jumped in the water. I turned so my butt was facing Alex and pulled my boxer briefs off. Technically, I could have faced front, but my mother always told me not to point. If the pirate critters on board needed someone to walk the plank, I was their man.

I heard Alex whistle and decided my best option was to jump off the opposite side of the boat and swim around. Selective genius, what did I tell you. I dove into the water and swam around the boat until Alex came into view. The two of us swam about thirty or so yards from the boat, coming to rest roughly a wave from each other. She spit a stream of water in my direction and said, “I didn’t see any scarring from the maxi-pad flaps.”

I smiled and said, “Can we talk about sharks instead.”

She laughed then submerged her head under water. I was under the erroneous impression she was going to play shark and I was to play harpoon. She popped up and said, “I can’t believe you dove in naked.”

“I didn’t want you to feel awkward skinny-dipping alone.”

Alex pulled two straps up and secured them over her shoulders. The treacherous devil had a swimsuit on. She said, “That’s for making me carry the cooler you asshole.”

I stopped treading water and let gravity do its thing. It was cold, really cold, and come to think of it, I not only no longer had a stiff paddle, I couldn’t locate my paddle at all. An old Seinfeld episode breached the surface of my brain.
Elaine: It shrinks? Jerry: Like a frightened turtle.

I kicked my legs together and felt my head break the surface. I blinked the
water from my eyes and assume I blinked some onto Alex seeing as she was only
inches from me. Neither of us said a word, both of us bobbing up and down with
the current. A wave slightly bigger than all his relatives carried Alex’s small body
the last six inches to mine.
I felt her warm body touch mine, then her legs wrap around my back.
Whatever was left of the turtle poked its head out, but I’d be surprised if Alex felt
a stir.

Alex wrapped her hands around my head and I wrapped one arm around
her small waist. Alex leaned over my shoulder and nibbled my earlobe; then she
proceeded to burst my eardrum with a bloodcurdling scream. Her legs and arms
came undone and I peered over my shoulder.

“Leave dah screwing to dah whales.”

I looked up and saw seven men standing on the bridge of a ship wearing coveralls
and toothy grins. I spit a mouthful of water, “You guys have the best timing. First when I’m lost at sea and then when I’m saving this woman from drowning.”

They all let out a roar and one of them said, “Yehah. I saved dah girl from
drownin just lahst nawght.” They all bellowed and slowly retreated to the cabin.

The lone man winked and said, “You come on down to dah bah and buy dah
boys a cuppleha beahs, they’ll keep to demselves about dah size of yer hook der.”

The boat roared to life and I scanned the water for Alex. Her head popped up
ten yards to my left. She whispered, “Who were they?”

“Those were my friends I was telling you about.”

She squinted and I could see she was trying to read the name of the boat off
the side. She said, “Catch.” Her eyes widened, “So you were telling the truth.”

I nodded.

The Maine Catch
was now close to three football fields away and
Alex had steadily trod closer to me. We looked at each other clumsily. I decided to
take one for the gipper and did a half breaststroke, half running man thing, until
I was arms distance from her. She gaped at me and I thought I might have a boog
dangling. I wiped my nose, but the expression on her face remained immutable.
Maybe she’d seen my turtle and wanted to know where the rest of him went.

I
asked, “What?”

“Baxter’s on the boat.”

I shot a glance over my shoulder at the lime green lettering bobbing in the current.
I laughed, “It’s Backstern. Like back and stern. It’s a pun on my sister’s pug
Baxt—”

She nodded. “Yeah, I know—Baxter—is on the boat.”

I turned and saw Baxter asleep in the captain’s chair. If Baxter was on the
boat, then Tristen Grayer had been on the boat.

Oh, dear God.

How could I be so stupid? And I was supposed to be a detective? Maybe it wasn’t Baxter. Maybe someone else’s pug from the harbor had slipped into the boat. Nope, the pug in question was asleep at the helm. Definitely Baxter.

This did not guarantee that a woman of the deceased variety was stuffed somewhere in the boat, but it didn’t bode well. I put my head down and swam hard to the Backstern, then clamored up the schooner’s water ladder. It’s peculiar how you don’t really care that your pecker could fit inside a beer bottle when there is in all likelihood a dead woman stashed somewhere on your boat. I slipped on my shorts and edged my way to the top of the cabin stairs.

There were six small stairs leading to a narrow galley. My heart was crashing against my ribs and it felt like each beat might be its last. I took five or six calming breaths before sauntering down the steep steps. The air was stale and musty, and since I’d never been down in the galley before, I couldn’t tell you if this was bizarre. I found a small light and it flickered twice before illuminating the six foot by eight foot cabin. There were no body parts strewn about and my heart beat slowed down to the two hundreds.

Had Baxter somehow found his way to the boat? I mean, I was always hearing these fantastic stories of dogs finding their way home. But Baxter hadn’t been awake longer than sixteen or seventeen continuous minutes. His life was a series of comedy shorts, how in the hell would he ever navigate to the Bayside Harbor and slot 23B?

I sat to ponder the impasse and heard a hollow thud echo from the cushion below. I stood and surveyed the long green cushion. It appeared to lift for storage. I had the ephemeral thought not to lift the cushion, I didn’t know if I could stomach any more death. I edged my fingers under the padding and delicately pried up the cushion.

Kellon was not at her mother’s.

Chapter 34

Kellon’s body was in shambles. Her face looked like it had been dropped from a ten story building and her short hair clumped together in the places where the skull was still intact.

I dropped the lid and ran up the galley stairs, dragging myself to the edge of the boat. I was choking on my own breath, my own life. A coursing dry heave procured every infinite muscle strand in my body to pulsate, and it felt like my spine was going to snap in thirds. After a stream of near epileptic fits, I crumbled to the boat deck. Why? Why was Kellon dead? How could I let this happen? Didn’t I say that each kill would be bigger, bloodier, and closer than the last? Hadn’t I known this would happen?

I looked up and saw Alex staring at me in studded silence. I read her thoughts, “What horror could possibly cause a grown man to behave in such a way?”

Well, that was me holding back, babe. What I really wanted to do was jump overboard and dry heave at the bottom of the Atlantic. Suck in one lung full of water and turn off the lights. Forever. Kellon and I would go fly a kite.

Alex had tears in her eyes and she couldn’t stop shaking her head. She said, “Tell me it isn’t her. Lie to me. Tell me it isn’t. Tell me there’s isn’t a little girl down there slaughtered.”

I wish someone else had found her and I could be the one lied to. Alex was an investigative journalist, she needed to know the truth, good, bad, or ugly. I nodded, “It’s her.”

She turned her back and went to fiddle with one of the sails. Her charade ended as soon as it began. Alex tucked her head in her hands and glued them together with an unrelenting stream of tears. I urged myself up and walked to her. As I enveloped Alex in my arms, she buried her face in my chest. She’d never laid an eye on Kellon, never seen her big brown eyes, never heard her lisp, yet Alex was broken.

She looked up, her Popsicle green eyes melting in the heat, and I said, “Kellon is dead, there’s nothing we can do about that now. I need you to be strong, I need you to get us back to shore as quickly as possible.”

She wiped her eyes and nodded.

I found my cell phone and punched Caitlin’s number. She picked up on the second ring and I said, “Bad news. I found her on my boat five minutes ago.”

The line went dead for ten seconds and I checked to see if I still had a connection. Caitlin finally shot back, “Who is she?”

“I’ll tell you when you get here.”

“Where are you?”

I covered the phone and asked Alex, “What’s our ETA?”

She looked out to sea, puffed her cheeks, and said, “Forty minutes. Fifty, tops.”

I told Caitlin and she replied, “I’d better call Gleason before their flight leaves.”

“When you get to the harbor don’t say anything to anyone. I don’t want a circus awaiting
our arrival.”

I hung up and put the phone in my pocket, then faced toward the galley stairs. I took the six steps to Hades, took a deep breath, and lifted the bench. The stench of death washed over me like a wave from the Atlantic. The dampness of the boat expedited the breakdown process and the body smelled twelve hours worse than it looked. What I’d really come down here for was to see about Kellon’s eyes. I needed to know if her big, brown, puppy dog eyes were resting peacefully in their sockets.

I used the blunt end of a screwdriver to gently push Kellon’s head to the side. Her skull was soft and I had to apply more pressure than I wanted to, but the skull finally lulled to the left. Kellon’s eye sockets were vacant. I wasn’t surprised. Come to think of it, I would have been surprised if her eyes had been present. I checked every nook and cranny in the small cabin and didn’t stumble on Kellon’s chocolate fudge brownies.

There was a small window, with the shade slid shut, like the kind on an airplane, and I approached it. I slowly slid the shade open, but no dice, snake eyes that is. Maybe Tristen had reverted back to his earlier pattern of taking the eyes as souvenirs.

I spent another twenty minutes fussing over the scene before retreating into the sunlight. We were closing in on land and I guessed we had less than ten minutes before we entered the Bayside Harbor. I surveyed Alex. She seemed in total control, the antithesis of the person I’d seen thirty minutes prior.

I scanned the deck for my shirt, but couldn’t locate it anywhere. I tried to think back to what I’d been wearing, a tan polo, right? I’d thrown it haphazardly when I’d undressed. Alex’s nipple had sort of short-circuited my hard drive. On my third canvass of the boat, I spotted the sleeve of the tan polo at the very back of the boat. Sorry, starboard. I rescued the shirt from its brush with death and slipped it over my head. There were two fishing poles rigged to the back of the schooner that had come with the boat (I’d yet to touch either one), and I couldn’t help noticing both had their lines out.

I slipped one of the poles from its mooring and hoisted it up. The pole was heavier than I was used to and the fishing line was thicker than the kind I used with my dad on the Puget Sound. I slowly began reeling in the line. After a good thirty seconds I saw a ripple where the line fed into the Atlantic. I reeled in the last twenty yards and saw I’d caught a tiny fish. On closer observation, it appeared to be a baby octopus or squid.

I held the pole with my left hand and grabbed my catch with my right. It was one of Kellon’s eyes.