Chapter 50
“Were you followed?” Casey asked with nervous eyes that darted around.
We met her at Salt Point Harbor.
“No,” I said, almost amused. “Were you?”
“No. Of course not,” she said with a crinkled brow, like it was a silly question. “I know what I’m doing.”
Casey was, perhaps, a little overconfident in that department. At 17, she had no training.
Her frantic eyes glanced around the parking lot again before leading us down the dock to Ethan. He was hiding out aboard his uncle’s boat.
The Barnacle Palace was a 1969 trawler yacht that had been completely refurbished.
With a royal blue hull and an Arctic white wheelhouse, it was in great shape.
No bubbling rust. No weathered patina. Clean and seaworthy.
I don't know how much money Ethan's uncle had dropped into the recondition, but it wasn't cheap.
As we approached the boat, Ethan stepped onto the side deck from the wheelhouse. His nervous eyes glanced around, then he motioned us aboard.
Ethan was 17 years old with shaggy dark hair, dark eyes, and a slim build. With the starboard side moored against the dock, we climbed over the gunwale. He led us into the wheelhouse, wanting to get out of sight quickly.
There was a small galley with stainless steel countertops, large windows, and all the appliances you might need—a refrigerator, dishwasher, and induction stove.
The space had been converted to a small living area with a couch, a U-shaped settee for dining, and a flatscreen display.
Forward and up a companionway was the helm station.
There were berths and day heads aft. Below deck, the engine room waited for marching orders.
With a beam of 5.9 meters and a length overall of 22 meters, the boat was quite spacious.
If you liked the old-world aesthetics and could live with its quirky charms, this was a boat that could handle just about anything the sea could throw at it.
It had already proven itself in the North Sea before the refurb.
Casey introduced us to Ethan and his uncle Nate. We shook hands and exchanged pleasantries.
Nate was a barrel-chested guy with a bushy beard and curly dark hair. He had a swarthy tan from days in the sun, and he had those crazed, icy eyes of a man who craved adventure.
Ethan shifted, nervous at first. It was understandable. He didn't know us from Adam.
"They're okay," Casey said. "I checked them out. Besides, if they wanted me dead, they could have done it by now."
A stainless steel .45 ACP was holstered on Nate's hip for all to see. I had no doubt the man knew how to use it. He wasn't taking any chances with his nephew.
Ethan moved to the window and looked down the dock again, just to make sure we weren't followed.
The area appeared clear.
I had kept my head on a swivel all the way over here and all through the parking lot. "So, Ethan, you want to tell me what's going on?"
"If I admit to anything, I'm not going to get in trouble, right? I have your word?"
I took a deep breath, then exhaled. "From what Casey tells me, it sounds like you may have illegally accessed a computer network and downloaded proprietary information. You're probably looking at multiple felonies."
His eyes rounded when I said that. He started to say something, but I motioned to stop him.
"That's not my main concern,” I said. “My main concern is to find out who killed Ivy and why. I'm sure if you help us, said indiscretions will be overlooked."
"I haven't admitted to anything," he said.
"Do we need a lawyer for this conversation?" Nate asked, looking out for his nephew.
"Like I said, I'm not interested in building a case against Ethan for hacking a computer system. I'm interested in getting to the truth."
"The truth is really messed up," Ethan said. "You're probably not going to believe it."
"Try me."