Leona Karr - Charmed

A renovated warehouse with a swinging sign outside the door identified the place as the Dockside Bar and Grill. Signs in the nautical-shaped windows promised food, drink and music.

Without hesitation, Ashley hurried inside.

A huge, high-ceilinged room was crowded with people, and a pungent mix of smoke, liquor and sweat instantly assaulted her nostrils.

Loud voices and a couple of strumming guitars blasted her ears. A group of men in work clothes crowded around the bar, laughing and draining their mugs as if all the beer kegs were going to run out soon. A few women sat at tables, smiling and drinking as heartily as their companions.

When no hostess appeared to greet her, Ashley made her way to the first empty booth. She was grateful for the warmth as a bone-deep chill began to ease. Putting her small suitcase on the seat opposite her, she quickly took off her damp jacket and rubbed her arms to restore some circulation. She was thankful that her tailored blouse was still dry, and the pair of casual soft leather loafers had kept her feet from getting chilled.

A blond waitress wearing tight nautical pants and a brief halter suddenly appeared, her pencil poised above her pad. “What’s your poison?”

“Coffee,” Ashley responded readily.

“Spiked?”

“No. Just black.”

“Okay, but you look as cold as a mackerel on ice.” The waitress was middle-aged, overweight, and showed that her feet hurt by the way she stood. Glancing at the suitcase Ashley had placed on the vacant seat, she said, “I’d have me a little warm-me-upper if I was you.”

Ashley shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

Even though she needed some help getting through this nightmare, liquor wasn’t the answer. She had to keep focused. No telling what news awaited her on the island.

The waitress shrugged and disappeared into a crowd that was growing every minute. Waiters and waitresses darted about with trays of drinks held above their heads to avoid the crush of customers pressing in on them. Ashley was beginning to think she’d never see her waitress again when she finally brought the coffee.

Ashley thanked her and then asked, “I wonder if you could help me? I need to get to Greystone Island as soon as possible…tonight. It’s—it’s a family emergency. Do you know anyone who I might hire to take me over?”

“The weather report don’t look good,” she answered, frowning. “Something’s blowing in.”

“I know, but, surely, one of these men would like to make some easy money,” Ashley insisted. “I’ll gladly pay extra.”

“I don’t know. It’s about a forty-five-minute run out to Greystone in good weather. On a night like this…?” She shrugged.

“Please, it’s very important.”

“It must be,” she said as she studied Ashley’s pained expression. Then she turned and looked over the men at the bar.

Ashley held her breath.

“Jenkins might do it,” she said after a long search. “He’s always up for getting his hands on a little more beer money.”

“Will you ask him, please?” Ashley’s heartbeat quickened.

“Okay, but I still think you’d do better to wait ’til morning.” She turned and Ashley watched her make her way across the crowded room to the long bar.

She tapped a burly-looking man on the shoulder. Ashley couldn’t see his face clearly under the duck bill of his hat as he turned around and listened to what the waitress was saying. Then he looked across the room to where Ashley was sitting. When she saw him nod and the waitress smile, a wave of relief almost made Ashley giddy.

He’s going to do it!

Without hesitation, she agreed to pay the amount he asked after the man had shuffled over. Jenkins had thick shoulders and a ruddy face. He led the way down the wharf to an old motorboat which was probably used to take men out to their fishing crafts.

A dank, fishy smell permeated the air as she stepped down into it. She took the bench seat near the stern, and placed her suitcase at her feet while Jenkins sat on a forward bench, his back to her as he hunched over the motor.

The wind and fog had increased during the few minutes she’d been in the café. Ashley’s uneasiness intensified. She debated asking him about a life jacket, but was afraid anything she said to the man might stop him from taking her out to the island.

He threw off the bowline and started swearing when he had trouble starting the motor. The boat began to rock in the choppy water. She couldn’t have climbed out if she’d wanted to because the boat was already floating away from the pier.

Maybe the boat isn’t even seaworthy!

As the boat swayed in the rising waves and deepening troughs, its old timbers began to groan. When the motor finally caught and the boat lurched forward, Jenkins’ slurred muttering and colorful swearing added to the sickening plunge of Ashley’s stomach.

Too late, she realized the boatman was drunk!

“Turn back!” she yelled, but her words were driven back in her throat and Jenkins didn’t even turn around.

As the motorboat sped forward, dark clouds blanketed the moon and stars, and the mainland was quickly lost from view. Short, choppy waves and buffeting northwestern winds seemed strong enough to capsize the creaking boat.

The mournful tolling of a buoy came closer in the rolling fog. Could he see where they were going? Would they pass Greystone Island in the fog? Fleeting glimpses of scattered watery lights appeared from time to time. Then darkness again. Were they passing all the islands dotting the waters off the coast of Maine and blindly plunging out into the rough Atlantic Ocean?

The nightmare was never-ending. Ashley’s stomach took a sickening dip every time the boat fell into a deep trough in the sucking water.

When the throbbing vibrations of the boat beneath her feet began to lessen, she clutched the side of the tossing boat, fearing the motor had given out and that they soon would be adrift in the darkness and fog.

Jenkins suddenly gave a jubilant shout, as though surprised by his own navigation. “There she be! Greystone Cove. Pretty as you please.”

Thank God, she thought as watery lights ahead grew brighter and the movement of the boat slowed. Her relief was shattered an instant later.

Jenkins misjudged the landing completely. He hit the pier with a jolt that landed Ashley in the bottom of the drenched boat. Her suitcase and shoulder purse tumbled on top of her.

A man with a deep voice shouted, “You blasted fool, Jenkins. What in blazes are you thinking? Nobody with brains worth two cents would make a crossing in this weather.”

Jenkins mumbled something.

The stranger approached the boat and offered a pair of firm hands to help Ashley out of the boat. At the same time, he demanded, “Are you crazy? Hiring a drunken fool to bring you out to the island at night and in this weather?”

She stiffened her shivering shoulders as she glared back at him. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“You must be reckless—or stupid. You’re damn lucky to be on solid ground. I’ve got a heater in the car.” He picked up her suitcase and started down the pier.

She didn’t move. She was not going anywhere with this stranger. He was a tall, well-built man, wearing jeans, a knit pullover, a windbreaker and no hat. In the shadowy light, she guessed he was probably in his thirties. He might not be drunk like Jenkins, but he presented another kind of threat.

When she didn’t follow, he turned around. “Are you going to stand there shivering all night?”

“Who are you?” she demanded without moving an inch.

Jenkins snickered. “He’s a big shot.”

“That’ll be enough out of you, Jenkins,” he said as he walked back to Ashley. “I was just trying to get you out of this weather before the storm breaks, but I should have introduced myself. Brad Taylor, police officer.”