Murder at the Marina

CHAPTER 1 - SURPRISE!

What would you do if you found out your husband was having an affair? Would you:

(a) be understanding—he’s just going through a midlife crisis;
(b) throw your glass of champagne in his face and storm out of the restaurant;
(c) tell him about the new love of your life—Sven, your Swedish masseur; or
(d) order an extra-large piece of chocolate cake?

You can cross (a) off the list—believe me, I wasn’t in a very understanding mood. And (b) is out too. Why would I waste a perfectly good glass of champagne? Of course it’s not (c)—what kind of girl do you take me for? The correct answer is obviously (d), chocolate. Lots and lots of chocolate, washed down with lots and lots of champagne.

You know what made matters worse? He told me about her during our ten-year anniversary dinner. You’re supposed to get diamonds after ten years, not your husband’s confession about his torrid love affair with some hussy named Marjorie Jane. And, as if that weren’t bad enough, it turned out that she was a redhead! I mean, Lucille Ball is great, but certain other redheads really made my blood boil.

There we were, dining at my new favorite seafood restaurant, Chez Poisson, when Scooter reached across the table, took my hand in his, and rubbed it softly. This was the moment I had been waiting for. Any minute now, he was going to reach into his jacket pocket and present me with a velvet jewelry box containing some lovely little thing encrusted with diamonds.

Instead, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “You know how much I love you, don’t you, Mollie?” I nodded, wondering why he was holding his phone. Maybe it was going to magically turn into a diamond bracelet. I kept my eyes on it, just in case.

He pressed a button, looked at the screen, and smiled. “Well, it turns out I’ve fallen in love with another pretty lady too. Her name is Marjorie Jane.” He glanced at me and chuckled. “Not that anyone could replace you, of course, but Marjorie Jane is pretty special.”

I was stunned. My husband, in love with another woman. And not only in love with another woman, but casually announcing it over dinner as if I’d be okay with it. I think I would have been less surprised if Scooter’s phone had turned into a diamond bracelet than I was by his confession.

“Wait until you see these shots of her,” Scooter said. He adjusted his tortoiseshell glasses, then swiped his finger across the screen on his phone, gazing at picture after picture of the new love of his life. “She has the sleekest lines. You won’t believe how she moves through the water.” He got a dreamy expression in his dark brown eyes. “You can really see her red coloring shimmering in this one.”

Now I was starting to get angry. There he was, ogling photos of this red-haired hussy in her bathing suit, swimming in the water. I bet it wasn’t a one-piece suit either, but one of those skimpy bikinis that left nothing to the imagination.

I leaned back in my chair, ran my fingers through my frizzy, mousy-brown hair, and stared at my empty crystal champagne flute. I really needed a refill. And where was the cake I had ordered earlier?

As I scanned the restaurant for the waiter, my eyes were drawn to a young couple sitting by a window overlooking the water. She toyed with her wedding ring while the waiter refilled her wine glass. I heard the young man tell his wife to close her eyes. He got up from the table and walked behind her. He pulled a small velvet box out of his jacket pocket, opened it, and removed a necklace. Brushing her long, black hair to the side, he gently placed it around her neck. She opened her eyes and squealed as she looked down and saw—yes, you guessed it—a diamond pendant sparkling on a delicate gold chain. I bet they hadn’t been married for even a year and he was already giving her diamonds.

Our waiter bustled up to the table, interrupting my thoughts about sparkly diamonds and unfaithful husbands. “Voilà, madame,” he said, putting a dessert plate down in front of me with a flourish.

“You call this big?” I pointed at a tiny slice of chocolate cake. Sure, it was beautiful, artfully arranged on a rectangular white plate with a drizzle of raspberry sauce and crushed hazelnuts sprinkled in the shape of a heart, but it was positively microscopic in size. “I specifically asked for the largest piece of chocolate cake you have. Can’t you see that this is an emergency?”

I thrust the plate into the waiter’s hands. “Take this back to the kitchen and add at least three more slices before you come back.” As he started to walk away, I grabbed his arm. “How about a couple of scoops of chocolate ice cream while you’re at it?”

I looked over at Scooter. He had been oblivious to the whole chocolate cake fiasco. I took the opportunity to switch my empty champagne glass with his full one. He didn’t even notice.
“You’re drooling all over your phone!” I said sharply.

Oops, that might have been a bit too loud. The young woman with the diamond necklace turned and stared at me. My mother would have been telling me to use my indoor voice right about then. She’d probably also have had something to say about ordering chocolate cake and what it could do to my waistline.
Just then my phone beeped. I pulled it out of my beaded evening bag. Yep, right on cue—a text from my mother.

What did Scooter get you for your anniversary this year? Something with diamonds?
I sighed. How was I going to explain Marjorie Jane to her? She had never been that crazy about Scooter to begin with. Probably best to get straight to the point. It was easier that way.
No diamonds, just a redheaded midlife crisis named Marjorie Jane.

I saw the waiter coming back to the table with a heaping plate of chocolate cake and enough ice cream piled on top to guarantee a healthy tip. My phone kept beeping. No doubt my mother wanting to know more about the other woman in Scooter’s life. I tucked the phone back into my purse. Chocolate deserves one’s undivided attention.

“Sir, can I get you anything else? Some more coffee, perhaps?” the waiter asked.

Scooter barely glanced up from his phone. “No, thank you. I’m fine,” he mumbled.

Who sits and stares at pictures of their mistress during an anniversary dinner with their wife? I could feel the muscles in my neck tense up. Too bad Sven wasn’t around to work out the knots. Maybe that would have gotten Mr. Oblivious’s attention—the sight of a cute, young, blond guy massaging my neck. Nah, probably not. He was so wrapped up in Marjorie Jane that he wouldn’t have even noticed Sven.

I felt my eyes tear up, which I didn’t like one bit. I pride myself on not breaking down every time something goes wrong. I took a deep breath. You’re in control. I crumpled up my linen napkin and placed it next to my dessert plate, which sadly only had crumbs left on it, took aim, and kicked Scooter under the table. I was wearing very pointy shoes. That got his attention.

“So, did you think you could just find another woman and I’d be okay with it?”

He looked at me with surprise. “What are you talking about, my little sweet potato? What other woman?”

“Are you serious? You’ve been staring at pictures of her for the last half hour.” I was proud of myself for using my indoor voice this time. “Sure, I know men have midlife crises, but they usually get a sports car or a toupee or something like that. But no, you had to go and get yourself a mistress. And a redhead at that!”

Scooter’s brow furrowed. “But Marjorie Jane isn’t my mistress. She’s a sailboat. I’m buying her for you as an anniversary present.”

I put my champagne flute down. “What? An anniversary present? A sailboat?” This wasn’t making any sense. I wondered if he had had too much champagne to drink, but I think it was possible I had finished off the entire bottle myself. Normally, I would guess that’s why my head had started to hurt, but let’s be realistic—my husband was talking gibberish. Who buys their wife a sailboat as an anniversary present?

“Yes, a sailboat. See, she’s gorgeous.” He passed me his phone. “Look at those classic lines, those teak decks, the red hull, and the white-and-gold trim. Snazzy, huh?”

He leaned over the table and squeezed my hand. “I’ve arranged for us to meet the boat broker at the marina tomorrow so that you can see her. I know you’re going to love her as much as I do.”

I was so flabbergasted I didn’t say anything. Trust me, that’s highly unusual. I’ve typically got a lot to say. All of it very interesting, I might add, and none of it about sailboats.

I didn’t talk to Scooter as we left the restaurant.

I didn’t talk to Scooter on the car ride home.

I didn’t talk to Scooter when we got home.

I didn’t talk to Scooter when we went to bed.

A normal guy would have figured out by this point that he was getting the silent treatment. Nope, not Mr. Clueless. He was so wrapped up in his daydreams about Marjorie Jane that he didn’t even notice.

Marjorie Jane was seriously getting on my nerves. Something was going to have to be done about her.

CHAPTER 2 - THE RED-HAIRED HUSSY

I started talking to Scooter again in the morning, but that was only because he asked me if I wanted a mocha. I need caffeine to function, preferably caffeine that’s made by someone else.

I could have just nodded in response to his question, but I noticed that he wasn’t putting nearly enough chocolate syrup into my cup. After the events of last night, I deserved an extra chocolaty start to the day. This required words.

“Scooter, why are you skimping on the chocolate?”

He turned and smiled. “Sorry, I was lost in thought about Marjorie Jane.” He stirred in a few more spoonfuls.

I put my head in my hands. I couldn’t believe it. Marjorie Jane was even getting in the way of my morning mocha.

Scooter tapped me on the shoulder, placed the steaming cup on the counter in front of me, and gave me a kiss on my forehead. I took a sip and sighed. It was delicious. That man sure could make a tasty mocha. It was almost hard to stay mad at him.

He sat on the barstool next to mine with a bowl of Froot Loops. Just like I can’t start my day without caffeine, Scooter can’t start his day without cereal. He prefers it to be full of brightly colored, sugary nuggets that crunch loudly when you eat them, disturbing those of us who prefer to quietly sip our mochas.

As he munched away, Scooter sorted through a pile of mail. He passed some catalogs and bills to me, then pulled out a magazine that had a picture of a couple of geeky-looking guys underneath a headline declaring them the winners of this year’s telecommunications technology innovation award.

“Why do they keep sending me this?” He clenched the magazine in his hands. “The last thing I want to be reminded of is these two idiots. The only reason they’re on the cover is because of my research.” He tossed the magazine across the counter, pulled his bowl toward him, and pushed the rest of his Froot Loops back and forth with his spoon.

I reached over and squeezed his arm. He gave me a half-hearted smile. Ever since he had been forced to sell his stake in the high-tech telecommunications business that he had founded with the two geeks in question, he hadn’t been himself. Sure, he had made enough on the sale that he didn’t have to work again, but he was struggling to figure out what to do next with his life, especially as he was only in his forties. Although the gray that had begun to appear in his dark-brown hair made him look distinguished, it was probably due to stress.

I pulled out one of his sailing magazines from the stack. “Here, why don’t you read this instead? That should cheer you up.”

He leafed through the pages for a few minutes, then seized my hand. “Thanks for being so understanding. I’m sorry if I’ve been a real pain to live with lately.”

“It’s okay. You’ve been going through a rough patch.”

He put the magazine down and slurped up the last of the milk in his bowl. “What do you say we head over to the marina after I take a quick shower?”

I shrugged. Might as well get it over with. Maybe I could talk some sense into him about the boat once I saw what I was up against. 

“Sure, as long as you make me another mocha for the road.”

* * *

“Are you excited to meet Marjorie Jane?” Scooter asked as he pulled into the marina parking lot.

“Sure, as excited as that time the dentist told me I was doing an excellent job flossing my teeth.” I gave him a big grin to prove my point. “See, good dental hygiene does pay off.”

“Why do I think you’re being a tad sarcastic?”

“Sarcastic? Me? Never. No, I’m dying to meet this red-haired hussy of yours.”

I stepped out of the car and closed the door. It might have sounded like I slammed the door, but I swear that’s just the acoustics you get when you’re near the water. Sound carries farther over water; at least that’s what I think my science teacher said back in high school.

While I reminisced about my struggles getting a passing grade in physics class, Scooter was busy grabbing a navy-blue tote bag out of the back. It had a picture of a sailboat with “Let Your Dreams Set Sail” printed underneath. No doubt he had bought it at one of those boat shows he was always going to.

“What’s in the bag?”

“You’ll see. It’s a surprise.”

“You know I don’t like surprises.”

“Sure you do. Remember how thrilled you were last night when I surprised you with Marjorie Jane?” He bent down and gave me a quick peck on the cheek before hurrying down the path.

“You really are dense sometimes, aren’t you?” I shouted after him as I tried to catch up.

Scooter sure can move fast when he’s focused on something. And by focused, I mean obsessed. He has two modes of operating—fixated on something 24/7 or completely disinterested.

His interest in sailing had started a couple of years ago when he had gone on a weekend charter trip with some buddies. After that, he spent countless hours looking at sailing websites, leafing through glossy boat magazines, and reading books on rather dull subjects like diesel engine maintenance and repair.

I had hoped it was just another one of his temporary preoccupations, like the time he decided he was going to learn to make Ethiopian food. He bought all sorts of unusual ingredients, scorched several pots and pans, and couldn’t speak for days after adding too much hot pepper to a chicken dish and burning his mouth. After one final failed attempt at making an Ethiopian spice blend, he lost interest and ordered pizza for dinner instead.
I should have realized that his fixation with sailing was a lot more serious. Buying a sailboat was probably a good clue. Maybe that’s what a midlife crisis was—an obsession gone wrong.

When he arrived at the boardwalk, he turned and wiggled his finger at me. “Come on, my little sweet potato. This is no time to dawdle. We’re due to meet the boat broker soon.”

I certainly wasn’t dawdling. Okay, maybe a little. I really wasn’t in any hurry to see Marjorie Jane. But my short, stubby legs could never keep up with his long ones. He had been a star basketball player in college, and it was his speed running up and down the court that had earned him the nickname “Scooter.”  I glared at him. He caught my meaning.

“Sorry about that.” He clutched my hand and gave it a squeeze. “It’s just that I’m so excited to see my new girl.”

I glared at him again. My patented knock-it-off-or-you’ll-suffer-serious-retribution glare. The last time I’d given him a glare like that, I hid his Froot Loops and he had to eat oatmeal every day for breakfast for a week instead. Oh, how he’d suffered.

He gave my hand another squeeze and quickly said, “Of course, you’re my best girl, Mollie. No one could take your place.”

When Scooter calls me by my first name instead of a silly pet name, then you know he’s serious. Or worried he might be served more oatmeal.

“All right. We better get a move on if we’re going to meet this boat broker of yours,” I said. I tried to see what was in the tote bag he was carrying.

“Hey, no peeking.” He switched the bag to his other hand and walked down the boardwalk to a creaky dock that had seen better days. He pointed to a sign that said B Dock. “She’s just down here. There are three other main docks: A Dock, C Dock, and D Dock.”

“Do you think they hired external consultants to come up with those clever names? Probably the same team that came up with the name Palm Tree Marina on account of all the palm trees. And let me guess, they came up with the name Coconut Cove on account of all the coconuts floating in the water?”

Scooter suppressed a smile. “There’s also a fuel dock and a dinghy dock. And yes, before you ask, they have clever names too—Fuel Dock and Dinghy Dock.” He pointed at the boats bobbing in the water near the breakwall. “People who keep their boats in the mooring field use their dinghies to get back and forth to shore, and have a special dock to tie up at. And the fuel dock is—”

I held up my hand. “Let me guess. The fuel dock is where you get fuel.”

“You’re catching on quick. Do you want to know about the boatyard?”

“Not really.”

“Of course you do. If you need to do repairs or maintenance to your boat, you have it hauled out and taken there to work on it.”

“Fascinating.”

I gingerly stepped along the dock, avoiding planks that looked like they were missing nails. It reminded me of that kids’ game where you avoided stepping on cracks so that you wouldn’t break your mother’s back. Except, in this case, I wasn’t worried about my mom as much as I was worried about one of the planks breaking and tumbling me into the water. Sure, I like splashing around in the water, but only in pools and hot tubs. I find the chlorination in the water reassuring—it’s a sign that humans are in charge and that you’re less likely to find scary critters, like sharks and alligators, lurking about. When it comes to the ocean, you’re on your own. You never know what sea monsters might be waiting for you. I’m not a very strong swimmer, so I’d much prefer to fight off someone trying to steal my lounge chair by the pool than fend off a great white or a gator.

We had only moved to Florida a few months ago, so worries about sharks and alligators were pretty new to me. When Scooter’s uncle passed away and left him his cottage in Coconut Cove, a small tourist town on the Gulf Coast, we decided it would be a good opportunity to make a fresh start, away from reminders of Scooter’s old business and former partners.

Across from the marina, stairs led down to a sandy beach. I watched some tourists wading in the water, a dog carrying a large piece of driftwood to his owner, and a couple of kids flying colorful kites. Maybe I could convince Scooter to go for a stroll after we were done looking at this boat of his.

After successfully navigating the rest of the dock, I saw him standing in front of a red wooden boat. He stared at it rapturously, his mouth hanging open.

I grabbed a tissue out of my purse. “Here,” I said. “You’re drooling again.”

He wiped the corner of his mouth. “She’s so beautiful!”

I’m not sure “beautiful” was the word I would have used. Paint was flaking off the side. The teak decks looked like they had seen better days. And to top things off, the name Marjorie Jane was written in an ostentatious, flowery gold script on the front of the boat. “Tacky” is the word that came to mind, not “beautiful.”

I was all set to explain exactly what the difference between beautiful and tacky was when Scooter gazed at me with those dark brown eyes of his.

We used to have a chocolate Labrador dog with the same exact eyes when I was a kid. One day, he came bounding up to me with my Barbie doll in his mouth, dropped it at my feet, wagged his tail, and looked at me with his soulful eyes. Sure, Barbie was missing a leg and covered in dirt, but how could I stay mad at a dog who oozed so much cuteness? It was the same with Scooter, except this was a boat and not a mangled doll.

“How much did you pay for this thing?” I asked. “She looks like she should have sunk to the bottom a long time ago.”

“I’ve only put down a deposit,” Scooter said. “That’s why we’re meeting the boat broker. To sign the papers and finalize the deal.”

“You mean you can get out of this?” I asked hopefully.

Scooter didn’t answer my question. He had a faraway look in his eyes as he caressed the side of the boat. Either he was lost in daydreams about sailing or he was deliberately ignoring me. I wasn’t sure which was worse. I hated it when he pretended he couldn’t hear me, but daydreaming about a boat, of all things—especially this boat—really took the cake.

He rubbed his hands together. “Come on, let me show you the cockpit. Imagine relaxing there at night over one of those tropical cocktails you’re fond of. Sounds romantic, doesn’t it?”

It’s true. I do like tropical cocktails. Especially when they’re served in coconuts with tiny umbrellas. But I wasn’t sure you needed a boat to enjoy coconut drinks. They had these beach bars that did the trick just fine.

Scooter slipped off his shoes, then jumped athletically up from the dock onto the teak deck, as though he were going for a slam dunk. He ducked under the red canvas shading the cockpit from the sun and sat behind the steering wheel, grinning from ear to ear. He looked like a lovesick teenager.

He patted the seat next to him. “Hop on up. But first, take off your flip-flops. You should never wear shoes on a boat.”

I placed my sandals on the dock next to his shoes and tried to pull myself up onto the deck. I didn’t get very far. Stupid short legs.

Scooter whistled some sort of sea shanty while he pretended to steer the boat. At least I thought it was a sea shanty. It might have been the latest girl-group song we’d heard on the radio on the drive over to the marina. Either way, it was annoying.

“Are you coming or what?” he asked as he spun the wheel from side to side.

“Exactly how am I supposed to get up there?” I said, putting my hands on my hips. “The boat is like twenty feet above the dock here and I’m only five feet tall.”

He peered down. “Math never was your strong suit, was it? It’s only a few feet, not twenty.” He pointed at a twisted metal cable that ran from the mast to the deck. “Just grab onto that and hoist yourself up.” Then he went back to steering the boat and whistling away to himself.

After several attempts, I eventually managed to scramble on board, holding on for dear life. I teetered precariously on the edge, trying to figure out how I was going to get my legs over the lines that ran around the boat. “Hey, Scooter, mind giving a girl a hand here?” I asked.

He stepped out of the cockpit. “See, I knew you could do it. You’re going to love being on a sailboat. It’s great exercise, isn’t it, climbing up and over things?” He held onto my hand. “Now, just put one leg over the lifelines here. That’s good. Now the other one.”

The boat rocked back and forth as a powerboat sped past Marjorie Jane and headed toward the inlet, which led out of the marina and into the deeper waters of Sunshine Bay. I clung to Scooter so that I wouldn’t lose my balance and land back on the dock. The last thing I wanted was to have to climb back up again.

“Welcome aboard Marjorie Jane,” he said as he clasped my waist and gave me a kiss. “This is the greatest day ever. My very own sailboat that I get to share with my best girl.”

When he let go of me, I nearly lost my balance again. I clutched the lines I had just climbed over. “What did you call these again?”

“Lifelines. They keep you from falling off the boat and into the water. They can save your life, so to speak.”

I thought about all the potential sea monsters circling below, just waiting to gobble me up. I tugged on the lifelines. “These feel kind of loose. If I fell against them, they’d just give way. Shouldn’t they be tighter than this?”

“Nah, they seem fine to me. Don’t worry. You’re not going to fall in the water. Sailing is perfectly safe.” Scooter sat back down behind the wheel.
I climbed into the cockpit, stepping on tattered white cushions with a red starfish pattern. “These are in pretty bad shape.”

“That’s just cosmetic stuff. You have to look past that and see the beauty that lies underneath. Besides, that’s why we’re getting Marjorie Jane at such a bargain price.”

“And what exactly is a bargain when it comes to sailboats?” I asked as I sat at the other end of the cockpit.

“She’s a steal,” he said evasively. “Captain Dan says we’re lucky that we snapped her up before anyone else did.”

I had a feeling I wasn’t going to get a straight answer. I reached out and touched the wooden boards at the entryway to the boat. Red paint flaked off on my hands.

“That’s the companionway,” Scooter said. “You push back the hatch and pull out those washboards to get into the boat. I know you can’t wait to see down below. Captain Dan will be here any minute to unlock her.”

I picked up a broken padlock from the cushion next to me. “You mean this lock? I think someone may have used bolt cutters on this.”
Scooter narrowed his eyes. “Bolt cutters. Of course you’d know it was bolt cutters.”

“Do we have to go into that again? It was just that one time,” I said quickly. “Besides, there’s a bigger issue here. Who broke into the boat and why? There’s much nicer boats to break into around here than this piece of junk.” I looked around the dock at the fancy powerboats and well-maintained sailboats nearby.

Scooter elbowed me out of the way. “Let me see that,” he said, grabbing the padlock. He turned it over in his hands. “Looks like you’re right. This was cut. That’s definitely your area of expertise, isn’t it?”

“Focus, Scooter, focus. The past is the past. More importantly, do you think anyone’s still down there?” I asked.

“Move over,” he said. He slowly pushed back the hatch and peeked down into the cabin.

“Do you see anyone?” I asked.

He put a finger to his lips. “Shh. I’m going to check it out. You stay here and keep quiet.” He pulled the washboards out, setting them down gently on the cockpit floor. He carefully climbed down the ladder.

“I can’t see anything with your big head in the way. Can you move over to the side?” I asked, trying to peer down below.

“What part of keep quiet didn’t you understand?” he whispered. “Just stay there. I’m going to try to find the light switch.”

I heard a lot of banging and a few swear words followed by a loud exclamation. “Ouch, that hurt!”

“Scooter, are you okay?” I asked.

“I’m fine. I just banged my foot on something.”

“What was it?”

“How would I know?” He sounded grumpy. “It’s dark down here. I can’t see a thing.”

I reached into my purse, pulled out a flashlight, and pointed it down the companionway. There were cushions and clothes scattered everywhere, cans of food piled haphazardly on a table in the center of the cabin, cupboard doors hanging open, and books strewn about.

“There’s the light switch,” Scooter said as he turned an overhead fixture on. The place looked even worse when illuminated.

Scooter sat on one of the couches, bent down, and rubbed his left foot. I quickly climbed down the ladder and rushed over to him. “Is your foot okay?”

“It’ll be fine. I stubbed my toe on that winch handle over there.” He pointed at a large metal object next to the ladder.

“Did you say witch handle? Are you saying this boat is haunted?” I picked up the long metal object. “What do witches do with these? Wave them over their heads and cast magic spells to ensure good fishing?”

“No, not witch, winch. You insert the handle into the winch to grind the sails in. You know that metal drum you tripped over getting into the cockpit? That’s a winch.” He must have seen the confused look on my face. “Never mind. I’ll show you how it works later. Here, give it to me.” I passed the handle to him, being careful not to step on an overturned toolbox.

Scooter examined it closely. “It appears to be brand new. But the size is all wrong for our boat. This handle is way too big for the winches on Marjorie Jane.”

“How is it you know the sizes of the winch handles on this boat but you don’t know what shoe size I wear?”

“What are you talking about? I bought you fuzzy bunny slippers a few years ago for your birthday.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I remember. That’s why I started leaving sticky notes on your desk for you with gift suggestions.”

“Oh, is that what those were?” he asked with a smirk on his face.

“Yes, and if you’ll recall, there wasn’t a note that said dilapidated sailboat on it.”

“Trust me, Marjorie Jane will look great once she’s all tidied up. Why don’t you go check out the rest of the boat while I clear up this mess?” He pointed toward a tiny hallway running along one side of the boat. “That’s the kitchen. Or, as we sailors like to say, the galley. Just imagine yourself whipping up some tasty treats in there for us.”

I watched in surprise as Scooter began putting books back on the shelves and cans into cupboards. At home, he usually left stuff all over the place and I picked up after him. This stupid boat inspired tidiness in Scooter, whereas I had failed miserably in my efforts to domesticate him. Just another reason to despise Marjorie Jane.

I sighed and walked into the galley area. I could see why they called it a galley. A space as small as this certainly didn’t deserve to be called a kitchen. There was barely enough room to turn around. The stove and oven were tiny, the counter was practically nonexistent, and there wasn’t a fridge to be seen.

“How are you supposed to survive on this thing without a fridge?” I asked Scooter.

“There’s a fridge.” He pointed at where I was leaning on the countertop. “Right there, underneath your hand.”

I glanced down, and sure enough there was a tiny, hinged door on the top of the counter. I pulled it open and stared into something that appeared to be the size of a small cooler you’d take on picnics. As I was puzzling over this, I heard a man call out, “Ahoy, is anyone there? Permission to come aboard?”

Scooter poked his head up the companionway. “Hey there, Captain Dan. Come on down.” He chuckled. “Although I’m not sure I can give you permission to come aboard. Marjorie Jane isn’t our boat yet.”

“Don’t you worry. This pretty lady will be all yours once we sign these papers and you hand me a check,” Captain Dan said in a slow Texas drawl. I admired his agility as he made his way down into the cabin. He made climbing down a ladder seem easy. He was wearing a denim shirt with mother-of-pearl buttons tucked into well-pressed jeans. My eyes were drawn to his shiny red cowboy boots and an even shinier belt buckle in the shape of an anchor. I looked up, expecting to see a cowboy hat. Instead, the boat broker had a navy-blue captain’s hat perched on top of his head. He had neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper hair and a bushy beard and moustache. Something about him was familiar, but I couldn’t figure out what it was.

Captain Dan shook Scooter’s hand heartily while he surveyed the cabin. “My, oh my, what happened here, li’l pardner?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Scooter said.

“Nothing?” I said in disbelief. “It isn’t nothing. It looks like someone cut through the padlock, broke in, and was searching for something.”

Captain Dan turned, stared at me, and gave a low whistle. “Now, let me see here. This must be the missus. Whew-whee, you sure are one lucky fella, Scooter. She’s got more curves than a barrel of snakes. And what color are those lovely eyes? It’s hard to tell in this light, but they sure are sparkling.”

I was pretty sure the sparkle in my eyes was due to my surprise about how corny this guy was. “They’re hazel.”

Scooter wrapped his arm around my waist possessively. “This is my wife, Mollie. But you better not talk about snakes around her. She had a run-in with one a while back.”

“Okay, no more talk about snakes,” Captain Dan said. “Well now, missy, have you seen the rest of the boat?”

“Not yet. There are more important things to worry about, like who broke into the boat and why.”

“Oh, that? That’s nothing, probably just some of the high school kids on a dare. I wouldn’t worry your pretty little head about it, Mrs. McGhie. Now, why don’t you have a look back here at the aft cabin.” The captain slapped Scooter on the shoulder. “We menfolk are gonna sort out the paperwork.”

Scooter grinned. He seemed to be having fun watching my reaction to Captain Dan’s patronizing comment about my pretty little head. Not that I didn’t like being told that my head was pretty. Given the perpetual frizzy state of my mousy-brown hair, it didn’t happen very often. But somehow I didn’t think Captain Dan was complimenting my efforts at trying to tame my unruly locks with hair straighteners.

“Go on,” Scooter said. “The aft cabin will be our bedroom. You’re going to love it. It’s really spacious.”

“Aft?”

“Just walk through the galley to the back of the boat. That’s what ‘aft’ means—toward the back or the stern.”

I thought about giving the boat broker a piece of my mind but decided I might as well see if the burglars had rifled through the aft cabin too. I wasn’t buying his explanation that a bunch of high school kids had broken in on a dare. How many teenagers carry around bolt cutters?

Scooter called after me, “Make sure you duck your head.”

“Too late,” I said as my head smacked into a low ceiling. After making my way through a tiny door suitable for Hobbits, I found myself in a cabin with a full-size bed against one wall and a small seating area against the other. What I didn’t see were any walk-in closets or dressers. Yet another thing to add to the list of complaints about Marjorie Jane.

The cabin was neat and tidy. Nothing was out of place. Had the intruders found what they were looking for in the main cabin, or had they been disturbed before they could search this part of the boat?

I made my way back through the galley, remembering to duck my head this time. I could have sworn I felt someone swat me on the butt as I inched into the main cabin. Captain Dan winked at me.

Unaware of the captain’s flirtations, Mr. Oblivious glanced at me and said, “There, doesn’t it look better?” The cushions were back in place and all the items that had been strewn about the cabin were piled on one of the couches.

“I guess so. But it is a bit dark in here,” I said. I pointed at the small windows set high up on the cabin walls. “Maybe we could replace those with some large picture windows to let in more light. And I bet a light-colored wallpaper would do wonders for those walls. All this dark wood makes the place feel so old-fashioned, kind of like the paneled den my dad had in the basement.”

Scooter’s eyes got wide. “Wallpaper…picture windows…,” he sputtered.

Captain Dan chuckled. “Never mind about that just now, missy. Why don’t you have a look at the V-berth? Scooter, go on, show her the V-berth.”

Scooter opened up a door at the front of the boat and showed me a room that was shaped like the letter V. Yep, V-berth—another highly original name. The room was taken up by a large raised platform topped with dark-green cushions. I bent down to get a better look at the pattern, when I realized that it wasn’t a pattern at all—it was mildew. Gross. There were two floor-to-ceiling cupboards flanking each side of the berth. I didn’t dare open them for fear of what bacterial cultures I might find growing inside.

As I was brushing a cobweb away from my face, I heard Captain Dan whispering to Scooter, “Let the ladies have their way when it comes to decorating. Your life will be so much more peaceful.”

“But picture windows, wallpaper…” He was still sputtering.

“Y’all will have plenty of time to figure that all out. Maybe we should go ahead and sign these papers now.”

“Captain Dan, what exactly do these papers say?” I asked as I closed the door to the V-berth.

“You know, standard stuff. Just a few signatures and a couple of initials, then this gorgeous little lady will belong to y’all,” Captain Dan replied. He sat and put a folder on the table.

“Scooter, don’t you think we should talk about this a bit more?”

Captain Dan opened up the folder and pulled out a stack of papers. “Well, little lady, I wouldn’t take too long. There’s a couple who are flying down from New York City tomorrow to see the boat and the phone’s been ringing off the hook. Lots of other people are interested in Marjorie Jane. If you don’t snap her up now, I can’t guarantee she’ll still be parked here on the lot. Um, I mean docked at the marina.”

Scooter looked through the papers and then up at me with those cute little puppy-dog eyes. Okay, maybe he did need a new hobby to lift him out of his funk, but I wasn’t sure a boat was the best solution. Especially this dilapidated one.

Captain Dan handed Scooter a pen. “And, it’s a heck of a price. You won’t find a better price on a boat like this anywhere. Captain Dan has the best deals in town, guaranteed!”

Scooter hesitated. “I don’t think we can let this slip out of our fingers. You know we have the money from the sale of the business and from my uncle’s estate. Besides, I think it would be a nice way to honor my uncle’s memory. He always did enjoy sailing.”

It was true; we did have some money in the bank, and his uncle always did talk fondly about his days sailing in the Caribbean. I suppose if you were going to have a midlife crisis, a sailboat was better than a bad toupee or a sports car.

I sighed. “I guess it’s okay.”

Scooter grinned from ear to ear. “It’s going to be great. Just imagine us out there on the water with dolphins frolicking alongside Marjorie Jane. Just the two of us.”

The way he was talking about Marjorie Jane, it was more like the three of us. But who’s counting?

“Fine. While you two do the paperwork, I’m going to go outside for some fresh air. It’s so stuffy in here.” I looked around the cabin again. “I really think some picture windows that we can open up to get a breeze in here would do a world of good.”

Scooter turned red and sputtered again. I wondered what it was about windows that got him so worked up. Captain Dan distracted him by pointing to a spot that needed to be initialed.

While Scooter was leafing through the paperwork, Captain Dan leaned back and looked me up and down. I was getting a little tired of how he leered at me. And Mr. Oblivious continued to be, well, oblivious. I knew his rather nerdy powers of concentration were what made him so successful in his line of work, but sometimes I wished he were able to pay attention to more than one thing at a time. Maybe it was a good thing we were getting this paperwork over and done with so we wouldn’t have to deal with Captain Dan much longer. And what made him so special that he could wear cowboy boots on the boat, but I wasn’t allowed to wear my flip-flops?

“Come on by the patio later, around four,” Captain Dan said. “The marina hosts a barbecue every Friday. They’ll provide the hamburgers and hot dogs. All you have to do is bring a side dish or a dessert to share. It’ll be a good chance to meet some of the other cowboys and cowgirls who have boats here.”

“We’ll bring dessert,” I said quickly. I always bring dessert to potlucks. Usually brownies. That way I know there’s going to be something decent to eat. One time somebody convinced me to bring a salad. Well, that turned out to be a colossal mistake. There were salads of every kind, but no brownies. Not even any chocolate chip cookies. No desserts at all. The worst potluck ever.

I grabbed my purse off the table. “Since I don’t have time to go back to the cottage and make brownies, I’m going to see what I can find in town and meet you back here at the marina.”

“Sure thing,” Scooter said while he continued signing papers and handing them back to Captain Dan. “Why don’t you pick up a bottle of wine while you’re out so we can celebrate?”
I looked around the cabin and sighed. I wasn’t sure one bottle of wine was enough to help me come to terms with the arrival of Marjorie Jane in our lives.

* * *

I didn’t know how to get back off the boat without breaking a leg or, at the very least, spraining an ankle. Okay, just do everything in reverse. Somehow, I managed to get both of my legs over the lifelines and was hanging on for dear life when a cat jumped up onto the boat, dashed past me, leaped back onto the dock, and darted off. I was so startled that I let go of the lifelines and ended up landing smack on my butt on the dock. Splinters in your butt are very awkward.

“Are you all right, sugar?”

I looked up and saw a woman, probably in her midthirties, staring down at me with concern. She was wearing a pink baseball hat with a long blonde ponytail pulled through the back and sporting a pink-and-white-striped T-shirt and pink shorts. Even her sneakers were pink. If I had to go out on a limb, I’d say pink was her favorite color.

I’m not a big fan of pink. Don’t get me wrong—I like girly things, like facials and diamonds. But pink? Ugh.

She held out her hand—bright pink nail polish, of course—and helped me to my feet. I stood and heard a rip as my jeans caught on one of the rusty nails sticking out of the dock. Great. Just what I needed. Splinters in my butt, a rip in my jeans, and a stupid sailboat as an anniversary present. Could the day get any better?

“They really need to do something about fixing these docks. Someone could get seriously hurt one of these days,” she said. She had a sweet-sounding drawl that was far more pleasant on the ears than Captain Dan’s.

“Yeah, don’t I know it,” I said, brushing dirt off my rear end. “My name’s Mollie McGhie, by the way.”

“And I’m Penny Chadwick.” She pointed at Marjorie Jane, who gently bobbed up and down in the water as if she didn’t have a care in the world. And why should she? She had just suckered someone into buying her. “What were you doing on Marjorie Jane?” she asked.

“My husband decided to buy her for me as an anniversary present.”

She furrowed her brow. “He bought this boat for you?”

“Exactly!” I said. “Who buys their wife a boat for their anniversary when everyone knows diamonds are a girl’s best friend?”

“Well, diamonds are nice,” she agreed. “But what I meant was, why did he buy this particular boat, especially when there are so many nicer ones available on the market?”

“Honestly, I have no idea. I guess when Captain Dan told him what a bargain it was and that there were lots of other people interested in her, he figured it was too good of a deal to pass up. Plus, he’s been wanting a boat for a while and when our anniversary came up, it probably seemed like the perfect excuse to take the plunge.”

“Did Captain Dan really say other people were interested in the boat?” She bit her bottom lip. “Did you sign any papers yet?”

I hesitated for a moment and then said, “My husband is signing them now.”

A loud cheer erupted from Marjorie Jane. I heard Scooter yell, “Whoo-hoo! I own a boat!” I sighed. “I guess he’s finished signing them now.” Penny continued chewing on her lower lip and looked at Marjorie Jane. My stomach started to churn. “Why, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know if I should say,” she said.

“Please, you have me worried. What’s the deal with this boat?” I asked. “My husband can be impulsive at times. I really would like to know what he’s gotten himself into this time.”

“Well, you have to wonder why the previous owners are in such a big hurry to get rid of her. They’ve priced the boat to sell quickly.”

“Where are they now? Maybe I can talk to them and find out what’s going on.”

“Easier said than done. After they sailed the boat over here from Texas a few days ago, they skipped town right away. From what I understand, they gave Captain Dan power of attorney to sell the boat. I guess that’s what he’s doing now with your husband—completing a bill of sale and transferring the title over to his name on their behalf.”

“But why did they leave town? Why didn’t they complete the sale themselves?”

Penny shrugged. “Who knows?” Then she smiled slyly. “Wait until Ned and Nancy hear about this!”

“Who are Ned and Nancy?”

“The Schneiders? You haven’t met them yet?” I shook my head. “Oh, well, they own the marina. They were already pissed at Captain Dan about the previous owners. They’re going to be livid when they find out that he helped them by selling their boat.”

“Why would they be so mad?”

“When they brought Marjorie Jane into the marina, they rammed into one of the docks, causing a lot of damage. Captain Dan told them not to worry, that they were good for the money. They believed him and didn’t get a deposit or credit card details. Then the owners left in a hurry, leaving a big unpaid bill behind, which they blame Captain Dan for.”

I rubbed my temples. I could feel a headache coming on.

“Hey, it’ll be okay,” she said. “I’m sure your husband knows what he’s doing. Has he restored a boat before?”

I laughed. “Scooter? Restore a boat? Not that I know of.”

“I’m sure he’s an experienced sailor, at least. He must know a lot about boats.”

“He used to sail on Lake Erie when he was a kid, but that’s quite a while ago now. Does that count?”

She tilted her head to one side. “I suppose he might be a little rusty. And what about you? Do you have much experience on boats?”

I shook my head. “No. Marjorie Jane is the first sailboat I’ve ever been on.”

“Goodness gracious,” she said. She paced back and forth on the dock. “Listen, sugar, there’s no way Captain Dan will let you out of this deal. I’ve known him for a while and with him, all sales are final.” She paused for a moment. “But considering you and your husband’s lack of sailing experience, not to mention lack of experience restoring older boats, I might be able to do you a favor and take her off your hands. I was thinking of getting another boat anyway. I always thought fixing a boat up would be fun. Marjorie Jane might be too much for the two of you to cope with.”

“Really?” I said enthusiastically. “I’d love to get rid of this piece of junk.”

She smiled. “Well, talk it over with your husband and let me know what you think. I run the sailing school here at the marina. You can find me on my boat, Pretty in Pink, on D Dock or just ask for me at the marina office.”

“You have no idea how much I appreciate your help. I’ll give it a while before I talk with him about it. I think he’s a little too excited right now to see reason.” I reached into my bag and grabbed my phone. “Before you leave, let me take a picture of you with what hopefully will be your new boat, and not ours.” Penny stepped over to the front of the boat and smiled while I snapped a photo.

“Hope to see you later, Mollie,” she said over her shoulder as she walked down the dock.
I turned, looked at Marjorie Jane for what I hoped was the last time, and went in search of brownies. And wine. Scooter thought the wine would be for celebrating getting Marjorie Jane. I hoped it would be for celebrating getting rid of her.


CHAPTER 3 - MY LITTLE SWEET POTATO

As I made my way back down the dock, I tried to figure out the best way to convince Scooter that we should sell Marjorie Jane to Penny. Once he had his heart set on something, it was hard to get him to change his mind. I thought about pointing out all the things that were wrong with the boat and what a huge project it would be to restore her. Nope, that probably wouldn’t work. Scooter is one of those guys who loves the idea of fixing things up. Unfortunately, he’s not one of those guys who’s good at fixing things up. Just ask me about the time he tried to install a garage door opener at our old house. On second thought, don’t. I ended up having to park on the street for almost a year. It’s possible I might still be a little bitter about that.

I reached the end of the dock and stepped onto the brick patio area in the center of the marina. It really was a lovely spot. People were sitting at tables underneath large umbrellas. Some were chatting, others were reading, and a family with small children was enjoying ice-cream cones.
At the back of the patio, nestled among some palm trees, were a few buildings painted in the bright, cheerful colors common in this part of Florida. I was pondering which was my favorite color when my phone beeped, alerting me to yet another text from my mom. She must have sent a dozen last night wanting to know who Marjorie Jane was and asking why Scooter was too cheap to get me diamonds for our anniversary.

I really didn’t want to deal with responding to her just then. My mom doesn’t get the whole concept of texting and the fact that it’s supposed to be a quick, shorthand way of communicating. One time I texted LOL to her. She was perplexed for a week. I figured it was easier to send her a picture of Marjorie Jane. No words. No chance of getting drawn into a long round of back-and-forth texts. I attached the picture, clicked Send, and chucked my phone back into my purse.

Enough thinking about Scooter, Marjorie Jane, and my mom. I really needed to get focused on my mission at hand—brownies. Normally, I bake my own award-winning, gooey, quadruple-chocolate brownies, but I didn’t have enough time to make them before the barbecue. I decided to pop into the marina office and see if they knew of a good bakery in town.

The office was located in a small two-story wooden building. The white trim and shutters were freshly painted and contrasted nicely with the bright yellow clapboards. As I stopped to admire the colorful flower beds in front of the office, the screen door flew open and a ball of fur streaked past me, followed closely by a woman brandishing a broom.

“If I see you in here again, you’ll be sorry, you mangy cat!” she yelled, waving the broom back and forth for emphasis. I jumped back quickly to avoid getting clobbered. Unfortunately, I stepped straight into the flower bed, crushing some purple impatiens under my flip-flop.
“Look what you did,” she said, shaking her fist. She stared at the flower bed in dismay. “I just planted those, and now they’re ruined!”

She glared at me over the top of her reading glasses without saying a word. I figured she was in her late fifties or early sixties, based on the wrinkles around her eyes and her laugh lines. Although in her case, I suspect they were more like frown lines. Unpleasant reminders of childhood popped into my head. My mom was the master of long, uncomfortable, silent stare-downs. Ultimately, I would confess to whatever it was that she thought I was guilty of, like polishing off the cookies she had been saving for her bridge group. Not that I ever did anything like that as a child, mind you. As the stare-down continued, I began to think that my mom was just an amateur compared to this woman.

I wasn’t sure what made me more uncomfortable—her piercing blue eyes peeking out from underneath her immaculately coiffed hair, or how tightly she was gripping the broom handle. I averted my gaze and noticed she was wearing white capri pants and a navy-blue polo shirt with the Palm Tree Marina logo embroidered on it. A name tag that said “Nancy, Office Manager,” was pinned underneath.

I’d read somewhere that if you use a person’s first name it defuses the tension. “This sure is a nice place you have here, Nancy,” I said. She continued to glare at me while increasing her death grip on the broom. I wondered who was going to crack first, the broom handle or me. Probably me.

I decided to try a new tack. “Your cat’s awfully cute. What’s its name?” People love it when you ask about their pets.

“That is not my cat,” she said. “Cats don’t have any business being here at the marina. Next time I see the owner of that vile creature, I’m going to give her a piece of my mind.” Her eyes narrowed as she saw the mangled impatiens.
“Um, sorry about the flowers, Nancy. I was just trying to get out of the way and stumbled. I’m a bit of a klutz.”

She relaxed her grip on the broom slightly. “Humph. Well, accidents happen. Especially if you’re klutzy.” She inspected me up and down, pausing when she saw the rip in my jeans.

I put my hand over the tear, trying to cover it up from her disapproving look. “Like I said, I’m klutzy. I ripped my jeans getting off our boat.”

“Your boat? What’s your boat’s name? I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,” Nancy said, tightening her grip on the broom again. I didn’t think the broom was going to live to see another day. “Did you dock here without getting permission first?”

“No, the boat was already here,” I stammered. “We just bought her from Captain Dan. She’s the red boat on B Dock.”

“You don’t mean that floating monstrosity, Marjorie Jane, do you?” I nodded, both in agreement to her question and with her assessment of Marjorie Jane as a monstrosity.
Nancy started to sweep the area around the flower bed furiously. “That man, I swear, he’s always up to something. I’m going to wring his neck when I see him,” she muttered.

“What do you mean, he’s always up to something?” I darted out of the way as Nancy swept the dirt back into the flower bed. She ignored me and kept sweeping.

I tried again. “Listen, I just met a woman named Penny who told me that Marjorie Jane isn’t in the best shape. I’m worried that my husband bought a lemon. Do you think it’s possible that Captain Dan pulled a fast one on us?”

Nancy snorted. “Whatever deal you made with Captain Dan is between you and him. I don’t want any part of it.”

“Well, can you at least tell me a little bit about him? Scooter—that’s my husband—doesn’t really think things through before he buys something. He even bought a case of Elmer’s glue once because it was on sale. I asked him what he thought we were going to do with that many bottles of glue. He was at a loss for an answer but was still convinced it was a great deal. I’m worried that this is another one of his rash decisions. People have taken advantage of him before. I’d hate to think Captain Dan did the same thing.”

Nancy stopped sweeping and looked at me with concern. “Oh, you poor thing. I know all about foolish husbands.” She paused before adding, “To be honest, I don’t really know too much about Captain Dan. He moved down to Coconut Cove about a year ago and opened a boat brokerage business at the marina. We lease him space for his office, and he keeps some of the boats he’s selling here at the marina. It’s purely a business arrangement.”

She leaned the broom on the wall next to the office door. “Now, why don’t you come inside with me, and we’ll get you registered as Marjorie Jane’s new owners.”

I wasn’t convinced that Nancy didn’t know more about Captain Dan, but I was relieved that she had finally let go of the broom. I followed her into the office, wiping my feet on the mat by the door first.

Nancy sat behind a counter, adjusted her reading glasses, and tapped away on the computer keyboard. “It will be just a minute while I pull up the records, dear.”

I thought I saw a faint smile when she called me “dear.” Maybe she wasn’t so scary after all. Turned out it was a short-lived feeling.
“You didn’t track dirt into here, did you?” she barked, peeking over the counter at the gleaming pine floor.

I gulped. “No, I wiped my feet on the mat.”
“Good. We like to run a tidy ship. Being neat is a good thing, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Of course,” I said, while I thought about the fact that I hadn’t made the bed this morning and that the sink was full of dirty dishes.
I looked around the room while she worked away on the computer. The wall behind Nancy was painted turquoise and had framed photographs of dolphins, tropical fish, and seashells on display. Nancy looked up from the computer. “Those are for sale if you’re interested. My daughter took them. We also have some guidebooks and nautical charts by the door. Those might come in handy, considering you just bought a boat.”

I walked over to the shelves stocked with cereal, cans of soup, crackers, and other basic groceries that boaters might need. As I contemplated the mystery of canned artichoke hearts, the screen door opened.

Nancy pursed her lips and glared at the entryway. “Is that you, Ned? Don’t just stand there letting all the flies in. Get in here and close that door.”

A man wearing a matching navy-blue Palm Tree Marina polo shirt tucked into neatly pressed khaki pants entered and quickly shut the door. “What happened to the flower bed?” he asked tentatively, running his fingers through his gray hair.

Nancy pointed at me. “That’s what happened.”

He looked over at me and gave me a warm smile before turning back to Nancy, who was picking some papers off the printer. She stapled the pages together so firmly that I thought the stapler might break. She put the papers down and waved the hunk of metal at Ned angrily. “Her husband just bought that old boat, Marjorie Jane. Can you believe Captain Dan went and did that behind our back?”

Ned stepped back to avoid being hit by the stapler. Nancy certainly had a way with office equipment and cleaning supplies. He rubbed his chin for a few moments. “But maybe that’s a good thing. We won’t have the hassle of trying to track down and deal with the previous owners any—”

Nancy slammed the stapler down on the counter, cutting him off. “Never you mind about that. Shouldn’t you be setting up the tables for the barbecue?”

Ned took that as his cue to leave, nodded at me, and scurried out the door.

“I’ve got your paperwork for you.” Nancy motioned me over to the counter and explained the monthly rates and marina rules and regulations. She became quite animated when she got to section 8.1—pets must be on leashes at all times. I discreetly moved the stapler a safe distance away and filled in my details while Nancy quickly fired questions at me. “You don’t have a pet, do you? You do have a credit card, don’t you? Do you have loud parties at night?” I must have answered yes and no correctly, because she eventually handed me a copy of the papers and a credit card receipt.

As I opened the door, I noticed Ned setting up a folding table next to the grill, which reminded me that I needed to get brownies. I looked back at Nancy, who was busily tapping her perfectly manicured pink nails, each adorned with a white starfish, on the computer keyboard.

“Do you happen to know a good bakery around here?” I asked.

“Try Penelope’s Sugar Shack. It’s just off Main Street. Big purple awning. You can’t miss it.” She stared at the screen door, which I had left partially ajar. “Hurry up now and close the door on your way out. The last thing we need is more flies in here,” she said as she whacked one unfortunate victim on the counter. I’m surprised flies even dared to come into the office when Nancy was on duty. I don’t think I would unless I had to.

As I walked across the patio, I noticed the cat that Nancy had chased out of the office sitting on top of one of the tables. Ned was scratching behind its ears to the accompaniment of a loud purr. He caught my eye and motioned me over.

“Listen, don’t mind my wife. Her bark is worse than her bite. It’s just that she’s very, well, how should I put it…”

“Organized?” I offered.

“Yes, that’s a good description for it—organized.”

I actually thought scary was a better description, but organized seemed more polite. The cat nudged Ned’s hand, reminding him that his primary duty should be ear-scratching, not chatting with people.

“Sorry about that, Mrs. Moto,” Ned said. “Only a few more scratches, then I have to get back to work.”

“Mrs. Moto is an interesting-looking cat.” I stroked her white fur while she purred approvingly. “I love the black rings around her eyes. And her black-and-orange patches remind me of a calico cat I used to have when I was growing up. Except my cat had a fluffy white tail, while this one doesn’t have much of a tail at all.”

“That’s because she’s a Japanese bobtail. I think it’s kind of cute, like a rabbit’s tail.” Mrs. Moto meowed in agreement. “She’s such a sweet cat. Aren’t you, Mrs. Moto?” Ned gave the cat one last scratch on her head, picked her up, and set her on the patio. “Time for you to run along now before Nancy catches you out here.”
Ned turned to me. “Do me a favor, will you? Don’t let Nancy know that you saw me out here petting Mrs. Moto. I think she gets jealous when I pay attention to her.”

“No problem. Your secret is safe with me.”
I watched the calico scamper down the dock while Ned returned to setting up tables on the patio. My phone beeped. Another text from my mom.

I thought you said Marjorie Jane was a redhead. She has blonde hair in the picture you sent.
I checked the picture. Sure enough, Penny was in the corner at the front of the boat. She must have thought that Penny was Marjorie Jane. I sent her a quick text before heading over to Penelope’s Sugar Shack.

That’s Penny. Gotta go. Need  brownies.

* * *

By the time I got back to the marina, the barbecue had already started. I put my box of brownies down on one of the tables. I saw lots of different types of salads, but no desserts. People sure were going to be glad I stopped by the bakery.

I saw Scooter walking down the dock toward the patio. I waved at him but he didn’t notice. He kept stopping and admiring each one of the sailboats along the way. It was bad enough that he’d paid more attention to Marjorie Jane than to me, but now he was paying more attention to all sorts of other sailboats as well. He was so lost in his daydreams that he bumped into me at the end of the dock.

“There you are. I was wondering what happened to you. Great news—I finished signing all the paperwork, and Marjorie Jane is officially ours!” He grinned. It was a cute grin, and I really hated to crush his spirit, but he needed to know about Penny’s offer.

“I know. I heard you cheering earlier when I was speaking with this lady named Penny. She seems to think Captain Dan did a number on us. Marjorie Jane needs a lot of work. She’s a major fixer-upper. It might be a little too much for us, don’t you think?”

“Penny, you said? She doesn’t happen to be the sailing school instructor, does she?”

“Yes, that’s her. Why?”

“Captain Dan warned me about her. He said she’s been dying to get her hands on Marjorie Jane and will say or do anything to warn prospective buyers off.”

“But she sounded quite sincere and she even offered to buy the boat off us.”

“Well, there you go then. I bet she would offer a really low price and we’d lose money on the deal. No, I trust Captain Dan. Everything is going to be fine, you’ll see.” Scooter glanced at the patio. “There he is now. Let’s go say hi. I’m sure he’ll put your mind at ease.”

Captain Dan waved us over. “Glad you could make it!” He turned to the couple standing next to him. “Let me introduce you. This here is Scooter and Mollie McGhie. They’re the proud new owners of Marjorie Jane. And this here is Jack Holt. Just look at those freckles on him. He looks like he swallowed a quarter and broke out in pennies.” Captain Dan playfully punched Jack in the arm as though they were best buddies.
Jack pulled up the sleeve of his brightly colored Hawaiian shirt and rubbed his arm before shaking hands with us. “Why would you buy Marjorie Jane?” he asked in disbelief. He took the words right out of my mouth. Why would anyone buy that boat? Or any boat, for that matter.

Scooter beamed. “I bet you’re jealous, Jack, that I snapped her up. Captain Dan’s been telling me that his phone has been ringing off the hook with people wanting to buy her.”
Jack raised his eyebrows at the bearded man. “Your phone’s been ringing off the hook?”

Captain Dan nodded. “Sure has. Captain Dan is the number one boat broker in all of Coconut Cove.” He inched over to the woman standing next to Jack, draped his arm around her shoulder, and winked. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

Jack stared at him. “That’s my wife, Sandy.” I wasn’t sure if he was introducing her to us or reminding Captain Dan whose wife she was. Sandy brushed her curly, silver hair behind her ears and smiled at us.

The captain gave Sandy’s shoulder a squeeze and looked over at us. “She’s as cute as a calico kitten, isn’t she?” Sandy blushed, unaware that her husband’s stare had turned into a glare. She looked at Captain Dan wistfully when he took his arm off her shoulder.

He reached into a cooler, pulled out a couple of beers, and offered one to Scooter. “Anyone else want one?”

A young man tapped Captain Dan on the shoulder. He had a scruffy beard and long, greasy, brown hair tied back in a ponytail. When I saw the tattered shorts he was wearing, I self-consciously put my hand over the tear in my jeans, wishing I had been able to change before the barbecue. But while I was embarrassed by my ripped clothing, he seemed unfazed. I wondered if wearing a bright orange T-shirt that said “Trust Me, I’m a Pirate” and a leather cord with a skull-and-crossbones pendant around your neck was the latest in sailor chic. I really hoped not, because I didn’t think it was a look that Scooter could pull off.

“I’ll take one of those,” he said, holding out a rather grimy-looking hand.

“I can always count on you to show up when there’s free beer.” Captain Dan sneered as he handed him a bottle. “This is Ben Moretti. He lives on a sailboat out on one of the mooring balls. It’s cheaper out there than getting a slip on the docks. You’re always trying to save a buck, aren’t you, Ben?”

Ben took a large swig of beer. “You know good and well why I’m broke.” He nodded at us, pushed past the captain, and walked toward the barbecue.

Our boat broker shook his head. “Well, somebody’s a little touchy, aren’t they? Oh, I see Nancy and Ned over there. I need to have a word with them. I’ll catch y’all later.”

Sandy gazed after Captain Dan longingly. Jack grabbed her by the elbow. “It looks like the hamburgers and hot dogs are done. Why don’t we go over and get some food, Sandy?”

Sandy pulled her arm away from Jack and took mine instead. “Sure thing. Mollie and I will meet you guys over at the barbecue.”

* * *

After loading my plate up with a cheeseburger and all the fixings, I checked out the buffet table, where everyone had placed their contributions. I bypassed the healthy-looking salads, opting instead for a large helping of baked beans and some corn on the cob. I snagged a brownie while I was at it too.

Captain Dan sidled up to me. “You sure are a sweet little thing, just like those brownies. Go on and pass me one of those, darlin’.”

I reluctantly put one on his plate. “Are you originally from Texas, Captain Dan?”

“Sure am. Texan, through and through.”

“You look so familiar. Did you ever spend time in Cleveland? Scooter and I lived there before we moved down here. Maybe we ran into each other up there?”

“Nope, never been to Cleveland.”

“What brought you to Coconut Cove?”

“Um…I just wanted a change of scenery.” He winked at me. “I heard the ladies are real purty out here.”

I was officially creeped out. I changed the subject. “Have you always been a boat broker? It seems like an interesting job.” It didn’t really seem that interesting, but one thing I’ve learned in my line of work is that people love to talk about themselves and what they do.

“I’ve always been in sales,” Captain Dan said. He hesitated, then pointed across the patio. “Look, the gang’s got a table over there.” While he hurried off, I put another brownie on my plate.

* * *

“There’s my little sweet potato.” Scooter pulled out a chair next to him for me.

Sandy cocked her head. “Sweet potato?”

“I think Scooter has a hard time remembering my name,” I said. “He’s always calling me these strange pet names. Lately, they’ve all been related to vegetables, which is odd because Scooter isn’t really a big fan of vegetables.”
Scooter pointed at his plate. “That’s not fair. I’ve got some baked beans right here. Those are vegetables, aren’t they?”

“I guess. But I really meant vegetables like broccoli and cauliflower. Like the ones on that list your doctor gave to you.”

Scooter shuddered at hearing the names of two of the vegetables he’d least like to make an appearance on his dinner plate. He scooped up some of the baked beans. “Yum, these are delicious. I wonder who made these.”

Sandy beamed. “I did. I’m glad you like them.”
I took a bite and had to agree. “They’re fantastic. What’s your secret, Sandy?”

“It’s an old family recipe. The trick is to add a touch of cocoa powder and some maple syrup. I bring them to all the potlucks we go to. They’re always a big hit.”

“I can see why. Everything’s better with chocolate in it.” I batted Scooter’s fork out of the way when he tried to get the last of the baked beans on my plate. “Hands off, buster. These are all mine.”

As I finished off the rest of my beans, I heard my phone buzzing. My boss, Brian Morrison, had sent me an email. I quickly scanned it between bites of my cheeseburger.

“Scooter, you’ll never believe this! Brian says they’re down to two candidates for the promotion at work. It’s between me and Lola.”
Scooter furrowed his brow. “Work? Promotion? What are you talking about?”

I clenched my phone and glared at him. “How can you say that? I’ve told you a million times that I’m up for a promotion.”

Sandy leaned over. “I know what you mean about having to constantly repeat yourself. Jack doesn’t listen to a word I say.”

Scooter’s brow was still furrowed. If he kept this up, he was going to get a headache. “I always listen to what you say, Mollie. But since you don’t have a job, how can you be up for a promotion at work?”

I looked at Sandy. “See, he called me by my name, rather than a vegetable. He knows he’s in trouble.” Then I turned to Scooter. “You know good and well that I have a job. I do important work for FAROUT.”

Scooter leaned back in his chair. “Oh, that. I thought you meant a real job.”

“You know what I was thinking I’d start making you for breakfast, Scooter?” I asked. “Oatmeal with broccoli and cauliflower on it.”

Scooter blanched. “How about if we just stick to Froot Loops? I don’t want you to go to any trouble making a fancy breakfast for me.” He quickly added, “Of course the work you do for FAROUT is a real job.”

Jack pushed his plate aside. “Well, at least your wife has a job. I can’t remember the last time Sandy worked for a living.”

Sandy glared at Jack. The way she held her plastic fork made me think she was considering stabbing him in the hand. She scooped up some baked beans instead. Wise choice. When your husband is annoying, my philosophy is to eat chocolate. Or in this case, baked beans with cocoa in them.

Captain Dan held up his bottle of beer. “You know what we need? A little toast. Here’s to Scooter and Mollie on the purchase of their new boat.”

Scooter looked cautiously at me and raised his bottle. Sandy and I raised our wine glasses while Jack stared off into the distance.
Our boat broker nudged Jack. “What’s wrong with you? You look as mean as a mama wasp. Come on, let’s congratulate these fine folks.” Jack grudgingly raised his bottle.

After a few minutes of silent eating and drinking, Captain Dan leaned back and rubbed his belly. “That sure was some good grub, and the company wasn’t half-bad either.” Sandy gave a sudden yelp and fidgeted in her chair. I could have sworn that the captain had put his hand on her knee under the table. He pushed back his chair, stood, and looked at some kids building sandcastles on the beach.

“Scooter, why don’t you take your missus out for a sunset stroll on the beach. Y’all can get a good view of the marina from there. While you’re off doing that, I’m going to pop by Marjorie Jane and leave a little boat-warming present for you on board.”

Scooter got up from the table. “That’s awful nice of you.” He reached into his pocket. “I found another padlock on the boat. Here’s a spare key for it.”

Captain Dan took the key, then shook Scooter’s hand heartily. He nodded at the rest of us. “Have a good night, y’all.”

As he ambled across the patio, I saw Penny come up and grab his arm. Captain Dan stopped and tried to remove her hand. She tightened her grip on his arm and spoke to him in an agitated manner. Whatever she was saying appeared to be making him angry. His eyes narrowed and he pushed her away from him. The others at the table were busy talking about injector valves on diesel engines, which was not a conversation I wanted to be a part of. I decided it was time to do a little bit of investigating.

“Here, why don’t I throw all of this in the trash,” I offered, gathering up the paper plates, utensils, and cups.

“Thanks,” Scooter said absentmindedly, and turned back to his conversation with Jack and Sandy.

I headed toward the trash can and hid behind some potted palm trees so I could listen to Captain Dan and Penny’s conversation.

“You promised me that we’d be partners in the boat brokerage,” Penny said.

“I never did any such thing,” Captain Dan said.

“Yes, you did. And you owe me, especially after I lost all that money I put into your last business.”

“It was an investment. Sometimes you win and sometimes you lose. If you can’t stand the heat, you should get out of the kitchen, as my mama always said.” He folded his arms across his chest. “You knew when you put that money up that it was a risk.”

“You told me it was a sure thing. Otherwise, I would have never given you the money.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you, darlin’. It’s not my problem, is it?”

“I’m going to make it your problem. You better watch your back, Bob. It isn’t just me who’s livid. Ned and Nancy are pretty hot under the collar. And wait until those new marks of yours find out what you sold them.”

He shook Penny by the shoulders. “You better not say anything, you hear me?” He pushed her back, turned, and stormed off. Penny chewed on her nails while she watched him walk away.
I was left with two questions—why did Penny call Captain Dan “Bob,” and who were these new marks she was referring to?