Chapter twenty-three

Molly sat quietly as Sam rowed them back to B-dock at Bennett Brothers’ Marina. She hadn’t said a word since they boarded, and that made Sam a little nervous. For the short time he’d known her, she rarely stopped chattering. Looking at her from time to time, he could barely see her profile. There was little light now that they were well away from the docks’ bright lights. He rowed toward the glow of lights at the marina, the same glow that began to illuminate Molly’s face on their approach.

Not knowing what to make of the situation, Sam held his tongue as they came close enough to the stern of Hullabaloo to grab the boarding ladder. Sam held the dinghy steady for Molly as she stood in the center, deftly tying the painter line to one of the stanchions. Once aboard, Sam pulled the dinghy high onto the aft deck and secured it. He joined Molly, who was on her knees, precariously perched on the cockpit floor, leaning into the engine compartment. Stooped over the starboard engine, she was systematically checking the water, checking the oil, and checking the transmission fluid, then starting the glow plugs to heat the one engine that worked for sure before firing it up. She said a quick prayer out loud as the old engine sputtered a few times before turning over and stalling. Molly pumped fuel into the starboard engine by using a hand bulb as she started her praying again. On the third try, the engine roared to life. She followed the same steps, prayer included, for the port-side engine.

“May the eel grass and sand stay out of our filters,” she chanted a made-up blessing.

“And may the anchor hold when we get where we’re going,” added Sam, as he moved forward to start untying the boat from the slip. “Where are we going?”

“To the Brunswick River,” Molly called from the wheel house as he passed the window. “South of Wilmington. There’s a lot of shoaling, so we will have to enter slowly.” She hesitantly added, “I noticed one or two other boats coming to port as we were leaving the docks. Hopefully, we won’t call attention to ourselves.”

“Relax. It’s too dark for anyone to see who’s aboard. Stay to the far side of the river, if that will make you feel better.”

“I will. We are going against the current so we will have an easier time of it on that side.” Molly slipped the boat into gear and backed out of the slip effortlessly. She steered toward the far bank (but not too close) and made way for the Brunswick River.

Sam joined her in the pilothouse once they were underway, and he sat on the portside settee where he could watch the docks as they passed by. Using a pair of binoculars, he searched the waterfront for the linebackers. He didn’t find them.

“Make yourself useful,” Molly said, pointing to the binoculars. “Help me find the next channel marker. I am not used to running in the dark. I see the green marker over there, but I don’t see the red.”

Sam searched the dark until he saw a flash-flash of a small red light affixed to the top of a channel marker. He trained the flashlight on the square red sign until Molly acknowledged seeing it.

Molly slowed and turned onto the Brunswick River, picking her way by the ancient radar’s sonar readings. “Been meaning to update this old thing, but at least I didn’t get around to yanking it out yet.” She watched the sounding register the water’s falling depth until she saw a number she liked. “Here’s a good spot. I’ll hold her here until you get the anchor down.”

Sam moved forward with one hand on the lifeline. He dropped the fifty-five-pound CQR anchor and galvanized chain to the appropriate seven-to-one scope, then waved his arms to indicate it was down, his silhouette made visible by the bow light.

He felt the boat shudder as Molly revved the engines in reverse until the anchor set, then shut them down. Sam watched her in the quiet of the pilothouse as she flipped open a green log book to note the date, time, and engine hours. She was all business with the boat, that was for sure. She disappeared below deck.

Sam looked up at the pitch-black sky, thankful to be on the water. “It’s been too long,” he muttered. “Must go cruising. Soon.” He walked aft to the pilothouse and joined Molly below in the salon.

“We need to talk about our plan,” she said matter-of-factly as she gathered mugs, sugar, and milk. A small kettle was on, and she had put teabags on the counter.

“I say we pay Mr. Walters a visit tomorrow. Ask for a job, and see what happens.”

“Then what?” she asked as she poured hot water into his mug and handed him a teabag. “Suppose he gives us a job. What will that accomplish?”

“It could help confirm that Johnson is a drug source, and that’s enough to get him off the street for a while until I can figure out how to nail him for murdering Lee and your brother.”

Molly looked at her cup, then at Sam. “What can I do to help?”

“Just get us there tomorrow. You think this old boat of yours will make it?”

“Old is not bad, you know. I’ve been working hard on restoring this classic girl, and she’s got a lot of life left in her.” Molly smiled. “I’ll get us there, no problem. Then what are you going to do? Just waltz in and ask for Mr. Walters?”

“Yep.”

“And you are sure Johnson doesn’t know what you look like?”

“Never met him before, so I don’t think he does. Besides, he probably won’t even be there. I’m going to see Mr. Walters, and you are going to stay aboard. It will look suspicious if we go in together. If I get hired to make a run, I’ll be able to get some evidence. Then I call in the troops to flush him out…assuming I can find troops I can trust.” Sam added some sugar to his tea, and he took a sip. “But what would be helpful is a tape recorder or something as proof that this is where it all begins. Do you have something I could use?”

“No. You’ll just have it go it alone,” answered Molly. Stifling a yawn, she took a sip of her tea and stretched out her legs under the settee table.

“Slack water will come about ten tomorrow morning,” Molly said as she glanced at a small tide clock on the wall. It looked like the face of a regular clock with an additional ring of information defining tide movements of local waters. “If we leave any sooner than that, we’ll be fighting the tide.” She yawned again. “It’s been a long day. I think I’ll call it quits for now.” Pausing, she looked thoughtfully at Sam. “You can have my bunk, if you want.” After a few seconds of deafening silence, she added, “I’ll sleep in the salon.”

Sam smiled at her generosity, but he declined the offer. “I don’t think I’m going to sleep much tonight anyway. I’ll stay here and check on the anchor from time to time to be sure it’s holding.”

“Oh, it’ll hold. CQR is short for secure, and that’s fifty-five pounds of security up there on the bow. It’s seen this boat through many blows,” Molly explained as she got up from the settee and moved forward. “I’ll be a minute in the head; then you can use it if you need it. See you tomorrow, Sam.” With that, she slid out of sight.

“Thanks,” Sam called after her. Thanks a lot. Then he mentally kicked himself for passing up an opportunity. He berated himself on his way up to the aft deck. Sheesh, she practically invited you in, you idiot. What were you thinking? Maybe I’ll give her a little time to get comfortable, then go ask for a blanket or something. No, too lame. It’s getting cold up here. Would you mind if I…no, that’s even worse. Let it go. We’re going to have a long day tomorrow anyway. Got to get some sleep.

But sleep was not to come so easily. The anchor didn’t drag an inch, even with the change of currents, but the night surely dragged on. Sam lay there on the bunk in the salon, fitfully thinking about Molly. She was brave, strong, and smart. She wasn’t bad to look at, either, once she got cleaned up a bit. But she had a dark side, one that ran counter to what he was used to in the women he dated. Maybe that was part of the attraction, something different. She drank too much, she ran with a rough crowd, and she had balls bigger than most men he knew. She clearly had compassion for her friends. Plus, she could handle a boat and an engine!

“Makes me tired to think of the possibilities,” he thought. In the morning’s small hours, Sam slept.