Page 117 of No One Aboard

“So... What, uh, have you been up to besides all that?” Jerry asked.

Madden washed down a bite of steak with some gin. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, actually. I wanted to wait until Lainey was here, but...”

“Yeah, she said she wasn’t feeling too good. She’s looking after the boats. And Steve. Cat Steve.”

“Right.” Madden reached for the barbecue sauce. “Well, I, uh, met someone. She was reporting on the case, asked me for an interview, and we went out a couple times. Jennifer Byun.”

The name rang a bell. She was the author of that article, one of the first ones that had come out last month. “Oh. Congrats.”

“Thanks. And Jenni, well, she invited me to her neighborhood book club.”

Jerry set down his fork. The image of the ladies of Cherrywood flooding his old kitchen with strange smells and high-pitched laughter came back to him. He vaguely remembered Ida Graves seated beside Madden on the futon, and how could he forget Sheila shooing him out to the garage just when it was time to serve key lime pie?

“Sounds... uh...”

“And I wanted to see if you’d like to join,” Madden said, meeting his gaze over the rim of her glass.

“Me?” Jerry spat a fish bone from his mouth, then regretted it and covered up the saliva on his plate hastily with his napkin. “I, er...”

“For old times’ sake,” she went on. Almost gentle. “And for new times’ as well.”

Maybe this wasn’t the end of things in all the ways Jerry had thought. Maybe he and Madden would continue to be... well, whatever it was that they were. Almost friends.

“I’ll, uh, see if I’m busy then,” he mumbled, knowing full well he had nothing on his calendar until the end of time. Maybe the ladies at book club would enjoy some strong coffee and fresh-caught fish?

“Good.”

Madden finished off her meal. Jerry drank his club soda and tried to think of the last time he’d read a book that wasn’t about tying cow hitches and bowline knots. The silence sat more comfortably between them.

“Lainey’s invited too,” Madden added once their plates were cleared. “Although I’m sure she’s got better things to do than—”

“Than go to book clubs with old people?” Jerry grunted.

Madden sniffed. “I’m ten years younger than you. You’re the old one, Baugh.”

“Ehh.” Jerry thumbed through his slim wallet to pay in cash, but Madden waved his money away.

“My treat,” she said so grudgingly that he almost forgave her for being so nice.

They paid and left the restaurant behind. Madden got into her Volkswagen and rolled down the window. “Tuesdays at seven. Think about it.”

Jerry tapped his temple in a solemn promise and watched the detective drive off down the street. He hooked his fingers in his pockets and walked back to the marina. The sun was setting on Hallandale, showing off the proud masts of the sailboats in the yard.

The Old Eileenwas the prettiest of all, ghost white and tall without a speck of damage from the hurricane or otherwise to reveal her haunted interior. It was a shame to sell a ship like this. Jerry hoped Steve (the cat) would be able to accept living inSheila 2.0and that Steve (his brother) wouldn’t hate him too hard from the grave for giving up the chance to sail.

Jerry’s footsteps fell heavy on the slats of the dock, but he hesitated before climbing the catwalk to the sailboat to check on the cat and on Lainey, who was sick in bed.

Something was off...

He studiedThe Old Eileen. She stood tall and shining beneath the moon, a survivor of God knew what, and the old home of the man who’d killed Steve.

Unwind Yachting Co., her life preserver read from the stern. Jerry could see the orange shining from where he stood on the dock.

Safe to sail in any gale!

Eileenwasn’t likely to change anytime soon, Jerry thought to himself. So that couldn’t be it. He looked around, stumped, until it hit him all at once.

Sheila 2.0was gone. Her absence looked like a gap in the teeth in the marina’s pearly smile. Jerry stared at the vacant space of water. Then he saw the piece of paper weighed to thedock by a brick. He moved the brick and picked up the paper, his heartbeat a distant drum as he read.