Doug Allyn: Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 137, No. 3 & 4. Whole No. 835 & 836, March/April 2011

“I know exactly where everything is.”

“I don’t doubt that, but—”

Deacon poked his head in. “Is there a problem?”

“We’re haggling!” Aliana snapped. “Get out!”

Deacon got.

“I’m not talented, Mr. Falk, I can’t create beauty, but in my business I appraise merchandise and price it fairly every day. I won’t cheapen your work by paying you less than I know its true value to be. Trust me, I can afford it.”

“That’s not the point. I’m not a charity case.”

“I didn’t say you were,” Aliana said, exasperated. “Look, do you want to sell the damned boat or not?”

“Of course, but—”

“Fine! We’ll split the difference. The price is sixty-five thousand, or you can burn her at the dock for all I care!”

Luke almost told her where to stick her sixty-five. He took a deep breath instead. “You drive a hard bargain, miss,” he said. And they both burst out laughing.

“Done deal.” Aliana nodded. “I’d like her delivered to New York at—”

“Whoa, slow down, miss,” Luke interrupted. “Your boat isn’t ready for delivery. She has to be properly fitted to you. I’ll need to make some adjustments, then you’ll have to come back to be sure they’re right.”

“That’s simply not possible. My schedule—”

“I create custom crafts for a select clientele, Miss Markovic. They’re not toys or decorations, they’re meant to be used. If you haven’t time for a proper fitting, you’ll never be one with your boat, and I won’t sell her to you.”

“Dear God! Please don’t take offense, Mr. Falk, but I deal with a great many merchants. You are the rock-bottom worst salesman I have ever met.”

“I’m not a salesman at all, miss, I’m a boatman. And what is it you do?”

“I... deal in surplus commodities.”

“That’s awfully vague.”

Her taut smile was equally vague. “My business is my business, Mr. Falk. But I do want the craft, so I suppose I’ll just have to free up some time. What adjustments have to be made?”

“The bench will be custom carved to your size and the winches moved within easy reach. And she’ll need to be named, of course. What will you call her?”

“I... hadn’t given that much thought.”

“Why not the Aliana? It means morning star, doesn’t it?”

He could almost hear her defensive shields clicking into place. “How would you know that?” she asked suspiciously

“I read a lot, miss. Call her whatever you like. I’m just saying Aliana’s a pretty name.”

“It’s tempting,” she said wryly. “I doubt anyone else will name a boat after me. But no. She should have a name of her own. What was that poem you recited?”

” ‘A Penny for the Boatman’?”

“Right. Since we had so much trouble over her price, we’ll call her the Penny .”

It was a day for visitors. Barely half an hour after Deacon and Aliana roared off in the twin Navigators, an unmarked blue Chevy Blazer rumbled into the boatyard. Two men in summer-weight suits climbed out, looking around warily. The older man was balding, fortyish, and pudgy, with dark rings under his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a decade. The younger was bullet-headed, wide as a linebacker, with fiery red hair and an attitude to match.

“Federal agents, ATF,” he announced, flashing a badge in Luke’s general direction. “I’m Agent Gordon Larkin, he’s Ridley. Are you Lucas Falk?”

“Guilty,” Luke said. “But I’m a bit behind on my federal alphabet. What’s ATF?”

“Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms, Mr. Falk. Why was the Markovic woman here?”

“She was shopping for a boat, why?”

“Just answer the questions. How many men in her crew?”

“I didn’t count.”

“A woman shows up in the middle of nowhere with a small army and you didn’t notice?” Larkin snorted.

“She had an entourage, sport, so does Madonna. What is all this?”

“I talked to the tall one,” Gus offered, coming around from the deck carrying his fishing pole. “Said his name was Deacon. Seemed like a nice fella.”

“Butt out of this, pops, I’m talking to Mr. Falk.”

“We’re both Mr. Falks,” Gus said mildly, “I’m Luke’s grandfather. Taught the boy everything he knows. Most folks call me Gus, not Mr. Falk. But nobody calls me pops, sonny. It’s disrespectful.”

“No offense intended, Mr. Falk,” the older agent put in. “But we’re dealing with a matter of national security here, so—”

“Which nation?” Gus interrupted. “We got a slew of ‘em up here. The U.S. of A., Canada across the lake, France, England, the Cree Nation, Ojibwa and Odawa tribes have all claimed this ground, one time or another. Fought for it, too. Which nation do you boys work for?”

“The United States of America, grandpa,” Larkin said, flushing dangerously, “and you’d best show a little respect—”

“Lighten up, mister,” Luke said, cutting him off. “He’s jerking your chain. Grandfather, give me some space with these guys, okay? The sooner I figure out what they want, the sooner they’ll be gone.”

“Not soon enough,” Gus grumbled. “That redhead’s got no manners — yeah, yeah, I’m going,” he added, before Larkin could react. “Me and Razzy will be out back fishin’. If you need help bouncin’ these two, you just whistle, Grandson. I’ll be happy to oblige. C’mon, girl.” Gus and the old dog disappeared around the back of the shed, with Gus muttering to himself all the way.

“That old man—” Larkin began.

“Is a full-blooded Cree chief,” Luke finished. “He won the Silver Star in Korea before you were born, and he’s right, you’ve got lousy manners. Now tell me what you want, or take a hike.”

“You don’t talk to a federal agent like that,” Larkin blustered.

“Will everybody just calm down,” Ridley said, waving off his partner. “We’re all Americans here, Mr. Falk. The Markovic woman is a witness of interest in an ATF investigation. Would you be kind enough to tell us why she was here? Please.”

“She bought a boat,” Luke said reluctantly.

“What kind of a boat?”

“A custom sailboat, the only kind I build.”

“When will she take delivery?”

“Not for a few weeks. I have to make some modifications, then she’ll test sail it again.”

“Perfect,” Larkin said, nodding at his partner. “While you’re at it, you can install a device for us.”

“What kind of a device?” Luke asked. “You mean a bug?”

“That’s classified—”

“It’s also stupid,” Luke snapped, exchanging his rasp for a narrow-bladed hand chisel. “Your gimmick would have to be mounted in the cockpit and the woman knows boats. She’d spot anything out of place in a heartbeat. And don’t you guys need a warrant or something?”

“Leave that to us,” Ridley said. “We’ll install the device ourselves. Just let us know when she’s taking delivery.”

“I don’t think so.”

“This isn’t a casual request,” Ridley said. “You were a soldier once, Mr. Falk. Your country needs your help again.”

“Stow the flag, sport, you’re waving it at the wrong guy.”

“You don’t care about your country?” Larkin asked dangerously. “What kind of American are you?”

“The kind who served two tours in Iraq,” Luke said. “How about you, Larkin? Ever wear the uniform?”

“I’m serving my country now,” Larkin said.

“Wise move,” Luke nodded, carefully shaving down a seam with the chisel. “My time in Iraq didn’t go too well.”

“Why not?”

“I was stationed in the boondocks near the Iranian border. Because of suicide bombers, anyone approaching our position out of the desert got a warning shot at fifteen hundred yards. If they didn’t turn back, the next one was in the head. In fifteen months, I dropped eight intruders. One was a boy. Thirteen or fourteen, tops, wheeling a bicycle loaded with enough Semtex to erase half our base. They gave me a medal for capping him.”