We Will Always Have the Closet (8 page)

Suddenly, he backed up into a parking spot in the lot. It was getting late and the ferry traffic had slowed down considerably so there was plenty of street parking. She followed suit and parked just a few spots behind him. Turning off her lights, she watched him leave the car and walk swiftly toward the port. Quickly, she followed him, almost forgetting to lock her doors.

He was heading down to the ferry it seemed, which made absolutely no sense to her unless he was heading to Bainbridge Island; but then again, he could have driven there. Why all the mystery? Following him as closely as she dared without giving herself away, Petra walked toward the ticket booth where Sam had just bought a ticket.
Holy shit! How am I going to find out where he’s going?

Years of reading mysteries and a short but intense stint with a local theater group gave her the tools she needed to crack this case. She stared the ticket clerk right in the eye and with her most seductive voice said, “I need a ticket for the same place my boyfriend is going.” The clerk gave her a quizzical look. “The guy right before me?” she added impatiently.

“Oh, Bainbridge,” the young man said. “Why didn’t you buy the ticket at the same time?” he asked suspicious.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I wasn’t sure I was going to make it here on time to surprise him,” she fibbed, lowering her voice to a hush-hush. “It’s his birthday today.” The young man smiled and winked at her before giving her the ticket.

This was strange. There was very little ferry service between Bremerton and Bainbridge Island, probably because they were very close in terms of geography and easy to reach by car. So, why would he be taking a ferry instead of driving there? She tip-toed down the ramp to the waiting ferry, and once she was sure Sam couldn’t see her, Petra boarded the small ferry. It wasn’t going to be easy to hide in such a small boat. Thankfully it would be a very short trip; she had the habit of getting very sick aboard sea vessels. The mere knowledge of not being on land anymore had her stomach already churning in spasms. Swallowing bile, Petra searched for a hidden spot to sit. She would never be able to explain her presence if he caught her now. The thought made her cringe. However, Sam seemed too preoccupied with his phone to notice her.

The crossing was short and swift, and soon they were on dry land again, which made her almost giddy with relief. Her happiness didn’t last long, because as soon as their feet touched land, Sam got onto another ferry, this time heading for Port Townsend, a much longer unexpected trip up the Puget Sound. Her stomach threatened to misbehave, but she soldiered on, sneaking inside this much larger ferry and taking refuge in a corner under a staircase. Why hadn’t she brought a heavier coat? It was getting seriously cold. At least they were heading into familiar territory. Jonas had often taken her on weekends to Port Townsend and Victoria in British Colombia. They had stayed at one of his many houses, this one a beautiful Victorian house on the top of a hill facing the water. She recalled great trips up the coast to Port Angeles and sickening ferry passages on the Strait of Juan de Fuca heading toward beautiful Victoria. Funny how happy memories mixed so seamlessly with the bad ones.

This crossing took over an hour in the now frigid night. Shivering and seasick, Petra wished there was still daylight so she could see the amazing views of Mount Baker’s snowy crest and distract herself enough to forget her heaving innards. Luckily, before she actually threw up, the ferry made land and she was able to disembark safe and sound, albeit on jelly legs. Sam took off, almost running, and hailed a taxi nearby. In a panic, Petra waved frantically at the closest taxi. If she had come all this way just to lose him now, she would never forgive herself. To her delighted surprise, a taxi promptly responded to her hail and she was able to follow Sam’s down the road.

Both taxis drove down the dark Water Street until Sam’s stopped at the marina and let him out. Following suit, Petra quickly paid the taxi driver and walked a few steps behind him. So intent on whatever his “mission” was, Sam never realized that he was being followed closely and never once turned around to check. He walked all the way down one of the piers and surreptitiously climbed aboard one of the bigger yachts moored there. “Another boat,” Petra moaned under her breath, climbing aboard after him. Whatever he was up to was not on the level considering that he was now sneaking around corners like a common criminal. When he finally stopped by a door and ducked in, she took a deep breath and followed him.

The door led her into a semi-dark narrow metal stairway descending into the bowels of the luxury vessel. The steps were steep and slippery so she took great pains not to fall, holding the handrail for dear life. Once on the bottom, Petra saw Sam duck through another door at the end of the narrow corridor. It looked like they were roaming in the cargo area of the yacht, not the best smelling part of a ship of any size. The smell of oil permeated the air and clung to her nostrils, making her eyes water and itch. With a sudden move, she opened the door and followed Sam inside, only to bump into something hard as the door clicked shut behind her.

“What the hell?” she heard Sam exclaim. The jig was up. No chance to hide now. “Petra? What are you…?” The question hung in the air as steps were heard outside the door. Sam placed a hand over her mouth in warning. Even though very tempted to protest, she thought better and allowed him the gesture. They were very obviously not supposed to be there and she was not going to be the one giving them away.

The steps faded away and Sam released her. “What are you doing here?” he asked in a hushed tone.

She could barely see him in the dimness of the small space, but she knew he was looking at her with disapproving eyes. What could she say? The truth was probably the best policy in this no-win situation. “I followed you, obviously,” she confessed.

“What the hell for?” he asked not so quietly. He was getting very irritated, she could sense. “All the way from Seattle?” They had been on the road for almost three hours now, she realized. With that thought came the sense that what she was doing was indeed a little crazy.

“I wanted to know what you do for a living,” she explained, shaking imaginary dust off herself.

“Do you think you could have just—I don’t know—asked me?” He was really annoyed now, and his voice, in spite of his better judgment, had gone up in volume.

“Shhh…” She quieted him down, thus making him even more agitated. “Do you want them to catch us?” She had no idea who
they
were or why she should care to be caught, but it was worth a try.

Sam grabbed her by her shoulders and gave her a shake. “Woman,” he said, strong hands still on her shoulders. “If I didn’t…oh, you make me crazy in so many ways. Are you nuts? Really?” Right at that moment, they heard steps again, and by unspoken agreement, they both fell silent and still. As soon as the steps faded, though, Sam was on her case again. “We have to get you out of here before it’s too late.” Sam opened the door slowly and peeked outside only to just as quickly close it behind him again.

“What happened?” Petra asked in a small apprehensive voice. The situation was getting complicated.

“Just as I was afraid of,” he declared. “We’re stuck here. They have closed the upper hatch.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, feeling panic and bile climbing their way up her throat.

“We can’t get out,” he said, sitting heavily on a nearby stool. “We might as well make ourselves comfortable. We’re not leaving this boat anytime soon.”

Petra began pacing the floor. “No, no, no,” she kept repeating as if by doing so it may make it true. “I can’t be stuck on a freaking boat. I can’t!”

For the first time since they had placed themselves in that position, Sam took a long look at her and smiled, half amused, half annoyed by her attitude. “Well, sweetheart, you are stuck on this freaking boat, so sit your butt somewhere and relax.”

Fuming, and with panic taking over all her senses, Petra turned around to face him and slapped him impulsively across the face. “Get me out of here,” she yelled, as the irrational fear took control. “You got us in this predicament so get us out.”

Her hand rose again to strike, but Sam was prepared this time and blocked it with his hand. “No you don’t, missy,” he said. “How come you didn’t tell me you’re afraid of boats?’

“Not afraid of boats,” she protested, trying to unsuccessfully free her hand from him. Her whole body language belied her words. “I get seasick and don’t like being locked below water level.” Then, almost pleadingly she added, “Please, Sam, take me out of here.”

Sam pulled her closer to him. Even though he was sitting, their heads were at the same level. “I can’t,” he whispered, pulling her even closer. “Not now. But you don’t need to be afraid.” She was now standing between his legs, her face almost directly in front of his, his arms wrapped around her waist. Her intense panic subsided gradually as he got closer to her. “I can distract you a bit,” he said suggestively.

Petra giggled just as her stomach churned audibly. She tasted bile. “Oh really?” she exclaimed, her hands now around his neck. “And how exactly are you going to do that?”

A wicked smile brightening up his face, Sam kissed her gently on her neck. “Like this,” he whispered right above her ear as his mouth traveled to the lobe in a sweet caress. Petra shivered. “And like this.” He continued his trail of kisses from her throat, to her chin, to her face, eyes, nose…and just as he was about to take her mouth, Petra’s stomach won the battle, and everything she had eaten that day made an unwelcome reappearance.

Mortified, Petra stared unbelievingly at the puddle of vomit gathered around their feet. “Oh my God,” she exclaimed still gagging on bile. “I am so sorry.”

Sam had promptly stood up as if used to being puked on and hurried toward a corner of the cargo hull. For a moment, she thought he was trying to put as much distance between them as he could and she wouldn’t blame him for that at all. However, he came back almost immediately holding a few cleaning supplies, and incongruously, a bottle of water. “Here, you gargle with this water while I clean this,” he said, handing her the bottle. Much to her utter amazement, Sam started the tedious and rather smelly job of cleaning up her mess. It was strangely endearing to see him crouching, big rag on one hand, a bucket of water by his side, head bent toward a mess of bile and half-digested food.

“You don’t have to do that,” she said, feeling guilty. “I can do it, really.”

“Shut up and gargle,” he replied in a firm voice. “I may want to kiss you later and you are not exactly smelling like a flower right now.” She should have been offended, but instead she smiled at his offhand comment. Raising the bottle to her mouth, she took a large mouthful and swished it around, belatedly realizing she had no idea where to spit it out. She stood there, cheeks swollen with water, lips puckered, and eyes darting here and there in search of a cuspidor of sorts. “Oh for God sakes,” Sam exclaimed, staring up at her “We’re not exactly stuck in the Ritz. Just take your chipmunk cheeks over to a corner and spit on the floor. No one will notice.”

Relieved and with better tasting breath—she had found a mint lurking inside her purse—she joined him as he finished his cleaning job. You had to admire a man who didn’t squirm when thrown-up upon. Most would have run to the hills, if the hills were an option, of course. Yet Sam had taken the high road and she couldn’t stop wondering why. She sat on another stool and watched him as he put the bucket and dirty rag away, as far from them as possible in that small space, and then came to sit down beside her. “Here, hand sanitizer,” she said, handing him a small green bottle. “I had some in my purse.”

“Ah yes, the mysteries and wonders of a woman’s purse,” he said while squirting some of the gel on his hands. “What else do you have in there? An escape route for us out of this damned yacht?” They stared at each other for a few moments. “What were you thinking following me here?”

“You have never mentioned what you do for a living,” she explained. “In fact, you seem to avoid the subject every time it comes up. Then, there’s the fact that I have twice now met you in strange places, lurking around like a common criminal…so I wondered.”

“Like a common criminal?” he repeated, looking outraged. “Not a brilliant criminal, just plain common, eh? That is very hurtful.” For a moment she couldn’t tell if he was joking since he sounded so serious, but then she noticed that little corner smile. She laughed. “You could have asked me, Petra,” he said now. “I would have told you, you know?”

Sobering up a bit, Petra looked him straight in the eye. “Okay, so what is it that you do, sneaking around like that?” she asked.

“I’m a private investigator, consulting with some members of the law and order community,” he explained. “And I’m here in the middle of an investigation, which, by the way, you have foiled now more than once.”

She bristled at that. “That’s your own fault,” she almost yelled. “If you had told me what you were up to, things would have gone differently.”

“Relax, hot pepper,” he admonished, raising his hands in front of him. “I couldn’t tell you. I wasn’t sure you weren’t part of what I was investigating. I mean, I was finding you in all the right places, at the right time…I had to wonder.”

“I was there…” her voice trailed, trying to find a good way to explain it without revealing too much. “I was trying to retrieve something that belongs to me, that’s all. Nothing criminal about it. I used to live in that freaking house, you know.”