Feta Attraction (25 page)

“Hey, Georgie, you're back! Did you find it?” He spun around in the chair and his face froze. “Brian!?”

“Uncle Jack?”

TWENTY-SIX

I looked behind me. There was the tall gangly kid who had kidnapped me. He was rubbing his head.

“Get in here right now!” Jack ordered. The boy lifted his chin in defiance. “Brian, move it!” He gave in, probably from force of habit being raised in a military family, and stepped into the interior of the cabin. “Take off that stupid wig and get over here.” He stood up. Brian moved closer. Jack took a step toward him and wrapped him in a bear hug. “You dope! What the hell are you doing? I've been worried sick about you!”

Brian hung his head. “I'm sorry, Uncle Jack.”

“Sorry doesn't cut it. Why haven't you called me? What are you doing mixed up in this mess?”

“I heard about the Acres and I thought it sounded like a nice place to go, you know, to get my head together after Dad died.” His voice faltered and when it returned, it was just above a whisper. “Then they offered me this extra job, you know, loading the barrels.”

“Do you know what's in the barrels?” Jack's voice was wary.

“I know they're damn heavy!” He turned to me. “Sorry, ma'am.” He tapped his foot nervously. “But the barrels were all sealed up, so no, I don't know what's in 'em. They just asked me to move them from the veggie truck onto this ship last night.”

Last night? The ship just sailed over from Canada a few hours ago; I'd seen it from the park.

As if he'd read my mind, he continued. “I guess they brought it over in the middle of the night, and then I came down and helped load it up. Then they sailed it back across, and came back again this morning.”

I believed, or wanted to believe, that he hadn't known what he was doing. But Jack could deal with him and decide whether to turn him in to the police.

Up ahead white smoke billowed from the smokestacks at the aluminum plants at Massena. Jack pushed a button on the console and spoke up. “Harbormaster, this is Captain Jack Conway from the Coast Guard.”

“Roger that.” The voice was staticky but understandable. “Captain Jack? Are you kidding?” I thought I heard a snicker.

Jack ignored the remark. “Harbormaster, I've recovered the tall ship stolen from Bonaparte Bay. I've called the Coast Guard station and they are sending a team to secure the ship and its cargo. I'll need a deep water mooring, so I'll be anchoring offshore, not at the docks. Please clear the area so the team can do their work.”

“Roger, will do.”

“And call the state police and have them send a couple of cars. I've got some people on board they'll be interested in.”

I glanced over at Brian. His head jerked up and he cut his eyes to Jack.

Jack shut down the engine and the heavy anchor scraped the bottom of the St. Lawrence. The ship glided to a gradual stop about a hundred yards offshore.

“Georgie, this is where you get off.”

“Huh?”

“I'm going to need to stay here and get things cleared up.”

“What am I supposed to do?” I hadn't thought this far ahead. How was I going to get home? It wasn't like there was any kind of regularly running public transportation in the North Country, and we were at least fifty miles from the Bay.

“Do you have somebody you can call to come and get you?” Jack asked.

I considered. Keith, still tied up and unconscious in the corner of the cabin, was certainly out of the question. Sophie wouldn't drive this far and Dolly would be busy at the restaurant. It would take Liza too long to get here, and I wouldn't want to take her away from the island in the middle of the day. Russ? No, I wouldn't be asking him for any more favors. I wondered what was happening at home and felt an overpowering urge to get there as soon as I could.

“I'll find a ride. You do what you need to do here.”

He stood up and came closer to me. “You are an amazing woman—you know that?” He put his arms around me in a protective hug and then pulled back enough to look down at me.

I screwed up my courage and looked up into his face. He pushed my hair back over one shoulder and bent down. His lips were on mine, his kiss soft and warm. I closed my eyes and let him kiss me. And then I kissed him back.
I could get used to this,
I thought.
I'd like to get used to this
.

*   *   *

We launched a small rowboat over the side. I climbed down the rope ladder and into the craft. I clipped on a life jacket and reached for the oars. “Wait, Georgie,” Jack called out. “Brian, row her over to shore and wait for me. Find something to do, because I'm going to be a while, but you'd better be there when I come ashore.”

“Okay, Uncle Jack.” He boarded the little boat and took the oars. Deep fatigue settled into my bones and I fought to keep my eyes open. I had already decided I wouldn't be pressing charges against this boy for kidnapping me, but I had a feeling that Jack was going to hold him accountable for his actions. I hoped he'd be able to avoid a criminal record.

The thought stopped me cold. I hoped
I'd
be able to avoid a criminal record. We had Big Dom's killer, so I would be cleared of that suspicion, but there was still the matter of my having done some breaking and entering. Oh, yeah, and ditching a State Trooper. At least he didn't know about the bag of dope and that jug of maple syrup Inky had.

We pulled up to shore and I climbed up onto the wooden docks. Brian tied off the pram and followed me. I unfastened my life vest and dropped it down into the little boat, where it landed with a soft thud. Brian took his vest with him, laid it down on the end of a park bench in front of the harbormaster's office, and put his head on it, curling his long legs up onto the wooden slats. He closed his eyes and it looked like he intended to sleep until Jack came back to deliver his punishment, whatever that would be. Couldn't say I blamed him. I'd been up for a lot of hours, and I'd love to go to sleep myself.

“Sorry,” he said to me. “I'm so sorry.”

“Thanks, Brian. I hope your head's all right.”

He mumbled something and shifted on the bench before settling into sleep.

I headed toward an official-looking building. The entire wall facing the water was plate glass. Bright blue lights whirled on top of police cruisers beyond in the parking lot. Sirens screamed in the distance. I wondered how long it would take Channel 7 to get a news crew here from Watertown. They'd have to hustle since it was at least a sixty-mile drive. I opened the glass doors of the harbormaster's office, intending to ask to use a telephone to call a cab, which was going to cost me a fortune.

“Hello, Georgie,” a sickeningly familiar voice drawled. I would have spun on my heel and walked out if I thought I could have gotten away with it. As I turned around, my nervous face was reflected in the mirrored sunglasses of my favorite State Trooper.

A lump formed in my throat, but I swallowed it down. “Hello,” I squeaked. I cleared my throat.

“Nice to see you again.” The voice was deep and scary, just like I remembered it. He could have a nice second career doing voice-overs for horror movies.

“Uh, you too.” Damn! I was destined to spend the night in the county lockup. I just knew it. No, wait. Liza would come and bail me out. I was cheered by that thought, anyway.

Detective Hawthorne lowered his chin and peered at me over the tops of his glasses. He had big dark eyes that showed no emotion at all, fringed with extra-long eyelashes. Such a waste on a guy. “Need a ride home?” he asked.

“Er, well, yes, I do, as a matter of fact. I don't have my cell phone, so I was just about to borrow one from somebody here.”

“Who were you going to call? Your colorful friend? Maybe you could stop for Chinese food on the way home,” he suggested drily. “How about I give you a ride, and you and I can have a little chat?” It didn't sound like a request, more like an order.

“Sure, that would be nice.” I hoped I sounded sincere. My heart was pounding. I summoned up a smile and followed him to the parking lot, where he opened the back door of his unmarked cruiser. He spared me the indignity of pressing my head down with his hand as I got into the car. Even better, he hadn't cuffed me and the news crew hadn't arrived yet.

Once inside, I had to admit this was sort of interesting. Embarrassing and terrifying, but interesting. I'd always wondered what it was like in the back of a police car, and here I was, staring at the pattern made by the metal mesh screen separating me from the detective. I hoped nobody I knew saw me. Fat chance of that, I thought ruefully. Living in the North Country is like living in a reality television show where anybody can just tune in to your life anytime, then discuss it around the watercooler. Sophie would have heard about this before we even left the Massena town limits.

We drove back along the river toward the Bay, the Trooper lecturing me all the way. It was all I could do to stay awake, between the drone of his voice, the lull of the asphalt, and the fact that I hadn't slept in more than twenty-four hours. I pressed a fingernail into my palm, then jerked myself awake with the pain. A livid crescent appeared where I'd inflicted the wound, and I shook my hand to dissipate the ache. It hurt, but at least I was awake. Until I dozed off again.

Finally we pulled into the parking lot of the Bonaparte House. Wait. The restaurant? He wasn't taking me to jail? I should have been paying more attention to his monologue on the way home. Maybe I could have saved myself some needless worrying.

“. . . so don't leave town. This investigation is going to take a while, and I'm going to want to talk to you. Sorry I had to make you ride in the back, but it's procedure.” Relief washed over me as he exited the car and came around to open my door. He offered me a hand and I pulled myself out into the open air. “I'll be in touch soon.”

I should tell him about Russ, but decided to keep it to myself for now. “Sure. I'm not going anywhere.”

“Keep it that way.” He got back in the car and peeled out, kicking up gravel as he left the parking lot.

I stood there for a moment, steeling myself. I breathed deep and long, relaxed my shoulders, and walked into the Bonaparte House.

*   *   *

Sophie wheeled around when she heard the screen door open. “Where you been?!” she demanded. “You don't look so good.”

Yeah, I was aware of that.

“How come you didn't tell me you got a prisoner upstairs?” Dolly. She must have spilled the beans. Well, I guessed I couldn't blame her. I'd been away for hours.

“I didn't think I'd be gone so long.”

“How much are we gonna have to pay Brenda to be the warden? How come there's a very jingly guy in my son's room?” she continued. “He looks like a junkyard, all that metal.”

“That's Inky.” God, I did not want to have to be the one to explain this situation to her.

“Is that Spiro's . . . friend?”

Of course she would know already. I sighed. “Yes, that's Inky. He's a very nice guy. You'll like him when you get to know him.”

She grabbed my arm and whispered to me, “You're not gonna leave me too, are you?”

I looked into her face, suddenly old, and saw the fear. She understood, either overtly or intuitively, as did I, that something was different about the relationship between Inky and Spiro. Something permanent. Something that might make him want to make a life somewhere else. I made a decision. “No, Sophie. I'm not going to leave you. I love you, and I love the restaurant, and this is my home.”

She patted my arm. I gave her a spontaneous hug. We weren't usually affectionate with each other and she stiffened, but then hugged me back.

A muffled crash came from the direction of the spiral staircase and we both looked toward it. I broke into a run, Sophie close behind me, faster than any senior citizen I'd ever seen.

Around and around, up the spiral staircase we ran until we reached the cupola. Dolly had heard the crash too and came puffing up behind us, her huge gold pendant swinging from side to side. Her smoker's breath was ragged as she met up with us, but her great nest of hair was still high and perfect.