Death of a Hot Chick (12 page)

“
His eyes. Remember them from the
first time. He doesn’t look at you straight. He keeps looking
everyplace else. Shifty. Like he wants to see what’s behind you.
Can’t trust a guy like that.”

“
I know what you mean.” Lizzie was
right. Shifty eyes and he kept coming back. Bad combination.
Creepy. But what could he do?

After Lizzie left, I didn’t grab my cleaning
rags immediately. I pulled Nicole’s note out of my pocket, smoothed
it between both hands.

“
Nicole, are you here?”

There was no answer—no voice coming from a
pile of rags in the corner, no white-blonde hair falling over a
smiling face.

“
Were you here? Did you see the man
with the shifty eyes?”

Still no answer.

“
Were you in the garden with us this
morning? Did you hear Kaye talk trees?” I stood, walked around the
boat’s interior. Searched the V-berth, poked into hanging lockers.
Maybe I needed another topic, one Nicole really cared about. “Kaye
is still trying to find out about your father and his charity. Do
you remember, you asked her to do that. It’s all about
boats.”

But Nicole didn’t appear, didn’t answer.

I muttered, “Do you hide out when I don’t
see you? Do you sleep? Do ghosts sleep? Are you somewhere else? Are
you gone for good?”

There were no ghosts. I whispered, “I don’t
think that was really Nicole. Some imposter ghost came in her
place.” Aloud, I continued. “Nicole was a take-charge kind of
woman. She knew things. She remembered.” Then I stood and shouted.
“Whoever you are, you’re a fake. You aren’t Nicole. Who are
you?”

No, there was no Nicole. No ghost at all.
There never was. It was only my imagination. If it had been Nicole,
she’d have known the answer to all those questions. I took Nicole’s
note and crumpled it in my fist.

Suddenly, the boat shuddered. Everything
loose flew. Waves—huge waves. Wind. Thunder and lightning. Where
did the storm come from? I bounded to a port, ricocheting off the
bulkhead. I grabbed a hand rail on the ceiling and looked out.

Sunshine. Masts standing straight without a
wiggle.

Oh.... I grabbed the paper, smoothed it out.
I whispered, “I didn’t mean it, Nicole. I didn’t mean it.”

Chapter 9

Nicole wasn’t watching. She wasn’t perched
on the edge of the sink or reclining in the corner. She hadn’t
shaken the boat and scared me half to death. She was nowhere,
invisible, dead. I was only scrubbing all surfaces of the engine
because Wes had left greasy spots.

Okay, so she freaked me out. Maybe, I
had started that scrubbing to prove something to Nicole. Some
little corner of my mind had piped up.
See,
Nicole? I’m taking care of your boat. Don’t worry. It’s all under
control
. Make that some illogical corner of my mind. I
moved my bucket and wiped splashes away.

“
Ahoy, the boat,” I heard. “Permission
to come aboard.”

“
Hey, Finley! You found me,” I yelled
back.
Ghost, be gone, I thought.
I stood and realized it was almost dark. Time had slipped
away. I tossed my rag into the bucket and went to greet my
visitor.

“
I come bearing gifts,” my old sailing
buddy said, as she struggled with an armful. She had a large pizza
box, with a six pack of beer perched on top.

“
Wow!” I said and grabbed the beer
before she lost it overboard.

“
One half sausage, mushrooms, and
extra cheese. The other half pepperoni, onions, and olives. Isn’t
that what we used to get?”

“
I can’t believe you remembered that.
I didn’t know I was so hungry,” I said. “Let me close up the engine
and wash my hands.”

“
This gotta be eaten before the pizza
gets cold and the beer gets hot.”

That was Finley, all right. She was
refreshing, a real person, after an afternoon spent with thoughts
of ghosts. I replaced the floor panel that covered the engine and
pulled out the folding table. “The dishes are in the locker over
the settee, if you want to get them out.”

Which, being Finley, she didn’t. I scrubbed
the worst of the scum off my hands and turned to see two beers
open, and the pizza box gaping. Finley sat, scarfing down pizza. I
grabbed a piece.

“
Glad to see your fingernails are
still dirty,” Finley said. “Didn’t sound like you, washing your
hands first.”

“
I’ve got one word. Oil.”

Finley took a long drink of beer. “Yeah, oil
does spoil the taste,” she said as she helped herself to another
piece of pizza. “Can’t remember. Which was your favorite side?”

“
Mushrooms over olives any day. But I
can handle either.” The memory of other pizzas came back as we ate
in comfortable silence, punctured only with chomping, gulping, and
an occasional, “Yum.” My third slice of pizza was history. I sipped
my beer, then put it down. I was stuffed. “So what are you doing
now? Beside visiting the wannabes at class?”

Finley reached for another slice. “Great
gig. I’m running the tourist boat that does dinner cruises two or
three times a week. Lunch cruise today. They’ve got people to do
the spiel, serve the food, entertain, and—they feed me. I just
drive the boat.” Finley chomped into her pizza.

“
Where do you take them?” I asked. But
Finley was engrossed in mid-swallow. I finished my beer and opened
the second, although I didn’t want it. I was remembering how it was
with Finley.

After she popped the top on her third beer,
Finley looked around the little boat. “See you got her cleaned
up.”

“
Were you on board before?”

“
No. Nicole told me. But I figured,
you’d have her torn up again.”

I twisted my full beer can. “Why?”

“
For the loot, of course.”

“
Oh, you heard that rumor about,
what’s his name? Pop? And his hidden stuff? Nope. I’m just trying
to get her cleaned up. And keep her cleaned up. Somebody got inside
the other day and messed it all up again.”

Finley helped herself to more pizza. “So,
why didn’t you keep up with your license?”

“
The husband from hell didn’t want me
to. I was still in love.”

“
Cyd, you gotta pick ’em better. How
’bout the other guy you dated. He’s got a bunch of boats now.
Shoulda picked him.”

“
No. He’s a....” Suddenly, I realized
I didn’t want to tell Finley about Gregory the alcoholic. “Just
didn’t work out.” I sat, twisting my beer can and watching Finley
eat.

The pizza was cooling, but she finished
every bite. She was a big gal. She needed big food. Then she
giggled, which was another thing I remembered. After a few beers,
she giggled.

Finley leaned back, did her on-purpose burp,
and asked, “Who was it? You know?”

“
Who was what?”

“
The stinko who broke into your
boat.”

“
Some guy. And he was back today while
I was gone.”

“
Don’t worry about him.”

“
Why not?”

Finley didn’t answer at first, just kept
chugging her beer. She poked her forehead with a tomato
sauce-stained finger. “Steel trap.” She grabbed the last beer.
“Gotta finish this beer. If you don’t, it’ll go stinko. Was cold,
you know.”

“
No. That’s mine.”

But Finley didn’t relinquish the last beer
standing. “Don’t go goody-two-shoes on me. You din’t hardly touch
that one you got sittin’ in front a you.”

I remembered Finley liked her beer back
then. But that much? Would it work to keep her talking? “So why
shouldn’t I worry about the guy who broke in?”

“
He ain’t gonna find a damn
thing.”

There wasn’t much I could do. I remembered
Gregory when he was drinking. Keep him busy, I’d thought. Trick
him. Nothing worked. “Hey, Finley, what did you say about loot?
About not worrying about that guy who broke in? Why not?”

“
He’d shit his pants if he knew what I
know.” Finley squished her empty can. “Hey, it’s hot in here. Le’s
go outside.”

“
Great idea.”

Finley was already out the door. A bit of
air might do her some good. I upended my full can of beer in the
sink and followed Finley who was meandering down the dock.

“
Want to walk down the road a
ways?”

“
Lookin’ for the place.”

“
What place?”

“
Where she bought it.”

Finley had to mean Nicole. “I found her over
that way. Just off the marina property.”

“
Show me.”

“
Okay.” I led the way. “Right
here.”

“
You mean, layin’ in the
dirt?”

“
No. She was in a boat cart. All wet.
Drowned, I suppose.”

Finley stood at the water’s edge, staring at
something only she could see. Suddenly she stooped, dipped her
hands in the water, then lifted her palms close to her face. “I had
to see.” She stood, wiped her hands on her jeans, and turned to me.
“Hey, s’been great. Get together agin. Gonna leave now.”

“
Leave now?” She was in no shape to
drive.

“
Ya bet. Can’t take the... sleepy.
Ain’t that a kick.”

“
Pajama party time,” I said. “I’ve got
plenty of room. Stay overnight.”

“
Yeah?”

“
Sure. We can talk some more.” I took
a few steps and Finley fell in with me, nodding.

Once inside
Snapdragon
, Finley plunked down on the settee.
“Yeah, kid, watchin’ out for yer ole buddy. Bit woozy. Just
sleepy.”

We talked for an hour, maybe more. Finley
got a bit more lucid, but every time she headed for the door, I
decided, not yet. I think I pulled out every memory of our past
together, and a few that I made up as I went along. She didn’t
notice. In fact, after a while I was talking to myself, and she was
asleep. I’d never done that with Gregory, I’d booted him out, never
worrying, until the time he drove into a tree with me sitting
beside him. After that, I quit him cold. It’s a wonder he didn’t
kill himself.

I covered Finley, grabbed Nicole’s note, and
went forward. I could have worked an hour, maybe two longer.
Instead, I curled up on the V-berth, fondled the piece of paper,
and had a mental, one-way conversation.

“
What’s going on Nicole?”

There was no answer, but suddenly I
remembered something Finley said. She’d known about the boat. She
must have known Nicole—like they were good friends.

“
What’s with you and Finley?” I asked.
“And why did Finley come see me in the first place? Just to see
where you died?”

~
~

Monday, July 24

During the night, Finley had
disappeared. Her car was gone, I noted on my way to the marina
head. She must have been fit to drive. On my way back to
Snapdragon
, I looked longingly at the
ship’s store. I needed more of everything, but couldn’t afford it,
not yet. Still, I stopped in. Wes was there.

“
Do you know a man, about five foot,
eight, brown hair, wears shaggy clothes, maybe around my age or a
bit older?” I asked.

“
Sure. Half the population of Smith
Harbor.”

“
He’s the guy who was in my boat the
other day. He came back yesterday according to Lizzie.”

“
Free country.”

“
Lizzie said she’s seen him around and
you might know him.”

“
Nope.”

I gave up. Wes wasn’t trying, and he wasn’t
about to. “Okay. Got any jobs I could do?” I asked.

“
Nope.” He headed for the back of the
shop.

“
Got any jobs at all?”

“
Sure,” he said, his voice dwindling
as he walked. “Install an engine. Check out a leaking holding tank.
Pull three boats for bottom paint and another for a survey. Replace
a binnacle. Clean, lubricate, and reassemble a windlass.” Before he
disappeared out the back door, he turned. “Nope, nothing at
all.”

I headed for
Snapdragon
. As I stepped aboard, I heard the
screeching brakes and flying gravel that signaled someone in a
hurry. I unlocked my door and turned to see a parade of police
headed my way. Okay, maybe parade wasn't the most accurate word,
but that’s the way it made me feel. Two police persons approached,
with my old friend, Officer Doug Yarnell in the lead, and a new
face behind him. This one was a woman, a young woman, possibly
Hispanic or African-American. With a sinking feeling in my
mid-section, I watched the pair approach. Officer Yarnell, his
blues in no way disguising his all-American vanilla complexion,
slowed and allowed the woman behind him to take the lead. She was
his opposite, dark hair, tan skin, with an exceedingly pleasant
face disfigured by a nasty scowl.

“
Cyd Denlinger?” she asked.

“
Yes, I’m still Cyd Denlinger, as
Officer Yarnell could tell you,” I answered.

“
I understand you claim to have the
title to this vessel. However, it was not in your possession when
you made that claim. May we see it now?”

“
You can see a copy. The original is
in a safe-deposit box.”

“
Then show us the copy,” she said. “We
have orders to force you to leave, actually, but, the police chief
agrees that only the legal owner has authority to request such an
order, and if you are that person, the order will be
vacated.”