Page 66 of Goldilocks

“That’s weird,” Sam said, trying to keep his tone pragmatic. “It’s a new yacht.” Relatively speaking for yachts, and this one had definitely been well maintained. “Both should have worked fine. And what about your own mobile? Or the satellite phone? Even if the radio was down, you should have been able to call for help.” And Fionn, who was accustomed to solo sailing, would know damn well that he had to have his radio in working order.

Fionn stared dumbly at Sam. Another round of shivers racked through his body, and Sam grabbed another blanket to wrap around him. One didn’t seem to be enough to keep him warm. “I’ve been doing technology cleanses. My phone is in my car. The satellite phone wasn’t where it should be.” He stayed silent for three blinks. “I always leave it in the cabin. Right under the radio in its own special waterproof case. The case was empty.

I can fingerprint the…” Fionn trailed off, staring at the mast of his yacht sticking up out of the water. “It hasn’t sunk yet?”

“It’s shallow here,” Sam explained. He looked at where the tip of the mast was peeking out of the water. A red light winked just above the surface, and hopefully it would stay in that position so that nobody accidentally sailed over the spot and ended up with a nasty surprise.

“I could have stood on that.”

“You could have.”

“I didn’t need you to save me.”

Sam loosed a long breath. “I’m sure you would have been fine either way. Do you want me to bring you in, or would you rather we wait for the coast guard? They have a quick response time.” Thanks to the touristic nature of sailing in the village during the summer, there was a dedicated sea rescue base nestled only one harbour over from the main pier. It wasn’t fully manned all year round, but once spring came and the bad weather broke, a dedicated team patrolled the waters for the entire spring and summer and until the autumn storms chased away the last of the tourists.

“Why would someone try to sink my boat?” Fionn’s voice lifted abruptly, his tone shrill.

“Because you’re an asshole,” Sam said back without thought.

“Mary might have—”

Sam laughed, though he tried to stifle it when Fionn glared. “It wasn’t Mary,” Sam said, trying to catch himself. Mary didn’t know the first thing about boats, and he doubted she could have sunk Fionn’s sailboat even if she tried.

“You might have,” Fionn snapped.

Sam leaned against his table, crossing his arms. “Right. And if I sunk your boat, why would I come help you?”

Fionn glared. “I don’t know. So you could pretend to be a hero to get me off your back?”

“I think you are vastly overestimating your impact on me.”

Fionn scowled, his face a wash of pale skin that gave away his fear despite the bluster. His eyes lowered from Sam’s face to his chest, and the scowl wavered. “You’re bleeding,” he said.

Sam glanced down and cursed. His bandages were reddened, completely soaked through at the front. He’d bled all over his shirt. Sam went back to his first aid kit, grabbed out the scissors to cut the drenched bandages from his hand, then kicked out a bin from under the desk to drop them into. His hand was a mess, the extent of the injuries hidden beneath blood. With his back to Fionn, he sloshed another pour of peroxide onto the wounds, shuddered as he bit down the pain, and packed the wound again with more gauze and a tighter bandage.

“I’ll pay for the doctor,” Fionn said. “You hurt it pulling the rope, right? My dad will send you money.” He bent down, dropping his head into his hands. “He’s going to kill me.”

Sam eyed him as he redressed his wound. “I was injured already. It’s fine. And I’m sure he’ll be glad you didn’t get hurt.”

“You don’t know him, so shut your mouth,” Fionn snapped, lifting his head to glare at Sam. “Do you have any idea how much that yacht cost?”

Same as a house, probably. He leaned against the table again and gave up on the idea of being nice to Fionn. He wasn’t responding well to it. “Do you have insurance? Anyone who buys a yacht like that gets insurance too. Your dad won’t be losing out on any money.”

Fionn narrowed his eyes at Sam, but he didn’t snap at him again. “He usually is careful about paperwork,” he finally admitted reluctantly.

A high swell lifted the front end of the boat, and the lobster Sam had pulled slid across the deck into the cabin. Fionn stared at the lobster as if it might have sunk his boat, so Sam assumed he was lost in his thoughts. Sam pulled on a pair of gloves and then turned the lobster onto its back with a pair of pliers he had on deck. The lobster had been alive when he’d pulled it; Sam was sure of that. But now it was still and dead. Its legs were curled in, and it didn’t even twitch. Careful not to touch it, just in case another little ghoul was hiding inside, Sam grabbed a tub for the corpse and placed it in there. It was only as he grabbed a marker to write on the tub did he go still.

“What’s wrong with it?” Fionn asked. “You pulled it dead?”

“There was a parasite in it,” Sam said. The marker hovered above the lid.

“I’ll write it,” Fionn said.

Sam glanced at him.

Without making eye contact, Fionn gestured to the tub in Sam’s hand, with the marker poised over it. “Whatever it is. Just give it to me, tell me what you want written.”

Sam bit the inside of his cheek, his face warming as he looked down. The marker trembled in his grip.