2. Nose to Nose With a Chevy Silverado #3
“Fishtival!” Gwen exclaims again. “It’s a celebration we have around here at the end of the fishing season.
You know, kind of a celebration for all the fishermen, welcoming them back to town since they’ve been in and out on the rivers for so many months.
It’s been going on for, gosh, I don’t know.
Well, at least since before I was born. That’s why town is so active today. Everyone just came from the parade.”
“There was a parade?”
“It lasts all of five minutes, but hey! It’s something!” she says with a bright smile.
Gwen tells me about all the details of Fishtival.
There’s a flea market and a pool tournament, activities for the kids, and even an art gallery right here at the Half-Hitch.
I hadn’t even noticed all the art on the walls.
There’s everything from fiber arts to watercolor. Some of them are absolutely beautiful.
Gwen gestures toward the counter where the barista has his nose buried in a book. “Josh might not be great at the coffee thing, but he has a knack for macrame.” Her eyes widen. “So if you’re not here for Fishtival, and you’re definitely not a local, what are you doing here?”
“I’m here on a research assignment from the Pacific Marine Institute.”
Gwen laughs. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. We’ve got marine everywhere.” She jerks her thumb over at the men in the corner. “My brothers are fishermen. All the men in my family have been fishermen, actually.”
I glance back at the table. A different man with cropped dark hair stares at me.
When our eyes meet, he looks away and says something to his friend, not missing a beat of the conversation.
Can he tell I’m an outsider? Already? I have to change the subject.
“Um, can I ask you about the board? The buy a coffee?—”
“It’s just a silly thing we do. You can buy someone a coffee ahead of time, and we’ll write it up on the board, so the next time they come in they’ll be surprised. Cute, huh?”
I smile. “Very.” You couldn’t get away with that in a big city. No way, no how.
The next morning, I head down to the dock to find the boat PMI hired.
My bag is stuffed to the gills with everything I need for my research and then some.
I’m off. It’s the lack of sleep, I think.
Despite my best efforts, the near continuous sunlight is strange.
I had my curtains open for too long and didn’t realize how late it had gotten.
Thank heavens for melatonin.
The docks aren’t particularly welcoming.
There are fishermen lumbering every which way.
I thought Fishtival was to celebrate their return from the salmon fishing season, but apparently, that was only symbolic.
Plenty of them look like they’re ready to go out in their tall rubber boots and waterproof overalls.
I look down at the email from Dr. Harrison to check the information once more. I’m looking for Captain Tim Sinclair, and if I don’t spot him, I should find his boat, Net Profits. I chuckle at that. I love a punny boat name.
I can’t tell if these fishermen just can’t see me, or they’re choosing not to because one by one, they blow by me like I’m not even there.
“Excuse me?” I peep, hoping someone will hear me.
No dice.
I try to find an approachable subject when a pair of eyes meet mine. It’s one of the guys from the Half-Hitch. The one with the short hair. He’s sitting on a crate repairing a net, I think.
He looks away to busy himself with the net he’s repairing, but it is too late. He’s made his bed, and now he has to sleep in it.
I go over to him, paying no mind that he’s trying to ignore me. “Excuse me?”
“Hmph.”
I'm not sure if that was a statement or a question. “Do you know Captain Sinclair? Net Profits?”
He eyes me hard and sticks his tongue into his cheek. Damn, who pissed in his cornflakes? He leans back and yells out to a man nearby, “Kirk!”
The man looks up. He’s the quintessential image of an old fisherman with haggard hair and deep wrinkles.
“Net Profits?”
Kirk shakes his head. “Left Naknek a couple days ago.”
“What?” I almost shriek.
“I said, ‘Left Naknek?—’”
“I heard what you said!” I snap and cringe, realizing I was rude. “Thank you.”
The man fixing the net asks, “What do you need with Sinclair?”
“He was supposed to take me out on his boat. I’m a researcher from the Pacific Marine Institute.”
The man stares at me for a moment. I can’t tell if he’s impressed or . . . unsettled.
“Captain Sinclair was supposed to take me out on the rivers to collect samples of?—”
He laughs. “Sinclair expects everything up front. He probably swindled your boss.”
I clench my fists at my sides, my shoulder straining with the weight of my bag. “Well, what am I supposed to do?”
“Dunno.”
“Don’t know?”
The man rises to his full height, and again, these guys are huge. “Call your boss, sweetheart.”
I seethe as he walks away. Sweetheart. “Jerk,” I say under my breath. I’ve had quite enough mortification for the day. I need to figure out how to get a boat. Fast.
Naknek might be charming, but I’m not sure it likes me.