Authors: Mike Jastrzebski
I leaned away from the sour scent that radiated from her. “I thought you were still in love with him?”
“I am?” She gave me a confused look that turned to belligerence. “I mean I am! I was. I don’t know. That was before you and me and all that shit. I always seem to want what I can’t have and not want what I can.”
She waved the bottle and gave me a hideous grin. “I’m one seriously messed up chick, Wes. Want some advice from a woman who’s been through a thing or two?”
“Sure,” I said.
“Get on your frigging boat and run as fast and far from this crazy hick state as you can. I’ve seen the way that cousin of yours looks at you. She’s trouble, Wes.”
She took one more drink, slammed the bottle onto the table so hard I was afraid it might shatter, and then laid her head onto her arms and started snoring.
Leaving her asleep out in the cold was not a consideration. I didn’t dare take her to my boat. Rusty or Fish might show up, or worse yet, Jessica. I was too tired to deal with that situation right now.
That left Cathy’s boat, and I wasn’t too sure I could carry her all the way down to the far side of the marina where it was docked. I looked around, took a sip of rum for warmth, and then walked over to the office. I grabbed the wheeled dock cart that was used as a general carryall around the marina and pushed it to where Cathy lay.
I hadn’t slept much in the last twenty-four hours and it was a real workout getting her into the cart. After a bit of struggling and a tuck here, a tuck there, I was ready to move her. The trip was easier than carrying her, but in several places the unevenness of the dock almost caused me to tip her into the river.
I struggled for ten minutes before we reached her houseboat and I was glad to see it was unlocked. In fact, the sliding glass door was wide open. The cool crisp air battled a tiny electric space heater, and the cold was winning.
I half carried, half dragged Cathy into the boat and laid her onto her bed. She opened her eyes as I placed her on the mattress, looked at me as if I weren’t there, and then rolled over onto her side and started snoring again.
I slipped off her shoes, pulled a blanket up around her shoulders, and looked around the boat to make sure everything was all right before heading back to the round table area, dragging the cart behind me like a stubborn mule.
Chapter 13
Back at my boat the first thing I did was tuck the forty-five under the settee cushion. Then I grabbed my bathroom kit, some clean clothes, and a towel before heading down to the boaters’ showers. I lathered up, turned the water as hot as I could stand it, and basked under the steamy flow for a good twenty minutes. While I shaved, I studied my face in the mirror. I wasn’t happy with what I saw. To make matters worse, the cuts were beginning to sting and itch, and the bruises felt as if they were forming bruises on top of bruises.
When I stepped out into the brisk morning air I headed over to the round table. I knew I wouldn’t be alone for long.
Within minutes Cajun Bob, Phil and Renee Hamlin, and Too Tall Bob joined me. Too Tall, a six-foot, six-inch tall, retired fisherman, didn’t own a boat. However, he liked the ambiance around the marina and showed up every morning for coffee.
“Any of you guys seen Rusty?” I asked, as Houseboat Barbie hurried up the dock. She was built like an Amazon version of Dolly Pardon and worked the store in the early morning. Barbie had married and buried two octogenarians by the time she was forty. According to Renee, Barbie was now broke, had a huge mortgage on her houseboat, and was desperately searching for octogenarian number three.
Ignoring my question, Phil said, “You look like shit, Wes.”
“Be nice, Phil.” Renee looked at me over the top rim of her glasses. “You know, you have looked better, Wes. A lover’s spat?”
“Lover’s spat hell.” Cajun Jeff squinted, and sucked in his bottom lip. “You look like you’ve been whooped with an ugly stick. Some of those cuts are pretty deep. Maybe you should see a doctor.”
“I had a little too much to drink last night and I tripped,” I said, eager to change the subject.
“On someone’s fist,” Phil mumbled under his breath.
“About Rusty,” I said.
“I couldn’t sleep last night,” Houseboat Barbie said. “I was reading an old John D. McDonald book, one of those Travis McGee ones,
Nightmare in Pink
, I think. I’m terrible with titles. Don’t know what I’m reading half the time.
“Anyway, it was around four this morning. Rusty was with some guy I didn’t recognize. They were right under that big light by Rusty’s boat and let me tell you, this one threw a shadow like one of those Clydesdale horses, if you know what I mean. They were casting off the dock lines and seemed to be in a pretty big hurry. I thought maybe they were heading out on a fishing trip, but instead of motoring out onto the bay, they turned up-river. Toward Rusty’s place.”
“You know where Rusty lives up there?” I asked.
“Somewhere along Rabbit Creek,” Barbie said. “I can get you his phone number out of the marina files if you want.”
I shook my head and backed away. “That’s okay,” I said. “It’s not that important. I’m sure I’ll be seeing him in the next day or so. Look guys. I’m getting too old for this late night shit. I’m going to get some shut eye.”
“If I see Rusty, I’ll tell him you were looking for him,” Barbie said.
“No!” I said. Cajun Bob threw me a questioning look and I added, “I don’t want him coming down and waking me up. I’ll catch him later.”
***
It was four P.M. when my phone woke me. I let it go to voicemail as I crawled out of bed. When I was dressed I picked it up, punched in the code for my messages and listened as Jessica informed me that she and Roy would be out to the marina in about an hour. I made myself a pot of coffee, sat on the settee and turned on the Weather Channel.
After watching the local report I pulled on my last clean and dry hooded sweatshirt, grabbed my jacket and slipped on a pair of heavy socks with my hiking boots. No more under dressing for me, I thought as I headed out.
Roy and Jessica hadn’t arrived when I got to the parking lot, so I made my way up the back dock to Cathy’s slip where I bent forward and knocked on the side of her boat. Nothing. I knocked again, this time with more enthusiasm.
Again my effort was met with silence.
I rapped one more time, a little harder, and was rewarded with an echoing curse. The boat rocked from side to side as though a giant troll was making its way along the inside corridors of the vessel. When the door flew open I realized my analogy wasn’t far off.
Cathy wore the same jeans and shirt she had on when I put her to bed early that morning. Her hair was twisted, knotted and coiled. Dried spittle flecked her lips and chin and she appeared to have a serious case of pinkeye.
I gave her my brightest smile. “How you doing?”
“You got me out of bed to ask me a stupid question like that? How do you think I’m doing?”
“I was hoping you felt better than you look.”
“You don’t look like you stepped out of GQ yourself,” she said.
I reached up and touched my face and winced when I moved my fingers across the largest cut. “No, I don’t. I dropped by to see if you needed anything.”
“Judging from your reaction when you saw me, I suspect a shower wouldn’t hurt.”
Her voice lightened when she said it and that’s when I knew she was going to be all right. “You’re on your own there,” I said. “I was thinking more in terms of food or drink.”
“I may never eat or drink again,” she said. “I think I’m going to clean up a little, then climb right back into bed.”
“You have my number,” I said. “Call if you need anything. If I’m not around leave a message and I’ll come over as soon as I can.”
“Wes,” she called out as I started down the dock. “Thanks for everything. Last night. Just stopping to check on me. You know.”
“Sure.” Neither of us seemed to have anything else to say so I waited until she closed the door and continued on down the dock.
As I reached the parking lot Roy’s old truck came rumbling in. He pulled up next to where I’d left Jessica’s car and he and Jessica climbed out and joined me.
They were dressed for an evening out. Roy wore his hair tied back, khaki Dockers and a green sweater that was a little too bright and a little too shaggy for my tastes.
“Jessica convinced me that tonight should be just a nice night out,” Roy said. “We haven’t spent any time talking about anything but that damn book.”
“Are you saying you want to let the book go?” I asked.
He must have heard the surprise in my voice because he snapped back his answer. “I’m not letting Rusty or Fish get away with the book, Wes.”
“Which brings me back to the question—why don’t we go to the cops?” I asked.
“Ma’s afraid it will hurt Daddy’s reputation,” Roy said. “He was a minister at the church they went to, and if it comes out that he stole the book in the first place, people will talk.”
“You never did explain exactly how he got the manuscript,” I said.
“I told you,” Jessica chimed in. “He took it off a dead German’s body at the end of the war.”
I turned my attention to Jessica. She looked good in her hip hugging beige slacks and tight yellow sweater. The matching yellow headband that swept her hair back and out of the way gave her a playful look. She was hot and it was all I could do to keep from drooling. I knew right then that when we sat down to eat I had to keep the table between us.
“A lot of soldiers brought souvenirs back at the end of the war,” I said. “I believe all they had to do was fill out some paperwork.”
“You’re talking flags and swords,” Roy said. “This is a piece of rare art, probably stolen from a monastery or a museum. It’s worth a lot of money. Besides, Ma just can’t live with the idea of what people will say. Her reason doesn’t have to make sense, it’s the way she feels, and if we bring in the police word’s bound to get out. Wes, you don’t even know Ma, so if you want to back out, I’ll understand.”
“Well I won’t,” Jessica said.
“I didn’t say anything about backing out. I just wanted to clarify things.”
“Good.” Jessica took each of us by the arm and guided us up the stairs to the marina restaurant. “Enough shop talk. Wes, I want to hear a little about your life before Mobile and how you came to live on a sailboat.”
And so we ate burgers and fries. We laughed a little and I told them about my mother, the family detective business, and my living on a boat. Roy talked about his parents, and a little about my father.
Roy didn’t have a whole lot to say. He told me my father had played baseball for his high school team and that back then Roy had been jealous of his little brother because the girls seemed to love him. He also told me that my father often talked about not fitting in, despite his popularity.
While I dwelled on what I’d learned, Jessica leaned toward me. “Gran would love to meet you. She’d like know what you’re like,” she said.
A synapse misfired in my brain, a dark cloud enveloped me, and my mood took a downward spiral. It was depression à la mode for dessert.
“She should have thought about that when I was growing up. I know my mother contacted her, but I never heard from her. Not a card or a call in thirty years. She didn’t seem very interested in learning about me then.”
Roy pushed his plate away. “Ma’s a good woman caught up in a bad situation,” he said. “To be fair, your ma asked her to stay out of your life.”
“How convenient,” I said.
“It’s eating at her big-time. And it’s much worse since you got here,” Jessica added.
I stood, took two twenties from my pocket and threw them on the table. “Dinner’s on me,” I said, and then I turned and walked out of the restaurant.
Outside, the crisp breeze carried the scent of grilled meats and hickory. All I wanted was to go back to my boat and lie down. A light pressure on my arm told me that Jessica had moved up alongside of me.
“Are you all right?”
“Call it a case of Dog River Blues,” I said. “I just don’t think I’m ready to meet a grandmother I didn’t even know existed a month ago. I haven’t come to grips with meeting you and Roy yet.” Or that kiss you laid on me, I thought.
I was saved from any more tawdry thoughts when Roy joined us. As we walked down to the parking lot he said, “Why don’t we concentrate on getting the manuscript back? After that you can decide what you want to do about meeting Ma.”
“He’s just being pig-headed,” Jessica said. “And we’re the ones who are gonna have to tell Gran he won’t see her. She’s eighty years old, Wes, and she doesn’t need any more disappointment in her life.”
I felt my face go red. Maybe she was right, but I couldn’t change my feelings.
“I don’t need this shit.” I felt the venom in my voice as I added, “I’d have been better off if I’d stayed away from Mobile.”
Jessica threw her shoulders back and stalked off to her car. As she walked she searched her purse, and when it dawned on her that I still had her keys she stomped back to where we stood and held out her hand without looking at me.