Dana Mentink - Sailing In Style

“I know. Run.”

He did another dozen push-ups after she left, feeling the waves of confusion dissipate. Deep down, he was excited to be able to resurrect the stately history of the historic boat. He’d always known that the past made the present, in buildings and in people.

And what did Cy’s own past say about his present? He was resilient, losing his mother and abandoned by his father before he hit sixteen. He was perilously softhearted, he’d been told, having been adoptive parent to no fewer than six dogs, one turtle, an angsty chicken and three cats over the years. Most of all, he was buoyant. Imagining the ocean glittering with moonlight, he knew he could not just rise above this situation but ride the waves to a place better than the present one. Flexible, easygoing, happy-go-lucky.

All right, Cy. Full speed ahead.

With his mind at rest, he rolled onto his back on the reception room floor, and slept.

* * *

PIPER BRINDLE DIALED HER uncle’s number. It was late, but she knew he’d be up. “It’s me, Uncle Bo. We just finished rehearsal.”

“‘Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once,’” he said into the phone.

“ Julius Caesar , act two, scene one.”

“Scene two.”

She sighed. Since she’d announced at age seven her intention to be an actor, her uncle had made it his life’s mission to school her in every noteworthy play written since the invention of ink.

“Right, scene two. How’s everything there?” She pictured him sitting in front of his tiny television in the worn apartment they’d rented on the outskirts of Tumbledown. He hadn’t had much choice but to come along when she’d gotten the part in the play that would soon be showing every Friday night and twice on Saturdays. They’d had to sell their family home down south to cover her mother’s legal fees. And here they were nearer the prison where her mother was incarcerated.

“I’m watching Wheel of Fortune .”

“Don’t you have to be at work soon for the night shift?”

“Not tonight.”

Her uncle had a job shuttling people from the airport to their various beachside destinations, and he’d managed to hold it down for six weeks—a triumph. But something in his cheerful tone set off warning bells. “Is everything okay?”

“Stop fussing, Piper. You sound like an old mother sheep we had on the farm next to our hotel when I was a kid. Always bleating.”

Biting back irritation, she checked her watch. “We’re done rehearsing and the stage is cleaned up, but I’ve got one more thing to do tonight, and then I’ll come and sleep there since you’re not working.” And it was lonely, sleeping in her tiny room on the River King, truth be told. “I’m starving. Should I pick something up?” She calculated the contents of her wallet. Top Ramen it would have to be.

“I’m cooking.”

He was the most enthusiastic failure of a gourmet chef she’d ever known. “What are you fixing?”

“Daube de boeuf and coq au vin.”

She smiled. “Mac and cheese again?”

“You got it.”

“Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Piper,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. “We should...talk.”

A clammy feeling settled in her stomach. “Why? What? Is it Mom?”

“Your mother is perfectly fine and getting along with the inmates. She would tell you to stop fussing, too.”

“So what is it, then?” Was he going to be arrested?

“I’m just running off at the mouth, is all. Thinking about the things you’re missing, working so hard.”

“It won’t be for long.” A little flame of excitement leapt up in her heart. “I have some news. I’ll tell you tonight.”

“We’ll trade news, then. I’ve got some, too.”

The excitement edged into fear. “Uncle Bo...”

“Would you look at the time?” He breathed noisily into the phone. “‘I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.’”

“Richard the Second,” she said automatically. “Don’t leave me wondering.”

But he already had, as the dial tone testified. Her uncle could never be induced to end a conversation normally like the rest of the civilized world. When he’d spoken his mind, he disconnected.

But not before she’d heard the worry in his voice, and Uncle Boris knew a thing or two about worry. Cheerful and charming as he was, he loved his sister deeply, and watching her lose her husband to infidelity and struggle to raise Piper had been unbearable. Too much for one man, one family. A bus driver with a history of bad investments, he’d started up a little business of his own to help his struggling sister and niece. It turned out he was a much better thief than bus driver.

Don’t worry, Uncle Bo. I’m going to take care of us. I promise.

Fighting back the prickles that would not stop surfacing on her skin, Piper slunk out into the night.

* * *

CY SAT UP, disoriented, in the darkened reception room. The sound of shuffling feet had woken him from his cat nap. The out-of-place horror of a digital clock showed eleven-thirty. A figure in white drifted down the hallway.

It was possible he was dreaming, but since he usually dreamed about surfing, he was inclined to think he wasn’t. He crept closer to the row of windows that looked out on the hallway. The figure had exited onto the deck, home to the massive paddle wheel now behind a clear plastic shield to protect passengers from spray. The paddle wheel was still, the place eerily quiet. Why the figure didn’t turn on a light was beyond him.

As if hearing his thoughts, the slender figure lit a lantern, the old-fashioned kind with a candle inside and a sturdy iron handle. He crept down the hallway, his bare feet silent on the wood floor. Emerging onto the Saloon Deck, he turned to the woman in white, his attention riveted. The lantern light shone on her pale face and delicate features, the eyes he knew were green, though he could not make out the color in the dim light. She wore a vintage wedding dress with lace around the neck and a delicate wisp of veil pinned to her long hair.

“Piper,” he breathed.

She couldn’t hear him, of course, and his own wildly beating heart was deafening. He remembered his sister’s advice. Run, Cy. Run . He edged backward as a man in black stepped out of the shadows. He looked vaguely familiar.

Piper whispered something, which he didn’t catch, more a sob than a statement.

“I won’t let you betray me or anyone else ever again.” The man grabbed Piper by the throat and began to choke her.

“You’re hurting me,” she gasped.

A fine red mist swam in front of Cy’s eyes. Every nerve, every muscle decided on a course of action in the space of a moment. He did not think; he merely reacted.

Cy tackled the guy, knocking him away from Piper. He struck out at Cy, who ducked and delivered a solid punch to the man’s nose.

The guy grunted, swiping at his nose with his sleeve. “I don’t know who you are,” he spat, “but you’re making a mistake.”

“Don’t touch her. Ever,” Cy growled between clenched teeth.

The man backed up to the railing. Cy’s rational mind noticed he was wearing a tuxedo, but his rage was still in charge. The man dealt a blow that glanced off the side of Cy’s face. Cy dove for him, and the momentum carried the stranger over the railing.

“No!” Piper yelled.

Too late. Though Cy tried to catch him, Tuxedo Man fell overboard and splashed into the cove below. Cy got a good look at his face as he toppled. It was Carson Spooley, the big-shot concierge guy. Certain details began to cement together. The tuxedo, a top hat lying on the deck, Piper in a wedding dress. Carson Spooley, the showbiz guy. Uh-oh.