Rip Tide (A Ripple Effect Cozy Mystery, Book 2) (28 page)

I turned back toward the Willis brothers, and Billy, having heard my husband's remark, handed me yet another oyster. And the boy, God bless him, had hand-picked the largest damned oyster he could find. "Here you go, grandma. Bottom's up!"

I wasn't sure I appreciated being called "grandma" by a scuzzball like Billy Willis but felt I had no other choice but to down the second ghastly ball of goo. The next look I shot Rip, after I managed to choke it down, would have killed that grizzly before it'd even have a chance to turn and run.

I wanted to slap the smirk right off his face. He glanced over at Pinto and asked, "Mind if I have one more too?"

"Absobloodylootely! Have all you want, bub. You too, my lady."

When I didn't enthusiastically lunge for another oyster, Pinto cheerfully encouraged us both to partake. "Help yourself, folks. There's plenty to go around. We've happened upon a generous bed this morning. So generous, in fact, I'm surprised it isn't in a restricted area. Have all you want, folks."

"I think I'd better limit myself to two. Unfortunately, too much sodium's not good for my hypertension," I replied, pasting on my most convincing expression of disappointment.

Rip, however, couldn't eat enough of them. After I reclaimed my perch on the cooler, he wandered over to an open bag of oysters and began gobbling them down. I was relieved he seemed to be enjoying himself, but not totally surprised. Food always had been the shortest route to Rip's heart. Joking and chatting with the crew, he'd eventually had his fill of the little goobers. After utilizing the head, he elbowed his way in at the table and began picking out crabs, clams, and other bits and pieces out of the spoils, as the other men culled through the oysters.

"You best put some gloves on, bub. There's an extra pair in the steering cabin," Pinto advised.

"Nah, I'm fine. Just picking out the riff-raff. I'll leave the oysters to you guys," Rip said, brushing off Pinto's offer. He then began chattering like he was a talk radio host.

I waited impatiently for him to stop jabbering about inconsequential topics like his inability to whistle, the asinine idea of putting buttons in lieu of zippers in a man's fly, and how nothing tasted better than a good 'ol fried Spam sandwich. Just the thought of Spam made me want to upchuck the repulsive oysters I'd eaten. When it became clear to me that Rip was never going to segue into a conversation about the murder of Pinto's buddy, I reluctantly joined the fast and furious commotion at the sorting table.

I still hadn't gotten my "sea legs" yet and was beginning to think I never would with the seas rougher than normal. I had to keep one hand clamped to the railing of the table just to remain upright. With the other hand, I practiced the art of culling through creepy, gooey things without actually ever laying a hand on any one of them. If any of the men noticed I was accomplishing nothing, they didn't mention it.

When there was a brief pause in the action, I asked nonchalantly, "Wasn't that something about that fellow who got killed with his own spear-gun?"

Pinto's head spun so fast toward me, I don't know what kept it from snapping in two and flinging its way out into the water. The look on his face was alarming.

"Why do you ask?" He was staring at me as if I were a never-before-seen sea creature they'd just dredged up from the floor of the bay. "What have you heard? Has there been a break in the case? Have you heard something about a suspect being apprehended or identified?"

"Why, no," I replied, taken aback by his sudden anxiousness. "I doubt I know anymore than you do about the murder. I just thought maybe you'd heard something while speaking with other fishermen around the marina."

Due to his reaction, I wondered for a second if Pinto really might know more than I did about Claypool's death. Perhaps a lot more than
anyone
else knew about it. From his accent and some of the terms he'd used, it was apparent he was originally from England. Milo had commented about the British accent of the man named Captain Hook. Was it possible he had any connection to the murder? It didn't seem likely to me. Milo had sworn there was no way Pinto was involved, and I had a tendency to agree with him. He appeared to be too laid back, too easy-going − or at least until I mentioned Claypool's murder.

After a long breath and an even longer exhale, Pinto replied, "No, haven't heard much. Nothing at all, really. Crying shame though, isn't it?"

"Very much so," I agreed.

Rip's attention had been piqued and he joined the conversation. He glanced from one man to the next, all around the table before asking, "Was he an acquaintance of yours, Pinto? Or any of the rest of you men?"

Without looking up, the man I'd dubbed Big Bob answered first. "Nope, never heard of the guy."

Spider was next and only a touch more helpful than Bob. "Billy and I seen him at a few of our AA meetings. I remember Claypool introducing himself and saying his drinking had escalated in recent months due to money problems. Saw him with his lady at a bar one day too. For an older broad, she wasn't half bad. She could do better than Claypool, for sure. I know I'd be happy to take her for a ride, if you know what I mean."

I
did
know what Spider meant and had half a mind to pick up one of the mallets lying on the table and wallop him over the head. The Willis brothers were laughing so hard at Spider's wisecracks that a thimbleful of the tobacco Billy had been chewing shot out of his left nostril and onto the wooden table. I had to look away or risk having one of the snotty-looking oysters I'd eaten erupt from one of the orifices on my face, too.

When he'd gained control again, Billy swiped a grimy, slimy and now briny, sleeve across his face, pointed at Pinto, and said. "Captain Bean was pretty tight with Claypool, I know."

I'd expected Pinto to be irked by Billy's offhand remark, but instead he became emotional. With a tear in his eye, Pinto nodded, and agreed with the deck hand, "That's right. Cooper was like a son to me. He and his buddy used to take me fishing with them and would come sit in the boat and pop a few tops with me once in a while. News of his death broke my heart. I still can't bear to even think about it, much less talk about it."

He was clearly devastated about Cooper's murder, and I knew the buddy he'd referred to was Milo. I told him I was really sorry for his loss. Rip shook his head at me, but I felt compelled to inquire anyway. After all, when would we ever have another opportunity to question him? I think Rip nearly swallowed his tongue when I said, "We heard he was into a loan shark for quite a bit of money. Did you know anything about that, Pinto?"

The Willis boys had resumed working, but Big Bob took a short break from his labor to gaze at Pinto as the captain responded. "Yeah, I did, actually. I begged him to let me float him a loan, but he refused. Our other buddy tried to get him to accept a loan too. We both knew how brutal those goons can get to entice a bloke to pay up, and we were afraid of what might happen to Cooper. Now I wonder if his life might have been spared if I had tried harder to get him to take me up on the loan. I'm sure Cooper knew my funds were a little dried up too and didn't want to put me in a bind. But I'd have gotten by somehow. I'd been down and out before and will no doubt be down and out again. But I'm still here, ain't I?"

Relieved to hear Milo's claims about the rejected loan corroborated, I caught Rip's eye. He winked to let me know he shared my sentiment. I turned back to Pinto when I heard him blow his nose on a handkerchief he'd extracted from a front pocket in the rubber apron he wore. He was upset. Big Bob spoke up to comfort him. "Don't blame yourself, boss. Most likely his death had to do with an issue regarding his business, not his unpaid debts. There was probably nothing you could have done about it, no matter how hard you tried."

"Probably not. But, still, I gotta wonder. Now boys, get the bucket ready to drop again." Pinto and the crew resumed concentrating on the task at hand. Pinto's mood was somber and withdrawn for the next twenty minutes. He'd sounded convinced the murder had been perpetrated by the loan shark or one of the shark's men. He put his hand on Rip's shoulder and suggested again that he grab the extra pair of gloves in the steering cabin.

"Trust me, I'll be all right." Rip spoke with great self-assurance. The man may exhibit the common sense of a lemming at times, but he was never short on confidence.

I had ceased even pretending to be helping out. I was convinced there'd be no more information coming from any of the men that day. I stood alongside my husband, while holding on to the table with both hands. The waves and swells had increased slightly and it had become more difficult to remain afoot. Suddenly, Rip yelped in pain. I looked down to see blood gushing from a deep cut in his left hand. As the boat had scaled an enormous rogue wave, the unexpected jolt had caused Rip to slice his palm on the sharp edge of an oyster shell while trying to drag out a crab that was nestled below it.

Big Bob glanced at Rip's hand, and said, "Yep! Been there, done that. You should have listened to the boss."

"Yes, I see that now," Rip replied dryly. He groaned and moaned in pain as the blood flowed. He had a lower threshold of pain than I did, and was more dramatic when ill or injured. In other words, Rip was a typical male. And like most men, he liked to be babied and fussed over in situations like this one.

As the rest of the crew continued to toil, Pinto grabbed an old, and no doubt bacteria-laden, towel and wrapped it around Rip's wounded hand. Instead of spouting an "I told you so" remark, as I'd have been tempted to do, Pinto said, "You might need to get that hand stitched up, bub. We'll be heading back shortly anyway. Looks like the cold front is going to hit several hours earlier than forecast. We need to get back before the wind picks up and it gets too rough out here. And 'sides that, it's after two. By law we gotta quit harvesting by three-thirty, anyway."

The choppy water was already too rough for my liking. The rocking motion of the boat was no longer soothing. It was making those horrid oysters I'd swallowed want to return to the sea. And I had a sneaking suspicion they would soon get their wish.

After a drenching splash of water spraying over the bow of the boat slapped all of our faces, Pinto ordered the crew to swiftly finish up with the pile they were working on, and secure the dredge and sacks of oysters. He motioned for Rip and me to return to our positions on the padded cooler where there was a bar in front of us we could hold on to. I presume he wanted to avoid an impending "man (or woman) overboard" distress call as much as we did. With one hand wrapped, and still hobbling around a bit with his new hip replacement, I'd have put my money on Rip being the subject of such an incident.

Just as the crew was getting everything ready to make the trip back to the marina, I felt my stomach roil and Rip looked at me with concern. "You're looking a little green around the gills, Rapella."

There was no time to respond. I'd noticed earlier a sign on the door of the boat's small bathroom that read "No chumming in head" so I bolted to the side of the boat and immediately lost my cookies, a.k.a. the nasty oysters. After I threw up everything in my stomach, I began to dry heave. I had never felt so sick in my entire life. If you've never been seasick, it's not something you ever want to experience. Worst of all, I suddenly realized somewhere in the midst of my projectile vomiting, I had lost my upper plate of dentures. I'd puked my teeth overboard and they now resided somewhere on the bottom of the drink, probably next to an anchor some other fool had pitched out prematurely. So much for only paying for a new set of choppers once.

Still nauseated beyond belief, I made my way back to the cooler to sit beside my husband, who was holding his wrapped left hand with his right one. I was upset, and after I told Rip my upper plate was lost at sea, he patted my thigh with his good hand and tried to comfort me. "It's okay, sweetheart. I'm relatively certain Dr. Shaft is still practicing here in town. He made your first set and can surely make you a replacement plate. We'll get you in as soon as we can. Don't worry. It could have happened to anyone."

Big Bob hoisted the boat's large cast iron anchor as if it weighed almost nothing. There seemed to be very little he couldn't handle with just the hook on the end of his prosthetic arm. Soon we were tacking home. Pinto changed the boat's angle periodically to enable him to ride the swells smoothly and not capsize the vessel. He was a seasoned sailor, but there was only so much he could do to protect us against Mother Nature. The ride was anything but smooth.

I was trying to keep my mind off the queasiness in my belly. I was thinking about how lucky I was to have such an understanding husband. I couldn't have found a better partner than Rip. He was always there to comfort me when I needed consoling and quick to forgive when I stomped all over his last nerve. I leaned over and kissed his cheek. I spoke loudly so he could make out my words. "We'll head straight for the Urgent Care facility when we get back to the marina, honey. Thank you for always being so good to me."

"My pleasure, Rapella. And I could say the same thing about you. What do you say we go to that new restaurant in Portland after I get my hand sewn up? I think a nice juicy Porterhouse sounds like just the thing for supper. Don't you?"

I playfully punched Rip in the arm. He was well aware that I would be gumming my food until I got my upper dentures replaced. "Yeah, right, buster. You couldn't cut a steak tonight any better than I could chew one."

Once I'd thanked Captain Bean profusely and gotten my feet back on solid ground, my nausea had abated. I stepped into the truck on the driver's side, with Rip cradling his hand in the passenger seat. I was backing out of the parking spot when Big Bob walked up to his Jeep, parked right beside us. I rolled down my window and said, "It was nice meeting you, Bob. Good luck with the teeth. Looks like I'll be seeing my dentist soon too."