The cell phone clipped to Mick Coyle’s hip rang loudly enough to be heard over the drone of the Maggy Dee’s engines.
Coyle jerked the phone off his belt and flipped it open. “Who the hell is this?” he bellowed.
“Who?” Coyle asked. “Barry who?”
Lisa and Gina had dozed off, and Zeke and Tate had just come into the pilothouse to get out of the wind. At the mention of Barry Adelman’s name, everybody was on full alert.
“Yeah,” Coyle said. “That’s right. We got ’em. The girl, Tate. Even the friggin’ dog. Although, if he takes another leak on my deck, we might come back minus the dog.”
Coyle listened, and his belligerence quickly dissipated.
“Well, sure,” he said enthusiastically. “Yeah. Well, thanks, Barry. I think that would about take care of my time and expenses.” He listened again, then held the phone out to Zeke.
“Barry would like to have a word with you.”
Zeke took the phone, nervously wetting his lips.
“Hello? They’re right here, Barry. They were on Rattlesnake Key, this little island less than a mile from Eutaw. They found a boat and got caught out in the storm…. Oh, yeah. They’re both fine.”
Zeke listened. He held his hand over the phone for a moment. “Barry’s thrilled that you guys are all right,” he told Gina and Tate.
“Yeah. I agree. Absolutely,” Zeke said. “Yeah. It does have all the elements of excellent television. Drama, suspense. Danger…”
“We were never in any real danger,” Tate said, through gritted teeth.
But Zeke was listening to his boss again. He made a writing motion with his hand, and the suddenly cooperative Mick Coyle handed him a clipboard and a stub of a pencil.
Zeke scribbled furiously. “Um. That’s a thought. Of course. I think that’s a brilliant idea. But let me check.”
He held the cell phone to his chest. “People? Barry wants to know if you did, in fact, catch any fish on this nutty excursion of yours.”
“I did,” Tate said wearily. “A spot-tail bass.”
“And I caught a bluefish,” Gina put in.
Zeke scribbled again. “A spotted bass and uh…”
“Bluefish,” Gina repeated.
“Bluefish,” Zeke said. He was listening and frowning.
“Gee, Barry, I don’t know. They’ve had kind of a long day. No, they’re not injured or anything. It’s just that everybody’s wet and kind of sunburned—”
He frowned again. “All right. Yeah. Okay.” He clicked the phone closed.
“So,” he said cheerily. “Here’s the plan. Barry has the camera crew on their way down to the ferry dock at Eutaw. They’ll be all set by the time we get back. And they’ll start the cameras rolling when we tie up, and then you guys will just step off the boat.
“Barry will give a little recap of the day’s events, and then he’ll interview you both. You’ll tell the story of your adventure—”
“And the thrilling rescue,” Lisa added. “That part was my idea, wasn’t it, Zeke?”
“Absolutely,” Zeke said. “Oh, I almost forgot. Barry says you’ll do a little cameo, too, Lisa. And Captain Coyle, too, of course.”
“Ohmygawd!” Lisa shrieked, jumping up and down on the bench where she and Gina had been napping. She dug into the pocket of her shorts and triumphantly brandished a tube of lip gloss. “I knew this would come in handy.”
“Great,” Zeke said. “And then,” he said, gesturing to Tate and Gina, “the plan is, you’ll go right over to the kitchen at Rebeccaville, and start setting up to cook. Barry says the judges are gonna be a little peeved about having to schlep over there in the rain, but—”
“No,” Tate said, crossing his arms over his chest.
“No way,” Gina agreed, crossing her own arms in solidarity.
“People, please,” Zeke pleaded. “Barry is really, really excited about the potential for this.”
“Not happening,” Tate said.
Zeke sighed and flipped the phone open again. He punched in the producer’s number and waited for an answer.
“Barry?” he said, his voice apologetic. “They’re having some reservations about the idea.”
Tate stalked over to the production assistant and held out his hand. “Gimme.”
Zeke handed the phone over.
“Adelman? There is no way in hell. No. I don’t care. Anyway, we got nothing to cook. We ate my fish for dinner, and we left the cooler with Gina’s fish back at the campsite at Rattlesnake Key. So you can just forget—”
He listened some more, glowering at what he was hearing. “All right, put her on, not that it’ll make any difference.”
Hi, Val,” he said.
“Tate? You’re okay? No injuries—right? The last thing we need right now is for you to go on the disabled list.”
“I’m fine,” he assured her. “Really. Just kinda sunburned. And fed up. Now, about this bullshit idea of Adelman’s—”
“It’s not bullshit,” Val said quickly. “And I need you to be a team player. So just suck it up and get on board.”
“This is nuts!” he exploded.
“It’s a guaranteed ratings bonanza,” Val said. “Deborah’s back here right now, working the press angle.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about ratings,” Tate said bitterly.
“You signed a contract,” she reminded him. “There’s a lot on the line here, Tate.”
“Yeah, I know I signed a contract, but nobody ever said anything about—”
“Listen to me,” Val said urgently. “You’re not the only one affected by this thing. You walk away now, your credibility takes a big hit. Mine too. And let’s talk about Gina, while we’re on the subject. If you walk away, they’re gonna have to use what they’ve got so far. That’s you, Tate Moody, winner of the Food Fight. Gina Foxton gets nothing. Fresh Start is history. She’s history. And why? Because Tate Moody, selfish bastard that he is—”
“Fine,” he said finally. “I get the picture. You win.”
He glanced over at Gina, who quickly looked away.
He closed the phone and handed it back to Mick Coyle. Without another word, he turned and walked out of the pilothouse. He put his forearms on the bow rail and looked out at the foaming waves below.
“Shit!” Despite the howl of the wind, they all heard it clearly.