13. Alessandra
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
alessandra
Is it better to hide a body in the woods or feed it to the fishes?
The thought has popped into my head multiple times since Booth showed up at my apartment.
He’s intentionally pushing my buttons; I’m not an idiot.
Or maybe I am, because I’ve agreed to this stupid outing.
If I declined his invitation, I’d be forfeiting, and I refuse to have my integrity questioned.
I stomp down the stairs, swaddled in a pair of fleece-lined leggings, sweatpants, a sweatshirt, and a puffer jacket.
The sun crests the horizon, a glow of orange warming the sky when I join Booth outside my apartment.
He barely glances at me before striding down the hill.
My hiking boots slap against the snow as I jog to catch up.
“ Why aren’t we driving?”
“Because our location is right there.” He points toward the bay, but all I see is vast open water and rows of boats.
“You’re going to drown me?”
“No.” He rolls his eyes and sips his coffee.
“ I wouldn’t want you to melt. ”
“Har-har.” Desperate for caffeine myself, I take a large gulp.
I’m surprised to find it’s exactly how I like it.
Black with a little sweetness.
We walk in silence the rest of the way, and a few minutes later, Booth steers us toward a long jetty, lined on either side with bobbing fishing boats.
The sharp, briny smell of the ocean is stronger here, mixing with the scent of fish.
Some boats are old and weathered, their paint peeling and barnacles clinging to the sides.
It’s clear which boats haven’t been used this winter from the buildup of snow.
The one we stop beside is well kept.
It must be fifteen feet long, with a bright orange bow and white helm.
In bold, white lettering reads Sunrise on the front of the bow, with a small orange and pink sunrise painted underneath.
Booth raps his knuckles on the side.
“ Petey , you here?”
A bang, curse, and grunt follow.
A head of white hair pops up from the cabin, and a smile with a few missing teeth greets us.
“ Mornin ’, bub.” Ol ’ Petey , I presume, makes a hacking noise and spits into the water before nodding in my direction.
“ Sugar .”
“This is Petey , the owner of this fine vessel, and our chauffeur today. Petey , this is Alessandra . She’ll be joining us.”
“Pretty name. Belongs on the side of a boat. Bit of a mouthful, though. Got a shorter name?” He has to be in his sixties.
If someone were to ask what a typical New England angler looked like, you would find Petey’s photograph in textbooks.
His skin is wrinkled and tanned from long hours outside, and he wears a bright yellow rubber bib and boots.
I give him a kind smile.
“ Aly is fine. Nice to meet you, Petey .”
“You too, sugar.” He swivels around, the soles of his boots squeaking.
“ Don’t be dubbin’ around. Climb in.”
Booth raises a leg, and just as he’s about to swing it over, he pauses and pats his pockets in a panic.
He catches me watching and quickly fixes his expression.
Weird .
He climbs in effortlessly, and I think he’s going to leave me to struggle my way onboard when a large, glove-encased hand pops into my vision.
I stare at it for a beat, contemplating what’s worse: his help or the cold waters.
Swallowing my stubbornness, I accept it.
Once I’m safely onboard, he drops my hand like it’s on fire.
“Ready for your first real taste of Maine living, Boss ?” Booth asks slyly.
“Can we not with the nicknames. Silver is bad enough.”
He goes to reply, but Petey shoves a life vest into his chest and gently passes me one.
“ Quit flirtin’. Go get us ready.”
Booth doesn’t argue with him.
While the cold breeze wakes me up, I watch them work in tandem.
The low rumble of an engine sounds and the floor beneath my feet vibrates.
We rock slightly before trundling forward.
“Take a seat behind me, sugar. Less wind,” Petey shouts over his shoulder.
A small bench is bolted to the floor directly behind the helm.
I fit the life vest on and sit down.
Booth stands idly by, feet planted firmly, his stance strong as he rocks with the sway of the boat.
“Where are we going?” I call over the motor.
“Out to sea,” Booth mutters sarcastically.
Petey throws something at his head.
We’re going to be good friends, he and I .
“Bugs. Gotta go a little farther out this time of year to catch ’em,” Petey drawls, while steering us out of the mouth of the bay.
“Bugs?” My confused tone makes him chuckle.
“Lobstah’. Technically , we’re outta season, but they’re still around.”
“Where are the traps?” I look around the boat .
“Already out. We’ll be haulin’ them up. Hope you’ve got ya sea legs about ya’.”
Booth stifles his laughter into his fist, eyeing Petey , then me with a wayward look.
Any idiot would have guessed there was a hidden agenda behind this “adventure.”
The sun finally shows its face as we exit the shoehorn-shaped inlet, and the winds pick up without the protection of the steep cliffs.
It’s choppy, and my stomach dips each time we rise and fall with a large wave.
Nothing I’m not used to.
The salty ocean spray coats my face, the taste of it reminding me of summers in Greece .
“She’s a beautiful boat. What inspired the name?” I ask Petey .
He gazes lovingly along the length of the vessel and pats the helm.
“ That she is. Just like my Moira . She was the one who painted the sunrise. Miss her every day.”
My heart aches, but there’s only love in his voice.
“ She’s very talented. I paint a little myself.”
“Huh, you don’t say?” He looks me up and down, then smiles as if to say, You’re all right, kid.
“ Where ya from, Aly ?”
Here we go.
There’s no point in lying now, considering Booth knows who I am, but disclosing personal information isn’t something that’s ever come easy to me.
“New York , born and bred.”
“Ah, big city girl, I take it? Hope we ain’t too simpleminded for ya.” He throws a wink over his shoulder.
“Only one person comes to mind.” I side-eye Booth , who scowls at me in return.
“What do ya do for work?” Petey turns to face me as the boat slows, leaving us rocking with the swell of the waves as we sit a few kilometers from shore.
“Investment. My family owns a private equity company, mostly managing hotels. ”
“And restaurants,” Booth adds, voice tight.
“ Aly here is the new owner of Our Place .”
Petey doesn’t look surprised.
“ So you’re the reason our boy here has his panties in a twist. Got to ask, why Sutton Bay ? Seems a little far from New York’s fancy joints.”
“Don’t bother asking. She won’t te?—”
“I saw an opportunity,” I say, cutting Booth off.
“ You’re right. It’s not what we usually invest in, but I took a chance. Not many restaurants survive longer than five years. I was impressed to learn this one has been around for almost three decades.” My gaze meets Booth’s and I tilt my head a fraction.
“C minus for effort.” He walks toward Petey .
“ Want me to drop the anchor?”
“Ayuh, here is good. Ready for some fun, Aly ?”
I stand, just as the boat rolls and lose my footing.
Both men reach out to steady me but I right myself.
“Easy there.” Booth chuckles.
“ We can turn around if you’re feeling a little queasy.”
Dimples would be awful at poker.
His scheming is written across his face, plain as day.
Two can play at this game.
My hand clutches my stomach dramatically as I exhale loudly.
“ I think I’m okay now that we’ve stopped.”
He smirks triumphantly.
I can’t wait to wipe it off.
The men jump into action, quickly lowering the anchor and making room for the traps.
When the engine is silenced, hungry gulls squawk overhead as they swoop through the air.
“Aly, switch ya gloves for these and come give me a hand.” Petey holds out a pair of black rubber gloves.
“ Time to show us what ya made of.”
For the next two hours I’m put to work.
It’s grueling. Muscles I didn’t know existed ache.
My fingers cramp. The cold air numbs my nose and cheeks.
I lose count of how many hauls we bring up.
And most of all, it’s the most fun I’ve had in weeks.
Petey takes the time to explain each step to me, how he measures each lobster to check the legal size, and even goes into describing the anatomy.
He’s a salt-of-the-earth man and a true connoisseur of his trade.
Booth, however, tests me.
He does his fair share of work but doesn’t attempt to help me or answer my questions when Petey is busy.
A part of me doesn’t blame him.
The other part of me wants to dunk his head in the ocean.
Clearly , he’s done this before, probably grew up on a boat, but I can’t help but notice his pallid complexion as we head back to shore.
“Looking a little green around the gills there, Sadler . Did you leave your sea legs at home?” That earns me a weak scowl.
Our captain scoffs. “ Nonsense . Booth has been out with me plenty. Ain’t that right, bub?”
“Yep.” His head jerks up and down.
“Aly, I gotta say, you surprised me. Our boy here told me you couldn’t hack it. Wanted me to ride again?—”
“Why don’t you concentrate on mooring us, old man?” Booth interjects, then closes his eyes and lets out a slow breath.
“ Hurry , too. I have somewhere to be.”
This is pure gold and I’m going to enjoy every minute of it.
Petey either doesn’t hear him or chooses not to.
The waterproof gloves Booth wears creak with the death grip he has on the side of the boat.
“Is there a scenic route, Petey ? I’d love to see more of the bay.” My gaze doesn’t leave Booth’s as I edge closer to him.
All color drains from his face, save for the rosy cheeks he’s sporting from the cold.
“ Aly ” is all he manages through clamped teeth.
“You want to get to know me?” He doesn’t reply.
“ I spent summers on my grandfather’s sailboat. I mastered the reef knot before I got my period. I warned you not to underestimate me, but you didn’t listen.”
He opens his mouth, but before he can speak, his eyes bulge and he throws his head overboard. Booth 0– Aly 1.