Read to Death Page 10

  I tried to say, “Oh, really?” or, “I had no idea,” at the appropriate pauses in his spiel. In the meantime, I was busy eyeing every deckhand, looking for The One. In my mind I eliminated all the females and any of the men under forty. I mean, if Oscar got into a fight, it should have been with a man close to his own age.

  All of a sudden I realized I was strolling by myself. I turned to see Cady setting up our rods a few feet behind me.

  “I think this’ll do it. Plenty of room and no one crowding us. I hate when my line gets snagged with another fisherman’s. Bad enough if it gets snagged on the boat bottom.” He reddened. “It’s happened more times than I can count.”

  Oh Lord. I’m here on a mission while he actually intends to fish.

  I walked back to where he was standing and halfheartedly listened to his directions about how to use the rod he brought for me. I mean, it’s a fishing rod. How hard could it be? Then I remembered last year when my father and uncle came to visit and I took them on a charter fishing trip. They babbled instructions. I paid no attention and I caused no end of trouble. I clearly remember my father using the phrase, “This is a fiasco,” over and over again.

  So I forced myself to pay attention even though I had no intention of fishing. I even—good-naturedly, I thought—practiced casting off. It was Cady’s good fortune that I let him stand behind me and reach around to hold my hands on the rod exactly as he wanted them.

  Garbled instructions came over the loudspeaker, and a frisson of excitement moved through the passengers. The Fisherman’s Dream was about to begin its journey out of Matanzas Harbor, through San Carlos Bay and into the Gulf of Mexico. Most passengers had plans to catch a shark or some delicious snapper for dinner. I couldn’t wait for everyone to settle into fishing mode so I could start looking for any information about Oscar.

  Cady suggested that we go to the highest deck and watch the world go by from there. Nearly everyone on the boat had the same idea. People were taking every possible picture with cameras and phones. I leaned against the rails so Cady could take my picture with the mainland in the background and then again with Bowditch Point Park and the beach stretching down Estero Island. I was getting anxious to be off on my own, so I was pleased when Cady suggested that we get back to our spot at the rail of the lower deck, ready to fish when the Fisherman’s Dream dropped anchor.

  The barrier islands were soon behind us, and a foghorn blew, signaling the first stop of the day. Everyone scrambled for their rods and reels. Crew members wove through the crowd, offering to help folks cast off or bait a hook.

  Cady opened his tackle box and brought out an aerated bait carrier. “I have live cigar minnows and some frozen ballyhoo. Would you prefer to bait your hook with something that doesn’t wiggle?”

  I was tempted to say, “Whatever,” but I remembered that Cady was doing me a huge favor by coming along on this trip. He made it so much easier for me to blend in with the other passengers, so instead I opted for the ballyhoo, because I remembered it was what my father used when he was here.

  The boat rocked gently, and I had no trouble keeping my line in the water. Someone on the port side of the deck caught a nice-sized grouper, which spurred everyone to expect a good catch any minute.

  The foghorn blew once more, and we pulled up our lines. I told Cady I was having a great time. Then I excused myself and started off for the cabin area. Cady grabbed my arm. “Don’t go looking for trouble.”

  I gave him a wide but insincere smile. “You caught me. I was going below for a candy bar, but perhaps I’ll get a protein bar instead. Do you want anything?”

  “No, thanks. I’m going to work on your line knot. It seems loose.”

  “Be right back.” I took a few steps, and as soon as I saw he was bent over my line, tugging and pulling, I ran up the steps from our deck to the next and then to the next, which was tiny, vacant and had a “Do Not Enter” sign on the side rail. I saw what looked like the door to the bridge and wondered if Captain Jackson would be willing to answer a few questions to get me off his bridge and out of his hair.

  I nearly made it to the door when a voice behind me boomed, “Hey, lady, this section is off-limits. Didn’t you see the sign?”

  Curses, foiled again. I knew just how Dick Dastardly felt in the old Wacky Races cartoons. Once again, I smiled, although I was getting tired of smiling at men who were determined to prevent me from doing as I pleased. Still, I threw in my best imitation of Bridgy’s wide-eyed, innocent stare for good measure and turned toward the voice, and my only blessing was that the deckhand standing there wasn’t Lorgan. In that case the game would be up for sure.

  “I’m so sorry. I was looking for the ladies’ room. A gentleman down there”—I lifted my arm and swept it around vaguely to include the entire ship—“told me it was upstairs and indoors.”

  “Come on, I’ll show you.” He started down the staircase. I had no choice but to follow. Still, he was a member of the crew.

  “Thanks so much, Mr., er—”

  “No thanks necessary. No “Mister,” either. Name’s Wyatt, Bert Wyatt. And what brings you to the Fisherman’s Dream this fine day?”

  I knew he was only making small talk, but he gave me a great opening. I was so busy formulating my answer, I didn’t notice that two fishermen were waiting at the bottom of the staircase. Before I could open my mouth, the one who looked like the Skipper on Gilligan’s Island right down to the jaunty cap asked, “Say, sailor, my friend and I have a wager.”

  “Save your money.” Bert’s answer was terse. “You won’t be catching any sharks this trip.”

  “We ain’t betting on fish. We’re betting on the murder victim.”

  I inhaled so sharply that Bert turned and offered me his arm. “You all right there, miss?”

  “I’m fine. My foot slipped.” I took his arm. I had an idea what was coming, and I didn’t want to miss a word.

  The Skipper look-alike ignored the interruption. “I read about the murder in the paper. There was a picture of the victim, large as life, pardon the expression, right there on page one. I said to the wife, ‘I know that guy. Seen him around.’ When we boarded today, it clicked. He was on the crew here. Even helped me with a snagged line once.”

  Bert nodded but took a long time to answer. “You mean Oscar. Yeah. Terrible thing. Truth is he was a troublemaker and the captain fired him months ago. So if you bet that he worked here, you win. If you bet that he worked here ’til the day he died, you lose. Excuse us.”

  He pushed the fishermen aside and led me across the deck to a door. “Facilities and a lounge area are in here. Down another level if you want to buy some snacks.”

  As he started to turn away, I grabbed his arm. “Thanks so much. I have another question. Did Oscar get fired because he got into a fight with another deckhand?”

  Bert brushed my hand away like it was on fire. “What is this? A setup? You with those guys? And you’re trying to pump me?”

  I put my hands up in supplication. “No. Of course not. Nothing like that. It’s just that my friend discovered the body, so naturally, we’re curious about Oscar.”

  He put his hands on his hips and looked at me with that smoke coming out of the ears look that Bridgy gives me when I’ve gone too far. “Listen, lady, I don’t know nothing, but if I did, I’m like those monkeys, ‘See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.’ I follow the monkey rule.”

  He rushed around the corner and out of sight.

  By the time I got back to Cady and offered him one of the two granola bars I remembered to buy, the ship was stopped and he’d dropped both our lines in the water.

  “Any nibbles?” I nudged my head toward the fishing lines while I unwrapped my granola bar.

  “Nothing yet.” He shrugged. “But it’s early, only the second stop.”

  He waited until I took a big bite of my bar and got what felt l
ike a sunflower seed wedged between two molars to ask if I had any nibbles. When I reached for my rod, he said, “I’m talking about your snooping. Did you find out anything?”

  I made loud, crunchy noises while chewing granola and pointing to my mouth. My mind raced at warp speed. Was I gone too long? Did Cady see me with Bert Wyatt? Worse, did he follow me and hear me ask about Oscar? I swallowed and decided to come clean.

  “No nibbles at all. I only confirmed that Oscar worked on this ship and was fired months ago. I couldn’t even confirm why.”

  Cady handed me my rod. “Let’s focus on fishing.”

  From that moment on, the trip was actually pleasant. Cady caught a grouper that would make a delicious dinner, and I caught a snook so small that he had to be thrown back. I wished the little guy well and hoped a barracuda didn’t eat him before he was fully grown.

  Miguel greeted us at the door. That was never a good sign. The first time he’d ever done so, the refrigerator was broken. The second time it was because Ophie had invaded his kitchen and he was not taking that well at all. Somehow I didn’t think the third time would be a charm. “Owen Reston was here a little while ago. He doesn’t like that the sheriff persists in talking to Bridgy, so he took her to meet with a criminal lawyer on the mainland. The lawyer is a friend. Owen said Bridgy could trust her.”

  I was in a hurry to prepare for the Teen Book Club, but I invited Cady to have something to eat. He’d been such a pal all day, it was the least I could do. When Miguel offered to make Green Eggs and Ham, a salsa verde omelet that was one of Cady’s favorites, Cady practically salivated.

  “I have to go to the car and get my grouper out of the cooler and put it in your fridge temporarily, okay?”

  “Sí. We have plenty of room. That way you can enjoy your eggs without hurrying.”

  When Cady brought in his fish wrapped in paper and stored in a plastic bag, I brought it into the kitchen. As soon as I opened the door, I sniffed.

  “I smell the deep fryer.”

  Miguel nodded. “You have the best nose for cooking. Better than Bridgy, even.”

  Well, that may have been true, but we both knew she was the better cook. Still, I took the compliment.

  “I made fresh potato chips for the Teen Book Club. It is time for them to learn that the best food often does not come in a bag.” He slid Cady’s Green Eggs and Ham on a plate, then added some green grapes and a few of the still-warm potato chips.

  When I placed the dish in front of Cady, he nearly swooned. I left him to enjoy his feast while I set up for the meeting. Pencils, paper and extra copies of I Am the Messenger. I was anxious to see what the kids thought of it.

  Cady leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach. “Too delicious. Miguel is a wiz in the kitchen.” He saw that I was circling chairs and remembered that the Teen Book Club was coming in momentarily. “Say, what did the kids read this month?”

  Before I could answer, the front door burst open and Holly Latimer and her posse marched in waving pieces of brightly colored knitted material over their heads while chanting, “Yarn bomb. Yarn bomb.”

  What? I thought.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Holly slid her backpack to the floor. “Sassy, we decided we want to liven up the book nook for our meetings. Even Jenna agrees.” She pointed to the youngest member of the group, a shy thirteen-year-old. “So, we took knitting and crocheting classes at the community center and made these. This one is yours.” She held up a mint green and butterscotch striped rectangle about three feet by two feet.

  Mystified, I took it and thanked her.

  Angela reached behind her head, pulled her long, dark ponytail over her shoulder and started to twist it, something she does whenever she’s uneasy. She elbowed Daphne. “Look, she doesn’t even know what it is.”

  Cady to the rescue. He took the knitted fabric out of my hand. “You said it was a yarn bomb, didn’t you? Totes fabu. You will rock the book corner.”

  The girls began fist bumping each other, and Cady joined in. I understood “totally fabulous” but couldn’t fathom what made him think the girls would rock the book nook. And what is a yarn bomb?

  Cady held the rectangle in front of me. “Wow, the pale green and deep yellow really makes the red in your hair pop.”

  I was still at a loss for words.

  He thrust a hand toward Jenna. “I see straps and buttons. I bet these are going to cover the chair backs. You did a great job on Sassy’s. Now let me see yours.”

  Instinctively she put her rectangle behind her back, but when Cady stood and waited patiently with his hand extended, Jenna’s good manners overcame her shyness, and she gave him her rectangle. It looked like the woolen throws my grandmother used to make for the sofa in her “parlor,” as she liked to call it. Jenna’s rectangle was filled with smaller rectangles of at least six or eight different shades of brown.

  “Wow.” Cady held it up to the light. “It looks like the bark of a dozen gorgeous trees.”

  Jenna flushed with pleasure and thanked him. The other three girls were anxious to get their praise and were busy showing Cady their colorful stitch work when the door opened. The final two clubbies came in. Julio greeted everyone with a smile. Macho and muscular Larry gave Cady the once-over, instantly deciding that he was much too ancient to be of any serious interest to the girls. When Holly introduced the boys to Cady, Larry stuck out his right hand and proceeded to lead Cady in an intricate handshake. I was astonished to watch Cady respond to it with very little difficulty.

  As Cady handed her yarn chair cover back to Jenna, Julio asked what it was. Jenna shrugged and said, “It was Holly’s idea.”

  Holly circle-waved her own vibrant burnt sienna and bright orange cloth over her head and then held it up high. “We are yarn bombing the book nook. You know, personalizing. Making it our own while we are here. And when we leave, we can take it with us.”

  “That makes no sense. You made those things? All that work for what? To decorate for an hour? Is that even a thing?” Larry was unimpressed.

  “Dude, don’t be a hater. Yarn bombing is killin’ it. Think graffiti that’s not permanent. You still make your mark, but you can take it away again—no problem—and set it up anywhere you go. Mad awesome.” Holly won the verbal smackdown.

  Ah, now I got it. I was about to corral everyone and get the meeting started when Julio asked if the girls could teach him to knit a motorcycle do-rag. “Maybe black with orange flames on the side.”

  Larry was all over it. “Or like a Flydanna, you know, with tails. A couple of guys riding Harleys, really big hogs, on Estero Boulevard told me it keeps their shaved heads from getting sunburned while they are cruising.”

  Angela smirked. “Surfer dude, football hero and now a biker wannabe. You definitely get an A for dangerous behavior.”

  Having watched Angela and Larry scuffle at previous meetings, I knew they could escalate in seconds, so I decided to wade in. “Let’s get started everyone. I Am the Messenger is waiting, and Miguel has a mega delicious treat for you today. Big surprise.”

  I grabbed everyone’s attention at “delicious treat.”

  They headed for the book nook, scrambling for a favorite seat. The girls began to fasten their needlework to the back of their chairs. Daphne grabbed mine and said, “Sassy, we’ll put this where you usually sit,” and she draped it over the chair next to Julio.

  Unimpressed, he mocked, “We’re going to have to look at those colors all day? Barking mad is all I’m saying.”

  Holly smacked back, “Do I hear the voice of envy?”

  The girls laughed while the boys squirmed uncomfortably.

  Angela dropped her backpack and pulled out two more woolen rectangles, each one very blue. “You think we’d leave you out? No way. We’re a tight club.” And she threw a sky blue and white striped chair cover at Julio.

 
He held it out and looked at it. “The colors. Azul y blanco. The colors of the Guatemalan flag. Perfecto. I was born in Guatemala, you know.”

  He stood and began trying to figure out how to fasten it to his chair. Holly was quick to help.

  The dark blue and green went to Larry, who shouted, “Seattle Seahawks. Way past fabu. Who do we thank?”

  Holly said, “Aw, no biggie. We all worked on yours and Julio’s.” Then her eyes sparkled as she continued. “Angie is the ace. She developed the patterns and guided us all. You really need to thank her.”

  Larry turned a shade of scarlet that was a becoming contrast to his chair cover. He bobbed his head and mumbled a thank-you in Angela’s general direction.

  Angie preened as if she had been awarded the top spot on America’s Got Talent.

  If she and Larry ever started dating, I hoped that they would still be clubbies. I wouldn’t want to miss an episode of that relationship. It would never be boring.

  “Okay.” I held up a copy of I Am the Messenger. “So what did everybody think?”

  Cady waved good-bye from the doorway and signaled me to call him later. I nodded and sat silently, waiting for one of the kids to start the conversation about the book.

  Holly, always energetic, began, “When I heard that Markus Zusak, who wrote The Book Thief, wrote this book, I was all for reading it. And I should have known better than to assume I’d like a book because the author wrote a book I did like. The two books are so different.”

  Daphne nodded her head, blond curls bouncing. “I know what you mean. I expected more, I don’t know, similarities, I guess is the right word.”

  I let the silence wrap around us for a few moments, and eventually Larry said, “Well, I liked it. I think Ed is a really cool guy. I’d hang with him. Wouldn’t you, Julio?”