Anne Bonny's Wake. Dick Elam

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СКАЧАТЬ She didn’t hesitate to back her hand. Her hand? Hell, she staked herself with my boat, my neck, and didn’t even name the game. She didn’t wait for me to ask.

      “Let’s see what I can cook for my husband’s breakfast.”

      She lowered herself into the cabin, raised the sweatshirt, and extracted the butcher knife. She wiped the knife with a dish towel and laid it alongside the other kitchen knife, then opened the cabinet above the sink.

      I stayed in the cockpit and watched the Bear’s boat return to the Pamlico Sound. I watched until only a wake remained.

      Checked my digital watch. 7:08. Time for breakfast, but I wasn’t hungry.

      “Wait on the breakfast. We need to talk,” I called down.

      “Please. Can’t wait on my empty stomach,” she pleaded.

      Bill Havins would have provided me a country-boy comparison, such as “I been to a pig picking and two county fairs, but I ain’t never seen anything like this.” I needed to talk with Havins as soon as I could sail to Oriental. Might raise him now on the VHF radio.

      Why hadn’t I radioed the Coast Guard when the Bear reached for his shotgun? What would I have broadcast? “Mayday. Mayday. Big Bear with shotgun chasing bare-breasted woman.” That message might lure listeners. I imagined fishing boats rushing to Bear Creek because the mermaids were schooling.

      “You want to come down and light this stove?” she called from the galley.

      I saw the Bear’s motor wake had dissipated. I climbed below. She stepped aside and surrendered the lighting job with a wave of her upraised palm. And I got a lecture.

      “Missed your cue when I asked if you wanted to keep the stove burning,” she said. “When you didn’t answer, I shut the stove off.” She operated as if she had invited me aboard.

      “Lady, pardon me, but you strain my hospitality,” I said. “Would you be kind enough to tell me who you are, what you are doing here, and what the man with the shotgun wanted?”

      She answered, but with a question: “Sure. Where do you keep your matches?”

      “In the bottom drawer.”

      “Got ’em. What next?”

      “Next, you explain what’s happening, and who you are.”

      “Sure. Would you light the fire?”

      I took the matches and fired the burner.

      “Well?”

      “I’m Maggie Moore from Hilton Head. I was swimming to save my life. And that guy chased me because I was trespassing. What’s your name?” She opened the oven, found the skillet, and placed it on the burner top.

      “My name is Hersh Barstow.”

      “Hersh as in Herschel?”

      “That’s right. Maggie as in Margaret?”

      “No way. My dad named me Maggie. Right there on the birth certificate. I’m named after a 1890s Australian stage star. Full name is Maggie Adelaide Moore. My friends call me Maggie.”

      “Tell me about the trespassing.”

      “Women aren’t welcome at cockfights. Especially when their escort carries a news camera.”

      “Where was the cockfight?”

      “Somewhere between here and Hobucken. Little village off the Intracoastal Waterway. I’ll show you on your chart. You’re a good sport about all this.”

      “I’m trying. Tell me about your escort.”

      “Works for the Raleigh News & Observer. Met him on the dock at Belhaven. By the way, I heard you mention eating oyster fritters at Belhaven. I could have been there last night if I had played my cards right. Found bacon in the icebox. Got any eggs? Never mind. I found them. Here’s bread. You make toast in that oven?”

      “We’ll get to the food later. Tell me about the News & Observer man.”

      “Young, about thirty. Short, about five foot six and a half inches tall. Wears glasses. Blond hair. Answers to Rick. How am I doing? I once worked as a secretary and receptionist at the Wilmington Police Department. What do you do for a living?”

      I ignored her question.

      She spooned the instant coffee and refilled our cups. She waited for the water to boil, her arms folded over her large padded bosoms, her hands rested on her pillowed stomach.

      “Where’s Rick now? Why were you swimming—ummmm—topless?”

      “Good question. I don’t know. You got any jam for the bread?”

      “You don’t know where he is? You don’t know why you were swimming? What is it that you do not know?”

      “Sorry. I knew why I was swimming. And I guess I would have had to stay in the water all day to keep anybody from seeing I had shed my sweatshirt. You really want the whole story on an empty stomach?”

      “Yes.”

      “Okay. Rick was sneaking up to the cockfight. He was shooting fast film, ASA 1800, so he didn’t need a strobe light. He told me later there must have been twenty guys in this lighted barn. I could hear them yelling, mostly cussing. He left me with the motorboat. They didn’t know I was there, but I heard someone yell, ‘Stranger’ at Rick. Then I heard, ‘What’s he doing here?’ Rick told me he said he just wanted to watch, maybe bet. Rick had hid his Nikon camera behind his back. The man shouted at Rick to stand still. I heard that. Well, in just a minute I heard Rick running. He fell down in the dark, grunted, lost his camera. I heard someone yell, ‘He’s here. Come on.’”

      The teakettle began to steam but not whistle.

      “Water should be hot enough?”

      “Probably. Go on with your story.”

      “Well, Rick and I decided to run for the Neuse River, Rick turned northwest, created a false wake, and then headed back this way. When we heard a motorboat running wide open, we took off for the next lighted Intracoastal marker. We ran wide open, and then idled back and listened.

      “Still chasing us. The motor was growing louder.”

      She took out two plates, lifted an egg to each, and then decorated my plate with bacon. She served like a trained waitress.

      “After a couple of miles, we heard the other boat gaining. That’s when I decided to tune the motor. I knew more about a Mercury motor than Rick did. I leaned the intake. We ran faster, but the motor noise behind told us that we didn’t gain any distance.”

      She pumped more water into the teakettle, placed the kettle back on the burner. She looked through shelves and found salt and pepper, knives and forks in the cupboard drawer.

      She sat across the table and pulled paper towels for napkins. I waited for her to start СКАЧАТЬ