Chapter 7
“The Yacht, my lady,” Peter said when I arrived to the town docks. A boat, white with a green stripe, and not much larger than a dinghy, was rising and falling in the water. Peter reached out a hand and bowed.
“Sir,” I said with great formality as I took his hand.
With all the fuss, anyone might think I was stepping onto a tender to take me to a much larger boat, but this was the main attraction. The Yacht was no more than our humble transportation’s name. Peter had stocked it with cheese and crackers, knowing it was my weakness at any time of day, and we wasted no time heading out on the water. About ten minutes later, as we bobbed slowly past Children’s Beach in the harbor, I spied the woman’s boat, a real yacht, among others of equal size. The fact that she was still moored in our waters added to my hunch that she had written the note.
I pointed to Brant Point, where the ferry rounds the island’s well-known lighthouse.
“Let’s head over there,” I said. “It’s a good day for a dip.”
“I didn’t bring my suit,” he said, picking up some speed as he brought us around the bend.
We passed the woman’s boat. I did not see anyone on the deck.
“I can jump in with my skivvies on,” Peter said, shutting off the motor and dropping anchor, “but I’m interviewing the owners of the Culinary Center about their new classes after this. I guess they won’t mind if I’m wet.”
“They might mind if you’re shivering. It’s pretty cold,” I said as I stripped down to my wet suit and put on my flippers. Reluctantly, I dropped my phone into my bag.
He dipped his hand into the water. I could tell he agreed. I dove right in.
“I’m going to find us a penny, for good luck,” I said, when I came up for air. “You enjoy the morning sun before your workday. This birthday girl needs some mindful meditation in the sea.”
“Enjoy, crazy girl,” said Peter with an approving smile. “Find us a fortune.”
There’s a superstition on Nantucket that you will ensure your return to the island if you throw two pennies overboard from the ferry bound to the mainland, specifically while rounding Brant Point. When I was about sixteen and desperate for a car, I’d snorkeled under the surface to see about that fortune. I hadn’t found anything, but I maintain it was a respectable idea.
After watching me splash about, Peter stretched out on his boat to enjoy the sky, which is one of his favorite things to do. Knowing he’d be content for a while, I focused on the Mysterious Woman’s sailboat and dove under the water again. Growing up surrounded by the sea, I was taught at a young age to be a strong, fast swimmer. When I rose three full breaths later, I was in front of the stern of a boat about thirty-five feet long. Its name, Hatchfield, was painted along the back, and there was a ladder hanging from the boat into the water. I peered back toward the Yacht. Peter was still relaxing. I listened, carefully, but I did not hear any noise coming from the deck of the Hatchfield. I seemed to be alone, with only the sound of the water hitting the boat’s gently rocking hull to keep me company.
I slipped off my flippers and tied them to the side of the ladder. Then, I climbed aboard. I comforted myself with the knowledge that if something really ugly went down, I could get Peter’s attention with one extra-loud scream. This would be my absolute last recourse, however. I didn’t want to bring Peter into my mother’s chaotic life unless I had to.
“Hello?” I said.
No one answered.
The boat had white, cushioned banquettes lining both sides of the stern, and a double door at middeck in front of the ship’s wheel, which indicated a cabin was below. I decided that anything of interest must be downstairs, because it certainly was not on the empty deck. The space was clean, tidy, and void of any extraneous items. Taking a deep breath, I knocked on the cabin door. When there was no answer, I pulled at the doors. They opened easily.
“Hello?” I said again.
All was silent. Undeterred by her absence, I decided to learn more about this woman. I closed the doors behind me, climbed down the steps, and flipped on a light switch.
A lantern over a table at the back of the small cabin lit the room. I realized I was dripping everywhere, so I grabbed a dish towel from the galley, and I wiped the floor. Like the deck, the interior items—a table, a corner banquette, and the items of a small galley—were bolted to the boat, to minimize interior movement while at sea. Again, I did not see any personal items. I opened the mini fridge in search of something that might tell me about the Mysterious Woman. It contained a couple of bottles of water, three protein bars, and a premade salad from Stop & Shop.
I looked at a door to the right of the table which led to the boat’s one berth. It was closed. I dropped the towel to the ground, and shuffled on top of it, so that I left no trace behind.
Grasping the doorknob, I pushed. The door opened with an unfriendly creak. I cautiously poked my head inside the room. No one was there.
I saw one personal item, a knapsack, on the floor, in front of the built-in bed. The bag was gray, and nondescript. Nothing anyone would look at twice. There was a sleeping bag, also gray, rolled up and tied to the side of the bed, as if ready for the boat to take off at any moment. I stepped into the room, the door shutting behind me with a nasty bang. I knew no one was on board, but the noise stopped me in my tracks for a moment. But just for a moment. I had things to do. I peeked in a small closet and in the two drawers under the bunk. All were empty.
Still poised on my little towel, though I was now drip-free, I zipped open the bag. On top was a clear pouch containing basic toiletries. The only thing of interest was a hairbrush, in which a few strands of hair were wrapped around the bristles. With some dismay, I studied the bristles. They were blond rather than the dark shade of the Mysterious Woman’s hair. I started to feel I’d made a terrible mistake connecting the woman I’d seen in town to the one who lived on this boat.
Below the toiletries bag, I saw some basic clothing, leggings and T-shirts mostly. I lifted them. I’m glad I did because I made a satisfying discovery. A black wig. A noteworthy twist.
With renewed conviction, I now forged ahead by opening the front pocket of the backpack. Immediately, I felt I was about to hit the mother lode. Inside the compartment was a soft, white packet with a zipper across the top. It was thick and seemed to contain several items.
Of course, I opened it.
One look inside, and I was sure I’d found the author of my morning’s threatening letter. And then some.
“What do we have here?” I said. I looked at a bundle of passports from different countries, which were bound by a simple rubber band. That wasn’t all. Beside them were stacks of different currencies, also simply bound. I opened the passports to find photos of the woman I’d seen in town, but with slightly different looks and many different names. For a whole new set of reasons, I wondered again what my mom had gotten herself into.
I was about to put the soft envelope back into the knapsack when I saw the candle the woman had purchased from me, shoved into its innermost pocket. When I pulled out her votive, a photo fell out with it. It was a picture of a blond woman, smiling happily into the camera. Her arms were around a man who seemed equally happy. Behind them were snow-covered mountains, and their cheeks were both pink from the cold and maybe from love by the looks of them. I held the photo away from me and squinted a little. If I’d seen the photo in any other context, I’d never have believed it was the Mysterious Woman or the woman in the passport photos. The lady in the photo was radiant, filled with life, and her hair curled from under her cap as if leaping out of the picture. She was the opposite of the woman on Nantucket who had slipped out of my store and had skulked around town. The two people, however, were one and the same.
I put everything back into the knapsack and decided to get off the boat immediately. I wanted some of Peter’s cheese, maybe a good luck penny, and a chance to puzzle out what I’d found. This was all much more than I’d bargained for.
Unfortunately, I had stayed a minute too long. Suddenly, I heard the hatch to the cabin open. Given the passports, the money, and the wig I had found, the Mysterious Woman was now the last person I wanted to encounter, especially as a trespasser. I’d come to the boat filled with blind rage about the note. Now, I had to admit the shortcomings of my plan. Like mother, like daughter, I had acted quickly, trusting I would be able to navigate my challenges as they arose. Instead, I was up against someone more dangerous than I had imagined.
I looked around the room for somewhere to hide. The drawers under the bunk were too shallow to shelter a fully-grown person. The closet seemed risky. Given my options, I decided to remain beside the door, by its hinges, so that if anyone opened it, I’d at least be concealed.
Outside my room, I heard someone take the steps down into the cabin. I heard breathing, but I could not tell if it was a man or woman. I pressed myself closer to the wall and tried to slow my racing pulse. I heard a floorboard squeak the tiniest bit, then I heard a quiet step across the room. Next, the room went deadly silent. I looked at the doorknob, waiting for it to turn.
OK, OK, OK, I mouthed to myself. It’s OK.
It was not OK. I watched the knob turn, without anywhere to run or hide. The door opened, slowly, and a gun reached around the side of the door. It wasn’t the first time I’d stared down the barrel of a gun, but that didn’t make it any easier.
“Don’t shoot,” I said, raising my hands.
From around the side of the door, the Mysterious Woman, wet from a swim, peered at me. She was now blond, but she did not look like the happy woman in the photo. Instead she looked furious. I still held her knapsack, which didn’t help.
“You?” she said, as if I were a small child who’d taken a seat at the grown-ups’ table.
She dropped her gun to her side, retrieved her bag, and pulled me into the cabin where she sat me down in a not very friendly way. She knew I’d seen her secret stash, and she’d already pulled a gun on me, so I didn’t think an excuse along the lines that I’d boarded the wrong boat by accident would work. I decided that having come this far, I’d take her on. Given the circumstances, I seemed to have nothing to lose.
“Why have you followed me around since I’ve come home?” I said, looking up at her from my seat.
The woman stared hard at me. She didn’t say a word.
“If the mission I heard you talk about has anything to do with a threat on my mother,” I said, “we have a problem.”
The woman aimed the gun at me again and sat down across from me.
“What threat on your mother?” she said, steadily, from behind the barrel of her gun.
It’s hard to bully a bully when they have a gun aimed at you, but it was now my turn to keep silent. I crossed my arms to make my point.
“Are you kidding me?” she said. “I know how to torture people seventeen different ways. I will show you each one if you don’t tell me about this threat.”
“Fine,” I said and pulled the Ziploc bag out of my wet suit. Seventeen different ways was all I could think about. “This threat.”
I handed her both the letter and her change from her purchase at my store.
Forgoing her change, the woman extracted the letter from the baggie, and read it. She stood and paced the small cabin. I was not sure what to make of her. On the one hand, she was willing to torture me; on the other hand, she seemed to have a lot on her mind that had nothing to do with me or the formula.
“He’s here,” she said, as much to herself as to me.
“Who?” I said.
The woman looked at me.
“Aside from leaving your flippers outside, you did a good job tracking me down,” she said. “I’ll give you that.”
“Who is here? And what formula does he want?” I said, hoping to capitalize on the street cred she’d given me.
“He wants the formula I took from your mother’s black bag two night ago,” she said, confirming my suspicions about the sounds I had heard in my store two nights ago.