STRIDING UP THE Inn’s driveway, Lloyd kicked fresh gravel off into the grass with every step of his suede bucks—just so Parker would have to pay Owen overtime to pick it out again. Walking back to the ferry! His time was more valuable than that. Besides, as the owner of the Brenton Ferry Company—and soon enough, the owner of half this godforsaken island—he shouldn’t be seen hoofing it down the hill like a low-life local.
Despite his embarrassing form of transportation, Lloyd found himself grinning as he turned left onto the main road. All his long-term planning was finally paying off, and Pa-pa-parker— that stuttering cog in the smooth wheel of progress—was now aware of the golf course plan. Golf is the future, that banker had predicted, just before he’d authorized Lloyd’s most recent loan— secured only by the Homer. Every time the guy called now to beg for a payment, Lloyd’s answer was to repeat back those words: “Golf is the future.”
A glimpse of red-topped lighthouse above the concrete-and-rock wall on his right reminded Lloyd of James Malloy, which made him smile even wider—finally, after sixteen years of trying, he’d gotten that son-of-a-criminal-lighthouse-keeper off his payroll! Striding down the hill, ignoring the string of cramped cottages and that ramshackle bakery, Lloyd mentally replayed his victorious wheel-house scene from two days ago. . . one more time.
James had already started up both engines for the afternoon run when Lloyd stepped from Newport dock to ferry for his weekly safety inspection. He’d just happened to glance in through the narrow wheel-house doorway, just happened to spot the small baggie on the counter in front of the wheel—with what looked like two dried-out caterpillars inside. If he hadn’t found an identical baggie a week earlier, on his daughter’s vanity table, he wouldn’t have even known what it was. (He could still hear Alison’s bored tone; “Duh! It’s marijuana, Dad.”)
Once he’d realized what he was looking at, his first thought had been: Could James possibly be that stupid? Before the other man came to his senses, Lloyd stepped into the wheelhouse (remembering, for once, to duck so he didn’t hit his forehead on the low doorway). Grabbed the baggie. Dangled it between thumb and forefinger. “What have we—”
“That’s private property!” James went to grab it.
Lloyd raised it over his head—whacking the back of his knuckles on the sharp edge of a ceiling beam. Yowza! that stung. “Don’t make me call the cops,” he warned, trying to hide his glee. Caught red-handed!
Sixteen years ago, Lloyd had hired James to make one final ferry run, right out into the teeth of a hurricane. James’s father had killed Lloyd’s grandfather, so it was the perfect revenge—and the insurance payment would’ve made Lloyd a rich man. Instead of foundering, though, James made it safely to Brenton Island that afternoon—and, with the harbormaster’s help, had kept the Homer running on time ever since. Now—finally—Lloyd had him. By the short and curlies, as his father would’ve put it.
Lloyd slid the plastic baggie into a jacket pocket, careful not to brush his stinging knuckles against the zipper. “I can’t have my captains carrying an illegal—”
“Jesus, Lloyd—it’s just a little pot!”
“An illegal substance,” Lloyd agreed. “Used by a person in command of a commercial vessel.”
“It’s not for me! Send me up to that lab again, I’ll pass a drug test right—”
“So you intend to distribute?”
James had screwed up, and he knew it—his eyes were jumping around, looking for an escape. Behind him, the other wheelhouse door was closed, so Lloyd stood back against the settee to point out through open doorway. “Get off my ferry, right now.” Then he’d savored the view of his ex-captain’s white shirt and khaki pants stomping up the gangway and disappearing into the spring crowds of Newport.
It hadn’t been fair to avenge the sins of a father by taking down the son, Lloyd acknowledged now, hurrying past the tiny captain’s cottage. But fair wasn’t what had gotten Lloyd this far. And besides, he was sick and tired of feeling like a bumbling idiot just because Captain James knew the difference between a piston ring and a—pistachio.
With no open-water experience, that girl captain was sure to make a mistake soon enough. Preferably something really stupid, so Lloyd could finally cash in on the insurance—after he was safely back in Newport again, of course.
He turned off the macadam onto the ferry landing, leather soles slipping on the hard-packed dirt; all the gravel had washed down to where the wooden dock began. The ferry was waiting at the dock, but there was still an hour before it would head back to Newport. Lloyd stepped up onto the empty deck of the island’s only coffee shop—just as Mayor Frank let the screen door slam behind him.
“Lloyd! Haven’t seen you all spring. Buy you a coffee? Few things I want to catch up on.”
Lloyd shrugged. “Sure thing.” He sat down to wait at the big table. Oldster-rambling—maybe he’d learn something.
Mayor Frank returned carrying a single paper cup, which he set down in front of Lloyd. “Sorry, Patty says she’s all out of mugs. And milk. Busy morning.” He settled in at the head of the table with a grimace. “Damn knee of mine, must be rain coming. . .” which led to five minutes of opining on the spring weather, and how forecasts were right about as often as he won the lottery.
“But what I wanted to talk about,” Frank said at last, “is that run-in with James. Did he really attack you?” Mayor Frank was like cable news; a great source of information, as long as you were looking for drama rather than just boring old facts.
Sighing loudly, Lloyd rubbed at his eyes. “I hate to do it,” he said at last, “but I might have to file drug charges.”
Frank gasped. “He’d never work again!”
“I know. But to be honest, that man’s temper scares the hell out of me.” Lloyd leaned in, dropping his voice almost to a whisper. “I’d really appreciate it if you could keep him out here, at least until this whole thing blows over. . .” Stuck out here on this cursed island might just be torture enough to avenge Grandfather Will.
“Of course!” Frank whispered back. “Unless you think. . . should he be locked up?” Blue eyes were magnified to twice their normal size by thick glasses.
“I doubt he’s a threat to anyone else,” Lloyd replied, honestly. “Our families have. . . history.”
“You mean your grandfather’s accident? I don’t think James even knows about—”
“But I do. And it wasn’t an accident. I could shut down this ferry in a minute, if James—”
“You can’t just shut it down! People depend on it.”
“I can shut it down any time I like.” Lloyd sipped the coffee— bitter and black, it was the perfect accompaniment to his latest brain-storm—and let the threat hang between them. Watched those blue eyes widen, then narrow, then glance over at the Homer.
“I’ll do my best, Lloyd,” Frank replied at last, white hair blowing away from wrinkled forehead. “But you know James—he don’t take kindly to being told what to do.” He lowered his voice again. “Was he really dealing drugs?”
“Zero tolerance—gotta set a proper example for the rest of the staff.”
“Oh, you won’t have any problems with that nice new lady captain,” Mayor Frank said. “She reminds me of my late wife, you know. That dimple in her right cheek when she smiles. . .”
Lloyd glanced at his phone and pressed back from the table. “Thanks for the coffee. I’ve gotta do a safety inspection before we leave the dock.”
“And thank you, for keeping our ferry passengers safe! Come back soon.”
His ferry was tied up well, and he could find no fault with the way the aluminum gangway—a fancy upgrade the locals had paid for, after the wooden one rotted away to nothing—had been secured. Lloyd made his way aft to the passenger area, suddenly hungry for peace and quiet. Along with room to gloat.
Instead Billy came down the gangway, carrying two gas cans, whistling. He stashed the cans behind the wheelhouse before ambling aft to the passenger area. As soon as he spotted Lloyd, the whistling stopped. “Hey boss! Heading back already?”
“Time is money,” Lloyd replied. “Speaking of which. . . I hear you’re gonna be a father soon. A lot of responsibility—and expense.”
“Yes sir.” Billy cocked his head to the right.
Lloyd leaned down until his lips were close to Billy’s left ear. “Keep your eyes open, and I’ll add a little something to your pay each week.”
“Sir?” He could hear Billy swallow.
“New captain isn’t from around here. And, besides, she’s. . .”
“Female.”
“Exactly. Noticed anything yet?”
Billy’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Only her second day.”
“Well, I’m hardly expecting perfection.” Lloyd pulled a twenty out of his wallet, stuffed it into the kid’s breast pocket. “Ferry runs late, you might earn even more. Now the—”
Rubber treads squeaked down the gangway. The deckhand stepped back onto the side deck and strode forward. “Hey, Mrs. Captain! How was lunch?”
Lloyd turned to gaze out over the harbor, letting his lips stretch wide. After paying off that landscaper kid up at the Inn and now Billy, his wallet was empty. But quite soon, he’d have something to hold over Parker, or his new captain—maybe even both.