17

The sound of Red Swan’s engine starting called Cassie back to the matter at hand, and she turned away as the fishing boat turned the corner around B Float.

“Do you want to cast off?” Luke called from inside.

“Yes,” Cassie called back over the rumble from the stack. She set her purse on the back bench and spared one last glance at the departing fishing boat. The net mender was standing just as he had been, watching her. “Get your eyes full, fella,” she muttered as she bent to examine how the rope was tied.

“Do I undo it from the dock or from the boat?” she called to Luke.

He appeared at the door. “Have you ever been out on a boat this size?”

She shook her head.

“You cast off from the dock,” he explained, “and take the lines with you. But first, look at the way it’s tied up. I’m going to teach you to do that, so that when we return you can be ready to tie ’er up as soon as she’s in the slip.”

Cassie had her first lesson in seamanship right there as Luke showed her how to use the cleat on the dock to stop the forward motion of a boat without being pulled into the water, and how to quickly make it fast. Then he taught her that she must always coil the line neatly and put off to the side.

“A loose line is an accident ready to happen,” he cautioned. “Now, are you ready to cast off?”

“Aye, aye, sir.” Cassie couldn’t help but grin.

“Undo the bow line first. Then you can undo the stern line and step aboard. Careful, though. You’re not wearing boat-friendly shoes.”

While Cassie did as she was told, Luke found the boat hook and extended it. “The tide is going out, and we don’t have a lot of room to maneuver. I’m not familiar with this boat, so if I kill the motor, or if she isn’t as responsive as I think she should be, you can keep us from drifting in where it’s too shallow. I don’t want to foul your prop.”

Wondering what Luke meant by “too shallow,” Cassie gripped the boat hook and stared at the water as they backed toward the rocky perimeter wall. When she heard a shifting of gears and felt the slow throbbing of the engine pushing them forward, she relaxed. Following Luke’s orders, she took in the bumpers and collapsed the boat hook and stowed it under the starboard gunwale. Then she sat on the wooden bench that ran across the stern.

Cassie looked with interest at the boats lined up in the marina. There were huge boats, twice the size of the Red Swan, shiny and new, with flying bridges and davits for swinging a dinghy overboard. There were scabby-looking wooden sailboats that looked as if they needed lots of TLC. Commercial fishing boats, sport-fishing boats, family boats, show-off boats: it’s a whole ’nother world, thought Cassie, and she misted up, thinking that Chan wanted to share it with her. “Thank you, Darling,” she whispered.

As soon as they were out of the marina, Luke increased the speed. The steady pulsing of the engine was hypnotic, and as Cassie leaned her head back and felt the sun on her face, the cry of the gulls overhead and the smell of the salt air seemed to draw the sorrow out of her soul.

They spent a couple of hours tooling around, exploring coves and straits, following coastlines. Luke stayed in the cabin and Cassie was content to sit on the back deck in the sun and listen to the whoosh of the water as the prop churned through it.

The sun was well over the midpoint when they slid through a narrow passageway between two islands and entered a wide, open area where a solitary sailboat was coaxing a couple of knots out of a fickle breeze. A huge boat shooting a great rooster tail roared past them and Luke turned to cross the wake head on. Cassie braced herself as the boat rocked forward and aft, forward and aft, and then continued placidly along.

Luke appeared in the cabin door. “Have you got anywhere special you want to go?”

Cassie shook her head. “No, this is wonderful. It’s like a drug, it’s so soothing. Oh, wait. Maybe there is a place we can go.” Cassie opened her purse and took out Chan’s day-timer. Turning to October twelfth, she looked to see if there were any numbers written on that date. Seeing that there were, Cassie showed them to Luke. “Can you find this place?”

Luke looked first at the long and lat and then at Cassie. “Yeah . . .” he said tentatively. “If that’s what you want to do.”

“Why not?” she asked. “I have a reason for wanting to go there.”

“Oh?” Luke waited, but she didn’t tell him that her dead husband had been going to take her there. After a moment he went forward and got a chart to plot the course. “I thought so,” he called. “It’s just on the other side of that island.”

Cassie looked at the notation below the long and lat. One point five P. Looking at her watch, Cassie saw it was one o’clock. We’ll be Johnny-on-the-spot, she thought. I wonder what kind of a surprise Chan had planned.

When they reached the other side of the island there was nothing in sight but an old crab boat chugging along, dropping crab pots overboard. Fluorescent buoys marked the crabber’s progress across the bay. Luke cut the power and came aft, letting the boat drift. It rose and fell as the wake of some far-off boat reached them. Otherwise, the sea was flat calm.

“This is low slack,” Luke said, chewing on his toothpick.

“Low slack?”

“There’s an hour after low tide when the sea doesn’t move. The currents quit running. That’s slack tide. Then the tide turns and it’s not still again until after high tide.”

“High slack,” Cassie guessed, pulling off her fleece.

“Right.”

“That sun is really warm while we’re just sitting here,” Cassie said. “It’s so peaceful, and the whole world seems to be blue. The sky, the sea. Even the islands have a blue tinge to them.”

“You have on blue sunglasses,” Luke observed. “And that crabber is a pretty ugly shade of yellow.”

“He’s coming toward us. Are we in his territory?”

“There’s no such thing as territory. Anyone can put a crab pot here.”

“Well, I would say they’re getting mighty close. Is there such a thing as pirates? They don’t look very reputable.”

“No, they don’t, do they? I think I’ll start the engine.”

By the time Luke had the engine running, the crabber had swung around, pulled alongside, and thrown lines around Red Swan’s starboard cleats. Her heart suddenly racing, Cassie dropped her purse to the floor, kicked it under the bench, and pushed her fleece off on top if it. “What do you want?” she shouted above the roar of the engines.

One of the crabber’s crew jumped aboard, while another hoisted a wooden crate to the davit and swung it around so it was suspended over Red Swan’s deck.

When Luke stepped out of the cabin carrying a flare gun, the visiting crabber looked surprised and asked a question in Spanish.

Cassie grabbed a gaff hook that was hanging under the port gunwale. Brandishing it, she said, “You’d better take off, fella! I don’t know what you’re selling, but we aren’t buying any of it!”

Backing away, looking from Luke to Cassie, the swarthy crabber repeated his question. The two crewmen on his boat looked at each other and then started scanning the horizon with anxious faces.

When he got no answer, the uninvited visitor shouted to his crew and vaulted over the gunwales while one cast off the lines and the other pulled the davit back around. Then with a roar, the boat took off straight across the bay.

Cassie wiped her palms on her fleece. “Hoo boy! I really thought they were pirates. I wonder what that was all about!”

The toothpick was still as Luke stared hard at her. Without a word he went forward and climbed into the captain’s seat. Slowly the Red Swan turned and began chugging back to the marina.

Gradually, Cassie’s pulse returned to normal. What a tale I’ll have to tell Punky, she thought. Adventure on the high seas! But for some reason our good pilot is out of sorts. Maybe he didn’t like me taking an active part in chasing them off. Or maybe he was scared, too, and doesn’t want to talk about it.

Before long they reached Quarry Harbor. As they slowed to wakeless speed in the marina, Cassie remembered Luke’s instruction and put out the bumpers. Holding the bow line, she stood up on the gunwale, steadying herself by holding onto the teak handrail on top of the cabin. As Luke pulled into the slip, she stepped off and made the forward line fast as he had showed her. Then she went quickly back and fastened the stern line.

She heard movement in the cabin: a drawer closing, a cupboard opening and closing, switches clicking. Then Luke emerged and closed the cabin door, fastening the padlock. Cassie leaned over to pick up her purse, and Luke grabbed her wrist.

“Ow! What are you doing?”

The hazel eyes were intense as he brought his face close to Cassie’s. “I want you to listen to what I have to say.”

Cassie tried to pull her hand away, but his grip was too strong. “All right,” she said through clenched teeth. “Say it. I’m listening.”

“I don’t know what you meant by that little exercise out there, but I didn’t find it amusing.” He turned his head and spat out his toothpick.

“Little exercise? What are you talking about?”

“Just answer me this question. Where did you find that long and lat?”

“What is that to you?”

Luke’s grip tightened. “Where did you get it?”

“Ow! It was my husband’s.”

“It might be better if you forgot you had it. Better for your health.” Luke flung her hand away, tossed the keys on the bench, and stepped over the gunwale.

Cassie rubbed her wrist as she watched him stride up the dock. “Maybe he’s a diabetic,” she muttered. “They get cranky if they miss lunch.” Gathering her purse and the boat keys, Cassie headed back to the hotel.

* * *

Later, Cassie sat in her room with a tuna sandwich and a glass of chocolate milk, alternately making phone calls and puzzling about the episode on the boat just an hour before. She wondered if she should say something about it to someone. But to whom? People didn’t seem to be going out of their way to be friendly and helpful. Luke’s reaction was positively bizarre, and he had been there. No telling what someone else would think.

Using the phone in her room, Cassie dialed her cell phone message line and listened to three messages. One was from Punky, just checking in. Ben was coming to dress rehearsal tonight, she said, since he had to work tomorrow evening. Ben called to report that they didn’t have anything back from the lab yet, but he would keep her posted. Bishop Harris called just to check in.

Cassie got her address book out of her suitcase and looked up the bishop’s number, taking a chance that he would be home. He was.

“How are you doing, Cassie?” he asked, concern evident in his voice.

“I’m doing fine, Bishop. I’m having quite an adventure.”

“How’s that?”

Cassie almost told him about the encounter with the yellow crabber but didn’t want to blow it out of proportion. Instead she said, “It’s so different from Arizona, and so beautiful,” which sounded lame, but he didn’t seem to think so.

“I’m glad you’re doing well. I worried about you a bit.”

That made Cassie smile. “I called to see if you have any way of getting me the Edmonds First Ward bishop’s home phone number. I think I could call the chapel until doomsday and never get in touch with him. They don’t list his home phone.”

“I can get it for you, but my church directory is at the bishop’s office. Can I call you tomorrow?”

“Great. Just call my cell phone number and leave a message. There’s no service here, but I’m checking in.”

“Where are you staying?”

“I’m at the Hickcox Hotel in Quarry Harbor.”

“It sounds quaint.”

“You have no idea,” she said dryly. “Thanks, Bishop. I’ll be looking for your call.”

“You’re welcome, and Cassie . . . ?”

“Yes?”

“You’re where you need to be. You’re doing what you need to be doing. Remember that.”

“Wow, Bishop. That’s pretty heavy stuff.”

“Life is heavy stuff. Carry on, and bless you, my dear.”

“Thanks, Bishop. ’Bye.”

Cassie hung up, wondering what had prompted that last bit of wisdom from Bishop Harris. Pensively, she picked up Elmo and straightened his tie. “You’re a good-lookin’ guy,” she observed. “What do you think?”

She rubbed the fuzzy red body against her cheek. “Do you miss your little Ricky? I think I do. I miss . . . something. I think I’ll go home tomorrow.” She sighed and set the stuffed animal back on the table.

Cassie finished her sandwich and milk, looking out the window at the activity on the docks. The late-afternoon sun was sparkling on the water and a sailboat was heading out of the harbor, towing a little square dinghy behind it. Her eyes wandered to the Red Swan, tied up where she left it. Thinking that she might go talk to Mr. Knuteson, Cassie decided to change into boat-friendly shoes. She put on a pair of Levi’s and cross-trainers, then grabbed her fleece and carried her dishes down to the dining room. Setting them on a table close to the bussing station, she headed out the door and down the stairs to the marina.

As Cassie descended the stairs onto A Float, the gulls were wheeling in the air, monotonously repeating their plaintive cries, and a little boy in a life jacket crouched on the edge of the dock, peering down, watching something intently. Looking over his shoulder into the water, Cassie saw a dozen tiny jellyfish rising and falling in a languid water dance.

“Hey, look, Dad!” the boy called to someone out on the dock. “Come see!”

Cassie walked on, nodding to the dad as she passed. When she reached the harbormaster’s place, she was disappointed to see a sign that referred anyone wanting a slip to Morning Mist in A13. With nothing else to do, Cassie wandered the docks looking at boats, hoping that Mr. Knuteson would be back by the time she passed by his cabin again. He wasn’t.

Frustrated, Cassie was heading back to the hotel when her eye fell on the sheer walls of the rock quarry up at the top of the hill, and she decided to hike up and take a closer look. Setting off at a brisk pace, she was puffing by the time she finally gained the flat floor of the rockworks. The area was huge, the size of a football field, with surrounding walls stair-stepping up three stories high. That’s a lot of granite, she thought. I wonder how many buildings were built out of this rock.

Walking out onto the ledge overlooking town, she sat on a boulder and watched the sun sinking behind the islands in the distance. The air turned chilly, and she was glad she had brought the fleece. Standing to put it on, she looked behind her and saw that a mist was forming on the quarry floor, ghostly and insubstantial in the gathering twilight. Intrigued, she waded through it, watching the way it hid her feet and swirled around her knees.

As night came on, she realized it would be safer out on the road, so she headed over there and started back down. The harbor lights came on as she descended, making shining, silvery paths on the dark water. The road was shadowy, though, and she tripped once and almost fell. Grateful to reach the lighted walkway of the hotel, she hurried inside.

After a light supper, she returned to her room and sat by the window, watching the play of the lights on the water. Noticing the unfinished crossword puzzle from the ferry, she picked it up and turned on the lamp.

Her mind wouldn’t focus on the words. Instead she kept seeing the man from the crabber as he stood on the deck of the Red Swan, remembering how his eyes darted from her to the flare gun in Luke’s hand and back. She didn’t think he had been afraid. Uncertain was more like it.

Pushing that thought away, she read a clue out loud. “Sufficient. That has to be plenty. No, too many letters. Enough is too big, too. Hmm.” Moving down, she tried another one. “Ten across: entertain. Host? Not enough letters. Entertain. Entertain.”

Discouraged, she abandoned the puzzle and folded the paper back, thinking if she immersed herself in yesterday’s news, it might keep the yellow crabber out of her thoughts. Skimming over the local Seattle items, she read about the proposal to revamp the Alaska Way Viaduct and the bill that was being introduced in the state legislature for a personal income tax. A headline caught her eye, and as she read the accompanying story, suddenly the yellow crabber was front and center once more.

The story stated that a man from St. Mary’s Island had been arrested for smuggling illegal drugs in from Canada. The article went on to say that with all the boats out on the Sound moving in both American and Canadian waters, the area was becoming a major conduit for drug trafficking and that several South American drug cartels were moving in to take advantage. For that reason, the United States was pouring resources into the area to combat the growing problem.

Things suddenly snapped into focus. Remembering what Sister Harris had said about Chan, Cassie wondered if he hadn’t been working undercover for . . . who? Cassie reread the article. The Border Patrol? Customs and Immigration? Who would it be? Like Sister Harris said, that would explain the lack of personal information.

The notations in the day-timer meant something to Cassie now. Ruefully, she realized that Chan must have set up a sting that he never got to carry out. If he had been there today, the smugglers on the yellow boat would have delivered whatever was in the crate to Chan, and he would have nabbed them. They would now be behind bars. Instead, they had been warned that someone was onto them, and they would be more wary next time.

Or maybe they got wary already! Cassie turned cold as she remembered Luke Matthews holding her wrist in a vise-like grip and his angry face right next to hers. Was he trying to frighten her? Did he know something? And come to think of it, why had he been standing there with a flare gun? What did he intend to do with that?

Cassie had come to Quarry Harbor for answers, but the questions were flying thick and fast. Who was Luke Matthews, anyway? Did he work for the government like Chan, or was he just someone hired to move a boat?

To get away from the questions, Cassie grabbed the robe from the closet and fled down the hall. As she stood in a steaming shower, things started falling into place, and she began to think that the answers might be more frightening than the questions. She understood the gun in the shoulder holster now. The work must have been very dangerous. So dangerous, in fact . . .

Cassie turned off the water and stood dripping wet, staring straight ahead but not seeing the white tiles of the shower. Instead, she saw a dark-colored sedan in front of her house and Chan leaning over to speak angrily to the person who was driving. And then . . . could it be? She tried to remember the car that had come roaring out of nowhere, catching Chan dead-center and hurling him to his death.

Turning pale, she realized that it may not have been an accident. Maybe Chan was too good at his job, and the South American smugglers had wanted him out of the way. Maybe they had targeted him and killed him far away from the drug wars so no one would ever suspect.

Cassie shivered, and the involuntary response brought her back to where she was. She reached for her towel and rubbed her arms and legs vigorously, then wrapped the towel around her head before putting the robe back on to return to her room. Once there, she felt restless and anxious to be on her way. There was nothing left to be found in Quarry Harbor. She looked at her watch and saw that making the last ferry would be iffy. She would have to stay one more night.