Chapter sixteen

“Hey, there,” Molly Monroe called to Sam when he was still 200 feet away on the dock. “I like your duck.” She casually pointed to the persistent Mallard that was contently pruning herself on Sam’s bimini despite Sam’s heavy-footed approach.

“It’s not my duck, and how did you find me?” Sam wasn’t sure who to be more annoyed with—the fowl or the girl. He stepped aboard and tried to shoo the duck away from her roost.

“Well, it sure thinks your boat is home.” Molly slipped off her red Keds and climbed aboard without waiting for an invitation. She watched as Sam tried in vain to shoo the duck away, then opened hatches to let some air in. “You know, there’s an easier way to do that,” she called as he moved forward to pop open the forward hatch.

“You an expert on ducks?”

“I grew up on a farm near Mount Airy—you know, Mayberry—and we had ducks all over the place. My brother and I used to throw rocks at them to get them to move, but Mom stopped that. Said it was mean. So we had to come up with a different plan.”

“Yeah? What’d you do?”

“Stare at them. They thought we were choosing which one we wanted for dinner.” With that, Molly stepped up on the raised coaming surrounding the cockpit and looked eye-to-eye at the duck. After a little mild quacking and some hissing, the bird moved off the bimini to the aft rail.

“Well, I’ll be….” Sam was impressed.

“You got a beerrrr?” Molly asked, emphasizing the “r”.

“Little early, don’t you think?” Sam reached for a cold one and tossed it up to her as she made herself comfortable in the cockpit.

“Nice cushion design. Is there a patent pending?” She pointed to the cuts in the fabric.

“Something like that.” Sam joined her in a drink, but he made his own water instead of beer. “How did you find out where I lived?”

“Friends in low places. Most everyone knows where cops live in a town this size. Your address isn’t too hard to discover, if you know who to ask.”

“And you, of course, do.”

“Yep. I know lots of things. My brother was always in a bit of trouble, so I had to bail him out from time to time. Knowing the right person to help was a big deal when I needed it.”

“Where is he now?”

“Davy Jones’ locker, I guess. His body was never recovered, so I can only take the story for what it’s worth.” Molly took a long drink, clutching her green bottle tightly. “Still, I sometimes wonder. He was a good kid at heart; just not too bright about certain things.”

“What was he into?”

“Drug-running for the big boys. I tried to get him to come work for me delivering boats, and he did it a couple of times, but I guess he thought he had to earn more.”

“Big boys?”

“Dude, for a cop, you sure are dumb. That isn’t your beat, is it?”

Sam felt his face grow hot. “My ‘beat’ is special investigations. I am a detective, not a beat cop. And beat cops don’t deal with ‘big boys,’ anyway. What do you know?”

“Well, I got to thinking while I was drinking at the Barbary Coast. Maybe I got in your way that night because of karma.”

“What?”

“I was supposed to be there. You were coming up from Southport, and I was too. Karma is what brings people together for a purpose. You said you thought you were in the way, and I started to think about what you might have been getting in the way of—what I might be able to help you with. And besides, maybe you could help me.”

“Depends. What do you want help with?”

“I want to know more about my brother’s death. If he was in somebody’s way, then maybe we could work toget—”

“No.” Sam cut her off. “I don’t want a partner. I don’t need a partner. The last one I had got his head blown off.”

“Now see? You do care. I was beginning to think you didn’t.” Molly batted her eyes at Sam in an exaggerated fashion. “I asked around a little last night and got the word that your partner was killed not too long ago. Sorry, man; what a horrible way to go. Did he have family?”

Sam was silent for one full minute. “Why were you checking out my story, Molly?”

“Actually, I just wanted to know if there was something on you. I mean, if anyone knew anything about why somebody might be running you down on purpose. When I started talking, so did my friends.” Molly fidgeted in her seat under the weight of Sam’s stare.

“And what did you learn?”

“What you just told me, about your partner. Sorry about that.”

“Anything else?”

“Well, that’s why I came to find you today. I think you’re getting into something deep, and I think my brother might have been sucked into the same trap. So I thought if you learned anything, you could, you know, share.”

“If I find out anything, it’s police information, not for public consumption, especially not for a vigilante sister.”

“Even if it’s your buddies on the force who are setting you up?” Molly’s question hung in the air like Spanish moss on a live oak, its full gray length apparent, but not the many chiggers it contained.

“Talk,” Sam said, leaning forward.

“There’s this guy I know. He was a friend of my brother’s, and he said there’s something going on that your partner got messed up with. He didn’t say how, but he had seen him around a few times down there.”

“Down where?”

“Navassa. He wasn’t supposed to be there, but he got in the way, so he was taken care of promptly. Anyway, my friend started putting two and two together, and he saw that the same folks involved with my brother’s death were the bozos who got your partner. I suspect they’re the same ones who have your number, now.” Molly watched Sam’s face cloud over.

“We’re going sailing,” Sam said quietly. He went forward to secure things and then called back up to the cockpit, “The key is on the hook in the aft cabin. Fire her up.”

Without questioning him, Molly handed her empty bottle to Sam as he moved around the galley, then looked down the aft companionway where she saw a tarnished bronze hook with a key hanging on it. Sam watched as she took the wheel cover off, double-checked the position of the throttle and gear shifter, and then started the engine. He watched her check aft overboard to see what was coming out, take note of the wind’s direction, and head for the lines on the port side. Sam could hear Molly working her way around the boat, removing lines in confidence.

Feeling the boat move, Sam glanced up from his task of storing all loose items below in the galley and watched Molly as she slowly backed out of the slip, casting the last line to the top of the starboard-side piling as the boat moved past it like a rodeo champ. He came topside in time to see her push the engine’s gear shift forward slightly, nudging the throttle to get some forward momentum as Angel glided out of the marina’s narrow fairway. She turned north toward the Myrtle Grove Sound, a thin channel of water between the mainland and Outer Banks lined with posh homes on one side and dredge spoil islands on the other.

Sam moved aft to take off the canvas cover from the mizzen. A random spider fell as he readied the sail and lines, then moved to the center of the cockpit coaming where he could reach the pull-cord on the StackPack containing the main. The engine’s noise droned until they reached the shallow chop of Carolina Beach Inlet. Once in open water, Molly pointed the boat into the northeasterly wind. Starting aft, Sam raised the mizzen, then unfurled the Genoa. The wind pushing, urging, Sam raised the mainsail and returned to the cockpit. Molly pulled the air choke to stop the engine, refusing Sam’s offer to take the helm.

“No, thanks; I’ll take it on the reach; you work it back.” Molly looked content at the helm to be on the water.

She looks different from the person who tried to pick my pocket, Sam thought. With her wavy hair, freckled skin that made her look more youthful than Sam guessed her to be, and her piercing green eyes, Molly was not unattractive. She’d never be mistaken for a beauty queen, but she was clever. She knew more than she was telling.

They sailed in silence for a while, Molly getting the feel for Angel as she steered slightly first to port, then to starboard, catching the wind in the sails. The Genoa’s luffing soon subsided as Molly got it right, and the boat danced through slight waves, free from her marina slip’s tethers, and doing what she was built for after a long absence from the waves. Light winds of ten knots made for a pleasant, easy sail. Sam was glad to be away from the slip, too.