For too many minutes, we went back and forth like that before my mother finally conceded that Ransler had called that afternoon to see how she was getting along, and also with more questions about the late Rosanna Helms. The special prosecutor had covered more ground than that, though, I could tell by Loretta’s evasive manner.
“Did he ask about me, or how much you donated to that charity, Fisherfolk?” I pressed, which only caused more turmoil, so I gave up and waited on the porch until the deputy was finished searching.
“I didn’t see anyone, didn’t find any tracks, nothing,” the deputy said but wrote his cell number on a card. We talked for a while longer, then he returned to his car.
I got Loretta in bed, checked to make sure the doors were locked behind me, then walked to the dock, undecided about what to do next. It was midnight. Should I wait until mother had quieted, then return to my office apartment? I dreaded the thought of that, but the option of sleeping in my old bedroom was even less inviting. I hadn’t had what you’d call an unhappy childhood, but my years in Loretta’s house hadn’t allowed me much freedom, nor had I enjoyed the confidence I now felt. At night, my old room brought back memories of self-doubt and nervousness I didn’t care to revisit. On the other hand, I had to be up before sunrise to catch bait for my charter. Only six hours between then and now.
On the dock, shepherd’s-crook lamps cast yellow pools along the decking and showed the silhouette of the boat that would be my new home. I had yet to spend a night in the snug little cabin. My first night aboard, I had decided, should be a celebration of sorts, so I wanted all the work to be finished, everything clean and tidy, and my personal things stored where they belonged. Tonight, however, it seemed okay to postpone the celebration and get some sleep. I found a sleeping bag in the house, a toothbrush, a robe and a towel, and carried all that, plus my bag, down to the boat. The Marlow had no running water, but there was a hose on the dock and an extension cord for electrical power from shore.
I was below in the cabin, getting the V-berth ready, when I remembered I hadn’t received a reply from Birdy. It was twelve-fifteen, but I sent a text anyway: Make it home? I finished making the bed, brushed my teeth, then switched off the dock lights, yet my phone remained silent.
THIRTY MINUTES LATER, I was still awake, fretting about my new friend among other things, when I heard what sounded like footsteps on the dock. I sat up in the darkness and listened. Uncle Jake had built the dock as solid as stone, but all decking vibrates beneath the weight of an adult even if that adult is taking slow, methodical steps, and that’s what I was hearing-no, what I was feeling. The steady thump-thump-thump of what might be someone walking toward me, being extra careful because the moon was covered by clouds and the deck was hard to see. From the mild vibration, I guessed it was either an average person already close to my boat or a large person who had just mounted the dock from the mangroves.
Dear lord, what if it was Levi, carrying a hammer-or worse!
I grabbed my robe and put it on while continuing to listen. The wind had freshened, and I began to wonder if the steady thumping might be caused by a bumper or a floating log banging against a piling. Or raccoons-they loved ambushing crabs from the dock at night. Whatever or whoever it was, I wasn’t going to sit there like a tethered goat and wait for something to happen. I had to unlock the cabin door and take a look.
Rather than alert my visitor, I left the lights off and felt my way soundlessly toward the companionway steps. I’d done so much sanding, painting, and buffing inside the cabin, my feet knew the interior from memory. What I’d forgotten was a box of heavy plumbing hardware that was sticking out of the entrance to the shower. In midstride, I kicked the thing and stubbed my toe so hard that I wanted to cry. When the box banged off my other foot, I threw out my hands to catch myself but pulled down a tray of tools instead. Wrenches and ratchet heads made a thunderous clatter when they hit the teak deck below.
Shit! Son of a bitch! I couldn’t help myself from saying it because my toe was throbbing, and I had also probably damaged my polished flooring, too. No point in trying to surprise anyone now, not after so much noise. So I limped over and switched on the cabin lights, then the aft deck lights. Scattered near my bleeding toenail was a host of tools to choose from as a weapon. I selected a small pry bar, then unlocked the door and poked my head out, calling, “Who’s there!”
I’d been wrong about raccoons and floating logs. It was a person, a person walking toward me: a tall gray shape in the moonlight. It slowed when I called out, then stopped midway between the shore and my boat. I felt my breath catch. The person’s head was cloaked in something-a sun mask, possibly-and he was tall enough to convince me it was either Levi or the man who had come at me with an axe-or one in the same.
I yelled, “I’ve got a gun!” then ducked back into the cabin, intending to lock the door and arm the pistol before calling for help on my cell. I’d been uneasy about bringing the weapon aboard but was glad I had it now… or was until I heard the person reply.
“Redneck trash with a gun. Why am I not surprised?” It was a woman’s voice; a deep voice with an edge that threatened hysteria or rage, both extremes within easy reach if needed. It was Alice Candor, who then demanded, “Come out of there! I knew this was going to happen!”
I had been so scared, it took me a moment to stop hyperventilating and to understand the situation. My brain spun through the details, then latched onto the most important: a woman I had never met, trespassing on my dock after midnight, was calling me names and yelling orders as if I was some lowlife peon or one of her prison inmate patients.
I wasn’t scared now. I was mad. So mad, in fact, I didn’t trust myself with a pry bar, so I left it on the counter before I pushed open the cabin door and stepped out onto the deck. It wasn’t easy to disguise my limp, but I tried.
Candor was still yelling, “This area is trashy enough without people on boats polluting my view. This is the last warning you’re going to get!”
She had come a few steps closer, weaving a little as if drunk. The cloudy blue moon was above us, but I could see she was wearing one of her flowing caftans, plus a scarf or hood on this cool spring night-a woman who was as tall or taller than me, so it was no wonder I had feared the worst. I was furious but managed to sound in control when I replied, “Is this the way you behaved before they ran you out of Ohio? No wonder! If you’re going to call names, have the courage to do it face-to-face.”
“Ran me out of-?” The woman caught herself, stunned for a moment, but rallied fast. “Why, you pathetic little bitch! You don’t know what you’re talking about and you’re not smart enough to understand. I’ll tell you this, though: spread rumors about me, my attorneys will have you in court so fast, I’ll own that goddamn boat before you know what hit you. Then I’ll-”
“Making threats from a distance is as trashy as it gets,” I tried to interrupt, but Alice Candor talked over me, her voice suddenly shrill.
“Don’t you threaten me! I’ll take that shack your mother calls a house, too! The whole goddamn area needs to be leveled, that’s what I think. And I’ll start with you!”
I was losing control. “Get out of here. You’re trespassing!”
“Not for long!” the woman laughed. “You’ll see! Call the police, go ahead. It’s illegal to live on a boat. Once they radio in, you’re the one who’s leaving, not me. I’ve already filed papers against your mother-the old bitch needs to be committed. Dementia, senility, a threat to the public good-classic symptoms. A colleague of mine is willing to sign the papers. I know how the system works, sweetie!”