Sleuth
Luff your sails: let the wind out of them to slow down
Streaks of morning light groped through cracks in the boathouse. They dappled William’s sleeping form. He blinked sleep from his eyes and realized he was still in Fathom’s cockpit. He pulled himself upright and stared at an unfamiliar blanket covering him. He remembered falling asleep here but not covering himself with that blanket. The wind had died down. Above the sound of the waves washing the shore he could hear something drip, drip, drip.
He clambered down the ladder. His mouth fell open. Dripping seaweed clung to the keel. He rubbed the bruised bump on his forehead. He hadn’t had a dream. He had been out on the ocean with the Real McCoy.
-
William crashed through the door at D & E Sailmakers. Harley held the cordless phone between her head and shoulder so she could enter data on the computer. She smiled and spread her fingers to let him know she’d be five more minutes. He spun around so she wouldn’t see how desperate he was to tell her he’d seen a ghost. More importantly, would she believe him?
He had an idea. In the corner by the door sat an old barrel with a couple of fishing rods and two umbrellas. He skipped into the private quarters. He remembered the fridge door had magnets that held photos, bills, receipts, and the like. One was bigger. It was horseshoe-shaped with a small ring on top. That would be the one for the job.
Down at the dock William tied the magnet to the fishing line. He slid the magnet beneath the surface of the water where he figured he had dropped the knife, dunking it here and there. Lo and behold he raised two tin cans, four rusty bolts of different lengths, and, finally, the rigging knife. McCoy was right.
Back in the sail loft, Harley was off the phone. William launched into his explanation of his dream that wasn’t a dream. It gushed out of him like a tide draining from a narrow inlet.
She was playing Scrabble against herself. The score sheet listed “me” and “me 2” as the players.
“Whoa, there, sailor. Luff your sails a bit.”
“Huh?”
“Let some wind out of your sails and slow down.”
“Why? Isn’t that amazing? He’s hidden something of value for Granddad!”
She noted his frown. “Oh, come on, Will, that’s an awesome story. But you know … it’s not like that actually happened. You know that, right? Maybe you were inspired by Treasure Island. Doesn’t Jim Hawkins have problems at home and sail away in search of treasure?” She put down “rap” on the board for twelve points. “Didn’t they think Ben Gunn was a ghost?”
“Ben Gunn wasn’t dead. They only thought he was. So he wasn’t a ghost. McCoy is dead, so I was sailing with a ghost.”
William took letters from the second row of tiles. He spun the board, laid a “c” in front of her word, made “crap” and “catch” for thirty-six points.
“Mmhmm,” she replied, keeping her eyes on her tiles.
William sucked in air and was about to bellow his indigna- tion when the bell over the door clanged. He turned to see a Coast Guard captain stride in and remove his hat just as Emmett came down from the loft. Harley called out, “Morning, Captain Thornton.”
“Louder and funnier, plea—” said Emmett until he caught sight of Captain Thornton.
“Emmett, any idea who might have been out in a schooner last night?” Thornton demanded.
“In that fog? A person would have to be daft.” Emmett gave him an amused stare.
“There was a schooner that looked a lot like yours — except with a red jib. Any idea who that might be? Doesn’t sound like anyone from ’round here, does it?”
“You catch her name?” Emmett’s curiosity was aroused.
“Hard to read, but I thought it was Arethusa.”
William poked Harley and gave her an I-told-you-so look.
Emmett chortled as he slipped the cigar from the ashtray back into the mounted fish head. “That’s a good one. Someone’s having you on, Captain. The Arethusa was the Real McCoy’s rum-running boat. She ran aground near Sambro Shoal in, what was it, around 1929 — long after he’d sold it.”
“Well, someone’s going to have some explaining to do when we catch him. Good day, Emmett, Harley, young man?”
“William. William McCoy.”
“Don’t suppose you were out sailing a schooner with a red jib last night?” He smiled.
“Would you believe me if I said yes?” A big grin spread across the Captain’s face as he left the shop.
William wasn’t going to have an easy time of convincing people about his story. Emmett scooped two apples from the fruit bowl. He lobbed one to William and munched on the other as he plodded back up to the loft.
William grabbed Harley’s arm. “That was us he was after,” he hissed. “How do you think I got back this rigging knife you saw me drop in the harbour yesterday? McCoy told me to use a fishing line with a magnet on it.”
She shrugged. “Wasn’t there a story about Jack doing that to find Daniel’s glasses?”
“Maybe. But how would I remember that? No, the Real McCoy got me to do it. Oh, and there was wet seaweed hanging from Fathom’s keel this morning. That’s proof.”
“There was a good blow last night. Wind coulda blown some kelp in through a crack in the boathouse,” she reasoned.
He slumped into a chair. “Fathom” means to explain or understand, right?”
“Depends. A fathom is six feet. But it could also mean getting to the bottom of things, you know, like to figure something out. Is that your word?”
“No, but that’s exactly what I’ve got to do.”
McCoy had used terms that he knew vaguely. They seemed to have a double meaning, just like ‘fathom.’ If there was something “of value” out there that would help his grandparents, he needed to get the clues right and figure out the riddle.
“What’s a highliner? I know Dad used it sometimes to mean somebody successful, right? Where does it come from?”
“You’re asking about the difference between the literal and the figurative meaning of a word.”
William spread his hands, palms up, in a what-are-you-talkingabout gesture.
“Well,” she began, “for example, when people say, ‘there isn’t enough room to swing a cat,’ it literally means that there’s not enough room to swing the whip called the cat-o’-nine-tails. Figuratively, it means space is tight.”
“Yeah, okay, so what does ‘highliner’ mean, literally?”
“In the days of hook and line fishing, the doryman who caught the most fish was called a highliner. He would get the highest share of the sale of the schooner’s catch. He’s a good fisher. If someone tells you you’re a highliner, it’s like a compliment. Figuratively, it means success.”
“Okay, and what’s a bowline knot?” he asked, chomping on his apple.
Harley put down the word “sewing.” “The king of knots. Why are you asking?”
“The Real McCoy said I should know how to tie one … and he also said he had something of value for Daniel.”
She looked up at him. “Lots of rumours floating around about McCoy. Including money and murder —”
“Murder?” So there was some truth to what his granddad had said. He wasn’t just rambling.
“Yes, a fisherman who used to work for McCoy was found shot. Can’t remember all the details, just that when McCoy came back here before he died, he was supposed to have brought money. Some thought the money was the cause for the murder. That was a long time ago. Maybe you just heard one of those rumours …”
“I wasn’t sailing with a rumour. And if Granddad inherits something of value, then he’d be able to keep his house. You’ve gotta believe me and help us.”
Harley rolled her eyes. “If we’re going on a guilt trip, Will, let me pack my bags.” She looked into his pleading face. “I’m a journalist — or at least a soon-to-be journalist — and the first rule of any good story is to check your facts. So become a sleuth and find some.” Her gaze roamed around the loft. “Who knows, if you do find something of value then Daniel might be able to keep his house … and the loft.”
“How do you start checking out a ghost?”
“Well, don’t ask people about a ghost or they’ll think Toronto boy’s gone soft in the head. Start with asking about his boat. Every- body around here likes talking about boats. You might start with Manny at Manny’s Grill.” She pushed over a spiral notepad and a pen.
“Manny?”
“Yes, Manny is kind of the keeper of the tales around here. Every- body talks to him. And he volunteers at the Maritime Museum. See what he says.”
He nodded and left. He didn’t tell her that he’d already met Manny.