Chapter 6
Captain Kendra’s Log: Invest in better locks. Check the CIA collection.
I was cold—so cold—that no matter how many blankets I piled on the bed, the shivering wouldn't stop.
It felt as though the bone-chilling cold of the October Gulf waters had seeped into my very being, leaving me shivering uncontrollably.
Whenever I closed my eyes, I couldn't help but replay the haunting scene on the Netfish and Chill, witnessing my beloved boat burning in the dark water while two kind souls pulled me to safety.
The only blessed relief from all of it was that my phone was lost in the Gulf. It saved me from the onslaught of concerned family and friends who, no doubt—
“Yoohoo!” A voice called from the deck of my houseboat.
Damn it. They found me. “Kendra’s not home,” I mumbled, tunneling deeper into the blankets. “Please leave a message.”
“They’re not going anywhere, Ken,” a deep voice said softly.
From inside my room.
My locked room.
It’s coming from inside the house!
I scrambled off the bed, screaming and holding my blankets before me like a shield. As if they’d protect me from the axe murderer who broke into my boat and tried to kill me in my sleep. My heart pounded against my chest as I struggled to make sense of the chaos.
I peeked around the side of the blanket shield and couldn’t tell if I was relieved or pissed that it was my brother, Brock.
He stood inside the room, wearing head-to-toe black like he had just come from a Liam Neeson movie.
The dim, filtered light from the window accentuated the contours of his chiseled features, giving him a mysterious and enigmatic aura.
He was one year younger than me, but the way he moved with grace and precision was almost ethereal.
It was as if he could blend into the shadows and appear at will, like a silent spy navigating through the night.
I don’t know where he learned these skills, but they made him an invaluable asset to Saber Security, where he worked. Despite the shock of his sudden appearance, a small part of me couldn't help but admire how he effortlessly infiltrated my supposedly secure space.
Even if he was a pain in the backside to annoyed siblings.
“What the hell, Brock! You scared the daylights out of me.”
His short brown hair stayed in place as he squatted before me, a huge hulking shadow against the natural light coming through the window. The closed window. His blue eyes, which were so much like mine, crinkled around the edges. “We gave you time to wallow. Now, it’s time to face the music.”
I held up my hands. “No. No music. Wallowing is not done. Send them away.”
“No can do, big sis.” Brock hauled me off the floor like I was a sack of feathers.
“Then do your magic so we can escape through a pinhole or porthole or some other hole,” I cried, thought better of it, then said, “That sounded weird.”
“Indeed. Get up. Get dressed. Ten minutes.”
I bent to pick up the blankets from the floor, but when I stood back up, Brock was gone from a locked room.
“How the hell does he do that?”
Many songs have been written about growing up in a small town. How close-knit it is. How everyone knows your name. But the downsides of growing up in a small town are how close-knit it is and how everyone knows your name.
Pleasure Point is no exception. The island off the Gulf Coast of Florida was once a thriving nudist colony. In the 1980s, the owner sold it to my parents and six other families, known as The Seven. They saw it as a haven, a place to escape the world's prying eyes.
The prying eyes of island residents, however, were exempt from this escape plan.
“There you are!” My mother, Chloe, fluttered over and hugged me tightly. “I’m so sorry about your boat!”
“You’ll get a new one in no time flat,” my father, Bolt, added as he encircled us both. “Insurance payouts can be quick these days.”
I snorted. These guys forgot it was the late 20s. Bureaucracy for the sake of bureaucracy is a mission statement for some companies. “Thanks, Dad.”
When my parents decided to let me come up for air, I noticed we were not alone on my houseboat.
Mom and Dad brought several of The Seven with them.
With a scowl on her face, Cranky Gail Keck shoved a steaming casserole of her famous five-cheese mac and cheese into my hand, then turned and walked away without uttering a single word.
I couldn't help but smile at the unexpected gesture. That dish was my favorite.
Her arch-nemesis, although maybe they patched things up a few months ago, June Atwell, smoothed the mostly silver and dark hair out of her face and held her husband’s hand.
Donald Atwell stood beside his wife, always supporting whatever she did, even if that meant antagonizing June’s longtime frenemy, Gail.
Uma Maddux, Pleasure Point’s Mayor and mother to my other best friend Joy, stepped closer and gripped my non-casserole hand in both of hers. “My darling, we’ll help you however we can. Rashida sent me a phone from her store. What else do you need?”
Joy came to the rescue, prying her mother away from me, grabbing the 1980s brick phone, and saving Gail’s casserole from my trembling hand.
“What we can do is leave her alone so that she can get her ship fixed.” Joy leveled her take-no-prisoners billionaire boss babe glare on all the seniors on my houseboat.
“You can see she’s okay. Now, she has work to do. Off you go.”
The senior residents of Pleasure Point, including my parents, grumbled and groaned like a chorus of disgruntled whales, but one by one, they begrudgingly abandoned ship and shuffled back to land.
As the last tuft of gray hair disappeared around the corner, I turned to Joy with a heavy sigh and said, "Thanks for handling that.
Now, I'm off to reclaim my precious sleep. "
Joy blocked my exit with her body. “No way, friend. Remember what you and Brock did when I was wallowing in misery?”
I laughed at the memory of her Cozy Burrito Bed she made while hiding on my houseboat.
We had given her time to grieve the loss of her relationship while her now-fiancé fixed things between them.
Brock and I didn’t make it easy for her to stay on board.
And I had a sneaking suspicion payback would be a bitch.
I said that last part out loud.
“Bish, please.” Joy rolled her eyes. “I’m not in this for payback. I’m worried about you.”
I sighed, walked back into the houseboat's living area, and plopped down on the couch. “Not this again.”
“Yes,” Joy said as she sat next to me. “This again.”
“It’s nothing to worry about. Really. I’m fine. Fine. The man I am in love with is marrying someone else. Again. I wasn’t fast enough this time, either.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “I wasn’t enough.”
“Kendra,” Joy snapped. “Look at me.”
I slowly opened my eyes. “What? Is this where you tell me I am good enough and smart enough?”
“Yes. All of those. And then some,” Joy agreed.
“I know you’ve been friends with him a long time.
But you and I have been friends longer than that.
I have watched you both since the friendship began.
You’re seeing everything with rose-colored glasses.
And when you see things clearly, you’ll realize that this is a blessing. ”
“Oh, yeah. Good times. Hashtag blessed. I am once again overlooked in the love department,” I grumbled.
“Has it ever occurred to you that you keep trying to open a door that’s closed for a reason? That it’s the wrong door?”
“Your metaphors suck this morning.”
Joy blew out a breath, causing her dark bangs to fly around her face. “Listen to me, Kendra. You’re an amazing woman, just as you are. If Jesse doesn’t see that, he’s not the one for you. You want the man who worships the ground you walk on and will do anything for you.”
I squeezed my friend’s hand. She was in love.
Recently fallen in love, to be exact. Of course, she thought every last thing was sunshine and roses.
“Joy, I love you. But not all of us have been lucky in the love department. And not everyone is meant to be in a relationship. Maybe that’s my lot in life?
Maybe I’m meant to sail off into the sunset by myself. ”
“If that’s what you choose, I’ll support you,” Joy said. “No one is telling you to fall in love. But if you want love in your life, you must find the one who loves you just as you are. You are enough.”
I nodded and plastered a smile on my face. “You know what? You’re right. It is time to stop wallowing and get myself together. Thank you.”
She narrowed her eyes at me but leaned in for a hug anyway. Tears stung the back of my eyeballs, and my throat felt scratchy, likely from the smoke inhalation. But there was something else.
I pulled back and sniffed the air, detecting a skunky herbal odor filling the cabin. It was a smell that belonged to only one person on this island.
“Uh, Captain Dudette?” Ziggy - no one knows his last name - shuffled through the open door of my houseboat and thrust a piece of paper into my hands. “Here.”
“What’s this?” I glanced at the title. It was some sort of job posting.
“This is your siren alarm, Captain Dudette,” Ziggy responded with a snicker as if I were the one high as a kite at 10:30 in the morning.
“I don’t need a job.”
“Maybe that light at the end of the tunnel is a train. And that train has sailed, Captain Dudette.” Ziggy nodded in satisfaction.
My eyebrows furrowed as I tried to make sense of Ziggy's words, a challenging task even on a typical day.
The events of the previous night had left me feeling overwhelmed.
I rubbed my forehead and looked at Ziggy, noting his long, untidy gray hair hanging over his thin shoulders.
He wore board shorts and a tank top adorned with a crab smoking weed, looking like a character straight out of a quirky beach-themed comic book.
“Ziggy, I don’t need a job. I have a job. I’m the Captain of… well, I’ll be the Captain of the new-and-improved Netfish and Chill soon.”
“And I have no doubt you’ll run a tight shipwreck.” Ziggy patted my head. “But in the nice time, you need to apply yourself. ‘Kay, dudettes. Gotta motor.”
And with that, the senior stoner of Pleasure Point ambled off my houseboat and headed deeper toward the docks.
“Where’s he going?” I asked Joy.
She shrugged. “I think he opened up a crab stand.”
I shook my head and didn’t give Ziggy more thought because he was right about one thing. I had a shipwreck of a business mess to sort out. And I had no idea what to do for income until the insurance paid up.