Tahoe Ghost Boat (An Owen McKenna Mystery Thriller) (31 page)

“Great,” I said. “Hold on while I grab it, too.”

I stood up and reached over to the sailboat.

“Before we both get into the sailboat, I need to find a line to tie the kayak. Stay put while I climb aboard.”

I set my paddle inside the cockpit of the sailboat, swung my leg up and over the gunnel, and climbed aboard. The only light was the faint glow coming out of the clouds. I felt around in the dark, touching surfaces, running my hands back and forth, looking for a coiled line. I found cleats and grab rails and the backstay, one of the cables that attaches to the top of the mast and helps hold it in place the same way utility power poles are held by guy wires. There was a storage locker drawer. I opened it. It had gloves and tools and a flashlight. I shielded the light with my hand, turned it on, and shined the beam around the cockpit. There were two large cockpit lockers. I opened them and looked inside. They were full with stuffed sail bags. I lifted up on them to see underneath. Nothing. I tried the companionway door. It was unlocked. Tahoe sailors were as trusting as vacation home owners.

“I’m going down belowdecks to look for a line. Don’t move, okay?”

“You’ll be right back?” Gertie’s voice vibrated with fear.

“It won’t take more than a minute to see if I can find a line.”

I stepped down through the companionway and used the flashlight to look around. The boat was neat and clean. The cabin was spacious but only six feet tall at the highest point, so I had to duck as I moved around.

The main cabin was both a galley and saloon with a settee area that had a dining table and a bench seat. Forward of the galley was the head, and past that, the V-berth visible in the forward stateroom.

There were many storage lockers and galley drawers. Near the head was a clothes closet. Probably, none of them would hold lines or other sailing tools.

 At the base of the companionway was the chart table and on it a marine radio. If the boat’s battery was charged, I could call for help. But I’d underestimated Mikhailo and his men regarding the ghost boat. They could have a scanner and be listening. I didn’t want to take the chance. Not this night, anyway. Gertie needed a break from trauma, and we both needed sleep.

I’d wait to use the radio until I had a plan for our next move.

Next to the chart table was a narrow closet. I opened the door. On the floor were rubber boots. Hanging on hooks were two sets of foul weather clothes, hooded jackets and waterproof pants. In cubbyholes were several flashlights and gloves. On another hook were nylon lines, neatly coiled. I took one of the coils and went back up to the cockpit.

Gertie was still standing in the tippy kayak, hanging onto the lifeline cable with both hands. I could hear her teeth chattering. The snowflakes were now visible in the night. They’d grown to medium size, and they floated to the lake like those in a snow globe.

“I have a line,” I whispered as I tied one end of it to a cleat on the sailboat.

Working together, Gertie and I got her and the kayak safely aboard. I was able to lash the kayak in place along the cabin roof. I used slip knots so that I could free the kayak in a hurry if I needed to.

Gertie’s shivering had increased.

“Let’s get you inside and warmed up,” I whispered.

I shined the flashlight so that she could see the steps of the companionway. We went down. She sat on the settee. I closed the companionway door behind us. I shined the flashlight into the galley cupboards and drawers and looked for candles. I knew there were cabin lights, but I didn’t want to turn them on for fear they would be too bright and alert anyone on shore. A candle would be dimmer, but I couldn’t find any.

I turned back toward Gertie and saw a hurricane candle lantern hanging on a hook above the settee table. On the cabin wall nearby was a shelf. The shelf had holes cut into it. Inserted into the holes were jars for organizing small items. One of the jars had matches. I lit the hurricane lantern. The single flame was too bright for comfort. In one of the galley drawers, I’d seen a dish towel. I draped it around the outside of the lantern, careful not to let it go over the top edge where the heat from the candle would be hottest. Now the candle light was dim.

While Gertie sat and shivered, I moved around the cabin and into the forward stateroom to make sure that all of the drapes were shut tight over the little windows and portholes.

In the main closet, I found some sweaters. One was woman-sized. I helped Gertie get my wet jacket off and pull the sweater on.

There was a built-in propane heater near the settee. It had an electronic ignition. I followed the procedure for turning on the gas, then pressed the ignition button. The little pop of spark fired several times, and then the pilot lit. I turned up the thermostat, and the burner turned on. In moments we had a blast of warm air coming into the cabin.

There was little to eat in the galley. I found some bottled water and a bag of dried cranberries. We munched them in the near dark of the draped lantern as the heater made the space warm.

“We’ll spend the night on this boat,” I said. “There’s a large bed in the forward stateroom. You can sleep there. I’ll sleep here on the fold-out settee.”

“I’ve never slept on a boat,” Gertie said. “Is it... safe?”

“Yeah. Cozy, too. I saw several sleeping bags. You’ll be warm. And the gentle rocking of the waves is the best sleep aid there is.”

“How will we ever get back to the shore without those men finding us?”

“We’ll go to a different shore. If the weather is okay in the morning, we’ll sail across the lake. The men won’t know where we spent the night or where we’re going. They may even think we died in the boat collision.”

Gertie was quiet for a bit. “So you think we’re finally safe?”

To hear the question from a traumatized girl was heartbreaking. Kids should all have shelter and food and clothes and, perhaps even more important, love. But safety was the number one thing a kid should be able to expect.

“Yeah, Gertie. I could be wrong, but I think we’re finally safe.”

FORTY-FOUR

“When you say we’ll sail this boat, how does that work? I’ve never been on a sailboat.”

“It’s just like you imagine from pictures you’ve seen.”

“Do you know how to drive it?”

“Yeah. I’ve never rigged a boat exactly like this one, but they all operate on the same principle. It shouldn’t be difficult.”

Gertie thought about it. “What if the wind is blowing the wrong way?”

Her question was a good sign. She was thinking about something other than the terror she’d been through.

“That’s what’s cool about sailboats,” I said. “You can sail any direction regardless of which way the wind is blowing.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” she said. “What if the wind blows hard from, like, the north and you want to go north?”

“Well, you can’t actually sail directly into the wind. But you can sail somewhat into the wind. So you go northeast, then you turn and go northwest. It’s called sailing close to the wind or beating upwind. When you turn back and forth, that’s called tacking or coming about. You’ll see how it works tomorrow. It’s fun. You’ll love it.”

“I doubt it. I was on a Jet Ski once. That’s fun because you have all this power, and you can race around any direction you want. But having no power and having to do tacking or whatever to go, it seems lame compared to a power boat.”

“Power boats are great,” I said. “They go fast, and they are very fun, especially small power boats. But power boats make noise and they create smelly exhaust like trucks and cars. It’s impossible to hear the birds and the waves and the natural wind when you’re on a power boat. It’s impossible to smell the pine trees and flower scents blowing from the nearest shore.”

Gertie looked skeptical.

“Most of the time, sailing is about quiet and calm, about contemplation,” I said. “On a sailboat, you’re using your wits and smarts to extract your power from the wind. It’s one of the oldest kind of transports that man ever invented. Sailing can take you anywhere in the world. So when you go out on a sailboat, there’s a historical connection that takes you back to the great seamen who first explored the planet. The Vikings, Columbus, Magellan, Captain Cook. The Polynesians who populated all the islands in the Pacific. You feel that history when you’re on a sailboat.”

“You talk about it like sailing is art or something.”

“It is. There’s a kind of poetry to sailing. You think about the rhythms of nature. You watch the birds to sense the coming breezes, even the weather. You study the waves to see squalls. You see the fish jump. You can talk without shouting. Sailing connects you to the beauty of movement, the beauty of nature. It even gives you an appreciation for math and physics because that is what makes a sailboat go.”

Gertie looked at the candle flame.

The subject was a good mood change from the fear of being pursued by killers, so I continued my little talk.

“I think of sailing as a cousin to kayaking and canoeing, bicycling and hiking. It’s transport that doesn’t burn gasoline. And a sailboat, its sails filled with wind, is one of the most beautiful things there is to see. It’s romantic. You’ll think I’m nuts for saying it, but sailing is like using a candle compared to using an electric light. It still gets the job done but has much more warmth and beauty than those things that require technology.”

“You’re like a sailing pep club or something.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

There was a jar of toothpicks in one of the shelf holes. Gertie pulled out a pick and stuck it through one of the openings in the hurricane lantern, touching the pick to the flame. When it lit, she pulled it out and watched it burn.

“So if you think sailing is about beauty, does that mean you think beauty is important in everything?” Gertie blew out the toothpick. It issued a smoke plume. She drew ellipses with it in the air.

“I think it’s good to find beauty where you can. It makes you appreciate life more.”

“What about people? Is it important for people to be beautiful?”

I saw where she was going with her question. I paused before answering. “There are lots of kinds of beauty. I assume you’re referring to physical beauty. That is the only kind of beauty that doesn’t matter. Beauty based on things outside of your control is meaningless and ephemeral. Beauty based on qualities you can create is meaningful and long-lasting.”

“So even though the whole world is fixated on beautiful celebrities, you don’t care if someone is physically beautiful?” she asked. There was a hardness and a wariness in her voice.

“Some people are born beautiful. To me they’re like flowers. They’re nice to look at, but their beauty doesn’t impress me.”

“Why wouldn’t you be impressed?”

“Because physical beauty comes from the luck of birth, from DNA, from genetics. Some people win the lottery. Lucky for them. But it’s not impressive. Except for good grooming, you can’t do a great deal about the way you look.”

“If you’re not impressed by physical beauty, what are you impressed by?”

“I’m impressed by a person who gets results from their effort, not from their natural gifts. If a person succeeds in spite of disadvantages, that’s someone to celebrate. But if a person succeeds through the luck of birth, there’s nothing impressive about it.”

“You’re telling me you don’t look at pretty flowers?”

“No, I’m not saying that. I do notice pretty flowers. But I think they’re lucky. I don’t think they’re any better for it.”

“Men don’t have a clue what it’s like to suffer prejudice. The rudeness of people who fixate on beauty.”

“That’s mostly true. But it does affect men, too.”

“How?” Gertie asked.

“I read a study about the CEOs of the Fortune Five Hundred companies – those are the chiefs of the biggest corporations in the world. They include several women, but generally, they’re mostly men, and other than the heads of the countries with the biggest economies, they are the most powerful men in the world. It turns out that on average, the company CEOs and presidents are taller than average by a substantial amount, they have more hair than the average guy, they are thinner than average, and they are better looking than the average guy, although that last concept is obviously subjective.”

“What does subjective mean?”

“It’s sort of like personal opinion that can’t be verified by any facts. There are, of course, notable exceptions to the rule of CEO looks, but the principle is solid. It even carries over to our country’s presidents. If you go back through all of the presidents, in a majority of the elections, the winners were taller and had more hair.”

“Really?”

“Again, there have been notable exceptions, but yeah, people take those preferences into the voting booth. So what about the guys who are short or bald or fat or all of the above? Do they matter less? Should we pay them less, value them less, promote them less? Of course not. But when a company’s board of directors chooses its next president and CEO, they are invariably affected by the looks of the candidates. More often than not, they choose the tall, handsome male. While it’s true that these issues affect women much more than men, men still have to deal with it.”

“Beautiful people have so many advantages,” Gertie said. “They get favors and jobs and attention and opportunities. It’s not fair.”

“You’re right, it’s not. But those who realize that life is unfair can turn that knowledge to their advantage.”

“How?”

“By not trying to compete on the level of physical beauty.”

Gertie looked up at me.

“If you’re a short, bald guy,” I said, “instead of investing time into putting lifts in your shoes and getting a lofty hairpiece, you can put your energy into your skills and climb your way up in spite of not having physical advantages. I remember that you are interested in movies. You want to be a director, right? Well, a woman interested in movies can study them and practice writing them. You can make videos and learn from the reactions while you – what did you call it? – formulate your debut.”

Gertie made a little smile.

“This is all stuff that you can work on while other girls are fussing about their looks.”