Dead in the Water (6 page)

I shook my head. “I think I've had enough excitement for one day.”

“They won't even know we're there. I'll just take a couple of those shucked shells, and when we get to a port, I'll make a phone call. That's it.” She looked at me imploringly. “Please?”

Her hands kept disappearing inside her sleeves, which were so long they dangled loosely from the ends of her arms. I took my glasses off and rubbed them on my sweater. “How come I'm part of your plan?”

“The others would just laugh. You pretend you don't care about the abalone, but I know you do.”

“Yeah, sort of. If it's a threatened species, no one should be trying to make a buck off them.” I noticed the smile that flashed across her face and I shook my head quickly. “I'm not saying I'll do it. I think Patrick's right. Going over to that boat isn't such a great idea.”

Olivia's still damp hair stuck out wildly, and Blair's enormous sweater made her look about twelve. She looked down at the floor and sighed. “Will you think about it?” she asked.

I nodded.

Patrick clambered down the steps into the cabin. “Lunch almost ready?”

Blair shook his head. “Can't get the oven working. Anyone feel like cheese sand-wiches?” He slid some plates across the smooth wooden table and dumped a loaf of bread in the middle.

Patrick stripped off his wet jacket and sweater and sat down at the table in his damp T-shirt. “The stove isn't the only problem. We've got a broken spreader, plus all the battens in the mainsail are broken.” He rubbed
his hands over his cheeks and rested his elbows on the table. “It looks like we're going to have to do some repairs before we head north again. We're going to have to go back to Port Hardy.”

We all looked at him and at each other. “Man,” Joey groaned. “That sucks.”

“No kidding,” Blair agreed. “We were supposed to go surfing in Tofino.”

“What about the course?” I asked. “I need to get this qualification.”

Patrick shrugged. “We can do day sails from Port Hardy. There's other boats. We'll work something out.”

I didn't want to do day sails. I wanted the full-on, live-aboard, cruising experience. But at least I still had a shot at getting my Intermediate Cruising qualification.

Olivia was the only one who looked happy. “If we get to Port Hardy, I'm checking into a hotel,” she declared.

Patrick rested his head in his hands. He looked exhausted. “I'm sorry about all this,” he said. “I misjudged the conditions today. We shouldn't have been out there.”

There was an awkward silence as we all silently agreed with him.

Blair finally broke it. “Whatever. I'm starving. Let's eat.”

Patrick went into the head to change into dry clothes—apparently he stored some of his things in giant Zip-lock bags. I mentally filed that idea for future reference. While Blair and Joey put a brick of cheese and a few tomatoes on the table, Olivia whispered to me, “If you won't come with me tonight, I'm going on my own.”

I looked at her, and she looked steadily back, her eyes full of challenge. “I'll come,” I told her.

She grinned. “I knew you would.”

I lay in my damp coffin berth, with my borrowed jeans and sweatshirt still on, and wondered why I'd agreed to go. Curiousity, mostly, and not liking the idea of Olivia going out alone in the dinghy at night.

Odds were we'd get over there, and she'd see that those shells were really just a few empty oyster shells they'd picked up to use as ashtrays or something. Olivia was pretty confident, but her dad was a marine biologist, so of course she thought she was an expert
on shellfish. Molluscs. Back home, I knew a kid whose mom was a singer, and he considered himself the authority on everything to do with the music industry.

I stifled an urge to laugh and realized I was getting nervous. What if Olivia was right? Patrick's decision to leave Bull Harbour in such dangerous conditions was odd—he was too experienced a sailor to make that kind of error. Had he really thought that the men on the cruiser could be dangerous? My stomach twisted as I remembered what he had said:
I'd hate to see anything happen to you.

The boat was silent. I looked at my watch. Midnight. Across the cabin, I could hear someone snoring softly. Patrick, I thought. It was now or never. I slipped out of my berth and tiptoed over to Olivia's. If anyone woke up, I'd just pretend I was on my way to the head. In the inky darkness, no one could see that I was fully dressed.

“Olivia?” I whispered.

“Ready?”

“I guess.” I couldn't make out her face, just a faint outline moving in the blackness.
We crept across the cabin and slid open the companionway boards, careful not to make a sound. Then we slipped out into the cockpit and into the night.

The winds had blown the clouds from the sky, and a pale moon hung low, illuminating the harbor like an enormous lantern. The wind blew briskly, rattling loose halyards and sending small waves skimming across the water. A couple of hundred feet away,
Salty Mist
's outline was just visible in the moonlight, and its anchor light glowed softly.

“Perfect night for a bit of snooping,” Olivia whispered. “I brought a flashlight, but the moon is so bright, I don't think we'll need it.”

I nodded. “And it's good that it's a bit windy. It'll help cover any noise we make.”

Olivia pulled on the tow rope that attached the dinghy to
Jeopardy
, coiling it into a neat bundle and unfastening the end from around the stern cleat. “Let's go,” she said. She stepped over the stern rail and onto the swim ladder. Then she stepped down into the dinghy.

I hesitated. If Patrick found out, he'd freak. I wondered if he could fail us for something like this. Olivia's face was pale in the moonlight, but she looked perfectly calm. “You sure you want to do this?”

She nodded impatiently. “If those men really are taking abalone, someone has to stop them.”

“Okay.” I stepped into the dinghy, sat down facing her and started rowing.

There was a slight current behind us—the tide coming in—and we were soon skimming along the water. It wasn't glassy calm like it had been that first evening, but it wasn't too bad: enough wind and waves to muffle the sound of our oars dipping into the water but not enough to make our lives difficult. Olivia was right—it was a perfect night for snooping. My nervousness started to fade. After all, it wasn't like we were really doing anything wrong.

As we approached the cabin cruiser, I stopped rowing and let the current carry us closer. Olivia held out one hand and, standing up carefully, grabbed onto the
stern of the boat. I stood beside her. The cockpit was broad and open, quite different from a sailboat's. I strained my eyes staring at it but couldn't see much beyond the usual assortment of ropes and storage bags and at least a dozen empty beer bottles. If there were really only two guys onboard, they'd sure been putting it away.

I turned to Olivia. “Well?” I whispered. “Do you see anything?”

She looked disappointed. “When we rowed over before, I thought I saw shells on the deck. I mean, I know I did.”

“Maybe you just...” I hesitated, not wanting to make her mad. “I mean, back in that restaurant in Port Hardy, you were talking about abalone and asking where it came from. Maybe, you know, because your dad's girlfriend did all that research on it—”

“You think I imagined it?” Olivia asked seriously. She didn't sound mad. “I guess it's possible, but honestly, I could have sworn those shells were abalone.”

I shrugged. “Well, I can't see any shells now.”

“No.” She pointed at the open runabout fishing boat that was tied off the stern. “Let's just check in there. Maybe with the dive gear...”

We let go of the stern, and the dinghy started to drift backward toward the runabout. I pushed us away from the sharp propeller and steered us alongside. Olivia shone her flashlight into the boat, scanning from side to side. The dive gear wasn't there, nor were shells of any kind. The whole boat looked like it had been scrubbed clean.

“Well, I guess that's it,” Olivia said flatly. “Maybe you were right, Simon.”

I interrupted her. “Doesn't it seem kind of odd though?” I gestured to the runabout and then back to
Salty Mist
. “They've cleaned up everything. The dive gear, the shells you saw...why would they do that if they were just on holiday?”

“Maybe they just felt like cleaning,” she said. “Not everyone's a slob, you know.”

I ignored the implied insult. “Maybe.”

We sat in silence for a moment. Olivia turned off her flashlight. “It is a bit of a coincidence,” she said slowly. “Maybe when Patrick went over, they suspected something.”

“He's not always the most subtle,” I agreed. “If he asked too many questions, they might have got nervous.”

“We have to get a closer look, don't we?” She looked at me. “There's only one way to do that.”

I nodded. My hands were starting to sweat the way they always do when I get nervous. I knew exactly what she meant. We were going to have to get aboard that boat.

As I tied the dinghy's towrope to
Salty Mist
's stern, I was grateful for the wind and the slight swell rolling into the anchorage. On a dead calm night, I wouldn't even have considered doing this. To be honest, the beer bottles made me feel a bit better too. If they'd drunk all of those tonight, it'd take more than a slight movement of the boat to wake them.

I remembered Olivia's cat feet and glanced down at my own runners. “We can't talk once
we're aboard,” I whispered. “Just signal to me if you hear anyone moving, okay? If anyone even stirs, we get the hell out of here and start rowing.”

She nodded. Her eyes looked enormous.

Trying to move as slowly and quietly as possible, we stepped into
Salty Mist
's cockpit and stood motionless for a moment, listening. Not a sound. Olivia held up her flashlight and raised her eyebrows questioningly. I shook my head. Not worth risking. Besides, between the full moon and the anchor light hanging over the cockpit, we could see pretty well.

Of course, that meant that anyone looking would see us pretty well too.

I hadn't been on a cabin cruiser before. It didn't have a small companionway with steps or a ladder leading down below like a sailboat; instead, it had full-height Plexiglas doors that opened directly into the cabin. I couldn't see inside—there were no lights on—but if the men woke and looked out, they'd see us right away. It was creepy, knowing that they could see us but we couldn't see them.

I gestured to Olivia that I was going forward. She nodded and indicated that she'd walk down the other side of the boat. Trying to walk as silently as possible, I crept toward the bow. Olivia was out of sight, on the other side of the cabin, and I had to fight a sudden irrational flood of fear that we shouldn't have separated. I couldn't see anything out of the ordinary, just some ropes hanging over the side of the boat and some water jugs strapped to a stainless-steel railing.

Something crunched under my foot. I froze, holding my breath. Nothing happened. Moving carefully, I bent down to pick up what I'd stepped on. A shell with an iridescent pearly sheen, now broken into three sharp-edged pieces. I slipped them in my pocket. Still crouching, I looked over my shoulder nervously. The cabin had large dark tinted windows all the way to the bow, and all it would take would be for one of the men to wake and glance out. Worst of all, the window right by me was open a few inches. I was only a few feet away from where the
men were sleeping, without even a sheet of Plexiglas between us.

“Ssss.” Olivia hissed softly, stepping out from behind the tall cabin and reappearing at the bow. She gestured to me to follow her.

I followed her across the wide flat deck at the front of the boat and back down her side of the cabin. “Look,” I whispered, pulling out a piece of shell to show her.

She nodded and pulled a whole shell out of her own pocket.

I raised my eyebrows in a silent question and she nodded. “Abalone,” she mouthed.

“Let's go then,” I whispered. I figured we could show Patrick the shells. That'd convince him. We had to go back to Port Hardy anyway, and with a little luck,
Salty Mist
would still be sitting here when the authorities arrived.

Olivia held up her hand like she was telling me to wait a minute. Then she pointed to a rope hanging over the side of the boat. I shrugged and shook my head. I just wanted to get off this boat.

She started to pull up the rope, hand over hand.

“Careful,” I whispered. Moving slowly, so as not to rock the boat, I bent close to see what she was doing. I don't know what I expected to see—just rope I guess, or maybe a fender—but what came up was a mesh bag, dripping wet. I leaned over the side and Olivia cupped her hand around her flashlight, pointed it at the bag and turned it on.

Abalone.

“Is it...are they alive?” I whispered.

She nodded. “They wouldn't be keeping them in the water if they weren't.”

I glanced along the side of the boat. Rope after rope descended into the water. I remembered all the ropes that I'd seen hanging over the other side of the boat. More abalone, probably. A whole lot of abalone. “Let's go,” I said. “Now.”

Just then, a loud crackling voice shot out. Olivia grabbed my arm, and my heart just about stopped beating. We both froze, crouching low against the deck, right under that open window.

“Don't move,” Olivia mouthed.

I shook my head. I couldn't have moved if I'd wanted to—my muscles seemed to have stopped working.

“
Salty Mist
,
Salty Mist
,” the voice said, and I realized it was someone calling on the radio. The men would definitely be awake now, but maybe if we just stayed low and stayed still, we could sneak back to the dinghy after they went back to bed.