Deceived (19 page)

Chapter forty-eight

Late morning sun flooded the living room, tickling Sam’s face, urging him to open tired eyes. Squinting, he saw Jenny and Molly on the porch, coffee mugs in hand. He was thankful they had rescued him from the hospital, and hopeful there was an extra cup of coffee.

Hobbling crutchless to the kitchen, Sam found a mug and joined the girls on the porch where he took in a majestic view of sky, surf, and sand cluttered by neon umbrellas and coolers.

“Morning.”

“Feeling better?” Molly piped up.

“A bit. My leg is still throbbing a little, but I’ll manage.”

“You sure you should be up without crutches?”

“They’re a pain in the butt. I’ll be fine.”

“Good.” Jenny dragged her gaze from the ocean’s gentle swells. “Then you cook breakfast. Molly, did you know Sam can cook?”

“I do declare!” Molly feigned surprise. “Another wonder.”

Sam smirked and hobbled back to the kitchen. Pulling eggs out of the fridge, he realized how hungry he was for some real food. Soon Jenny and Molly joined him in making and enjoying a huge breakfast.

As the last dish landed in the dishwasher, Jenny instructed Molly to help herself to something to wear, and she helped Sam find a clean shirt, along with giving him instructions to drop his dirty clothes in the bathroom hamper.

“Don’t know how you’re going to manage to get around on your boat. We’ll need to move it to a marina so you don’t have to row. Where is it?”

“The Causeway. The dinghy is supposed to be behind the restaurant near the dumpster. A Coast Guard friend left it there for me. And I’ll be all right, once I get aboard.”

“You are a stubborn cuss, aren’t you?” Jenny scolded. “Perhaps Molly could be helpful on your boat?”

Sam changed the subject. “Okay if I wear this one?” He pulled out a deep Navy blue T-shirt with Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute emblazed on the front.

“Sure. Take it. It was Lee’s favorite. His father went there, and they enjoyed going to a game every now and again when they visited in New York.”

“Oh, Jen, I didn’t know. I’ll find a different shirt.”

“It’s all right. Really.”

Sam pulled on the shirt and watched for Jenny’s reaction. He got a smile out of her.

“I need to fetch my truck. It’s still in Navassa.”

“It may not be in one piece anymore, Sam,” Molly interjected from the doorway.

“I know, but I still need to get it. I’d like to go check my boat first, though, if you don’t mind. Then we can head to Southport to get Lee’s Mustang and see about my truck.”

“That’s fine.” Jenny reached for her car keys. “Better grab your crutches. You may want them on your boat later.”

. . .

The dinghy was indeed where Hoops said it would be, leaning up against the dumpster behind the Causeway Restaurant. The trio struggled to get it to the bank of the river, but once it was on the slope, they managed it easily to the water’s edge, holding fast to the painter line while a limping Sam climbed in and snapped the oars in waiting locks.

“You may need these,” Molly cajoled him as she threw Sam’s crutches into the dinghy. “Maybe keep them for fishing sometime.”

“We’ll wait for you in the restaurant, Sam,” Jenny called as she walked back up the short bank to the diner.

“I won’t be long,” Sam answered, sitting in the dinghy, taking in the view of his boat between strokes.

A few strong pulls and Sam maneuvered the dinghy aft of
Angel
, bobbing patiently on her anchor. Sam reached for the stern-mounted ladder and tied the dinghy’s painter line; then he hoisted himself up the three steps of the boarding ladder to the deck.

Half-sitting and half-limping over the railing, Sam looked at the bank where Molly still stood. He could see she was shading her eyes, looking not toward Sam but another boat nearby.

Three steps forward to the edge of the cockpit, Sam saw the wooden boards were removed from the forward-facing hatch. Before he could turn around and get off the boat, a hand shot up through the open aft hatch, catching Sam’s ankle and tripping him. He fell face-forward into the cockpit, yelping when he hit the port-side locker with his left elbow.

From his prone position, Sam could hear Molly yelling something, but the coaming was so high from his vantage point that he couldn’t see her. Rolling on his back in an attempt to shake lose the hand that held fast, Sam’s nose brushed a hard metal barrel.

“Up. Slowly. There’s someone I want you to meet.” With eyes full of hate and a voice to match, Lisa casually waved at Molly on the shore from her place in the forward companionway. “Too bad your girlfriend didn’t come aboard. I was hoping to have a little conversation with her over her choice of friends.” Her gun was at Sam’s nose, hidden from view of the bank.

“I could say the same of you,” Sam said, slowly sitting up. His good leg was being held fast. He saw that the hand holding it was attached to Tripp, emerging from the aft cabin, quite pleased with himself.

Sam inched his way toward the cockpit slowly, feeling the constant pressure of Lisa’s gun in his face. Tripp let go of his leg, allowing him to sit up on his knees on the teak cockpit grates.

Lisa slowly sat on the bench nearest to Sam, revealing who stood silently behind her. Standing on the companionway stairs to the main salon and smiling at Sam was the loud-mouthed yachtie from Sam’s former marina.

“I don’t think we’ve ever been formally introduced. I’m Marcus Johnson.”

“As in Johnson’s Fishery?”

“Dear Old Dad,” called Tripp, nodding as he stepped behind Sam and pushed him forward toward the main salon.

“Or ‘Daddy,’ if you like,” Lisa chimed in.

“The same.” The Fat Man ignored his children and plowed ahead. “You have been a busy fellow. Tripp and Lisa have told me all about the gallery incident. And, of course, I know you have a penchant for wrecking boats and businesses.” His warped smile revealed gold-capped teeth. “
Sabrina
was my favorite boat, you know. I was surprised she could be destroyed so easily by an old hulk of a boat like the one you were on.” He sighed for emphasis. “Well, it’s time to put an end to all that mess.”

Sam noted the silencer on the end of Fat Man’s gun as he used it to motion Sam to come below.

“Let’s take him for a little ride, Dad. It’s too crowded here.” Tripp motioned at the waterway.

“Besides, I’m getting hot,” Lisa chimed in. “Let’s take a ride to someplace more…intimate in the air-conditioned boat.”

“Now, Lisa, dear, this will only take a moment,” soothed Fat Man, as if calming a toddler’s tantrum. “Then we’ll be on our way.”

“Dad, this old tub will sink if you start shooting,” agreed Tripp. “Let’s at least get far enough out so we can take care of him off the deck without any mess to clean. I’m so sick of cleaning up guts. Let’s take your boat.”

Like a statue, Tripp waited for his father’s orders. He seemed to Sam more like a teenager seeking parental approval than the leader of a drug ring.

Tripp only moved when Fat Man acquiesced with a nod and a short “Fine.”

Tripp yanked Sam’s shirt backward toward the aft deck. “You heard what he said. Let’s go.” Then turning to Fat Man: “We’ll meet you there, Dad.”

Sam climbed slowly back up to the aft deck, the one step seeming like Mount Everest in its height. He quickly scanned the bank for Molly, but he didn’t see her. To his other side, he watched Lisa and Fat Man dismount
Angel
into a waiting motorized inflatable tender. He hadn’t noticed the tender before from the angle he’d approached, but he saw it now as it raced toward a two-story yacht of blinding white.

Tripp pushed Sam down the aft ladder, nearly tumbling him into the bouncing dinghy. Then Tripp turned his back on Sam to hop down the ladder himself.

In a fleeting rush, Sam grabbed one of his crutches and slammed it into Tripp’s side, knocking him half off the ladder. Tripp regained his grip and pulled a gun on Sam from his higher vantage point.

“Try that again and I’ll take care of you right where you sit, just like I popped your partner.” Tripp carefully made his way into the little boat. Without looking away from Sam again, he untied the painter line with one hand. “Now row.” Tripp pointed to the gargantuan hull a few hundred feet forward of
Angel
.

Sam marveled at the gleaming gold lettering on the high transom:
Jezebel
. Named for Lisa, no doubt.

“Your father likes big toys, I see—to compensate for how little a man he really is beneath all that blubber, huh?” Sam took his time rowing, goading Tripp. “I guess he told you what you were doing was okay, didn’t he? He must tell you lots of things. Like how to run the business.”

“Shut up.”

“He’s the boss man, isn’t he? He’s calling the shots, and you’re just his little gopher. I see how this works. Must have been fun growing up with him as your guide.”

“Just row, Mouth.”

Sam didn’t let up. “Must piss you off that he loves Lisa more, doesn’t it? I mean, she’s getting all the glory, isn’t she? You’re just down here doing the dirty work. You know, if you had been smart, you would have alternated hotels where you met to take his orders. Then you wouldn’t have had to torch the place.” Sam was reaching. “But Dear Old Dad figured if anyone was going down, it wasn’t going to be him. That’s what he was stopping by to tell you, wasn’t it, the day I came to visit you at the fishery?”

“Just shut up! You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Oh, I think I do. You and Lisa slid over the side of
Seawitch
like a couple of cowards because you couldn’t handle the mess you’d made. What did you do—swim to this boat? Or perhaps to his house? Let me guess. He’s got a place on Bald Head Island, and you ran home to Daddy. You’re like a bully on a playground, and you gotta do it to show your old man you’re big enough for his affection.” Sam dropped the oar handles and waited. It didn’t take but a second.

“I said SHUT THE F—”

As he spoke, Tripp stood up to swing at Sam, but Sam was faster, whipping a crutch across Tripp’s face. Tripp’s gun flew into the water as he slumped over the inflatable side of the dinghy, his head landing in the brown silted river.

Pondering only for a second, Sam grabbed the painter line and tied Tripp’s hands behind his back and to the plank seat in the dinghy. Then he pulled Tripp’s head out of the water, smiling at the blood trickling down Tripp’s chin. “That’s for Lee, you slime bag.”

Sam picked up the oars and pulled the last two strokes to
Jezebel
. With the tip of an oar, he pushed Fat Man’s dinghy aside from the boat’s long ladder and used a bungee cord to secure the dinghy to
Jezebel’s
massive boarding ladder.

Peeking over the transom, Sam relaxed at what he saw. Fat Man was sprawled on the enormous deck, head cocked to one side and his tongue hanging from his bloody mouth. Lisa, down on her knees, was begging Molly not to shoot her with her own gun.

Sam labored over to Lisa. He yanked a plastic tie strap from the underside of an overstuffed yellow-striped cockpit cushion and fastened Lisa’s hands behind her to the pedestal of a large teak table.

Then Sam tenderly squatted in front of her. “I think I’ll let Chief Singleton take care of you from here. It’s not his
jurisdiction
, but I bet he and the local boys can work something out.”

Pulling himself up by the table, Sam entered the pilot house and called the Coast Guard to report the incident.

When Sam finished giving the particulars, he hobbled back to Molly, still frozen over Lisa. Sam noticed for the first time she was drenched.

“You want to tell me what happened?”

“I recognized his boat. This boat,” Molly said without emotion. “It’s the one I delivered to the fat one on Bald Head the night you and I met.”

“So you decided to go swimming again.”

“Yep. I made it over the transom just as I heard their dinghy motor revving up from the other side of your boat, so I hid in the pilot house. When the guy got close enough, I decked him.”

“Glass jaw?”

“Thankfully. Little Miss Lisa here was so surprised that she nearly threw her gun at me,” Molly added. “And here we are.”

“And here we are.” Sam inched closer, Molly’s strength and resolve apparent. Sirens wailed on the water and in the Causeway Restaurant’s parking lot. Sam saw Jenny waving from the shore.

Chapter forty-nine

“Sam-Man!”

“Hey, Hoops.” Sam stretched out on his cockpit cushion, measuring tape in one hand, phone in the other. “What’s up?”

“Just wanted to check on you. I got the full report here, so you can come by next time you’re in town.”

“Thanks, Hoops. I’ll get it when I can. I’m car-less right now. Mine was trashed in Navassa.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I thought I might go sailing. I’ve taken a leave of duty since the investigation is over. Now that August is here, I thought maybe I’d finally head up to Norfolk. My son’s stationed there, and it’s been a while since we had a chance to visit.”

“Too bad he’s not stationed here with me. Then you could come see him anytime you wanted.” Hoops was sincere.

“Yeah. Actually, I think I’m ready for a break from the beach. Things have been a little nutty.”

“I hear ya, Sam-Man. Listen; we’re having our end-of-summer barbeque tonight. Can you come?”

“Sounds good to me, Hoops. I need to say goodbye to a few friends, anyway. Can I call you later if I need a ride? I already sold my truck.”

“Sure. You call, I’ll be there to get you. Take care.”

“You too. And Hoops? Thanks for your help in all of this. I owe you one.”

“Fine. You can bring the steaks.”

“Fair enough.”

Sam got back to his measuring. This last cockpit cushion was giving him fits because its tattered cover was shredded beyond recognition. He had had to strip what was left of it and make a new pattern before he could make a new cover for it. This time, Sam chose a smart blue, green, and white striped fabric. Matching the strips at the corners was harder than he thought it would be. Anxious to finish his project, Sam wanted to return Jenny’s sewing machine and her inverter charger this morning when she came to pick him up.

Jenny had eagerly agreed to run Sam around, collecting supplies for his cruise, and Sam was pleased to give her something to focus on this week. Now that the investigation into Carolina Beach’s police force was over, Sam sensed Jenny’s adrenaline waning. He watched her grow pensive, so he came up with a list of things he “needed her help” with, and it seemed to be working. Today was her last trip to the Causeway moorings to fetch him and run him around.

Looking up from his frustrations, Sam saw the Acapulco blue Mustang pull into the Causeway Restaurant’s parking lot. He brightened when he recognized Molly in the passenger seat.

Rowing to the bank with the sewing machine safely between his feet, Sam played what-ifs in his head. His desire was clear, but the path to it was not.

“Thanks for the ride, Jen. Hi, Molly. Long time no see.”

“I’ve been busy.” Molly looked down at her red Keds. “Been working on
Hullabaloo
.”

“How’s it coming?”

“She’s up, but she’s a mess. Hoops pulled some strings for me and reported her as a hazard to navigation. My buddies own a boat small enough to get into the shallow waters, but big enough to have some mega-compressors. We filled her with giant balloons to get her up, then pumped her dry and towed her back to Boat Works in Wilmington. It’s going to take some doing, but I’ll get her going again. My friends are taking pity on me and doing the work at a greatly reduced rate. I’ll have to deliver a few boats to pay for her, but since a lot of snowbirds get tired of cruising once they finish the islands, I’ll have work bringing their boats home again.”

Sam took it in for a second. “So you don’t have time to take a sail?”

“Not really. I’ve got three boats lined up over the next six weeks. I caught a break today because I…. Well, I wanted to come and give you a special blessing before you started your trip.”

Sam put the sewing machine into the trunk and got into the backseat as Molly blessed his boat first and then him.

“May the sun always be shining, a fair wind at your back, and the waves kind as you sail to…where are you going?”

“Norfolk. To see my son.”

“Right. As you sail to Norfolk and beyond for new adventures untold.”

“Thanks. That sounds vaguely familiar.”

“It’s a variation of an old Irish blessing,” Jenny chimed in. “Lee used to paraphrase it before we set sail every weekend.” She smiled as she drove. “Where are we heading?”

“West Marine. I need to get oil and a filter. Then to the grocery store, if you don’t mind. Thanks for running me around today.”

“I’m happy to do it. When do you think you’ll leave?”

“I was going to leave tomorrow, but Hoops called. He’s having his famous ‘Summer’s Over’ party tonight, so starting tomorrow may be a little rough. You two should come to the barbeque, too.”

“Of course we’ll come,” Jenny answered for Molly, who sat, unusually quiet, in the front seat.

“Just let us know when. Molly’s staying with me until her boat is habitable again. Frankly, I’m happy to have the company. A party would be fun.”

Sam’s phone rang. It was Dan Singleton.

“Sam, I thought you might like to know. Tripp Johnson finally broke. They hadn’t planned to dive from the boat so soon. Tripp said
Seawitch
was rigged to blow up when they were farther away from the coast. They were going to let Mike and Andy roast, if you can believe that! Molly and Jenny would have been unfortunate additions to the barbeque, but that didn’t seem to bother Tripp too much. What did make him mad was how you spoiled their little party. We got ’em right up to Commissioner Martin. He’s none too happy about our discovery, but that’s his problem, now. Thanks for your help in breaking the case.”

“Glad to do my part. Did you get my letter?”

“Yeah, I passed it along to the new guy. He wasn’t happy about losing you, but I think having Chuck back made it a little easier.”

“How is Chuck handling things?”

“He seems resolved. He got a promotion, you know. About the time I was leaving, he started piecing the case together for the D.A. He’s still pretty mad at me because of, well, you know, my fling with Lisa. I hope he’ll get over it, though. I really didn’t mean to hurt him.”

“I hear ya. Affairs are never meant to hurt anyone. But in the long run, we just end up hurting ourselves.” Sam took in his own words, letting each one sink deeper than a weighted fishing hook. “Give him my best next time you see him. You heading back to the mountains?”

“Yeah. I just came down to close on the house here. We got a little place, a cottage, my wife calls it, so we’ll be fixing it up to storybook standards for a while, I suppose. It’s a little cooler in Blowing Rock. If you feel the need to get away from the water some time, come visit.”

“Thanks. I will.”

Sam relayed what little news Dan Singleton had to offer, hoping Jenny and Molly wouldn’t mind revisiting their ordeal.

Molly smiled. “May a million fire ants infest Tripp’s cell as he sleeps naked on the ground.”

Jenny and Sam cheered.