8. West
CHAPTER 8
WEST
This is going to end badly. I know it. But short of grabbing her and locking her away in the cabin, there’s nothing I can do.
And so, I watch the whirlwind named Sydney Monroe walk off my sailboat and hurry to the cover of the RV park. I wait until she’s out of sight before I pull out my phone and make a call.
“Did you miss me?”
Fletcher Farley is a detective I used to be partners with before I quit. Someone I know and trust. And he may be able to tell me if he knows of anything going on. He moved into the organized crime unit last month, so if I mention that I just had a conversation with the mafia, he’d probably be highly interested.
“Why would the mafia be in Newport?” I ask without preamble.
He groans. “I was hoping you were calling to invite Saidy and me on your new yacht, not to talk shop.”
My mind jumps from calculating what the hell the mafia would be doing here to who the hell is selling the lie that I own a yacht. “Yacht? Who told you I have a yacht?”
“Bodie did, of course.”
“Bodie lied.” To make himself look good. No surprise there.
“Of course he did.” Fletcher is never surprised by anything Bodie does, yet for some reason, we’ve both tolerated him.
“He paid me to do some work?—"
Fletcher coughs. “Please don’t continue this story if it’s going to incriminate you.”
“All legal work.” For the most part.
“Okay, thank you. Continue. I need to know about this not-yacht.”
I clear my throat. “Bodie paid me for legal work with a falling-apart sailboat.”
Fletcher guffaws. “How bad?”
“Burned-deckboards bad.”
“But does it sail?” he asks.
“I’m about to find out today. I’ve had all the sails replaced and fitted, and the motor is sound. It’s more the cosmetic things that have an issue.”
“What’s the sailboat called?”
I mutter the name and hope that’s good enough. Let him mis-hear me, hopefully.
“I couldn’t quite catch that. What did you say?”
“I said it’s called Rubber Ducky .”
The man cackles. Full on cackles. The head of the organized crime unit should probably have a better grip on his emotions—but not Mr. Laugh-His-Pants-Off-Fletcher. No, sir. Not when it’s at my expense.
“What are you going to rename it?” he asks when he can finally talk again.
“Don’t you know it’s bad luck to rename a boat? I’m stuck with Rubber Ducky .”
Fletcher burst out in another laugh. “I can’t wait to tell Saidy. Now what’s this about the Italian mafia?”
I sigh as I sink down onto my newly replaced steps. “I’m staying out of it, but I figured it’s only fair to give somebody a heads up. You’ll know who you need to contact. Someone witnessed a murder this morning. Ran away and hid on my boat.”
I don’t need to tell Fletcher that she’s connected to Bodie somehow. That would just complicate things at this point.
There’s silence for a moment on his end of the line. A seagull squawks overhead before it dives down to float on the water beside the boat.
“So the mafia witnessed a murder and hid on your boat?” The disbelieving tone in his voice reminds me of the seagulls.
“No. The mafia did the murdering. The pretty woman hiding on my boat did the witnessing.”
“A pretty woman, eh? Maybe it’s fate,” he says dryly.
I can’t believe I let that slip, especially to Fletcher. “Hey now. Love might have been the answer for your myriad of problems—Saidy is still a saint in my book—but there is absolutely zero interest in that for me.”
“So she was available, then?”
I moan. “There was zero interest. In fact, there was negative interest. She thought I was going to kill her, and I couldn’t get her off the boat fast enough.”
“Awful defensive for a guy who just met her today…” Fletcher teases.
“I don’t know why we’re even talking about this when we could be talking about the dead body and a murder witness.”
“Is she there now?” His tone is all business now.
“No.” This is the part where he’s going to lecture me for not keeping her safe.
“Well, where is she?”
“Taking her chances trying to reach the local police.”
Fletcher blows out a loud breath. “How are her chances?”
“Poor,” I admit.
Fletcher practically yells, “And you still let her go?”
Ah, there’s the lecture I was expecting. “I tried to convince her to wait for the police to come to her. Or to call you.”
“Were you nice to her?” he asks with a long-suffering sigh. “You scared her away, didn’t you? Did you drag her into a closet like you did with Saidy? West, I don’t think you understand how intimidating you come across to people. You can be mean.”
I wasn’t mean to her, like he is implying, but it’s not like I made tea and suggested we spill all our secrets either. “Like I said, I did almost everything I could to convince her to stay.”
Fletcher hums. “She probably thought her chances with the city police were better than a grumpy sailor who used to be a cop.”
“I told her she was going to get killed, but apparently, going directly to the police is ingrained in her.”
“It’s almost like she doesn’t want to be charged with being an accessory to murder or obstructing justice…” he mused.
“You know there’s always extenuating circumstances. Now, are you going to help her or not?”
Fletcher sighs. “Let me make a few phone calls.”
“I gave her your number. So if you get an unknown number ringing in, answer it. She might need you.” There. I did my part of connecting her with someone who can actually protect her.
“For wanting to stay out of it, you sound awfully concerned,” Fletcher replies quietly.
I grunt. “She seemed…scared.”
“Most people would be in her situation. That’s nothing new.”
“She’ll make it. She has to.” She’s too young and bright to become another statistic. But they always are. It’s what drove me out of the force. I couldn’t handle it anymore.
“Sure you don’t want to come back to the force? You seem awfully concerned about a random citizen.”
“No. Absolutely not. Don’t pretend like you want me for a partner.”
“Ah, hell no. If you came back, I’d hope they’d pair you up with a starry-eyed rookie,” Fletcher replies gleefully.
“I’m not coming back, Farley, so you can stop daydreaming about it.” I glance around the boat that doesn’t look like much but somehow makes me feel settled. “Just see what you can find out, and help that girl.”
“Do you want me to call you with updates?”
“Of course not,” I grunt as I shove a board into position. The deck really isn’t too bad. It was only six boards that needed replaced. “Text me.”
I hang up on the sound of Fletcher’s laughter. I might want to stay uninvolved, but I also want to know if she survives or not.