Chapter Seventeen

“This is one of my favorite places,” Cookie said as Jamie pulled into the parking lot for Coastal Adventures Marina. Its location was close to the ferry line, where boats transported cars from Port Alene across the Corpus Christi ship channel to nearby Rockwall Landing, another popular small-town destination. “Maybe if we take on a few more divorce cases, I could get one of these.” He waved his hand toward the impressive lineup of fishing boats and cabin cruisers.

It was a nice dream. The marina touted some beautiful vacation vessels, ranging in size from modest to monstrous. Jamie’s car was parked perpendicular to the first row of boats, and she could see a gate with a keypad on the left side of the walkway. “We need a gate code,” she said, her forefinger glancing to the left.

Cookie smiled and pulled out his phone. “No problem.” She could see him searching for something on his phone’s browser, then he pulled up the phone number for the marina. “Here we go,” he said, dialing the number.

“Hi, this is Bill over at J and R. I’m supposed to do some maintenance and review for Chelsea’s Freedom, Mr. Holliday’s boat, but I don’t have the access code. I think I left it at the office.”

Cookie grinned as the other person spoke.

“Okay, and the slip number?”

He paused again.

“Okay, great, thanks.” Cookie ended the call, clearly pleased with his performance. “Slip forty-six. Gate code is 1230.”

“You should have looked up a real maintenance company name first. You got lucky.”

He scowled. “Hmm. Good point, but the kid on the other end of the phone could care less. I think I was interrupting some reality TV watching. Didn’t seem too on the ball.”

“Still, you got lucky.”

“Lucky is my middle name.”

“No, your middle name is Francis.”

Cookie wagged his finger at his friend. “Okay, that’s a closely guarded secret. Besides, Saint Francis of Assisi was one of my mom’s favorite saints.”

“You ain’t no saint,” Jamie joked.

“He wasn’t either… at first, anyway.” Cookie reached over the middle seat console and swatted his friend. “Can we get off this topic and focus on the task at hand?”

Jamie dropped the teasing and studied the line of boats in front of them. “Doesn’t look too busy today. Not many people out and about.”

“We’ve got some storm clouds coming in, so that could be helpful. Not as many people wanting to take their boats out.”

Jamie tilted her head and took note of the changing weather. Texas weather changed quicker than a teenager changed her mind, and it was every bit as unpredictable. Jamie reached behind her seat to grab her prop, a nondescript black tool bag. It looked official enough and had some weight to it.

“What do you have in here?” Cookie asked.

“It’s just my random crap bag from my car. A few tools, some jumper cables.”

“That should come in handy on the boat.”

“Smartass. You ready to do this?”

He nodded.

Jamie reached into her bag and fumbled around until she found her baseball cap. She retrieved a hair band from the cup holder and deftly contained her long auburn mane—abused by humidity into a wavy mess—and tamed it into a simple ponytail. Placing the cap on her head, she figured she was now bland enough to fit into the scene without attracting attention. Cookie, too, donned a baseball cap and was wearing a plain black shirt with khaki board shorts, but his size left him less likely to blend in with a crowd.

They waited a few moments, just long enough to let the people who were walking on the pier move away from where they had parked. Then Jamie and Cookie stepped out of her car and casually walked toward the pier to the gate. Cookie punched in the key code with authority, and a clicking sound signaled they were in. He reached for the gate, swung it open, then held it for Jamie as she passed through while carrying the tool bag, which Cookie then took from her once they were through the gate.

She looked at the numbers on the slips and noted they were standing near the fifties. “Must mean we need to go a couple of rows over.”

They walked with purpose, as if they belonged. The goal in this situation was to remain in the background as much as possible and, if having to engage people, to make sure that those people forgot them quickly.

Jamie continued walking next to Cookie, glancing from one boat to the next, reading the names of each vessel, and chuckling at a few of the choices. So far, Here Fishy Fishy and Money Pit were her two favorite choices, but Wetted Bliss was also a contender. The weather turned a bit cooler, and the coastal breeze grew stronger. Her pace quickened as she glanced up and noticed a new roiling band of rumbling gray clouds. While rain was certainly a welcome guest that rarely visited South Texas, she hoped it would wait a little longer to arrive.

Jamie and Cookie continued walking along the pier of docked boats, when her eyes fell upon Chelsea’s Freedom. She was a beautiful and respectable vessel, not a grand braggart of a boat that would be expected from someone of Marcus Holliday’s means. Maybe Marcus preferred a bit of privacy himself, not wanting to attract too much attention while on the water. Most men with money preferred to announce that fact loudly with an expensive party boat, complete with bikini-clad bimbos arranged on the forward deck, but Marcus seemed not to fit that mold. Still, Jamie cautioned herself not to think favorably of this man, who obviously played some meaningful role in Kristen’s life. The lie he told still stuck in her mind.

Jamie glanced around briefly and saw only two people even remotely close by. They were about five boat slips down and appeared involved in hosing down their deck. Cookie stepped closer to Chelsea’s Freedom then stepped over the toe line and onto the stern of the boat. Jamie followed him. She moved quickly out of sight, down the stairs to the lower deck. Only then did she take in her surroundings.

The interior whispered elegance, with its warm wood tables and caramel-colored leather furniture, accented by strategically placed turquoise throw pillows. The galley kitchen had stainless-steel appliances and granite countertops. The bench seating area could easily double as a home office with its table layout and large porthole, perfect for peering at the majestic ocean.

Cookie took in the cabin view. “Wow, this is much nicer on the inside than it looks on the outside.” He ran his hands along the kitchen counter. “Can you imagine what it would be like to take this boat out?”

Jamie agreed, her eyes still taking in the space. It wasn’t a large cabin, but it was well-appointed. The galley kitchen was modest in size but not in finishes. The main living room area seemed comfortable and compact, and the kitchen led from it, narrow but fully equipped. The cabinets were a warm oak color with brushed silver handle pulls, and the surfaces were clear of clutter. Jamie walked to the bench seating, which had teal-colored pillows decorating it and pull-out drawers. Jamie noticed the cabinets underneath had small circular locks.

Interesting.

Cookie signaled to the back. “I’m going to check out the sleeping quarters.”

Jamie followed him. Like everything else, the rest of the boat was compact but attractive. A queen-size bed and some small drawers lined both opposing walls, and a small television was mounted on a wall stand in the corner. Jamie reached to open the drawers and found surprisingly little inside—a few T-shirts, some underwear, socks, and a pair of tennis shoes. Most of the space remained unclaimed.

Jamie looked around the room. “I don’t see anything with a lock in here, which is odd since it’s the bedroom. You’d think this is the place to hide something.”

“True,” Cookie noted. “But maybe he lets other people stay here and so he doesn’t keep anything important on the boat.”

Maybe. Maybe not.

“I saw something back by the kitchen I want to check out.”

Cookie nodded as he continued going through the drawers, making sure to leave no detection of his snooping.

One beauty of boat design existed in the careful use of space, making sure every square inch served a purpose. Jamie crouched down and placed her bag underneath the galley table. When she did, she raised her head just enough to bang it on the underside. “Dammit,” she muttered. She rubbed the top of her head in hopes of taking the edge off the pain. It was like hitting a funny bone—enough force in just the right place could make even someone’s grandma curse like a sailor.

Jamie returned to the trio of drawers underneath the seated bench. She reached into her pocket, retrieved the key, and inserted it into the first lock. The drawer opened.

“Cookie, the key works.” Jamie’s pulse quickened. “Maybe we’ll finally get some answers.”

Searching the drawer, she found a few maps, pencils, a pair of wayfarer sunglasses, and some rubber bands, but nothing worth locking up. She opened the next drawer and was greeted with equally uninteresting items—extra paper plates, utensils, napkins, and some fishing line.

Frustration began to take over, and Jamie wondered why Kristen would bother asking Connie to protect a key to some useless drawers. Maybe the key also opened something else on the boat.

Last drawer. Jamie turned the key in the lock and pulled the drawer open. She found a section of old newspaper, nothing worth noting unless one wanted to keep a souvenir of the latest fishing reports. When she picked up the newspaper, she saw something else—a plain black composition notebook.

“Find anything good?” Cookie asked as he leaned over Jamie, who was still squatting.

“Maybe.” She pulled the notebook out, stretched her legs, then cradled the notebook over her forearm as she opened it to study its contents. It reminded Jamie of the books used in high school chemistry labs or writing classes—black-and-white-mottled cover and lined inside. Turning to the first page, she noted that it seemed to be a journal. She began reading.

Then she spotted her own name.

Whose journal is this?

She skimmed the page, reading.

I don’t know what to do. I can’t see a way out. I know I’ve made some mistakes, and I’m afraid I’m going to pay for those mistakes by finding myself in the trunk of a car. I sure as hell wouldn’t be the first. Ritchie said he would make sure that I’m okay, but I don’t know that I can trust him.

She continued reading.

I know that my dad doesn’t want me talking to Jamie since the family thinks she abandoned them.

This was Kristen’s journal.

Jamie’s mother had disappeared more often than Houdini during her childhood, and she was the one that abandoned the family? Damned family revisionist history.

She continued reading.

I don’t know what to do right now. Marcus says he can fix things, but I’m not so sure about that.

Cookie read over Jamie’s shoulder. “It looks like your hunch paid off.” He placed his hand on her shoulder. “Let’s take this and go. We’ve been here long enough. Don’t want to push our luck.”

Jamie nodded, slipping the journal into her shoulder bag. She followed Cookie to the front of the boat, where he retrieved her tool bag before they ascended the steps to the deck. The sky had turned darker, and the rumbling clouds threatened to downpour. Jamie stepped off the boat and onto the walkway. Cookie hopped behind her, surprisingly nimble given his size and the weight of the bag he carried.

A man standing at the far end of the dock spotted the duo making their exit. His scruffy beard almost seemed cliché for a fisherman. “Hey, what are you doing on Mr. Holliday’s boat?” he barked.

Jamie considered herself an expert on talking herself in and out of trouble. “I’m sorry. I told Susan that I was going to drop by the boat because I can’t find my cell phone and I thought I left it here.”

He studied her face. “I don’t remember ever seeing you here.” He then looked at Cookie, and his sternness softened, perhaps due to the fact that Cookie himself was a far more imposing figure.

“Well, I could say the same thing about you,” he replied. “How do I know that you aren’t here to steal Marcus’s stuff off his boat?”

He wasn’t amused. “Because anyone here can vouch for me. I don’t think the same could be said for you.”

He was smarter than he looked, which was going to be a problem. Jamie decided to get out while she could. “Look, it’s about ready to rain, and Marcus knows we’re here.”

His attention turned to Cookie’s bag. “What do you have there?”

Cookie shrugged, his expression unconcerned about the entire interrogation. “Just some tools and cables. Had to help someone jump-start her car earlier by the ferry. A real pain, but we got it going.”

The man seemed confused. “Maybe I should just call Mr. Holliday to double-check.”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Cookie said as he and Jamie exchanged a glance. Before the man could respond, Cookie took the bag and shoved it into him, knocking the guy backward and onto the ground.

Jamie and Cookie darted for the gate, and once outside, kept running to their car. Jamie fished for her keys in her bag while running and almost tripped over Cookie, who was keeping an impressive pace.

Cookie glanced behind him. “He’s up and moving,” he yelled, his breath quickening with the pace of his feet.

The two hustled to the car, and Jamie turned over the engine before the questioner made it to the gate. She peeled out of the parking space, leaving their pursuer by the gate, nothing more than a figure in her rearview mirror. A downpour of rain erupted, and water rushed onto her windshield. She slowed down, not wanting to hydroplane and ruin her escape.

Cookie’s breathing was still heavy, as was hers.

Jamie wiped the sweat from her brow. “You owe me a new set of jumper cables.”

“I haven’t run that hard since Jenny Williams’s dad caught me kissing her on the porch,” Cookie said between huffs.

The two worked to catch their breath, their gasps as loud as the air conditioner, which was blowing cool comfort on their faces. Cookie’s forehead still glimmered with rain droplets, his dark hair flat and mussed from the downpour.

Jamie’s body began to chill from sitting in wet clothes. “You realize we’re going to have another problem now, right?”

“Marcus knows we were on the boat?”

She nodded. “Marcus knows we were on the boat.”