Molly pinned him with her eyes, the way she did with a customer bearing a questionable ID. “That’s why people mark them.” She could smell her own lavender essential oil, and she knew he must too.
He took hold of her arm. “We’ll discuss this at break.” He whispered in spite of the din of the others warming up. He leaned close to her ear. “On my boat.”
Her heart did a soft shoe to the tune of “(I’d Like to Get You on a) Slow Boat to China.”
The group had barely finished their opening song, “All of Me,” when Sue tapped Molly’s freckled arm. “What’s going on with you and Rudy Carmona?”
“I’m going on his boat at coffee break.”
“You?” Susanna’s eyes stretched wide. “And Rudy?”
“Want to chaperone?”
“You can’t be serious!”
“If we’re not back for the second set, call me.” Molly followed the band into “I’m in the Mood for Love,” but her friend could only stare.
Rudy’s sailboat, the Karma II, occupied a middle berth on N dock. The dock gate clanked shut behind them and they started down the slippery composite, which had replaced the old wood after the 2011 tsunami. The dock still creaked and swayed.
Rudy offered an arm to help her into his craft.
“Should we go below deck?” she asked. This was his secret lair, maybe all the money mounded on a table — his bed right next to it. She was shaking.
Rudy, who hadn’t said one word since they opened the gate, shook his head and led her to two beach chairs at the stern. Their brightly striped fiesta pattern surprised her.
“Sit.”
Molly settled into the low-slung canvas.
Rudy crossed his strong arms over his chest. He stared off at the view of the Crow’s Nest, a two-story watering hole on the side of the harbor mouth. A seal arced out of the water, took an airy breath, and swooshed back down, leaving a small ripple.
“So where’s your old case?” she asked.
“Gave it to Goodwill.”
“And a man ‘about fifty, height about 5'0", weight about 170,’ happened to buy it?”
“Get down to business,” he hissed.
She touched her lower lip. “We’d make a great team.”
“You better tell me what’s going on here.” Susanna had taken her chair and sounded even more bossy than usual.
Molly shook her curls.
“Where’s Rudy?”
“I left him winded.”
Sue’s thin eyebrows tried to fly up, but Botox froze them in place.
“Don’t get excited.” Molly smiled to know something Susanna didn’t — Susanna who strutted around the credit union like she intended to be branch manager before the year was out. “This has to stay very hush-hush.”
“Of course.”
Molly extracted her ukulele from her tote and began to tune. “I talked to him about a business deal.”
“Like something at the bank?” Susanna asked.
“Exactly.”
The Sons of the Beach wrapped up with their traditional morning finale, “Please Don’t Talk About Me When I’m Gone.” Molly hustled into the thick coffee aroma of the Kind Grind. She never ordered a soy milk chai here without thinking of the employee who’d been raped and locked in the refrigerator. Or the killer of two local police officers who’d worked here. It didn’t make sense. How could two horrific crimes be connected to a quaint coffee shop? In Santa Cruz? At the ukulele beach?
She sat over to the side and peeked around the wall to watch Susanna looking for her. Eventually Sue gave up and strode off rolling her cart full of gear.
Molly rubbed her chin, wondering if she’d settled for too little with Rudy. She’d started at 50 percent.
“No can do.” Rudy had kept his gaze on the pilings as if watching a cormorant sunning. His playful manner had evaporated.
“Are you in a position to negotiate?” she’d asked.
“Thirty-three percent. And that’s it.” Rudy sliced his hands through the air.
As she sipped her chai, Molly divided the loot by three in her head — simple math, but amazing how many people resorted to a calculator. With the cash she could pay off her condo. Maybe take that trip to Paris.
Her job didn’t used to be so bad, but now the customers who came into the credit union were mostly seniors who distrusted computers and still used checks, or the lonely who sought free coffee and someone to talk to.
Her phone vibrated. Molly checked the text message. Rudy must have gotten her number from the SOB site where she advertised her uke lessons.
Come to boat tonight. Work out details.
She snorted. Fat chance. She wasn’t getting on a sailboat alone with Rudy Carmona in the dark. As nice as that might be. Her mind drifted a moment before she responded: Maybe TTYL.
Molly drained the last of her chai, packed up her compass rose, and walked out into the salty breeze. A volleyball hottie soared vertically and slammed a spike. Yes!
“Where did you disappear to at the end?” Susanna’s indignation blared over the phone.
Molly drummed her fingers on her kitchen table. “I didn’t know you were waiting for me.”
“Right. We only walk to our cars together every single week.”
“Sorry.”
“I swear, since the holdup you’ve been acting like a prima donna.”
“Do you still own a gun?” Molly asked.
“Of course.” Impatience pinched Susanna’s husky voice. “Just went out to Markley’s Range last weekend.”
“Can I borrow it?”
“Why? Are you going to shoot Rudy Carmona?”
“I wouldn’t waste a bullet. He’s probably slept with twenty women in Sons of the Beach. I’m not that big of a fool.”
Quiet on the other end of the line.
“Do you even know how to hold one?” Susanna finally asked.
“It’s just for show.”
“What are you getting yourself into?”
“It’s nothing. Rudy wants to meet again on his boat and I don’t trust him.” Yeah, even if her body tingled at the prospect of meeting him again. Even in the light of day sitting on the boat with him, the smell of him... Maybe she could persuade Rudy to take her into the privacy of the cabin, suggest a little addition to the bargain.
“Are you still there?” Susanna asked.
“So what do you say?” Molly pressed.
“If I go along with this hare-brained scheme, I swear, you better cough up every sordid detail of what you and Rudy have going on.”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”
A stiff ten-knot wind in the harbor had every rigging chiming. Below the halo of a single dock light, Rudy unlocked the gate. It clanged behind them. He put his hand right on the small of Molly’s back.
“Pretty dark out here,” Molly murmured.
“There aren’t any other live-aboard’s on N dock.”
Molly snaked a hand into the pocket of her wrap. The butt of the gun steadied her nerves.
Rudy helped her over the boat’s edge.
She turned toward his locked cabin door. “It’s a bit chilly, right?”
“Romantic, though,” he said. “Out here with the sound of the sea.”
Romantic. Molly swiped a loose curl from her forehead. She took a seat again in his fiesta chair. Rudy crossed the deck holding two fishing rods she hadn’t seen before. He hovered by the outboard, adjusting a couple of levers.
“What are you doing?”
“Thought we might do a little night fishing.” Rudy yanked the starter. Molly struggled up from the chair. “I’d stay seated,” he said. “Wouldn’t want to lose your balance and fall over.” He yanked the rope again. When the engine caught, he adjusted the choke. “What’s the matter, dollface? Thought you liked fishing expeditions.”