Toad in the Hole (8 page)

“What are we going to do?” he asked.

We?
That meant he wasn’t mad at me.

Exhaustion weighed on my shoulders. “This round-up is probably about the brooch.”

He clapped. “Good guess.”

“Maybe it’s had other owners and one of them wants it back.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

A narrow set of steps led to the deck from inside the cabin. Moving below he leaned over a barstool in the galley.

Slowing the motor to idle, the river current guided us along. I crossed my arms against my chest and leaned against the rail at the rear of the boat. Holding the brooch in my hand, I wondered if curses were more than imaginary. My mother and few other extrasensory-perceiving women I’d met all believed in that woo-woo stuff, but I struggled to trust things I couldn’t see.

Being on black water dredged up images of the man I’d worked hard to suppress. When I closed my eyes, my mind’s imagery flashed snapshots of Billy Ray being shot then dropping to his knees. I blinked them open before I saw what I knew happened next.

“Is there anything you’re not telling me?”

Icy tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. I’d promised myself never to tell anyone, but when I kept secrets they grew a life of their own and led me into danger. “Something happened last year. Something really bad.”

Toying with a stack of coasters, he waited.

Midway down the steps, I rested my hands on the deck above. “Billy Ray, he’s…”

“He’s an asswipe prick.”

I walked down the few stairs into the cabin. Travis slid my frozen hands into his. “He didn’t? Please tell me that you were never alone with him long enough for…”

“No. Not that.”

The night stood still and gave me goosebumps. Under a heave of air, I blurted, “He’s dead.”

From a dim corner lantern that cast a yellow glow, I watched Travis crinkle his face and process what I’d said. “What happened?”

“On spring break, I didn’t know it but he stalked me. We were at a Lowcountry boil on the May River. He attacked me when I was alone inside the oyster refinery.”

Travis wrapped me in his arms. “Oh my God, Rachael.”

My chest tightened and I swallowed against my dry throat. With my head pressed against his shoulder, I told him what happened. “I ran out of the building. He chased me through the parking lot and across the street into a wooded swamp until I was trapped by water. I was so scared and so mad that I threw the only thing I had at him, the oyster brooch.”

“That a girl.”

“It hit him square in the forehead and he laughed. He was taunting me with a gun and I shut my eyes. Then I heard the bullet blast from the barrel, and I thought I was dead, but didn’t feel any pain. When my eyes opened, Billy Ray was on his knees, blood puddling from his chest into the swampy water.”

He pushed me out from his chest. “Did you shoot him?”

“No. The only thing I had on me was the oyster brooch.”

“Who, then?”

“I don’t know. Someone followed us into the woods.”

“Was he dead?”

“He was when the alligator snapped him up and dragged him under.”

I’d never known Travis to be at a loss for words, but the at that moment, he was incapable of speech, and clutched me to his chest while tears spilled down my face and onto his shirt.

NOTE TO SELF

I am spending the night alone with Travis. In the future must be more specific with wishes.

M
arooned

L
ike an old movie, the dead of night cast variations of black and white: stone walls, the river, the boat. And just like a silent movie slinking through reels of film, other than the sound of the motor’s dull chug, it was eerily silent. Boating is not a popular night sport.

“The way I see it, we can do as GG asked and meet Edmond and her in Stratford-upon-Avon. Assuming we can get there without incident,” Travis said.

“That’s one option,” I said.

“You have another in mind?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Gem people must be like restorers.”

“Theft, bait and switch, hoarding.”

“Travis!”

“Sorry.”

“They specialize, know a lot about what’s out there, what’s coming up for sale, that sort of thing. Maybe we can talk to this Sonny guy at Garrard’s; he may know about gems and relics, anything that went missing during the Crimean War. That sort of thing.”

“You’re mental.”

“Do you have a better idea?” I asked.

“Yeah, I do. Drive this thing to Stratford without sinking and hope to hell your grandmother shows up.”

“She’ll be there.”

“If she’s not, we’re screwed. Our passports and tickets are in our luggage—in our rooms.”

The current rose and fell in a frantic motion, unable to decide its course, and a set of ripples bobbed the vessel. “We’ve got bigger things to worry about than our passports.”

“Like what?” Travis said sarcastically.

“Like the waterfall ahead.”

Water could be heard churning, and a sign on the bank read
Danger—Waterfall Ahead, Do Not Pass.
“This must be one of those locks that GG mentioned.” Pointing to the right of the falls, Travis instructed, “Steer for it. Pretend you’re parking a car in a garage.”

“Why don’t you come take the tiller and show me how it’s done?”

“It’s your grandmother’s boat.”

“It’s a rental.”

“All rentals have a few dings, right? Just go slow. Once we’re in, hit reverse till you stop, then shift to neutral,” he said.

Pulling into a chamber-like dock, the boat light illuminated upon a closed gate sign that read, Cuckoo Weir. I cut the engine. “Now what?”

“Ahoy there,” Travis shouted.

“It’s two in the morning.”

He shrugged. “You never know.”

Standing at the tiller, I couldn’t shake the river’s chill that had stiffened my limbs. “One of us needs to get out. The water ahead is below us. See if there’s a button to open the gate.”

“Is that safe?” he asked, seeming less than enthused about exploring the dock for the gears that controlled the lock.

“I’ll take a look around,” I said, thinking that moving would at least warm me up.

“You know you have a knack for freak accidents.”

“I do not,” I protested as I wound myself up for a leap onto land. In the dark, I didn’t see the decorative metal rope anchors and tripped, pancaking myself on soft turf. Jumping to my feet, I was glad Travis’s back was turned to me. He stood in the cockpit, trying to keep the boat off the walls of the lock.

To my right was a path. To my left,
Her Grace.

“What do you see?”

“Nothing. I mean there aren’t any controls.”

“There have to be. Something controls the water so the gate can open and shut.”

Fatigue washed through my arms, and my fingers were stiff from the vice grip I’d had on the tiller. “Okay, there’s a knee-high cement thing with some buttons and a wheel.”

“Don’t push anything. Come back here on the boat and let me have a look.”

A grinding noise like a distressed Sasquatch echoed and the gates in back of the boat closed. I knew two more things had to happen. The narrow canal we’d pulled into had to empty, lowering the boat, and the front gate needed to open when we were at the river’s water level. But I couldn’t make anything else happen. With the boat in the lock, we were at a standstill. Travis tied a rope on a metal rung of the lock and joined me on the dock. I showed what I’d done and he fiddled with all the same things I had.

“We’re stuck.”

My dry eyes stung from still being awake, and I tripped over my feet.

“We should get some rest,” he said.

“But the marina where we can anchor is somewhere beyond this lock.”

Travis reached for my hand and wrapped me in his arms. I guessed he worried about my mental state since I’d told him about Billy Ray. “We’ll stay here until morning and hope a lock keeper shows up.”

I was sorry when he released me.

Back on board, climbing down steps from the cockpit to the cabin, we ducked inside. There was a single room with a kitchenette, bench seating, and a two-by-two potty enclosure. The Murphy bed that folded out of the wood cushioned bench was cozy. “There’s only one bed.”

“What was your grandmother thinking?”

I owed her a thank you.

“That we’d stay in hotels along the river.”

Travis hid a hand behind his back. “We’ll draw for the bed.” He counted to three.

I had pretty much conceded to myself that I was not quarry in this hunt, but for decency sake said, “You can sleep with me as long as you keep your pants on.”

He locked his arm around me from behind. “Have you forgotten, this isn’t our first time?”

I hadn’t.

Being close to him made me feel safe. And the cramped quarters didn’t bother me a bit. Tonight at least one thing worked in my favor. I was going to sleep with Travis and I hoped this was the beginning of a memorable trip.

NOTE TO SELF

Apparently I’m seeing London via the River Thames. Never would’ve
thunk it
.

T
he
K
eeper

T
he clunk, clunk, clunk on the deck was annoying, like school mornings when your PU’s —parental units—purposely closed doors and rattled kitchen drawers with a vengeance. Early morning clanks and clunks were normally a precursor to a shout from the bottom of the staircase. “Are you up yet?”

“Hoy, anyone in there? This isn’t a boat hotel. We’ve got vessels waiting.”

Travis tugged his arm out from under my neck. The sudden jerk sparked a volt into my dodgy shoulder. It acted up when I twisted funny or when the barometer dropped before a storm.

Despite a portside window cracked open, the air inside smelled of church pew benches and musty bedding. My head thumped a beat and my eyelids protested as though someone had cemented them shut.

“Rachael, wake up. Someone’s found us.”

I felt as though I’d only just fallen asleep.

A belt buckle jangled as it slid through pocket loops. “We got four hours sleep.”

Thump, thump, thump. This time I sat up. “Gunshot?” I said, trying to block the last image I remembered of Billy Ray pointing a gun at me before blood suddenly gushed from his sternum. Shaking the memory out of my brain I told myself,
I didn’t have to ever worry about him again in this lifetime
.

“Guns aren’t legal in Britain. Someone up above has a long metal stick. Probably putting some nice dings in the rental.”

Travis stood on the bed and peered out a window. “This guy looks like Captain Kangaroo. I mean, who grows sideburns like that? Rach, come out on deck with me.”

Throwing the covers off, I fumbled out of our cozy nest. I was already dressed in the same clothes from yesterday.

“Hi there,” I heard Travis shout to a man onshore.

I waved. “Good morning. We were hoping to get through the lock.”

“Were you now?” the keeper asked. “Where are you two headed?”

“To London,” I mumbled.

“You Yanks own this narrowboat?”

Unlike the real Captain Kangaroo, this gentleman’s vibe wasn’t jolly and he didn’t smile, which told me that either he’d had a worse night than us, or that his bullshit odometer needle bleeped into a red zone. I was very familiar with the tone used in these types of questions. Despite the accent, there was that inflection. It was a trick question and if Travis or I answered it wrong, it would stop us in our tracks. Maybe even get us detained. A horn somewhere in the distance bellowed and my mind flicked into warp speed manipulation mode. My roommate at college was a pro and I’d learned a thing or two. I slid my hand into Travis’s.

“This trip is a gift from my grandmother.”
Which was true.
“We’re on our honeymoon.”

A pesky Parental Telepathy Transmission zoomed over from Ohio—
Rachael O’Brien, that is an utter and total lie
.

Travis pursed his lips into a reluctant smiley face.

Captain Kangaroo’s back straightened. Cocking a grin that reached his feathered sideburns, he said, “Congratulations,” and moved toward the buttons and the wheel I’d tried to operate last night. “Hold tight while I put the key in and level the water.”

My arm caved under the pressure of Travis’s squeeze. “Married!” came out of the side of his mouth.

“I had to say something,” I whispered.

Water began gushing around the boat. “Of all the things to say.”

I moved to the front and watched a ladder rung on the wall begin to lengthen as the water level in the lock lowered. “How cool is this?”

A gentleman with a Collie and a mother with a stroller gathered at the top and peered down as we slowly sank.

Travis looked over the side. “Rachael, sometimes we say things. Things that are meant to stay in our subconscious.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I needed a distraction—something to stop his questioning.”

“What’s the plan?” he asked.

“We need to find somewhere to moor. Get a bite to eat, look over the maps, plot the trip, and figure out how long it will take us to get there.”

“So we’re really doing this?”

“Carpe diem.”

He didn’t answer.

“Wait until the gates are fully open, then idle out, no wake. You newlyweds enjoy your honeymoon,” The lock keeper said as gears grinded.

“Thanks. Much appreciated,” Travis said, before sliding into the cockpit.

I dangled the keys in my hand. “Looking for something?”

Snatching them from my fingertips, he slid them into the starter and ground the engine to life. “O’Brien, I do love you.”

Turning my back to Travis, I watched as he navigated the boat out of the lock. Turning back around to wave at the keeper, he’d disappeared.

NOTE TO SELF

Slept with Travis for the second time…. fully clothed again. Maybe he has an unsightly mole somewhere embarrassing.