Page 26 of Smuggler’s Cove (Twin Lights #1)

Chapter Ten

A Rude Awakening

T he following day, Madison blasted through the meeting and hopped into the car with Olivia. She clutched the portfolio with all the legal papers.

It took a little over an hour to arrive at One Willow. The place was spectacular. Floor-to-ceiling windows with a view no matter where you sat. There was an outdoor dining deck and a dining dock, and a captain’s bar. The manager, Jason, introduced himself and showed them to a table.

“Is this your first visit with us?” he asked politely.

“Yes, but we hope it will be the first of many.” Madison was still high on the idea. “My uncle owned a marina in Smuggler’s Cove. Unfortunately, he passed away, but he left the place to me and my brother.” Jason furrowed his brow, trying to recall a marina in Smuggler’s Cove. “On the Navesink.”

“Yes, that’s where Smuggler’s Cove is. On the Navesink.” He laughed. “Enjoy your lunch.”

“Shall we have a prosecco? To celebrate?” Madison suggested.

“I suppose it would be appropriate,” Olivia agreed. Normally neither drank during the day, but one glass of bubbly to toast their new legacy could not hurt.

After they finished their lunch and paid the bill, Jason thanked them for coming in. “Good luck with everything. Hope to see you again soon.”

“I am sure you will,” Madison cooed.

The women got back into the car and headed in the direction of Smuggler’s Cove.

When the driver approached the waterway, Madison kept looking back and forth, but saw nothing but dilapidated docks, a few gas pumps, and a dozen or so clam boats.

Insisting this could not be right, Madison got out of the car and proceeded to the dock to ask where the Taylor Marina was.

Someone pointed to a sign that confirmed that the dilapidated bunch of wood was the Taylor Marina.

She would have stomped all the way back to the car, but one of her stilettos got caught between the dock planks and propelled her forward.

It was a mortifying and graceless splat, with her white suit now marred with bait and slime, and maybe a few clams. Lincoln arrived in time to help her up as she raged against the disgusting inheritance, insisting they would put it on the market the very next day.

Her clothes were a mess; her shoes were broken. She urged her brother to help her to the vehicle. She just wanted to go home. Then it occurred to her she could not sit in a car for two hours reeking of fish.

One of the clammer’s wives took pity on the city girl. “C’mere, hon.” The weatherworn face of a woman smiled at her. She handed Madison a pair of freshly rinsed Crocs. “Follow me.”

Madison glumly picked up her broken Jimmy Choos and tossed them into a bucket of fish scraps that was sitting on the dock.

“Hey, hon, we use that for chum.” The woman stuck her gloved hand into the bucket and pulled them out.

“Oh, such a shame. These are nice. I mean, they were nice.” She tsk ed.

“Couldn’t get my fat foot into one of these.

” She pulled out a plastic bag from her back pocket and handed it to Madison. “Here ya go.”

Madison grumbled, “Thank you,” and placed the soon-to-be-trash shoes into the bag.

She followed the woman past an old pickup with a truck cap bolted over the bed.

The woman opened the back and took out a clean pair of cargo pants and a flannel shirt.

Madison was not sure which was worse—the slime or the clothes.

She gave them a cursory sniff. At least they were clean.

Madison stood there, speechless. Where was she supposed to change? She leaned toward the woman’s parched face as if to ask.

The woman understood the gesture and jerked her head toward a dilapidated shed. “Come on. I’ll show you around,” the woman said with a big smile, as if Madison had any interest in spending one more excruciating minute on the dock. “Name’s Hannah.”

“Madison. Kirby was my uncle.”

“Sorry about your loss. He was a good man. Loved the water.” She waved her arm in a sweeping motion. “Loved this place.”

Madison had been so traumatized, she had not taken any notice of the beauty that was before her eyes. “It is pretty,” she sighed, but there was no way Madison would ever set foot anywhere near the property again.

The two women entered a small wooden building that had to be decades old.

The wood was splintered. Weathered. And smelled like fish.

There were faded tide charts hanging by clothespins on a fishing line against one wall.

Several crab traps were piled in a corner, and a few clam rakes stood in a bucket.

A tiny octagon window faced east. There was a toilet and a sink in a space the size of a linen closet.

The toilet tank was in dire need of purging.

Madison held her breath as she quickly changed her clothes.

Hannah lit up a cigarette. “Ya mind?”

Madison thought the cigarette smoke might camouflage the stench, but it did not. Now it just smelled of fish, smoke, and dirty toilet.

“This here was your uncle’s office.” Hannah snickered and waved her cigarette around.

Madison wondered if it was a fire hazard.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if the place went up in smoke, she mused.

Hannah waved her hand in front of her face.

She, too, was getting a lungful of stink.

“I been after Charlie to call Johnny on the Spot to swap out that tank, but he didn’t want to touch anything until you all came by. ”

“That is an excellent idea.” Not that Madison planned to use it, but it might make selling it easier if it did not smell like a septic tank with notes of dead fish. “If you do not mind, I would appreciate it if Charlie could handle that. We will pay him for his time.”

“Don’t be silly. We’re happy to help.” Hannah nodded toward the open door and the half-dozen small, shallow boats. “Your uncle used to rent out them skiffs tied to the dock. Clammers, if they missed the morning run from the depuration plant, or tourists who want to go crabbing.”

“Depuration?” she asked, as she was snapping the cargo pants. They were several sizes too big and several inches too short. But you do not complain when your own clothes stink to high heaven.

“It’s where they clean the clams. We got the biggest one on the coast. You wanna get fresh clams, you just drive around under the bridge. The place will sell you a bushel for practically nothing.”

As interesting as Hannah was trying to make it sound, Madison wished she had never asked.

Hannah handed Madison a wet wipe, the only civilized thing in the cramped space. “Thank you. Again.” Madison was beginning to feel a pang of guilt at her inner voice screaming get me out of here! The woman had been so kind.

“Me and my husband Charlie run a little food truck.” She nodded toward another vehicle that looked as old as everything else.

“We make po’boy sandwiches for the clammers and anglers.

Somethin’ my grandaddy taught me. He used to do a lot of shrimp boating.

But shrimp ain’t always easy to come by so we make it with clam strips.

Them, we got plenty. You should try one. ”

The thought of eating a clam strip at that moment churned the bile in her stomach. “Thanks, but we just had a big lunch.”

“Ya think your brother would like one? I can whip one up real quick.” She grinned. “I make a mean tartar sauce, too.”

“That would be lovely.” Madison wondered how Lincoln would react to a clam sandwich.

Once Madison was as cleaned up as she could be, the two went over to where Lincoln and Charlie were standing. “Can I offer you a clam strip sandwich?” Hannah looked at Lincoln.

It took him by surprise. He wasn’t sure how to respond. He didn’t want to be rude, but he also was leery about eating something off a food truck. He hesitated but also had to admit it smelled delicious. “Sure. Why not? Thank you.”

Madison shot him a dubious look as if to say, I am not cleaning up your vomit, bro. Lincoln knew his sister well enough to read her mind. He chuckled.

Hannah walked over to the food truck and hopped inside.

The oil was still hot and simmering when she dropped a handful of breaded strips into the vat.

Madison could not deny there was something about the aroma of fried food.

You wanted to eat it, but you knew it was going to do any number of things, such as clog your arteries, make your face break out, give you gas, or make you fart.

She was glad Lincoln was driving his own car.

Lincoln offered to stay behind and wait for the real estate agent to arrive. He knew Madison could not get out of there fast enough.

* * *

Madison thanked Hannah for her help and piled into the town car. “See you soon!” the woman said, and waved.

“ Not if I have anything to do with it , ” Madison muttered under her breath, and gave the woman a weary wave in return.

Madison was silent all the way home. She was deflated. When they got to the Holland Tunnel, she finally said two words: “This stinks.”

Olivia could not help but laugh. “The situation, your clothes, or your hair?”

“All of it. I cannot believe this. What a dump.”

“Well at least Uncle Kirby didn’t pay for it, and neither did you.”

Madison groaned. “Taxes. We are going to have to pay inheritance tax. Ugh!” She kicked the bag of ruined clothes with her borrowed hot-pink Crocs.

Olivia patted Madison’s hand. “It’s going to be alright. You can sell it, pay the taxes, and come away with a little money.”

“Yeah. Five dollars, I’m sure.” Madison felt as if she had been flung off a Ferris wheel. “How could something that sounded so good be so terrible?”

“It is called life , and you know well how life throws curveballs.”

“I do indeed.” Madison looked down at the flannel shirt and rubbed the fabric between her fingers. “Pretty soft, actually.”

“It was very nice of that woman to loan you some clothes.”

“I know. And I feel like such a jerk. I was so ungracious and rude.”