Bloody Point (8 page)

“The argument we had. It was because of me. He was
preoccupied I’m sure. That’s why he didn’t see it coming, that’s why he
couldn’t defend himself. There’s no other reason, Dad. He’s the best, the best
at street survival. It was because of me. And the things I said …”

“No, sweetie. No.”

“Yes it was, Dad! It was my fault.”

“No, Cass. You’re not responsible for him being hurt. And you
can’t save him, either. That’s up to God.”

Her temples were throbbing now and she put both hands up to
them as if to squeeze the anger back inside, the anger that was spilling out of
her in waves. It wasn’t fair. What happened to Mike, what happened to Jake, it
just wasn’t fair. Anybody could see that. She couldn’t do anything for Mike
anymore, but Jake … that was a different story.

“He needs me, Dad. That’s all I know, he needs me.” Cassie
struggled to keep her voice calm.

“And don’t you think that, if it was truly a matter of life
and death, the Bureau would come and get you and take you to him? You don’t
think they care that much about one of their own?”

“Not with that idiot Foster in charge. Besides, what did they
do for Mike?”

But her father wouldn’t quit. He was like that–a quiet but
tenacious debater. She, on the other hand, was like her mother, people said, fiery
and quick-witted.

“Cass,” he said, “let’s just say you do your usual excellent
job researching and found all the head-injury rehab hospitals. And let’s just
say you manage to sweet-talk the truth out of some unsuspecting registration
clerk and you find out where your friend is. What then?”

“I go there. I go see Jake.”

“You go see Jake. You breach security. Potentially you lead
whoever’s trying to kill Jake right to him. The FBI is annoyed. More than
annoyed. And then they move Jake again. Do you want his life to be disrupted
that way? Is that what you want for him? Now he has to go to yet another
hospital, another set of doctors, different nurses, a whole different program.
That’s what you want?”

Why did he have to be so sensible? Cassie suddenly felt
deflated and she sagged down onto the bed. She stared at her hands, as if they
held some secret, some rejoinder she could make. But her hands were empty.

“Let him go, Cass.”

“How can I stand by and do nothing for him?”

Her father sat beside her on the bed. He put his arm around
her and kissed the side of her head. “You can always pray for him, honey. God
knows where he is.”

“No, no, no,” she said, and Cassie got up and walked out of
the house.

†

Bloody Point

Chapter 8

S
HE stayed outside until
after dark, walking along the sandy strip of beach along the Bay. The air,
though cooler, was still thick with humidity. She walked all the way around the
cove and then back again, and finally sat on a rock, staring into the distance,
fingering the necklace Mike had given her. Her dad was right, she knew that,
but she hated it. How could she let him go? Jake needed her, and probably she
needed him. He had occupied so much of her thinking lately.

The lights from the bungalow glowed softly. She could hear
Mozart being played on the stereo. A fish jumped in the water. Mr. Henry came
up and rubbed against her leg.

Finally Cassie went inside. When her dad saw her, he came to
her and wrapped his arms around her.

“I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“It’s okay, Cass. I love you.”

They had a simple dinner of grilled salmon and salad and they
talked about his projects: the underwater grasses nursery program, the
educational tours, the oyster garden. Her father was very actively working to
save the Chesapeake Bay. It was, he said, his second greatest passion.

“Cass, why don’t you spend the day with me tomorrow? A group
of us are going out to Bloody Point to band pelicans. Why don’t you come? It
would be good for you to get out on the Bay for a day.” Bloody Point was a
place just off the south end of Kent Island. An old caisson lighthouse stood
guard there over the six-foot shallows. Ironically, the deepest part of the Bay
was nearby, a 174-foot pit everyone called Bloody Point Hole. Local tradition
said that ships used to dump dead and sick slaves there, throwing them
overboard before they got to the market at Annapolis. That was one of the
stories, anyway.

Cassie wiped her mouth with her napkin. “No, Dad. I don’t
think so. There’s too much to do.”

He opened his mouth as if to say, “Like what?” but must have
thought better of it. Instead, he kissed her goodnight.

• • •

After showering early the next morning, Cassie drove to Goose
Creek, parked her car, and sat on a hill overlooking the marina. She watched
Scrub move a sloop over next to the lift, his jon boat nudging and shoving the
larger sailboat into place. She saw Pete, the mechanic, arrive in his ancient
pickup truck and two fishermen she didn’t know load their boat with gear and
take off toward the Bay.

After an hour or so, she walked over to the dinghy rack and
pulled out a sea kayak she kept there. Donning her life jacket and grabbing a
paddle, she launched the craft and set off down the creek. Perhaps the wheeling
gulls, or the whispers of the bulrushes, or the sound of the egrets crying from
their nests on the channel markers would tell her what she needed to know.

Cassie stayed out for about two hours. The Bay was calm with
light waves. She stayed close to shore, near where Goose Creek entered the
larger body of water. She saw schools of little fish jump out of the water as
if something bigger were underneath them, chasing them. She saw cormorants,
dark duck-like birds with long necks, diving for food. And she quietly watched
a blue heron stalking minnows in the shallows along the shoreline, his long,
ungainly legs almost comical in their stilt-like form. She always found peace
on the water. The smell of the salt, the breeze on her face, the lapping sound
of the waves, the birds, the fish — they all touched a part of her soul that
otherwise languished. She needed the water.

Then the wind came up strong, and the chop started to build
and Cassie began paddling back up the creek. Her arms began to ache but it was
a good kind of ache — from exertion, not emotional pain — and she welcomed it.
Arriving at the marina she beached the kayak, scrambled out, and tugged it up
on shore. She hefted it overhead, and put it back in the dinghy rack, securing
it with a lock. The wind, stronger now, whipped her hair. She got in her car,
and drove away. Where exactly she was going, she didn’t know.

When she had driven half a mile down the road, a loud “boom”
rattled her car windows and made her jump.
That’s odd
, she thought,
I
wonder what that was?
Still, she kept on driving. Less than five minutes
later, a police car screamed past her, going the other way, lights flashing.
Then there was another, and another, two more “booms” and then she saw fire
trucks rolling out of a station, lights and sirens blazing.

Curious now, Cassie wheeled her car around and headed back
toward the marina. Two more cop cars passed her, and then another fire truck.
She accelerated in her anxiety. A block away from the marina, she saw a dark
column of smoke billowing in the sky. She turned left, then right, and when the
marina came into view, she gasped. Black smoke billowed from burning boats. The
marina was on fire!

Cassie parked the car and jumped out. Six boats were already
burning. The sloop next to the lift was fully involved. Flames were licking
hulls, lines, and docks. One fire truck had arrived and was laying lines,
others were arriving, their crews jumping off as the engines came to a stop.
People were streaming out of the Blue Goose restaurant.

Cassie spotted her boat. It was five boats away from the fire.
Five boats. Could she save it? She had to. Adrenaline flashed through her and
she began running toward
Time Out
. The boat had been resurrected once;
she couldn’t let it be destroyed now.

Boom!
A boat exploded on the A-Dock, stopping Cassie
in her tracks. Already she was choking on smoke. Could she get there in time?
Could she save her boat?

The smoke thickened as her feet hit the dock. Her eyes began
watering. She could hear the firemen yelling for her to stop.
Time Out
was halfway down the A-Dock. As she ran, Cassie went over in her mind what she
needed to do.
Open the seacocks. Turn on the starting battery switch. Start
the motor. Disconnect shore power. Free the lines.

A brisk wind was driving the fire. Tongues of flame were
leaping from boat to boat, and even the big, thick pilings were beginning to
burn.
Boom!
The boat four boats down from
Time Out
exploded.
Debris rained down around Cassie as she reached her slip. “No!” she yelled,
kicking a flaming piece of material into the water. She jumped onto her boat.
Already several sparks had singed the sailcover.

Her hands were shaking. It took her three attempts to open
the companionway lock. Choking on the smoke, she jerked the boards up and raced
down the stairs. Quickly opening the engine cooling seacock, she flipped on the
starting battery switch and grabbed the ignition key. Back up in the cockpit,
the smoke was intensifying. She could no longer clearly see the shore. She
stabbed the key in the ignition and turned it. The big Yanmar chugged a couple
of times, then stalled.

No, not now
, Cassie screamed inside.
This is no
time for engine trouble!
She tried again. It stalled again. Then,
Boom!
The boat three slips down exploded and she felt the explosion reverberate in
her whole body.

Desperate, Cassie turned the key again. For the third time,
the motor chugged, then died. Her mind began racing:
do I loose the lines
and set it adrift? Get off the boat? What?

“Miss! What are you doing? Miss!” It was Scrub. The little
dockhand, blackened with smoke with his eyes red and tearing, jumped into the
cockpit.

“It’s stalling!” Cassie screamed.

Scrub yelled, “Get the shore power off! I’ll get the engine.”
He raced down below, jerked off the engine cover, and fiddled with something as
she unscrewed the big cable that fed electricity to the boat. Then he leaped up
into the cockpit. “Cast off!” he yelled.

Cassie jumped onto the finger pier and freed the dock lines,
throwing the aft line onto the boat and holding the bow line. Scrub turned the
key, and the engine roared to life. He jammed the boat into forward, and Cassie
jumped on as he steered it out of the slip.

The water was filled with burning debris. The sky was totally
obscured by black smoke. Arches of water from the fire hoses formed a tunnel
and Cassie and Scrub motored through it. Tears from the smoke were streaming
out of her eyes and her lungs felt seared. But Cassie was grateful as the
distance grew between them and the burning slips.

Coughing and choking, the two took
Time Out
down the
creek. Before the last turn, Cassie looked back.

The entire 120-slip marina was ablaze. Docks, piers, pilings
… Huge clouds of black smoke billowed in the stiff wind. Two docks filled with
boats had been consumed already. She could see some of the blackened hulls
still floating; others had sunk in their slips. Here and there a boat drifted,
its dock lines burned through, and off in the distance a houseboat on fire spun
crazily in the creek.

Two fireboats sprayed water on what was left, but their
efforts were fruitless. It was clearly too little too late. Emergency vehicles,
police cruisers, and ambulances were gathered on the shore, their lights
sparkling like some weird celebratory parade.

Off to the right, the Blue Goose Restaurant was ablaze.
Flames licked through the roof and one wall remained standing but the place was
mostly gone, gutted, and all the workers could do was huddle in the distance,
watching their jobs go up in smoke.

It seemed so surreal to Cassie, like a nightmare. She felt
like her insides had been gutted as well. The marina, her home for these past
months, was gone, just gone! Viewing the destruction she realized how fortunate
she’d been. “Thank you, Scrub. Thank you!” she said. “Thank you for saving my
boat!”

“Yes, miss.”

They anchored the boat safely down the creek, and got in the
dinghy to motor back. Skirting the edges of the fire area, they headed toward a
large crowd gathered on shore. Scrub guided the dinghy to the shoreline, and
secured it after they got out.

Cassie had to struggle to breathe. The smallest exertion sent
her into a coughing spasm. Then she heard her name and looked up. Her father
was racing toward her, his face advertising his relief.

“Cassie!” Jim Davison grabbed his daughter in a hug. “I am so
thankful! Thank God you are okay! The firemen said they saw a woman running
down the dock and I knew that had to be you! I was so worried!”

Cassie coughed. “I had to save the boat, Dad!”

“You scared everyone! Oh, honey!”

A huge explosion made her jump in his arms. One more boat
destroyed. Flaming pieces rained down, plopping in the water and sending
spectators scurrying on land. There were two more boats on that dock, just two.
Suddenly, Cassie’s knees felt weak.

Jim held his daughter close. Another coughing spasm overtook
her. “Let’s get you some oxygen,” he said, and ignoring her protests, he led
her over to a rescue squad truck.

• • •

Cassie sat on the ground, an oxygen mask covering her face.
Her father stood nearby. Before them was the destroyed marina, smoke still
rising, its piers and pilings like a charred skeleton in the water. The acrid
smell of smoke filled the air, and the buzz of news helicopters overhead
competed with the loud chugging of the fire truck engines. Film at eleven.

“Jim!” Richard Maxwell joined them. He was dressed in khaki pants
and a bright green shirt. His face was red and his eyes snapped with anger.
“This is unreal! What happened? I can’t believe it! It’s a tragedy, a terrible,
terrible tragedy.”

Cassie saw her dad look oddly at Maxwell. “No one was
killed,” Davison said, “at least as far as we know. So it’s not the worst that
could happen. Did you lose your boat?”

“Of course.” Maxwell’s face was hard. “How did it start? Who
is responsible for this?”

“I don’t think they know yet.”

“You know, I told them that idiot would be trouble someday! I
told them.”

“Who are you talking about?”

Maxwell gestured down the hill toward Scrub, who was talking
to the fire marshal. “What was he doing? What was he working on? I’ll bet
somehow …”

“It wasn’t his fault! Scrub didn’t do anything,” Cassie
interrupted, coughing out the words.

Maxwell turned to look at her, his anger contorting his face.
Then, as if he’d suddenly removed a mask, his face softened. “I’m just glad
you’re okay,” Maxwell said to her. “And your boat as well. Aren’t you lucky?”

“It wasn’t luck, it was Scrub,” she asserted.

He looked at her, and she noticed how icy blue his eyes were.
He turned back to look at the destroyed marina.

Off to the east, two of the fireboats had stopped spraying.
The fire had almost burned itself out, after devouring the docks and pilings
and boats. The breeze sent another shiver through Cassie, and then another.

“What makes you think Scrub had anything to do with this?”
Cassie’s dad asked.

“He’s simple, that’s all, just simple. An idiot. The kind of
person who might be careless with a torch or gasoline.” Maxwell crossed his
arms. “I can’t prove he did it, but this one thing I know, whoever caused this
blaze is going to pay. Big time.” He gestured toward a police officer. “I
wonder what he knows,” Maxwell said, and stalked off.

Cassie’s dad looked back at her. She tried to stop the
trembling that was now overtaking her body, but she couldn’t. Maxwell’s angry
words hadn’t helped. How could he blame Scrub?

Her dad sat down on the ground next to her and put his arm
around her. “You’re shaking,” he said.

Cassie nodded.

“Let’s go home.”

She bit her lip. “I don’t want to go, but I don’t want to
stay.”

“Let’s go.”

• • •

Tonight would not be a night for sleeping. Long after she’d
been interviewed by the fire marshal and the police, long after her father had
gone to bed, long after the lights in the neighbors’ houses had been turned
out, Cassie was wide awake. She sat in a wicker chair on the porch, still
coughing occasionally, hoping the familiar sounds she loved … the cicadas
chirping, the whippoorwills three-note call, the frog croaking in the bottom …
would drive out the images in her head. Occasionally an owl would hoot, and if
she really tried, she could hear loons calling to one another.