Wood's Wreck (15 page)

Frustrated, she looked behind the boat as the propeller shot sand and muck into the cut. Finally, the boat moved slightly. With her teeth gritted and a look of determination, she held her hand steady on the controls as the boat slid off the sandbar. 

She almost waited too long, as the boat jerked backwards with enough momentum to ground the stern on the other side of the cut, but she was able to shift the boat into forward, bypassing neutral and causing a bang in the transmission. Free and in the center of the channel, she sped away without looking back. 

***

Mac watched in horror as the boat moved into open water. Instead of taking action and stopping her to explain about the house and the girls, he had stood speechless and let her go. In truth, he knew from experience that there was no stopping her. When Mel made up her mind it was a done deal. 

“Get them out of the boat and back to the house. I’m going after her,” he yelled and helped the last girl over the side. With a shot of anger and adrenaline surging through him, he vaulted the gunwale and went for the controls.

 The larger boat was still visible in the distance, the moon reflecting off the polished chrome, and he thought he had a good chance of catching them as he reversed the engine and waited for the boat’s momentum to turn the hull. Finally it faced the exit to the channel, and he pushed down on the throttle. 

The larger boat was much faster, and was distancing itself from him, but when he saw it turn west at the edge of the bank he knew they were heading toward Key West. They were up on plane, running on the outside of the barrier islands, and that was the most probable destination. Confused and upset about what happened, he continued to follow. 

He was just past the Content Keys and approaching the Sawyer Keys, the white anchor light still visible in the distance, when he began to worry. He appeared to be closing the gap between the boats. Mel knew these waters well enough to run blind in a hurricane, and there was no reason for her to slow … unless something was wrong. 

Suddenly another boat appeared, its red and green running lights indicating a collision course with Mel’s boat. He pushed down on the throttle in an attempt to reach the oncoming boat before the other craft, but his engine sputtered. He eased back on the throttle and the engine seemed to catch, but as soon as he asked it for more power it failed, and he was adrift. He went to the gas can and kicked it, knowing it was empty.

There was no way he’d be able to reach Mel in time to prevent the collision.

The tide was moving the boat away from the action now, so he made the only move he had available and went forward to throw the anchor. It caught in the sand, and he tied it off, then went to the stern to check whether there was any gas left in the tanks he’d had Trufante stow. Even a quart would get him back to Wood’s Island. 

But they were bone dry. Anything left had evaporated in the heat. When he looked up again, he couldn’t see the white light anymore. Unless something catastrophic had happened, Mel was further west and out of sight.

***

Cayenne was drunk. She was also incensed at the way Mel had treated her. She could have any man she wanted—gay or not—and how dare Mel say otherwise? As she wandered down Duval Street, weaving her way through the crowd, with one goal in mind … well two, actually, but she could only wrap her head around sex. Her mounting money problems would have to wait. 

She’d had her eye on the man that had captained the boat she’d chartered the other day for a while, and after seeing him tonight in the oyster bar, her hormones were in the red zone. Hoping he was still there, she hailed a rickshaw powered by a bicycle rider and stumbled into the seat. The driver took off through the traffic, thick with cars, scooters, golf carts, and bicycles, jerking left and right to avoid the people overflowing into the streets. Traffic thinned as they turned off Duvall, and five minutes later the driver pulled up at the courtyard in front of the oyster bar. She fished in her purse to pay the driver and, finding only twenties, tossed one at him. 

The bar was still full, although the restaurant had cleared out. At first she didn’t see him, but a couple moved out of the way and there he was. She inhaled deeply, trying to steady herself, and went after him, pushing her boobs forward through the crowd. 

“Hey, sailor. Come here often?” She didn’t care how lame the pick-up line was. The guy was fixated on her chest. 

He stuttered, “Miss Cannady.”

She pushed up against him. “Don’t you ‘Miss Cannady’ me. My special friends call me Cay. And tonight I think you’re going to be one of those friends. Now get me a drink.”

***

Mel ran a safe distance from the boundary islands, reaching Key West an hour later, the boat she had nearly collided with by the Sawyer Keys long forgotten. She figured there was a good chance the driver had the auto-pilot on, or just wasn’t paying attention. As dangerous as the backcountry could be, once you were past the chain of islands, the water became deep enough to travel without worry, and there was little traffic at night and it wasn’t unusual to have the autopilot on.

She slowed as they reached the first marker leading to the marina and pulled back to idle speed after the wake caught the boat, pushing it forward. Minutes later she skillfully backed into Marvin’s slip and cut the engines as he tied off the boat. 

The ride had been exhilarating. Running at night always got the blood pumping. Her concentration had been so intense that she barely thought about Mac the entire ride back. Now her anger returned in force. She jumped onto the dock looking for something to take her tension out on.

“I’m going in for a drink,” she called to Marvin over her shoulder. “You coming?”

“Sweetie. After that ride? You bet.” He followed her into the bar.

Mel opened the door and had started across the threshold when she saw Cayenne with the boat captain. That was the last thing she needed. Hoping the redheaded witch hadn’t seen her, she started backing out the door.

***

Mac stood in the bow powerless to act. A mullet jumping in front of the boat distracted him. Except for everything in his life going wrong, it would have been sweet to be anchored out here with the full moon casting light on the small waves, a cast net on his shoulder, ready to toss at the unsuspecting fish. 

But the illusion shattered as he saw the lights coming toward him change, indicating that they were making a hard right turn into the concealed inlet. He had a moment of panic before the boat turned that there might be a confrontation, but he realized now that he posed no threat, even if the other driver had seen him. It was not uncommon to fish—even in these unmarked waters—on a full moon. The captain of the other boat had probably taken Mac for a fisherman. 

That didn’t alter his problem: stuck in the middle of nowhere, out of gas. After trying the VHF radio and finding it non-functional, he went back to the bow and stared into the dark water, thinking about his options. He could always hang out until daylight, when there was a chance a boat would spot him. But the wind was starting to pick up again and that would keep most of the boats in port. His other option was to swim for it, and the desire to find out what the man in the other boat was up to made his decision for him. Once he reached land, he would at least have more options than here in the water.

Without a second thought, he slid into the neck-deep water. The tide was pulling away from land now, but he was a strong swimmer and only had a couple hundred yards to cover. He settled into a side stroke, using a lone tree, taller than the surrounding mangroves, as an easy landmark. Fifteen minutes later he stood and waded the remaining fifty feet to land … or what he hoped would be land. 

Sometimes mangroves didn’t indicate shores at all, but places where the long-rooted trees managed to grow in deeper, fresher water. 

He started to work his way through the tangle of roots, wary for the predators they housed. Spiders dropped onto his head from above and he felt crabs nipping at his bare feet. Slowly the water became shallower, though, and soon he was on dry land. 

He wiped back his sweat-drenched hair to rid it of insects and continued in the direction he thought the house lay. From the charts he had studied and the previous trip, he knew he was on a smaller key separated from the larger island with the house by a small tidal creek. This gave him some security, as he knew he was alone and would not have to worry about being observed until he crossed the creek. 

His thought was to steal either some gas or one of the boats to get back to Wood’s, and if he could escape unobserved, grab the rental boat and tow it behind. That would give Trufante transportation to get himself and the girls to land and—more importantly—away from him. 

Second, he would have a boat to get to Key West and straighten things out with Mel. 

The mangroves thinned as he reached the center of the island, allowing him to move quickly toward the sandy shore of the creek. Across the way, he could make out several lights on in the house, and realized his escape might be more difficult than he originally thought; with the girls gone whoever was there would have realized that an intruder had been there. He would have to be extra cautious to avoid the man.

He crouched down on the beach and slid into the water, listening for any unusual sound. Totally exposed, he realized the best thing he could do was to get across. Two breaths later he submerged and started stroking toward the other bank, reaching it without incident. He pulled himself onto the sand and crawled to the mangroves twenty feet from the beach.

The house was about one hundred yards away and he heard a lone voice—probably a one-sided phone conversation. He made his way toward the boats, staying close to the mangroves and keeping as much distance between himself and the house as possible. He reached a point where he had to make a decision; either swim across to the boats or stay on land to reach the exposed docks. 

Already soaking wet, he decided to swim across. Silently he entered the water and side stroked to the far bank. Now, with the mangroves shielding him, he worked his way toward the boats. 

His first thought was to take the larger craft. The forty-foot-plus hull with its three 275-hp outboards gleamed in the moonlight, but he thought the smaller center console would serve his purposes better. It would also probably have more fuel than the larger boat, which had just returned. He could still hear the man in the house as he reached the boat and climbed the swim ladder. On deck, he stayed below the gunwales as he crawled to the helm.

There was no key in the ignition, but he hadn’t really expected to find one. And it didn’t matter for the short term. He planned to paddle out of the small cove before starting the engine. 

But before he could do anything, a door slammed and the man came outside, a flashlight in his hand. Mac hit the deck.

Chapter 17
 

Mel eased her way out the door and walked past the bicycle stand to a statue of an anchor in the square.

“Sweetie, what’s the matter? I thought you wanted a drink.”

“Didn’t you see her in there hitting on that guy? All sloppy and brushing her tits against him.”

“Now, now. We can go somewhere else,” Marvin said.

Mel looked around. “No, that’s OK. I think I’ll take a quick run back to the house and try and clear my head. Things just haven’t gone well for me today, and I need some time to digest all this.” She turned to go.

“Well, you know where to find me if you need me.” He hugged her and kissed a tear from her cheek.

She hadn’t meant to cry, but his touch released the pent-up emotions of the past few hours. Furious with Mac and maddened by Cayenne’s ineptitude, larceny, or a combination of both, she just needed to run.

Her head started to clear as she accelerated after holding back for the first few blocks. Rather than trusting the assortment of island vehicles to see her, she used them as an obstacle course, swerving between the sidewalk and street. The challenge helped her to focus, and she fell into a rhythm as she reached Truman and turned left. Cayenne’s house was only blocks away, but she was feeling good and continued toward the beach, where the sea breeze greeted her and she headed towards the waterline.

She ran along the high tide mark where the sand was firmer until she slowed by a deserted section of beach near a slaving memorial. She started walking toward the water, took off her shoes, and followed the line where the water hit the sand. 

Her immediate anger with Mac had faded, and she knew she needed to consider that there might be another side to the story. Of course, with Trufante involved anything could have happened, but picking up girls and bringing them back to Wood’s was out of character for Mac. She knew him to be a loner at heart, and he stayed away from trouble. 

It was Trufante who usually brought it. 

Coral Gardens—or The silicone slush fund, as she was now calling it—was a different matter. The woman was corrupt, and she didn’t want to go back to the house—or to work. But there were still questions to be answered, and the only way to help Mac was to suck it up and follow through. With a plan forming in her mind, she went back to the road, put her shoes back on, and started walking toward the house. 

When she turned onto the street, she couldn’t help but notice that the lights were on and a strange truck was in the driveway. Not wanting to burst in on something, she approached the house slowly and climbed the porch steps, not sure if she was going in or not. Two people were visible as she looked in the window—Cayenne, with her top off, and the captain. 

She could hear them talking, but couldn’t make out the words from where she stood, so without thinking she moved closer and stood by the side of the window. 

“What do you mean you’re going to pay me with lobster?” the captain snapped.

“Honey, it’ll be worth your while. I just gotta get out there one more time. I’m telling you, if we haul in anything close to what we got the other day, you’ll have a pocket full of money.”