Dead in the Water (3 page)

“Uh-huh. Well, we're not exactly the Welcome Wagon here.” He frowned.

I shrugged. “That's all right; we're just going ashore anyway.”

Olivia shaded her eyes from the sun and looked up at the bearded man. “I noticed the dive gear in your runabout...what are you diving for?”

His face suddenly changed, eyes narrowing and mouth becoming a tight line beneath the blond mustache. He stepped backward and folded his arms across his chest. “None of your business, kid.”

“Hey,” I protested. “She was just making conversation.”

“Yeah? Well, like I said, we're not the Welcome Wagon. I don't have time for this.”

He turned away and stepped into the darkness of the cabin.

So much for being polite to the neighbors. “All right then,” I drawled. I pushed our dinghy away from the boat and looked at Olivia with raised eyebrows.

She was nodding, like the man had just confirmed something she'd suspected all along. “I can't believe it,” she whispered.

I started to row. “What? That they aren't the Welcome Wagon?”

She gave me a green-eyed stare. “They're hiding something.”

“You don't know that,” I scoffed. “Maybe he liked having the bay to himself and is annoyed that we anchored here too. Maybe he hates teenagers. Maybe he's just a jerk.”

Olivia leaned toward me, and her black hair hung forward, covering one eye. The other eye looked at me fiercely. “No way,” she said. “Didn't you see what was on the deck?”

I looked back at the cabin cruiser. I couldn't see anything out of the ordinary: just some storage bins, a bucket and some rope. The usual kind of boat clutter. “What?” I asked. “What did you see?”

“Shells,” Olivia whispered.

“Shells. You mean shells from a gun?” I wasn't actually quite sure what that meant. Bullet casings or something. I wouldn't know one if I tripped over it.

She gave me the kind of look people usually give me before they call me Spacey. “No, Simon. Shells like in seashells.”

“Uh-huh.” She really was nuts. “And what, you think they're making decorations or something? Shell nightlights, maybe, or shell ashtrays?” I laughed. “Okay, that stuff is so ugly that maybe it ought to be illegal, but...”

She kicked me. “Simon. I think they're poaching abalone.”

“Ouch.” I pulled my legs out of her reach. “Abalone?”

“It's a shellfish. People eat it—”

“Yeah, I know. Like clams.”

“Except that there's been a total ban on taking abalone from around here for years.”

I shook my head. It didn't sound like that big a deal to me. Who cared if these guys ate a few fish? “How come you know all this?” I asked.

“Dad's so-called student did some research on abalone and told me all about it.” She scowled. “Before I knew she was sleeping with him.”

“Huh.”

Olivia glanced toward shore. Then she turned and looked over to
Jeopardy
. “I think we should go back and tell Patrick.”

“What's he going to do?”

“Call and report it.”

I stopped rowing for a moment and stretched out my legs. “Can't it wait?” I was dying to walk a bit. Hauling up sails and working those winches is a great upper body workout, and keeping your balance on a boat that is rolling and pounding in the waves uses muscles you didn't know you had. Still, after being on the boat all day, my legs were stiff and cramped.

Olivia hesitated. She looked out at the cabin cruiser. In the early evening light, its white hull gleamed against the dark water. “I guess they're not going anywhere.”

“Nah, they wouldn't want to leave their abalone.” I grinned to let her know I was just kidding.

She didn't grin back. “You don't believe me, do you?”

I shrugged. “I don't know. It just seems a bit unlikely. There are lots of other reasons
they could be diving. And a few shells on the deck...well, lots of people pick up shells.”

Olivia's eyes were icy. “Fine,” she said. “I'll talk to Patrick about it, and we'll see what he says.”

We walked along the shore in silence for a while, but it wasn't the friendly silence that we'd had earlier. I thought about apologizing, but I didn't see why I should. She was just making a huge deal out of what was probably nothing at all.

When we got back to our boat, Patrick, Joey and Blair were all down below playing cards. Olivia didn't even say hello before she launched into her story. She stood there, her hands on her skinny hips and her black hair all wild from the dinghy ride, and started ranting about endangered abalone and poaching and scuba gear.

Patrick listened with an amused half smile. Finally he held up one hand. “Hold on there, Olivia. Are you serious? You think the men on the boat over there are doing something illegal? Just because they have scuba gear?”

He made it sound ridiculous, and even though I agreed with him, I couldn't help feeling bad for Olivia.

She nodded and folded her arms across her chest defensively. “And shells on their deck. Yes.”

Joey laughed. “Man, don't tell me you're one of those conspiracy theorists. Hey, Olivia, do you think Princess Diana faked her own death?”

She gave him a withering look and didn't bother to respond. “Patrick...look, my dad's a marine biologist. I do actually know something about this and I'm pretty sure I saw shucked abalone shells on that boat.”

Patrick sighed and climbed the companionway steps, sticking his head out the hatch and looking over toward the cabin cruiser. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one. “Listen, honey...”

“Olivia.”

“Olivia, then. I really doubt they're doing anything they shouldn't be doing, but if it'll make you feel better, I'll go over there and have a word with them.”

“Great. Great.” Olivia sat down at the table with Blair and Joey. “Thanks, Patrick. I mean, I hope I'm wrong, but I'd feel much better if you checked it out.”

He winked. “No problem.”

Patrick got in the dinghy and set off, the thrum of the engine jarring in the quiet anchorage.

Blair shook his head at Olivia. “That was a good game of cards you just interrupted.”

“So excuse me for thinking that a threatened species is slightly more important than a game of...what, Crazy Eights?”

“Poker. And I had a full house.” He tossed his cards on the table and ran his hands through his blond-highlighted hair. “Anyway, it's just a freaking fish. I mean, okay, if it was baby seals or something...”

Olivia looked furious. “I hate how people only care about animals that are cute. Anyway, it's not a fish. It's a marine mollusc.”

Blair started laughing. “Mollusc,” he said, like it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. Joey punched his brother on the shoulder and
joined in, snorting loudly and spluttering his Coke everywhere. “Mollusc.”

“A mollusc is a shellfish,” Olivia said coldly. “Abalone is a univalve mollusc, meaning it has a single part shell—not two parts joined together like a clam.”

Blair and Joey started laughing even harder. A fine spray of Joey's Coke settled on my glasses. Nice. I'd dreamed about this trip for months and here I was, stuck on a boat with a shellfish-obsessed girl and two junior yacht clubbers whose combined IQ was probably less than that of a...mollusc.

We had all drifted outside and were sitting in the cockpit, slapping at mosquitoes and watching dark clouds forming along the horizon when Patrick returned. He'd been gone for a while: the man in the cabin cruiser must have been a bit friendlier to him than he'd been to us.

“Well, you can all relax,” he told us as he climbed the stern ladder and stepped aboard. “No small sea creatures are having their rights violated.”

Olivia tilted her head back and looked up at him searchingly. “So, what are those men doing here then?”

“Those men are Keith and Victor. They're just enjoying the scenery. All right?” He laughed. “The only crime they're committing is cruising on that diesel-guzzling stinkpot instead of a sailboat.”

“And the dive gear?” Olivia asked stubbornly.

“There're some wrecks nearby. They're divers. Like I said, they're just checking out the local scenery.” Patrick grinned. Olivia almost smiled. Then he flicked his cigarette butt into the water, and Olivia's mouth opened in a horrified circle. For a second I thought she might jump overboard to retrieve it, but instead she just stood up, turned and disappeared down below into the cabin.

“Man, there goes a girl who hates to be wrong,” Patrick said.

We all laughed, but I felt a pang of guilt and hoped she hadn't heard him. Olivia was definitely a sore loser, but she was the only one who hadn't called me Spacey.

Patrick looked out at the clouds. “Doesn't look good,” he said. “Wind's picking up too.”

I hadn't noticed, but he was right. A strong breeze was starting to whistle through the rigging, and the water was no longer smooth as glass.

“This anchorage should be okay,” Patrick said. “We might have a bit of an uncomfortable night, but it'll be safe enough.” He rubbed his cheeks and chin thoughtfully. “Not sure about tomorrow though. If this keeps up we won't be able to cross the Nawetti Bar.”

“We're going to a bar?” Joey asked hopefully.

Patrick chuckled. “The Nawetti Bar. It's a stretch where the water suddenly gets shallower, which creates all kinds of currents and nasty sailing conditions. It's a tricky bit of water, but we have to cross it to get around Cape Scott.” He shrugged. “Often boats have to wait here a few days to get the right weather. I'd hoped we'd get lucky and go early tomorrow at slack tide, but...well, let's listen to the weather.”

He switched the VHF radio onto the marine weather channel. I tried to listen, but the monotone voice of the weather guy was putting me to sleep. I found myself thinking about my dad and how he didn't want me to sail, and Olivia, whose dad was making her learn even though she couldn't care less. Fathers were strange. Why couldn't they just accept their kids as they were?

“Earth to Spacey!” Joey yelled, snapping me back to the present.

“Sorry,” I muttered. “What?”

“We're gonna have another game of poker. You want to play?”

I shook my head. “Think I'll read a bit,” I told him.

“Come on,” Patrick kidded me. “Team player, remember?”

I glanced up at them all. Joey and Blair had changed into expensive-looking fleece jackets and were lounging in the cockpit as if they were posing for an ad in a glossy cruising magazine. “Not tonight, thanks. I'm beat,” I said. Then I grabbed the cruising guide and
headed for my berth to read about where we were going.

The wind picked up overnight, howling through the rigging loudly enough to wake me. The boat bounced gently up and down. I looked at my watch: 4:00 AM. Ugh. I closed my eyes but couldn't get back to sleep. The motion started to make me a little queasy—not really sick, just sort of drooly and drugged. I wanted to get up and move around, but there was nowhere to go. I wanted off the boat or out of my body, and neither seemed very likely. I wondered if anyone else was awake.

What I'd read last night about the Nawetti Bar and Cape Scott pretty much confirmed what Patrick had said. Unless the wind suddenly dropped, I didn't think we'd be going anywhere in the morning. Stuck here with this group...what a freaking nightmare. Single-handed sailing was sounding better all the time. I imagined myself setting sail across the turquoise waters of the Caribbean, alone on a luxury boat. A sixty-foot Swan, say...with roller-furling sails and self-tailing
winches and a huge cockpit with a large stainless steel wheel and...

I guess I must have drifted off to sleep, because next thing I knew Patrick was yelling at us all to rise and shine. As soon as I opened my eyes, the nausea returned. And it was barely even light out. Ugh.

“Blair and Joey are making pancakes,” Patrick said. “Mmmm...”

Olivia stumbled out to the table in blue flannel pajamas. She tugged a black sweatshirt over her head. “I'm flipping starving,” she announced. “Bring ‘em on.”

I guessed no one else was feeling seasick. I dragged myself out to the table. “Morning.”

“You're looking a little rough there, Simon,” Patrick said. “You sleep okay?”

“Fine.” I sat there in grumpy silence for a few minutes. I'd read that seasickness was usually worst for the first few days. I sure hoped that was true, because if it didn't get better, my plan to be a delivery skipper was looking a little shaky. Anyway, being upright seemed to help, and by the time Joey was flipping steaming pancakes
out of the frying pan, I was actually feeling almost hungry.

“Here you go, Mollusc girl.” Joey flipped a few pancakes onto Olivia's plate. “Eat up. It might be the only vegetarian meal of the day.”

Olivia ignored him and began eating. After putting away three enormous pancakes, she put her fork down and looked at Patrick. “You know, I've been thinking about last night...”

“Uh-huh?” Patrick took a swig of his coffee and winced. “Man, that was hot.”

“I think those men were lying to you.”

He groaned. “Here we go again.”

“I'm serious. If they were just diving on wrecks, why were they so unfriendly? Besides, what about the shells I saw on their boat? I'm almost certain they were abalone.”

“Well, what do you want me to do, Olivia? Send off some flares?”

She hesitated. “Can't you call someone on the radio?”

He laughed. “Sure. The range is maybe twenty miles at best. Odds are the only
people that will hear us are the two guys on that boat.”

“Well, there must be something we can do.” Olivia scowled. “We can't go today anyway, right? So I'm going to row over there again and get another look at those shells.”