Read White Crest Page 2

The first thing that greeted Mac when she deplaned was the thick salt air. She loved it and missed it terribly. As a matter-of-fact, while she was on the plane, she was thinking of ways to relocate to Florida. Maybe after the crap blew over and things returned to some sense of normalcy, she could get a transfer there.

  Mac located her luggage, grabbed a cab and headed directly to her parent’s cottage on the beach. She was as excited as a child on Christmas day and smiled the whole way there.

  There was a supermarket about a mile from the cottage and it occurred to her that she would need some items to hold her over until she could come back and do a proper shop.

  “Driver, do you see that big, red, neon sign down the road on the right that says Get-N-Go?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Would you pull in there and wait for me while I grab a few things?”

  The cabbie looked down at the meter and said, “Hell, yeah!”

  When Mac entered the store, she saw few changes since her last trip. It was the same store she and Billy went to as children. Mac’s father would give her a few dollars and they would run to the store and buy as much saltwater taffy as they could afford.

  She picked up the necessities, such as coffee, sugar, saltwater taffy, etc., and returned to the cab.

  When she finally got to the cottage, the cabbie parked on a paved plateau behind Mac’s cottage and said, “This is my second trip out here today. Odd don’t you think?”

  Mac rolled eyes and replied, “Sure is.” The cabbie removed Mac’s luggage from the trunk and said, “I wish I could afford a place on the beach!”

  “It has its advantages,” said Mac as she paid the cabbie, gathered her luggage and groceries and walked down the short path to her cottage. When she reached the end of the path, she paused to breathe in some salt air and savor the ocean view. She looked across the ocean and said, “I wish I could hug you!” She smiled, turned and entered the cottage. She closed the door softly and walked slowly around the living room, gently caressing different objects as she did.

  As Mac was soaking everything in, she spotted a white sheet of paper taped to the corner cupboard that was next to the front door. It was a note from Floyd Robbins, the caretaker. It simply read, “Welcome home, Mac.”

  Floyd stopped by the cottage periodically and ran the water for an hour or so to keep the pipes flushed and did other maintenance as required.

  Most of the natives rented their cottages out when they weren’t living there but Mac couldn’t do it. She wanted to preserve the place as it was when her parents were alive. Luckily, the property was paid for and there was enough money in the estate to pay utilities, upkeep, etc, for several more years. Selling the cottage was never an option for Mac, no matter how desperate the call for cash.

  “It feels so good…it feels so right to be here,” she said as she picked up her luggage.

  She quickly unpacked and found that she couldn’t stop smiling. And she couldn’t wait to get back outside.

  Mac put her empty suitcases in the bedroom closet, then turned and opened a window to air the room out. She looked passionately at the ocean and said, “Take me…I’m yours.” She backed away from the window slowly, clutched the blue windbreaker she had laid on the bed and went outside. Mac stepped from the porch and smiled as she made her way slowly down what used to be a clearly defined path. There was a faded, short, white picket fence at the end of the path, with an open space where a gate once hung many years ago. Shifting sands laid claim to the bottom third of the fence and most of the path from the porch.

  When she reached the fence, Mac paused and inhaled to the full capacity of her lungs. She exhaled gradually and headed for the incoming surf, pulling her windbreaker tight as she did.

  It was getting late and the evening wind was brisk, drawing several tears from her weary eyes. She used the back of her hands to clear the tears so she could bring the descending sunset into focus. All the while, the September wind was slapping her hair around like dry strands on an old rag mop.

  Mac approached the beach and gazed up at an ominous looking sky. She knew it wouldn’t be long before a fall storm would come rolling in. She hoped it would be a serious kind of storm that demanded a soft light, (candlelight would be preferred), a warm blanket, a comfortable couch and a good book. The sound of a crackling fire, a howling wind and pelting rain would be the only companions necessary.

  The incoming waves were higher and louder with each report. She smiled again because she loved it. She loved every bit of the ocean and the surrounding environment. When her parents bought the cottage more than twenty years earlier, it was one of the happiest days in her life.

  The ocean was her psychiatrist, mother, father and child all rolled into one convenient package. It soothed the savage beast in her and helped her forget, or at least temporarily postpone, her everyday problems. It could be firm like an unyielding father or very demanding of her attention, like a young child. When she felt lonely and in need of a hug, the ocean embraced her like a mother and made her feel secure.

  When she reached the beach, she kicked her sandals off and wiggled her toes in the cool, wet sand. She stared across the water and was totally consumed by the overwhelming beauty of the orange sunset, which had been graciously spared from the approaching stormfront. She looked at the storm clouds racing to catch the retreating sun and closed her eyes. For the first time in a long, long time, Mac felt at peace.

  Mac smiled and moved back to some dry sand. She sat there for some time after the sun had set and soaked in the surrounding sights, sounds and rejuvenating salt air. The wind was building and there were impressive lightning streaks shooting through the clouds.

  “Getting closer old friend. Thanks for the show. I suppose I ought to get back inside for awhile.” Mac stood, brushed the sand off and carried her sandals back to the cottage.

  She looked to her left and said, “That’s odd.” Mac eyed a light shining through the living room window of the cottage next door. Most residences along the beach were vacant by September first and it was already mid-September. The Fergusons, the people who owned the cottage next door, never stayed that late in the year.

  It’s probably just Floyd, she thought. Floyd was as reliable as the sunrise and had an ironclad memory. Once Floyd saw or read something, it was there for good.

  Once inside, Mac made sure all the windows were closed tightly. She wasn’t sure when the chimney had been cleaned last, so she opted for lighting the pilot light in the furnace instead.

  No one had actually lived in the cottage for several months and memories of enormous, brown, water bugs sprinting across the forks and spoons, prompted her to wash the silverware. Mac dumped all the utensils in the kitchen sink and gazed out the window as she waited for the water to heat up. The light at the Ferguson place was still lit. Her first thought was to run next door and inquire. Perhaps Floyd was having some difficulties, or worse yet, was in physical danger. Maybe he had a heart attack. Maybe it wasn’t Floyd. Maybe it was nothing at all. Mac decided to wait a little while longer.

  Bob and Millie Ferguson, she thought. What memories. Mac had known the Fergusons for many years and was very fond of them both. They had been close friends and often socialized during their summer pilgrimage. Bob and Millie were very kind people and treated her as if she were their own child.

  Mac always considered the journey as a wonderful escape to another world and cherished every second of it. She dreaded having to go home. Summer’s end was a traumatic and tearful event to Mac. The vacation would reach its limit and Mac had to go home. Her mother would routinely say that all good things must come to an end. Mac hated hearing that. Who in their right mind would mandate such an asinine rule? When things are going well, why should they have to come to an end? It seemed like bad was allowed to continue endlessly.

  It made about as much sense as someone saying you can’t have your cake and eat it too. What the hell is the point of having a cake if you can’t eat it? Even more troubl
ing to her was that intelligent people believed in those idiotic sayings.

  Mac passed her fingers through the water. It was getting warm, but wasn’t quite hot enough for her.

  Another light went on at the Fergusons. Well, if it’s Floyd, at least he’s moving around. What if it isn’t Floyd? Mac looked down in the sink, then back out the window. “Doesn’t matter,” she said firmly. “Understand this, whoever you are I’m here to relax and get away from problems, not add to them.”

  Mac could use a bit of quality rest. She needed some down time as much as fish in the ocean required saltwater. Fourteen-hour days, six and sometimes seven-day work weeks were carving deep grooves into her soul. Mac had to do it. Not because it was a job requirement. She did it because there was only one way to do a job and that was the right way. She always felt if you were going to do anything at all, give it your best and go the extra mile if need be. And as a district manager there was always something or someone demanding her attention. It was her obligation to make sure every situation she encountered was handled correctly and completely. Mac was determined to have her cake and eat it too. It should be noted that there were many times she realized too much cake can give you indigestion.

  Mac’s peers scoffed at that approach and insisted she wasn’t using her staff properly, or that she took her position way too seriously. They often abused their positions and padded their expense accounts. It didn’t seem to bother them at all.

  The new millennium snuck in and gave birth to new technology. It ushered in new and improved cell phones, which appropriately added an entirely new dimension to an already stress filled occupation. Wonderful, compact devices that prevent any place from being referred to as sanctuary. And Mac had two of them ringing constantly.

  Mac put the stopper in the sink and squirted a green liquid soap into the hot water. She took another look through the window just in time to see yet another light go on and off at the Fergusons.

  “Well, whoever is there…is there! A thief wouldn’t run around turning lights on and off. Neither would a man lying on the floor dying from a heart attack. I’m on vacation and I’m going to do as little as possible. Dan said working vacation. He didn’t say how much work. I’m going to mind my own business. IT”S NOT MY PROBLEM!! I need to lighten the load. That’s what got me into this mess to begin with,” she exclaimed.

  Mac washed the silverware, a few cups and some plates. As she removed the stopper from the sink, she couldn’t resist looking through the window one more time. No change noted!

  She took one of the clean cups and pulled a packet of instant coffee from the grocery bag on the countertop. She filled the cup carefully and set it in the microwave.

  Mac couldn’t let go of the situation with the cottage next door. Her interest took yet another direction. What if the occupant wasn’t temporary? What if the person was going to be there as long as she was and wanted to socialize every day? What if the Fergusons decided to stay on? Then they’d be upset that Mac didn’t come over and say hello. She loved them dearly, but they had a tendency to be overly talkative and she was craving solitude. And if she went over to say hello and it wasn’t the Fergusons, that would open another can of worms.

  What if the neighbor turned out to be some rude, inconsiderate jerk that liked to party and play loud music all night? Then she’d have to have a confrontation, maybe even call the police, making it all too ugly for her to remain there.

  Mac didn’t know a damn thing about the person next door and it was already screwing up her first night back. Knock if off, Mac. RELAX!!

  She watched as the seconds counted down to zero on the microwave and jammed her thumb against the release catch for the door, hitting it so hard that the cup wobbled and spilled some coffee.

  “DAMN!” she exclaimed as she jerked a towel from the rack. After cleaning up the mess, she threw the towel against the grocery bag and stormed into the living room with what was left of her coffee. Mac snapped her head in the direction of the Ferguson place and shouted, “THANKS, JACKASS!!” Calm down, Mac…Calm down. Remember where you are. Remember the ocean.

  She set her cup on the coffee table and picked up a small plastic bag from the Get-N-Go. It didn’t have a wide selection of videos to choose from and most were five to ten years old, but it was something to watch and occupy her mind.

  Mac turned on the television, picked a movie originally shot in the 1940’s and stuck it in the VCR. The only thing she heard was a sad clicking sound coming from the VCR. She repeated the process with another movie and achieved the same result.

  She sighed and said, “I don’t believe this is happening. Although, it could be a good thing. Maybe the movies are horrible and now I don’t have to sit through them!”

  Mac bagged the movies and threw them on a nearby chair. “Maybe some other night,” she said as she retrieved the remote to the television. Unfortunately, all she saw was a black screen with millions of white dots racing across. Wonderful static, but no picture.

  “This is so wrong,” she said with some disgust. “This is just not fair.” She thought for a minute and then said, “No reason to be upset, Mac. You still have the new mystery novel you brought from Atlanta. You’ll probably enjoy it more anyway.”

  She turned the television off, crossed her fingers and turned on the stereo. There was some momentary static, then music. She fiddled with the tuner until she found some soothing sounds. Mac was finally able to settle back on her couch and relax. She pulled a small throw over her feet and legs, picked up the novel and read the preface. She moved on to the first page and realized she couldn’t remember what she had just read. Her mind kept drifting away to other thoughts.

  Did she approve the payroll with modifications or was she just thinking about approving it? What about the receipt for lunch with one of her store managers…saved or lost? Worst of all, what about the jackass next door?

  Mac picked up her coffee, took a sip and looked at the contents. She smiled and said, “Are you half empty, or half full? What a stupid question. Why do people waste so much time thinking up pseudo-intellectual crap like that? The real question; the only truly important question is, do you have enough to drink or not?”

  The background music was assisting in rendering a much needed mental massage and she was starting to relax again. She set her book down and visually surveyed the room taking note of the collective memories it held.

  She looked at the curtains and remembered the day her mother sewed them without any kind of pattern. Her mother tried to get Mac involved in sewing, but sewing was too boring to her. Mac much preferred to be playing in the surf or kicking a soccer ball across the sand.

  Her mother’s skill and creative abilities impressed Mac. She watched her mother sit at the sewing machine for hours on end, humming different songs and smiling all the while.

  Mac never thought of her mother as much of an athlete and nearly fell over when she found a photo of her mother in a baseball uniform. It was not the traditional uniform of a male baseball player, but rather a uniform consisting of a shirt and skirt. It was the uniform of the All American Girls Professional Baseball League.

  Her mother was part of a bold experiment that started in 1943 and lasted until 1954. She was an outfielder with a powerful throwing arm and could swing a mean bat. She was proud of her accomplishments during the year and one half she played but never spoke of it around the house.

  Mac rose from the couch and walked over to the curtains. She ran her hand lovingly over the material and brought it close to her nose. She could still smell her father’s pipe smoke in the fibers. She never knew the name of the pipe tobacco but it had a pleasant odor. It was a smell she became accustomed to and actually enjoyed. On one occasion she tried smoking her dad’s pipe and nearly vomited. It was her first and only introduction to inhaling any form of tobacco smoke. She was baffled how anyone could enjoy such a taste. She was also confused as to how something could smell so good through her nose and be so awful through h
er mouth. It was the same smoke. It all ended up in the same place.

  She turned to the family portrait hanging over the fireplace. Mac scrutinized the images of her mother and father. I sure do miss you guys. All good things must come to an end. Her eyes filled with water and a single tear ran down each cheek. Mac took a deep breath, exhaled and said, “Whew! It’s definitely time to call it a day.”

  Mac was about to take the last sip of coffee, when she heard one of her cell phones ringing. She walked briskly to the kitchen table and answered it before the third ring.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Hi, Mac. It’s Donna Garrison. Before you say anything, I want you to know that some of our phone conversations will be recorded. I will always tell you in advance which ones are. This is one of those phone calls. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  “I was checking to see how you were doing. Anything new to report?”

  “So far, so good. It’s great to be back.”

  “That’s wonderful. I also wanted to give you an update on the course of action we intend to follow during our investigation. We don’t feel twenty-four hour surveillance is really called for at this point. We have decided a dusk to dawn strategy would be best for all concerned. Obviously, that’s subject to change, based on the merits of the case. Are you in agreement?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “Good. Marcia Labonte has a Saturday morning flight and should be at your place by lunchtime. I won’t be there until Monday afternoon.”

  Mac opened her purse and pulled out the index cards that Donna had given her. She studied Marcia’s face and made a mental note to enter all of the operative’s cell numbers into her cell phone as soon as their conversation was over.

  “Okay. Sounds good to me,” replied Mac.

  “By the way, Mac, we discovered an unpaid parking ticket during our preliminary research. It’s about eight months old. Would you like us to pay that for you?”

  “Wow, I forgot all about that. Yes, go ahead and pay it.”

  “We were looking at the weather reports. It appears you have some foul weather headed your way.”

  “It’s drizzling outside now and the winds are rearranging everything that’s not tied down. It’s going to be a great show. I love storms.”

  “I enjoy a good storm myself. That’s all I have for now. Make sure you follow sensible security measures and be sure to call if you need us for anything.”

  “Thanks, Donna. I’ll do that. Catch ya’ later.”

  “Good night, Mac.”

  After Mac entered the phone numbers, she got her cup and rinsed it out. She couldn’t resist taking one last glimpse at the Ferguson place. No lights this time.

  “That’s more like it. Maybe it won’t be so bad after all.”

  She went to the hallway and opened the front door. The drizzle had graduated to a proper downpour. The sight, sound and smell of the pouring rain was soothing. “You’re so much better than any five-star movie!”

  The gusting winds delivered intermittent sprays of water to her face and body. She shivered slightly, took one last deep breath, then closed and double-locked the door.

  Her body was shifting to low gear and her mind was demanding pillow time. She felt like a wilting flower.

  Mac went to her closet, undressed and hung up her clothes. She donned her robe and thought about taking a long hot shower. She was about to close the closet door when her eyes were drawn to the upper shelf. She saw a rectangular box resting next to the shoebox she used as a child to store her oil paints.

  Her love for painting began when she was five years old. She started with watercolors and painted on anything she was allowed to have. Over the years she progressed to oil paints and canvas. Her interest in painting never waned and she occasionally fantasized about becoming a professional artist.

  She reached up and pulled the box down. It appeared to be a jigsaw puzzle.

  “I don’t remember seeing you before,” she said as she wiped off a thin layer of dust.

  Mac looked at the puzzle scene on the cover. She saw a curving beach with white sand. It was bordered by hundreds of beautiful palm trees. There was a sailboat resting in the sand just before the palm trees. It was a beautiful craft that had a noticeable gouge in the bow.

  There was a barefoot man of medium build sitting next to the boat. He was wearing a white shirt and pants that looked a little wrinkled, but clean. His arms were wrapped around his drawn-up legs and he seemed to be looking at the boat.

  Mac tapped the box lightly and said, “Turn this way so I can see your face.” Nothing happened. Then again, it was probably better for Mac’s sanity that nothing did.

  Judging by the man and his immediate surroundings, she guessed that the sailboat was about thirty feet long. Except for the gaping hole, the sailboat looked to be in relatively good shape. She had seen many similar sailboats on the ocean during the summer months, but had only made one cruise. The one time she went sailing, she loved it. Other opportunities would present themselves in later years, but there was always a time constraint or scheduling conflict.

  The puzzle box depicted a totally serene environment. There were seagulls flying over calm blue ocean waters and a beautiful blue sky with a few scattered orphan clouds.

  It reminded her of the honeymoon with Frank. They went to Barbados for a week and spent the majority of their time on the beach. Frank referred to the seagulls circling above them as vultures. It’s hard to get more romantic than that, isn’t it?

  Mac cleared a spot on her dresser and opened it carefully. When she lifted the lid, she felt a puff of warm air against her face.

  “Wow! What was that?”

  She hesitated momentarily and then examined a couple of puzzle pieces. The pieces felt gritty, as if covered with a very, very fine layer of sand. As she dropped the pieces back into the box, she thought she heard a child’s laughter somewhere in the distance.

  Her first thought was the Ferguson place, (although Mac had the utmost admiration for children and even thought of having one or two herself, the noise they can generate when least desired is formidable. It would become a real stumbling block for her quest for peace and quiet).

  Mac went to her bedroom window and looked at the still dark cottage next door. The winds seemed to be blowing even harder and a heavy rain was still pounding down.

  “This could be really bad. A neighbor with an energetic child, running and laughing in a torrential rain while the parents slept. Good grief! What if there’s more than one child?” groaned Mac as she returned to the puzzle. Mac replaced the box cover and said, “I think I’ll tackle you tomorrow. I can’t seem to focus on a book long enough, but I imagine I can handle you just fine.”

  She carried the box into the living room and dropped it on the coffee table. When it landed, she thought she saw the sailboat shift slightly in the sand. No way!! That couldn’t happen, she thought. She attempted to recreate the same effect by lifting and dropping the box several times. Nothing else happened. She saw a drop of liquid next to the box and bent down to examine it more closely. She stuck her fingertip in it, swiped it slowly and put it in her mouth. It was coffee. She was relieved that it wasn’t saltwater.

  As an afterthought, she ran her hand across the table, checking for sand. Mac laughed and said, “Okay, girl. You’re getting carried away here. You’re too tired and too stressed.” She looked at the puzzle picture again. She saw a small ridge of sand that ran about half the distance of the keel. The sailboat had definitely shifted.

  Mac’s heart raced slightly as she stood abruptly. There’s a rational explanation for this. You know there is. Get a grip here, she thought.

  “Wait a minute! I’m not positive the picture changed at all. I only looked at it briefly in the bedroom. The light wasn’t as good and I’m tired. Whew…for a minute I had myself going.”

  Just then, she saw the clock on the fireplace mantel. “Shit. The stores have closed
and I forgot to check my voice mail.”

  She rubbed her bottom lip with her finger, thought a minute and said, “It can wait until tomorrow. Tomorrow is Saturday anyway. The home office will be closed.” Even though the home office would be closed, what if there was an emergency?

  Mac looked around the house. She had a feeling that someone was watching her. The hell with the voice mail, how embarrassing would it be if someone heard her having a detailed conversation with herself?

  “Screw it. It can…and it’s going to wait until tomorrow. I’m on vacation, I’m exhausted and I’m going to bed.” She double-checked all the locks on the doors and windows; a nightly ritual she performed regardless of where she was.

  She turned off the lights in her path and shuffled into the bedroom. She was too tired to take a shower or brush her teeth. She threw her robe on the chest at the end of the bed and slid under the comforter that her mother made when Mac was twelve. She was glad that she could finally let go and relax.

  It took some adjusting to get the pillow just right, but as soon as she did, she relinquished conscious control and began dozing. She was nearly asleep when she heard a familiar, soft masculine voice say, “Sleep well, Mac.”

  She opened her eyes sufficiently to see a shadowy figure in the doorway. The entrance was barely illuminated by a hallway nightlight revealing nothing more than a silhouette. She was more asleep than awake and paid little attention to the comment. She wasn’t even sure if she was still awake.

  “Thanks she replied automatically. “You too…” Seconds later she was sound asleep.

  Mac slept until nine o’clock, well past her normal wake-up time of five-thirty. When she rolled over and looked at her alarm clock, she yelled, “Shit!!” and went into high gear, panic mode. She jumped out of bed and scrambled to find one of her cell phones. Better call right away and explain why I’m running late.

  In her haste, she slammed a couple of toes into a chair leg. While hopping around in pain, she was able to get her bearings. She plopped on the couch and rubbed the injured toes. They throbbed, but there was no sign of blood or any permanent injury. The pain subsided and she smiled because she realized she didn’t have to go anywhere. There was nothing to explain to anyone. She was on vacation and could do anything she wanted to do, or she could do nothing at all.

  Mac went to the kitchen to find something to eat. She wasn’t much of a cook. She relied on fast food and restaurants to handle that aspect of her life.

  Her first instinct was to peek out the kitchen window at the Ferguson place. She smiled again because she didn’t see any activity there. She was free to pursue breakfast without aggravation.

  The coffee was always first on the morning agenda. If the manufacturer recommended three scoops per pot, Mac would use four. She often thought that she liked the smell of the brewing coffee more than the actual taste.

  The next item on the menu was toast. She dropped two slices of white bread into the toaster and pushed the handle down. She was watching the coils turn a brilliant orange when she thought she heard a cough emanating from the living room.

  Mac opened a kitchen drawer, pulled out a fondue fork and said, “All right jackass. You know I’m here and you’re there. What’s our next move?”

  She stood motionless, holding a quivering fondue fork in a defensive manner. Her heart pounded so hard that the surging blood to her brain was beginning to give her a headache.

  Several silent minutes passed with no activity of any kind. She inched closer to the kitchen door, stopped and said, “Come on hero. You want me, you have to come and get me. I’m warning you though, I play for keeps and I promise you’ll have to work your ass off for anything you get. You’ll probably get pretty bloody too.”

  There was a silent response, so she began to move cautiously toward the living room. Dusk to dawn surveillance, thought Mac. Well it’s past dawn. We have some rethinking to do! If she could make it to a cell phone and bolt out the front door, she thought she’d be okay.

  Mac examined the visible surroundings as she crept forward. The latch on the front door was still fastened and all the windows appeared to be locked and undamaged.

  She felt a surge of confidence as she was finally able to retrieve a phone. She entered the numbers 911 and put her thumb on the green dial button, but didn’t press it. I’ll look around a little first. I don’t want to call and appear to be a hysterical idiot if I’m just hearing things again.

  Mac was a sharp contrast to many preconceived thoughts of women. She didn’t feel it was necessary to always back away or run from fear. No matter what the battle, she would fight it. Of course, there was always a handy cell phone to call in the cavalry, if required.

  She moved down the hallway and timidly turned the glass doorknob to the closet. Mac yanked the door open and jumped back, fondue fork at the ready. Nothing, except some sheets and a vacuum cleaner.

  Mac entered the bedroom, thinking it would be her showdown. There was no where else for the intruder to hide. Her grip on the fork was so tight, that her knuckles turned a blotchy red and white. If her hands got any sweatier she’d most likely short out the cell phone.

  Mac mustered all of her courage and looked under the bed first. She was in the habit of tackling the hardest job first, so that anything that followed would be something to look forward to. All people know that the space under one’s bed houses the worst beasts and fears in the world. It is a sanctuary for evil and a breeding ground for monsters of all descriptions.

  She lifted the burgundy bed skirt with great trepidation. Her anxiety level was at maximum load. The morning sun reflected just enough light to determine that the greatest threat to her was dust bunnies, just like in her apartment search.

  Mac realized that she hadn’t cleared the shower, another favorite hiding spot that

  intruders loved. It, as well as the remaining two closets, was empty. To her absolute delight, all doors and windows were still locked from the inside and there was no intruder.

  Once again, as in her apartment, she embarrassed herself as a result over an overactive imagination. She smiled widely and said, “If Daddy saw me running around here like a commando, he’d be smiling for days!!”

  After two cups of black coffee and four slices of toast steeped in butter, (two of them cold and two warm), she took a long hot shower and got dressed.

  She pulled on a turtleneck sweater that her mother handmade for her years ago and went outside. It was a cool and beautiful morning. Mac was surprised to see very little evidence of the previous night’s storm. It was obviously more threatening than damaging.

  Mac closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. She exhaled slowly, looked out over the ocean and said, “God, how I love this place. I wish I never had to leave.”

  Careful what you wish for, she thought as she opened her eyes and headed for the beach. It was another one of those expressions people use frequently. If you’re wishing for something you really want, why be careful?

  She decided to walk up the north stretch of the beach, past the Ferguson place, to the old fisherman’s pier. Mac spent many glorious nights fishing on that pier with her father. He never took her freshwater fishing, because he considered it much too boring. A saltwater fisherman, even one just fishing off a pier, could always catch something with the right bait. And usually something different each time a cast was made. It was always a surprise when the line was reeled in and the catch hauled up.

  Mac smiled as she remembered her first night on the pier with her father. She had just turned nine and was eager to use the new fishing rod and reel she had gotten for her birthday. Her father offered to bait the hook for her and only smiled when she adamantly refused. Mac wanted the whole fishing experience and was determined to do it herself.

  She cast her line over the railing of the pier and heard the distinct plunk as the lead sinker hit the water. Mac got an immediate hit and yanked hard on the fishing pole, successfully setting the hook in the fish’s mouth.


  Mac reeled in the line and brought the fish to the pier by herself. Her dad showed her how to safely hold her prize and remove the hook. Once the catch was free, Mac said, “I want to hold the fish, Daddy.”

  Mac’s father patiently demonstrated the safest way to handle the fish and then deliberately passed it to Mac’s outstretched hands.

  Mac tried to hold the fish with one hand, like her dad, but her hands were just too small and the fish too slimy. After dropping it a couple of times, she relented and used two hands. She brought it close to her face and had an eye-to-eye exchange. Its mouth kept opening and closing like it wanted to kiss her.

  “Why is its mouth doing that, Daddy?” she asked curiously.

  “It’s trying to breath. They breath water like we breath air. Since it’s out of water right now, that means it’s also without air. Strange isn’t it?”

  Mac nodded. “What kind of fish is it?”

  Her father smiled, bent down and looked at the fish. He then looked into Mac’s eyes and said, “Well, Sweetheart, there’s really only two kinds of fish. There are big fish and little fish. That’s the only thing that matters when it comes to fishing.”

  An older man with a white scraggly beard standing next to Mac grunted and said, “It’s a pigfish.”

  Mac turned and looked at the man and then at the fish. Then she crouched down and let the fish slide from hands and drop back into the ocean.

  She stood and wiped her slimy hands on her blue shorts. Her father winced slightly and tossed her a rag.

  “If you’re gonna fish, yah need tah learn what they’re called. It’s a pigfish,” repeated the bearded stranger.

  Mac’s father looked at her, winked and said, “WOW! Did you hear that splash? Let’s move down there and see if we can catch him!”

  The stranger mumbled something and spit over the railing, while Mac and her father gathered their gear and headed for the fictitious noise.

  In the years that followed, Mac and her dad caught hundreds of fish. They kept some of the big fish and fried them on the grill at the cottage. They threw all of the little fish back so they could swim back to school and learn how to become big fish.

  Mac passed in front of the Ferguson house and eyeballed a man looking out the living room window. She rendered a diplomatic wave, which was returned immediately.

  “So, I do have a neighbor after all. He’s probably going to be here the entire time I am. Great! Just freaking great!!” she said sarcastically as she continued to walk down the beach.

  When she arrived at the concrete steps that led up to the fisherman’s pier, she stopped and smiled. Mac had been there all those years ago when the concrete for the steps was first poured. Mac and Billy Mullins took a broken seashell and carved their initials as soon as the construction workers left.

  The steps were all level and smooth and supported shiny, silver railings on either side. But time had also carved its initials on the steps. Level and smooth had been replaced with cracked and chipped. Shiny silver had become dull, reddish-brown rust.

  Those were great days. Mac was ten and Billy, a boy from Wisconsin who had never seen the ocean before, was eleven. Billy was okay with water and had gone swimming in lakes, but was terrified of the ocean. He generally opted to remain safely on the beach.

  Mac was understanding of his fear but still tried to coax him into the water several times. Billy did venture in from time to time but never deeper than his ankles. At that depth he still felt secure and close enough to dry land to make an immediate retreat.

  She sat on the bottom step and let her thoughts drift back with a receding wave. She remembered the day Billy explained his fear of the ocean. It was a brutally hot and humid July afternoon. The sand on the beach was so hot, Mac and Billy thought it would melt and turn to glass. Most people worked up a righteous sweat just getting to the shore and welcomed the cooling rescue offered by the ocean.

  It was Billy’s last day of vacation. He and his family were driving back to Wisconsin the following morning and Mac wanted to get him into the deeper water just once before he left.

  “Come on, Billy. I’ll go in with you and hold your hand the whole time we’re in the water,” said Mac in a consoling voice.

  “NO! How many times do I have to tell you I’m happy with the way things are? I don’t need to go in your ocean for any reason,” he replied angrily.

  “It’s your last day here. You don’t know what you’re missing. Go in one time and you’ll never regret it,” said Mac with a friendly smile.

  “NO. I don’t want to and I’m not going to do it just to make you happy,” he said as he started moving further away from the water.

  “Just try it once! I promise we won’t go any deeper than your waist and I won’t try to play any tricks on you,” said Mac in an almost pleading voice.

  “Look, Mac. I really like you a lot. I like you more than any other girl or person I know. Well, any person other than my mom and dad that is. I meant what I said and there is absolutely no way I’m going in the water. And that is that!!”

  Mac’s time with Billy was running out and she was getting frustrated. She admired everything about Billy and wanted him to experience as much of the fun and good things in life as possible.

  “I don’t get it, Billy. You told me that you go swimming in the community pool back home all the time, so I know you can swim.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not the ocean. My grandfather warned me about the ocean and I’m not taking any chances.”

  “You can’t be serious!!” exclaimed Mac in disbelief. “Millions, maybe even billions of people go into the ocean every day and nothing ever happens to them. Maybe some get attacked by sharks or drown accidentally, but that’s very rare.”

  “It’s not the sharks that bother me. It’s not anything living…at least I don’t think it’s a living thing,” said Billy reflectively.

  “Then what is it?”

  “It’s the white wave, Mac. It scares the crap out of me.”

  “The white wave?? What in the world are you talking about? I’ve seen a white crest several times and it never bothered anyone,” said Mac confidently.

  “There’s a giant white wave that comes from nowhere. It’s as white as fresh snow and can be as tall as the biggest mountain ever heard of. It shows up when the sea is calm or when it’s stormy. If you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time, it gets you. I’m not sure what it does to you once it has you. I’m pretty sure you just die. All I know for sure is that I don’t want it getting me.”

  “Who told you that crap?

  “Grafer told me and it’s not crap,” said Billy defensively.

  Mac snickered and said, “Who the heck is Grafer?”

  “He happens to be my grandfather. My mom told me that when I was little, I couldn’t say grandfather. It always came out as Grafer. The name kinda’ stuck,” explained Billy.

  Grafer moved in with Billy’s family after Billy’s grandmother died. Grafer’s health was failing and it was hard to get around and do most things. His grandfather lived a hard life and had been a whisky drinking, ordinary seaman since his early twenties. He spent much of his married life at sea, sailing on many different merchant ships to hundreds of different ports.

  Billy’s grandfather replayed many engaging tales from his collection of memories. Grafer always waited until Billy’s bedtime to begin the narration. Some of the stories would lead to bad dreams and nightmares, which Billy’s mother would handle while Grafer slept soundly.

  Grafer would pull out his gold pocket watch, look at Billy and say, “Ready, Boy?”

  Billy responded by running to his bed, jumping in and jerking his covers over his head.

  “Ready, Grafer.” Thus began the nightly ritual.

  Grafer had to locate the lost boy through a process of trial and error, but was always successful. He would pull a chair next to the bed, light his white meerschaum pipe and begin the tale.

  He delivered one story about a giant squid risin
g from the ocean depths and enwrapping its tentacles around a freighter. It subsequently dragged the ship and its crew under, destroying the ship and killing all aboard. Other episodes simply depicted horrible storms and his grandfather’s larger than life heroics during them.

  Billy listened intently to each yarn. Some made him feel uneasy and terrified. Others made him laugh and marvel at his grandfather’s near super-human abilities. There was one story, however, that scared the shit out of him. It wasn’t so much the content of the story. It wasn’t so much the content that got to him, but the manner in which his grandfather relayed it.

  Most of the sea stories Grafer passed along were repeated several times over the years. Each time they were told, Billy noted discrepancies from the previous time. The validity of each story was betrayed by a little twinkle in Grafer’s eyes. At story’s end, his grandfather would always smile and say, “The end.”

  There was that one story though. Grafer told it only once and had a very distant look in his eyes. No twinkle, no smile, no pipe and worst of all, no “The end,” when the story was completed.

  Grafer had a slight head cold and partnered with a bottle of whisky to ease the pain. He was too involved with the whisky when it came to story time and didn’t realize all of what he was saying.

  The story began with a ship he was sailing on off the coast of Australia. It was an old freighter with a hull full of cargo bound for Sydney. Once his ship had docked and unloaded the freight, the hull was refilled with containers bound for Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. They were about one hundred miles south of Sydney when they received word of another freighter in peril. The crew on the troubled freighter had been stricken with some sort of contagious tropical disease and wasn’t allowed to dock anywhere until the disease was under control.

  Rescue planes attempted to drop emergency supplies, but most of the drops were far wide of the ship. As a result, the supplies continued to drift away in prevailing currents. The captain of the stricken ship sent several SOS messages asking for assistance from any nearby vessels.

  Grafer was in the middle of breakfast when the ship’s loudspeaker came on. His captain announced that they were changing course to answer an SOS call. Their course alteration would only put them two hours behind schedule, which was certainly acceptable to all concerned.

  Billy’s grandfather stood on deck with several other seamen and watched for the quarantined ship. A forward lookout finally spotted it and final preparations were made to transfer supplies.

  Several men on deck were distracted by a low pitch humming sound that enveloped the entire ship. Grafer recalled hearing a similar sound once before. It reminded him of the monstrous electric generators at Hoover Dam.

  As the humming grew louder, Grafer and the other men felt a small vibration throughout their ship. It was a curious event, but they ignored it, went to the ship’s railing and watched until the ailing vessel came into view.

  They weren’t standing there more than a couple of minutes, when a giant white wave appeared. The wave was at least two hundred feet tall and four times as wide as any ship Grafer had ever seen. It was racing toward the quarantined ship like a jet fighter on afterburners. The most bizarre thing was that the sea all around the wave remained perfectly calm.

  The white wave reached the diseased ship and slammed it down like a person smashing a bug with a flyswatter. No one said anything. No one could say anything. Their movements, their thoughts and actions stopped as an overwhelming anxiety paralyzed them. All they could do was stand and watch as the attacked ship bobbed up and down violently like a toy in a bathtub.

  There was no wake left in the path of the wave. That was very puzzling indeed, because even the smallest of rowboats leaves some form of a wake on the surface. The white wave left no evidence, except white, milky water that drained from every square inch on the ship.

  When they eventually regained their composure, they made several attempts to contact the affected ship by radio. Their only reply was static.

  Grafer’s captain ordered his ship to move closer and comb the area for any survivors washed overboard. No immediate thought was given as to what they would do with any diseased crewmembers fished from the sea. Human curiosity was the driving force in control.

  When Grafer’s ship was as close as it could safely get, they were amazed to see no sign of life or death. There was no one aboard the ship and no bodies floating in the calm sea surrounding it.

  Given the unusual nature of the events that had transpired, how could they just sit back and do nothing further? It was like driving past an automobile accident. Most people don’t want to see blood and guts spilled all over the highway, but also can’t resist looking at the carnage. The captain and his crew were no different, so the captain asked for volunteers.

  Grafer and four other men stepped forward with a little hesitation. The captain instructed them not to touch anything or anyone. They were told to just go, observe and report.

  The volunteers boarded a single, diesel-powered lifeboat and made their way over. When they boarded, they were shocked and a little frightened to see that everything was completely dry. As they made their way below decks, each level resulted in even more shocking results.

  They observed the vessel being squashed by a giant wave, yet there was a steaming hot bowl of soup in the captain’s cabin. Gas fires were still burning under simmering pots in the galley. A movie was playing on the television and hot water was spraying in the sink of sickbay.

  An exhaustive search revealed more questions than answers. All decks were completely dry and all decks were completely void of any living thing.

  Grafer met up with the other volunteers and slowly removed a two-way radio from his pocket. “Captain, the ship is deserted, except for us. With your permission would like to remove ourselves as well!”

  “Very well. Return to the ship immediately,” replied the captain.

  Grafer acknowledged the captain’s order and the volunteers returned to their ship. Although he returned to his daily routine, his thoughts were understandingly still aboard the mystery ship. They would remain there, off and on, for the rest of his life.

  There was another incident of the same nature, which Grafer included that evening in his bedside tale of terror. The second incident happened about four years later.

  Grafer was sailing on a different freighter, with a different captain. His ship was headed to a port in Miami, with a hull crammed full of cargo from China. Once again his ship picked up an SOS, but this time it was from a thirty-foot sailboat named Scooter. Whoever was on the radio was screaming that an uncontrollable fire was devouring the ship.

  This time, Grafer’s ship was only minutes away. The sea was calm and the crew could see pitch black smoke billowing on the horizon.

  The freighter altered its parallel course and in no time, the ship was close enough for the crew to see the flames eating their way through Scooter’s bow.

  Men from Grafer’s ship had already manned their lifeboats and were making preparations to be lowered over the side.

  One of the men in Grafer’s lifeboat shouted, “LOOK!” and pointed to a person holding something or someone in his arms. The figure stumbled backwards into what appeared to be a deck chair and fell against a railing. It didn’t rise again.

  The keel of Grafer’s lifeboat had no sooner hit the water, when they heard a low pitch humming sound. He recognized the eerie generator sound immediately. It was the same sound he heard at the freighter near Australia. Exactly the same.

  “HOLY MOTHER OF GOD!!” shouted a startled seaman as he fell backward and nearly out of the lifeboat.

  “WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?” screamed another. All eyes turned in the direction of a giant white wave, racing at break-neck speed toward the dying yacht. It wasn’t as large as the last one Grafer had seen, but it was tall and wide enough to consume the yacht.

  The giant wave hammered down on Scooter like a sprung mousetrap. And as quickly as it appeared, it was
gone. The same was true of the yacht. Scooter had vanished without a trace. No debris, no residual burning oil slick, no bodies…absolutely nothing. The surrounding sea remained calm and the sky was clear. There wasn’t a single shred of evidence that anything or anyone had ever been there.

  Grafer finished his story just that way, because he had drifted off to sleep in the chair next to Billy’s bed.

  Billy told Mac that he got out of bed and tried to awaken his grandfather, but couldn’t. He kissed Grafer on the forehead, put a small blue blanket over him and went back to bed. Neither of them made mention of the white crest again. Billy was never sure if it was because Grafer didn’t want to, or because he didn’t remember telling Billy the story. Maybe, just maybe, Grafer wasn’t suppose to tell anyone the story.

  Billy relayed Grafer’s tales to Mac with the same tone of voice and distant look his grandfather had done.

  It took Mac some time to completely digest the story. She stared out at the ocean for a few minutes, turned to Billy and said, “Did your grandfather’s nose get bigger as he told the story?”

  “Very funny, Mac. He wasn’t making it up. Not that story. I could feel that it was true. I can’t explain why I believed him, because I don’t know why. I just know I believed that particular story.”

  Mac waded into the surf, kicking saltwater as she walked. “I don’t know, Billy. Sounds pretty unbelievable to me. Besides, if it really did happen, it was hundreds of miles out. We’re perfectly safe here.”

  “What if there are small white waves that can come in and get you? Grafer said the second wave he saw was much smaller than the first. How much smaller can the wave be? Does it just go after boats, or can it be small enough to get me? Remember, it was more after the people than the boats. It could come in and get someone like me anytime it wants to.”

  Mac snickered and ventured out a little deeper. “You think maybe it could get someone as tall as me?”

  “I’m not taking any chances, Mac. You can laugh, but there’s no way I’m going to risk it,” said Billy as he watched an incoming wave.

  Mac smiled again as she recalled that day. She ran her fingers over the worn initials scratched into the concrete so many years before. She could almost see Billy standing by her side, relaying Grafer’s white wave tale. She bent over and blew the sand from the initial grooves, smiled and said, “Those were the days. Great sun and summer fun.”

  Mac put her palms on the step, leaned backwards and stared blankly into the morning sky. “Where are you now, Billy Mullins? You always made me laugh and feel good. If only you knew how much I loved you. If only you knew how many times I have thought about you over the years.” Mac bit her lower lip and said, “Truth be known, Billy Mullins, I’ve loved you since I met you.”

  When their first summer ended, Mac and Billy corresponded frequently. They each had photos of the other posted on their bedroom mirrors, but neither told the other.

  By the end of their third summer together, they had shared their first kiss and had embraced fondly several times. They also spent several quiet evenings cuddling together on a blanket they stretched out over the cool sand. They would gather broken branches and driftwood for a beach fire and listen to the pounding surf as flames danced in the wind. Then they waited and watched the sunset in silence, embracing until the last ember of their fire turned cold.

  There were a couple of nights that the heat of the moment lead to partial nudity, but they never engaged in intercourse.

  Parting was horrible and Mac cried for days thereafter. Her first few weeks home saw her writing dozens of letters to Billy and calling at least once a week. She never developed an interest in other boys at her school. She even made a chart and posted it on her bedroom wall, counting down the number of days left until the next summer.

  Then came the terrible fourth summer. She was heartbroken when she heard that Billy’s parents had made other vacation arrangements. She didn’t want to eat, or do anything. Trips to the pier with her father were fulfilling and helped get her mind off of Billy, but didn’t satisfy the void in her heart.

  Mac and Billy continued their friendship via letters after that fateful summer, but the calls stopped. As time wore on, the letters were replaced with new people and new priorities. Eventually, the letters were fewer and far between; until by the next summer, they had stopped altogether.

  Years piled atop one another and the two never met or wrote again. Deep inside however, each maintained a small fire of passion for the other.

  Mac sighed and said, “Oh, Billy. If only…”

  She stood and looked up the flight of steps that lead to the old fishermen’s pier. She could see the tail fin of a wooden fish mounted on the Cuda Shack. The original and existing owner, Shingo Hisamatsu, painted the fish a deep yellow and olive green. Shingo put a fresh coat on his giant barracuda every year in an attempt to defray the damaging effects of the salty air. Unfortunately, he neither did any repairs to it, nor did he bother to remove any of the previous coats of paint. As a result, it had so much paint that it lost its original shape and took on the appearance of a giant sea slug with fins.

  The Cuda Shack was a combination bait shop and food stand. The food stand had a loyal clientele that loved the limited menu offered. Your choices were limited to grocery store hot dogs or hamburgers.

  Mac enjoyed Shingo’s company and made it a point to write on holidays and visit with him every time she came to the cottage. He always made Mac smile and feel good inside. Not so much by his wisdom, but more by his sincere interest he maintained in Mac and people in general. He had a remarkable understanding of life and a remarkably smooth way of dealing with most situations thrown his way. He was selective and didn’t always use his time proven social skills. When he did however, he was mystical to Mac. He also made the best hot dogs and hamburgers Mac had ever tasted.

  The instant she reached the top of the steps, an invisible cloud of “Cuda Gas” greeted her. “Cuda Gas” was the expression she and Billy used to describe the pleasant odors emanating from Shingo’s kitchen. Shingo told them that he routed his exhaust fans to the front of his shop so he could use the smells as bait. Passing fishermen would be hooked and reeled in, just like their prey.

  Mac opened the squeaky screen door and spotted Shingo scraping the 20 year old, black iron grill. She saw two middle-aged men sitting on Shingo’s custom-made counter stools. The stools were all painted fire engine red, with red vinyl seat covers. He had eight tables that seated a maximum of four people each and two booths, each in front of its own large picture window.

  One window had a terrific view of the ocean, while the other had a less glamorous view of the gate leading to the pier. He had all of the table chairs painted and covered to match the counter stools. He also had fire engine red table cloths and napkins on each table.

  Mac walked up to the counter, pounded the countertop a couple of times and said, “Hey, you! What does someone have to do in this stinkin’ joint to get some service?”

  Shingo paused and without turning around he replied, “By walking up to the cook and giving him a warm hug and kiss!”

  “The cook? Last time I heard, there wasn’t anyone within five miles of this joint that could do that!!”

  The two men at the counter barely looked at Mac or Shingo. They remained oblivious to the banter.

  Shingo came from behind the counter, threw his arms around Mac, hugged her tightly and planted a gentle kiss on her cheek. “Your turn,” he said with a wide grin. “That is if you ever want to sample any of my fine cuisine!”

  Mac returned the kiss, smiled and said, “It’s so wonderful to see you again, Shingo. You never seem to age and you never seem to change. I’ve missed you, old friend!”

  “First you say I’ve never aged, then you call me old friend. Which is it?” said Shingo with a mischievous smile.

  “You know exactly what I mean.” The two embraced again and two small tears welled in the corners of Mac’s eyes.

 
Mac pulled away slowly, sniffled slightly and poked his belly. “Maybe you’ve changed a little. I don’t believe you were that far along on my last visit. Been eating too much of your own cooking?”

  “Some men explain it by saying they are simply building a shed over their best tool. Others blame it on gas or say they have severe water retention. I’m just getting fat. Pure and simple. I spend all my time here now and never get to do anything else. All I do is work.”

  “What happened to your cook?” asked Mac.

  “You mean Jerry? I had to fire him just after your last visit. I haven’t been able to find anyone worth a damn since then. I’ve had a few drifters who’ve only wanted a couple of days of work. No one wants to work full-time for the money I can afford to pay them. I might hire that guy staying at the Ferguson place. He came in just before closing last night, saw my help wanted sign and asked if he could work here for a couple of weeks.

  I described the position and the wages involved and he was still interested. I told him to come back some time today for a brief orientation because I could use a break. Mac, I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something wrong about that guy.”

  “Wrong how?” asked Mac.

  “Well, first of all, I never knew the Fergusons to rent their place out during the off months. Secondly, the guy said he was a computer programmer who needed a break for awhile. He said he would work for food. Who takes a vacation to get away from work, and then takes a part-time job?”

  “Some programmers endure tremendous stress. Maybe he just couldn’t take it anymore and walked out.”

  “Maybe so. And he spent his extra money just to rent the Fergusons? Could be, I guess. I’m almost ready to walk out myself. He’s coming at the right time. I just hope I don’t regret it,” said Shingo with a smile.

  “Why did you have to fire Jerry?” asked Mac.

  “The lousy bastard kicked Waldo,” replied Shingo as he looked lovingly down at his sleeping dog. “I can tolerate hundreds of wrongdoings. Kicking my buddy will never be one of them.”

  “Why on earth did he kick the dog?” asked Mac with some concern.

  “It doesn’t matter. No one kicks Waldo…for any reason,” said Shingo as he walked over and patted the dog on the head. He wiped his hands on his apron and said, “How long are you going to be down here?”

  “I’m taking a two week, working vacation. I have to sort out some personal problems related to my job and get some rest.”

  “Can I scrounge something up for you, Mac?”

  “No thanks. My stomach has steadfast rules against greasy hamburgers or hot dogs this early in the morning. It pains me just to watch someone eating that stuff so early in the day. A cup of coffee would be nice though.”

  “Doesn’t seem to bother them,” said Shingo as he looked at the two men sitting at his counter. “That’s their second order. Don’t forget, most guys who eat here in the morning are just coming off the pier after fishing all night. To them it’s dinner.”

  “That’s still no excuse to eat your food!!” laughed Mac.

  Shingo feigned sadness and wiped away an imaginary tear, then went behind the counter. He poured some hot coffee into a cracked, beige coffee cup and slid it toward Mac.

  “Here ya’ go, Miss Mason. So, tell me who’s lighting your fire these days?” Shingo pointed to Mac’s ring finger and continued, “I see the vacancy sign is still lit.”

  Mac took a sip of coffee and sighed, “Give me a break!! You’re so old fashioned. I date when I have the time. Truthfully, I have no interest in the extended warranty anymore. At least not now. Things might change somewhere down the road if all the pieces of the puzzle come together correctly. Right now there are too many missing pieces.”

  Mac raised her cup to take another sip and heard a very faint masculine voice say, “You forgot your paints, Mac.” It was almost a whisper. She spun quickly to her left and then to her right. No one was there. She saw the empty stool at the end of the counter move slightly with no apparent cause.

  Mac looked at Shingo almost pleadingly and said, “Please tell me you heard that!”

  Shingo rubbed his chin and said, “You said you’re missing too many pieces. I’ve heard every word you said, Mac.”

  “Not me, Shingo. I just heard a masculine voice tell me that I forgot my paints. You didn’t hear that?!”

  “Sorry, Mac,” said Shingo as he shook his head no.

  “I know I heard it, Shingo. Then I saw the stool move by itself.”

  Shingo smiled and said jokingly, “It’s okay, Mac. It’s probably just some wayward ghost looking for a good meal!”

  Mac studied the eating area and sat quietly for a moment. Okay, you’re the only one hearing the voice. That means it’s you. What do you do next? Ignoring it hasn’t helped. What do you do next?

  “It seems more likely that they are ghosts of meals past who have come back to haunt you! Some of them probably think it was your cooking that did them in!” said Mac with a big grin.

  Shingo laughed and said, “Hey, that’s another way to make money. Maybe I should start selling insurance. I could offer life insurance as a side order!”

  Mac chuckled and then said, “Shingo.” Then she stopped, took a sip of coffee and stared down at the cup, rubbing her finger on the rim of the cup as she did. “Shingo, I’ve been hearing things. Well, actually not things, just a voice…a man’s voice. It started in Atlanta and followed me here. Since I’ve been back at the cottage I’ve heard the voice a couple of times and I even heard a cough. It was a cough like my dad would get after smoking his pipe for awhile. No one else seems to be able to hear the voice. I have even seen his image, or at least the shadow of his image. I think I’m stripping my gears, Shingo.”

  Shingo stopped what he was doing, turned the heat down on the grill and moved to the counter just across from Mac. “What does this voice say?”

  “So far it’s just been a couple of words. Like just a few minutes ago. It never says the same thing. And it’s always a soft voice, like a whisper. It’s definitely a man’s voice though.”

  “I wouldn’t worry yet, Mac. There are millions of unexplained phenomena every day. Most have absolutely nothing to do with mental illness. It’s more likely some anxiety associated with your fatigue and stress levels. Relax, don’t do more work than is necessary and enjoy your vacation. I’ll bet that after a couple of nights of sound sleep, those voices will go away,” said Shingo in a fatherly way.

  Mac looked into Shingo’s understanding eyes. He was probably right. She was, by her own admission, stressed to the limit. A good long rest certainly couldn’t do any harm.

  Shingo took Mac’s hand and caressed it tenderly. “Are you okay?”

  Mac nodded. Shingo’s mere presence was reassuring and calming. When she thought about it, Shingo was her best friend. In reality, he was probably her only real friend.

  “I’ll be all right, Shingo. Just don’t wander off while I’m here!”

  Shingo raised his right hand and said, “I promise.”

  Mac turned her attention to a collection of photographs on the wall opposite the counter. It had a huge green, wooden plank with yellow painted letters that said “Shingo’s Hall of Fame,” nailed to the wall above it. Shingo made it a practice to take a picture of any regular customer who had consumed 25 or more hamburgers or hot dogs. He also included close friends who made frequent stops, lucky fishermen with great catches and plain ordinary people he just took a liking to. He had each picture enlarged to five inches by seven inches and mounted them in identical, light brown picture frames. The wall would fill periodically and old photos were removed and stored in a series of photo albums.

  Every square inch of the remaining walls was covered with thousands of assorted photos, but none of those were framed. There were so many photos, (in some places there were photos on top of photos), that no one was quite sure what the original wall covering was. Some guessed that it was wallpaper Shingo picked out and visitors c
overed to keep from vomiting.

  The Hall of Fame was a special place of honor. Shingo reserved that wall for the elite. As such, they deserved special treatment. One of his regulars was a carpenter who custom made each of the fifty oak frames hanging on the wall. The only payment the carpenter asked for was free hamburgers and an occasional hot dog.

  Mac moved to the wall and surveyed Shingo’s collage. She smiled when she recognized a photo of her and Billy Mullins sitting at the booth with the ocean view. That was a monumentally sad day for the two of them.

  It was the last day of their fourth and final summer together. They had planned on going to the movies and watching a science fiction thriller. Billy was slow to rise that morning and unusually quiet at breakfast.

  His mother, Cassandra, sliced a grapefruit in half and put one of the halves on a plate. She sprinkled a teaspoon of sugar on it, looked at Billy and added a bonus teaspoon.

  “Here you go, Sweetheart,” she said as she placed the plate on the table in front of him. “What time are you going over to Mac’s?”

  “I’m not hungry, Mom. I guess I’ll go now. Is that okay?” asked Billy as he pushed his plate back and stood next to the table.

  Cassandra knew why her son was so morose and she also knew there was nothing she could do about. “Sure, Honey.” She gave him a hug and a peck on the cheek. “You kids have fun.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  Mac and Billy were walking hand in hand to the Pinewood indoor theatre when Billy said, “Do you really want to see the movie today?”

  “Not especially,” replied Mac sadly.

  “Want to go to the mound?” asked Billy.

  “Okay.”

  The mound was a short, u-shaped section of eroded shoreline that rose about four feet above the adjacent beach. It was a little over a mile from any dwelling or beach going traffic.

  When they arrived, neither said anything to the other. They sat on the sand with their backs against the wall of the mound. Mac kept looking down, drawing random lines in the sand. Billy looked blankly at the breakers slapping down, pushing the sea foam onto the beach.

  Tears began to roll slowly down Mac’s cheeks and drop to her red shorts. She sniffled and without looking up said, “I’m going to miss you, Billy. I’m going to miss you a whole lot.”

  Billy had been fighting his emotions since he awoke, but suddenly lost the battle. Tears ran freely. “Me…too,” he said, barely being able to get the words out.

  They finally looked at each other and embraced passionately. Billy ran his trembling fingers slowly through Mac’s hair. Then their tear covered lips met. They lay in the sand and kissed while their passion grew. Billy slid his hand up Mac’s t-shirt and began fondling her breast tenderly. Mac sat up, removed her t-shirt and Billy followed suit. She rolled on top of Billy and continued kissing him.

  They rolled in the sand until their passion reached the boiling point. Mac stood and began to unzip her shorts.

  “No, Mac,” said Billy.

  “It’s okay, Billy. I’m ready now. I want you.”

  “I want you too, Mac. But not now. Not like this. It’s not right”

  Mac looked puzzled. “Is there something wrong with me?”

  “No, Mac and that’s the problem. Everything’s right about you. It’s going to be terrible when I leave. If we do it now and I have to go home, I’ll go crazy missing you. It’s not the way I really want it. You have no idea how unbelievably hard it is for me to stop. It’s the way it has to be though.”

  Billy stood, wrapped his arms around Mac and whispered, “I love you, Mac. I always will.”

  “I love you too, Billy Mullins.”

  Billy stuck his hand into his pocket and produced a shell that he had cut and ground into the shape of a heart. He drilled a hole through the top and used a piece of white string for the necklace. He used red oil paint to inscribe the words, “My heart”, in the center of the shell. He handed the heart to Mac and said, “Wherever you go, I’ll be there.”

  Mac took the necklace, put it around her neck and hugged Billy tightly.

  She remembered that day. She remembered how sad she felt and how painful it was to say goodbye. She remembered the warm sand on the beach and the afternoon at the Cuda Shack. But she couldn’t remember what she did with the heart.

  Mac pointed to the photo and said, “I’ll never forget that day, Shingo. It was Billy’s and my last day together. We were so in love. You know, I haven’t seen him once since then.”

  Shingo walked over and stood next to Mac. “It was yours and Billy’s last day together and my fifth anniversary. Remember? Food was on the house the entire day. As I recall though, you guys didn’t eat much.”

  Mac just nodded as she glanced at the booth they sat in. Then it hit her. “Wait a minute, that was twenty years ago. That means this year is your twenty-fifth anniversary!!”

  “Jackpot, Miss Mason!! But don’t tell those guys. I got over giving food away many years ago. You’re the only exception to the rule. Your money will never be good here. ”

  “Congratulations on the anniversary,” said Mac as she gave Shingo a bear hug.

  “Thanks, Mac. I’ll probably be here until the day I die and I’ll probably die standing up while I’m cleaning that damn grill!!”

  The two laughed and looked at the grill. “That’s a scary thought,” said Mac.

  Mac looked back at the booth and said, “Any idea of whatever happened to Billy?”

  Shingo put his arm around Mac, smiled knowingly and said, “The stereo may be off, but I can still hear the music!”

  “Billy came back here several times as an adult. Too bad you didn’t spend more time here before your folks passed. You and Billy could have hooked up. You really belong here. Don’t get me wrong, Mac. I really enjoy getting your cards and occasional letters, but they lack the pure magic of your presence.”

  “You’re so sweet, Shingo.” Mac looked down at the floor, then at Shingo. “I never had the spare time. I’ve been incredibly busy. It seems like I wake up on Monday morning and twenty minutes later it’s Friday afternoon and I still have work to do from Thursday!”

  “I’m proud of your commitment and all the truly commendable things you have accomplished so far. Life is always a trade-off. You can reach most realistic goals you set, if you maintain your focus and are willing to pay the price to obtain them. Once you make a decision to do something, you have an obligation to yourself to give it your all. That’s what you did, so be proud that you have reached that plateau of achievement. I’ve never wanted more than the Cuda Shack. I never even dreamed of opening another one or franchising the name. This is my niche and I’m content.”

  “I’m glad you’re happy. I’d be lost not having you around to talk to,” Mac said with a sincere smile.

  “Thanks, Mac.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, Shingo. I’m proud of my accomplishments. I graduated at the top of my class in both high school and college. I’ve done extremely well in my professional life. However, no matter what I do, I still have an empty feeling; like I’m missing something.”

  Shingo looked at Mac thoughtfully and said, “Maybe it’s not something you’re missing. Maybe it’s someone you’re missing!”

  “Maybe.” Mac got her coffee from the counter, returned to Shingo and took a small sip. She looked at the photo of her and Billy again. Maybe, she thought. “You were telling me about Billy. How’s he doing these days?”

  “Billy and his daughter, Katherine, spent several summers here. One summer they missed seeing you by a mere eight hours. It was the closest your visits ever came. All of their other visits missed you by weeks.”

  “His daughter? How come you never told me he kept returning? Billy has a daughter? How many kids does he have? He’s married?”

  “Whoa! At my age you have to be careful with the shotgun questions! First of all, whenever he came to visit, the Shack was crazy. We had twice the business we could handle. If you will rememb
er, your trips to the cottage were limited to a weekend here and there. And your time here at the Shack barely lasted more than a cup of coffee or two.”

  Mac raised her eyebrows, “Sorry, Shingo.”

  “I understand perfectly, Mac. I didn’t think you were still interested in him.” Shingo rubbed his chin while he tried to recall the remaining questions. “Need a hit on that coffee?”

  “Sure,” said Mac.

  Shingo and Mac went back to the counter. Shingo freshened up Mac’s coffee and said, “Billy, Katherine and I spent hours…” Shingo paused momentarily to emphasize the time period, then continued, “…talking and fishing on the pier. He was into construction and real estate. After awhile, he bought property no one wanted and successfully built high priced residential houses. He developed the land adjacent to the houses into a small shopping center. The properties did very well. Well enough to provide the venture capital to move ahead on other real estate projects he had in mind.”

  Shingo paused to answer the phone. “Hello, Cuda Shack. We don’t sell pizza and we don’t deliver.” He hung up the phone and walked back shaking his head. “Billy married a beautiful woman. He met her at an advertising agency he was using to promote his housing developments. They built a five-bedroom home, with an in-ground pool and asphalt tennis court. I don’t remember the town, but it was somewhere near Minneapolis.”

  “Damn!” exclaimed Mac. “”I guess the boy has done rather well for himself. It is so hard for me to picture him as a grown man with a daughter. Did you ever have a chance to visit the house?”

  “I never had the right combination of time, staff and money to make it up there. Every time he stopped by, he brought new pictures of the house. He was forever making changes to it. The man was a genius with tools.”

  “You just did it again, Shingo. I don’t ordinarily scrutinize your every word, but you said ‘was’ again, when you referred to Billy. Did something happen to him?”

  Shingo looked fondly at the photo of Mac and Billy on the wall and continued somberly, “Billy was a great developer, an incredibly loving father and a dedicated husband. He was a brilliant investor with uncanny wisdom and timing. He dabbled in the stock market and turned a ten thousand dollar investment into a seven figure profit. He used some of the money to buy a custom built, thirty-foot sailboat. When it was completed, it was beautiful, easy to handle and very fast. Did you know that your dad sailed with Billy on the maiden voyage? Your dad brought a bottle of champagne to christen the boat, but the bottle wouldn’t break so everybody there just decided to drink it!”

  “I had no idea. My dad never mentioned it. I’m shocked to hear that Billy owned a sailboat. He used to be so paranoid of the sea.”

  “Somewhere along the line, he shed his skin of fear and cultivated a deep love for the ocean,” said Shingo with some delight. “He was an accomplished sailor by the time Katherine came along. He started taking her out when she was a baby. They loved sailing together and spent as much time on the water as possible. They’d shove off and drop anchor wherever they thought the water looked right and fish for hours. Oddly enough, neither of them liked to eat fish!” Shingo smiled widely and said, “The only fish Billy would eat was tuna. Katherine didn’t like any fish, but that girl could eat crab legs all day long!”

  One of the men at the counter took advantage of Shingo’s pause and said, “Hey, Shingo. Is our tab still good?”

  “You guys are good to go. Need anything else?”

  “No thanks, Shingo. Catch ya’ on payday.”

  Shingo waved goodbye and checked Mac’s coffee cup. “Billy and Katherine were a great team together. They sailed to Andros Island last year and had someone take a picture of them on the boat. They promised to send the photo to me so I could add it to the Hall of Fame. I waited and waited, but it never arrived. I got caught up in everyday life and simply forgot about it. Then a curious thing happened last Thursday, when you called me. I swear I wasn’t off the phone with you more than ten minutes and the mailman walked in with a tattered photo envelope. Inside was a five-inch by seven-inch photo of Billy and Katherine, smiling and waving at me from the deck of their boat. The back of the photo was dated a little over a year ago. I sent it to the framer as soon as I got it, because I wanted it framed and hung before you left.”

  Shingo grabbed a clear plastic glass, scooped out some ice, ran some water in it and took a long drink. “Those two were something else. Billy was going to buy a sixty-foot yacht and sail the world with Katherine some summer. She was so excited. She’d come in here with an atlas and show me scores of places they were going to visit. And boy was she sharp! You could ask her about the places she pointed to and she could rattle off facts like you wouldn’t believe.”

  He took another drink of water and looked out the front window of the Shack. His mood shifted radically. He became distant and his speech more deliberate. “Then one night about a year ago, probably right after they sent me the photo, I was scraping down the grill and happened to look up at the television. I saw a photo of Billy and Katherine being featured on the six o’clock news. I had the volume down too low, so I couldn’t hear what the newscaster was saying about them. I stopped what I was doing and ran to turn the volume up. As I did, a Coast Guard official came to a podium and started reading from a sheet of paper. He said they were lost at sea and were planning to expand their search area at first light. I was really pissed-off when I realized my Coast Guard and emergency services scanners were unplugged. I disconnected everything in my office to make room for a computer, so I could stay in touch with you members of the modern world. Billy was going to help me set everything up when he returned.”

  Mac got teary eyed and said, “Any idea what happened?”

  “I tried calling everyone I could think to call. I either got recorded messages, voice mail something, and busy signals. I got so damn frustrated!” Shingo clenched his fists and continued, “I called the police, even though I knew it was out of their jurisdiction, because I know a cop there. Remember Deputy Collins with the sheriff’s department?”

  “Vaguely. You mean that cop with the weird sense of humor that used to eat here all the time?”

  “He still does and he still grosses me out when he drowns his hamburgers in ketchup and mustard. I called him and asked him for his help, even though I knew it was out of his jurisdiction. He thought highly of the two and was depressed when I told him they were missing. He promised to look into it and call me as soon as he found out anything.”

  Mac listened intently, but her eyes kept drifting back to the photo of them sitting in the booth. Billy and Katherine. He had a daughter. Was she tall or short? Did she have a captivating smile? What did she like to do for fun? She realized that from the way Shingo was talking, their future was grim at best.

  “Deputy Collins called me first thing the following morning. I had only been open for about ten minutes. He said that Billy had planned to sail to the Florida Keys and then swing north. There was a yacht for sale in Cocoa Beach that he wanted to check out. Somewhere in the Straights of Florida, they got caught up in a wicked southeaster. It blew them off course and directly into the path of a schooner. The force of the storm caused the two boats to collide with tremendous force. There was little damage to speak of on the schooner, but witnesses said that Billy’s boat was crippled. One witness said that Billy’s mainmast was gone. Another person said the deck was nearly even with the surface of the water. The visibility was too poor to see if anyone was in the water.”

  “Then came the really strange part. The skipper and some crewmembers of the schooner said they heard a humming sound coming from the starboard side of the ship. They feared another vessel was approaching. When they reached the other side, the savage weather stopped and the ocean became dead calm. The humming sound got louder and suddenly, a giant white wave appeared out of nowhere and head straight for Billy’s boat. As quickly as it appeared it was gone…and so was Billy’s yacht,” said Shino with teary eyes.


  Mac’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped as she whipped her head back to face Shingo.

  “HOLY SHIT!!” exclaimed a flabbergasted Mac. “When we were kids, Billy told me a story about a giant white wave that roamed the ocean. He was scared to death of it. That’s why he never went in the water.”

  “I’m not sure what the crew on board the schooner saw. There are thousands of things that happen on a daily basis that we don’t understand and can’t possibly comprehend. The only thing we can be sure of is that Billy and Katherine are gone. There hasn’t been the tiniest trace of them since they disappeared last year,” said Shingo as tried to hide his sniffle.

  “That is so incredibly unbelievable!! When he told me the story of the wave I basically laughed at him. I was certain that it was something fabricated by his grandfather to entertain him.” Mac turned away and looked blankly out the front door. “You know, Shingo,” she said slowly, “One time after he told me the story, I splashed some saltwater on him and pretended I couldn’t see him because the wave had gotten him. I wish I hadn’t done it now. I wish I would have believed him.”

  Shingo patted Mac’s hand softly and in a comforting voice said, “Let’s say you believed his story. Would that have prevented him from getting caught in the storm? Would it have steered his yacht away from the schooner? Would it bring them back? It was a harmless gesture, Mac. Have no regrets for celebrating the fullness and wonder of childhood.”

  A man entered the Cuda Shack, walked to the counter and sat down. Shingo took note of his presence and said, “Be with you in a minute.”

  The stranger turned to Shingo, smiled and said, “Okay, thanks.”

  Mac nodded and looked into Shingo’s eyes lovingly. “I’m lucky to have you as friend.”

  Shingo displayed an impish grin and said, “I know!!”

  Mac took another sip of coffee and said, “Shingo, why is it every time you speak of Billy it is just Billy and Katherine? You have yet to say Billy and his family. What about his wife? What was she like? Didn’t she like Florida?”

  “There you go again with the shotgun questions. One of these times you’re going to overload my brain. You’ll be rattling off a hundred questions and all my hair will fall out right before your eyes!”

  Mac chuckled and said, “Sorry, Shingo. It’s an occupational hazard.”

  “Rebecca, Billy’s former wife, possesses many different aspects of beauty. She maintains a flawless physical beauty and form. She is polite, charming and quite personable to those who meet her. Unfortunately, there is only room for one love in her life and that love is reserved for Rebecca alone,” said Shingo with a glance at the stranger.

  “When Billy and Rebecca first met, he was overwhelmed. Her presence intoxicated him and her personality came across as nearly perfect. He was amazed that such a woman could be attracted to him,” stated Shingo.

  Shingo looked at Mac and said, “Excuse me a minute. Let me see if that guy wants anything.”

  “Take your time. I have two weeks!”

  Shingo approached the stranger and said, “Are you ready to order?”

  “Not much of a choice on the menu, is there?”

  “There’s plenty for me,” replied Shingo.

  “I guess I’ll just have a coffee and some of those donuts,” said the stranger.

  “Cream or sugar?” asked Shingo.

  “Neither,” he replied.

  Shingo brought the man his coffee, pointed to the donuts and said, “Help yourself, they’re 60 cents each.”

  Shingo walked back to Mac and continued. “Rebecca had rigid dating guidelines. The maximum contact allowed was kissing and holding hands. Living together and sex were prohibited until they were married. He thought he’d really found the catch of a lifetime. She dangled the carrot and he kept biting at it. It wasn’t until the honeymoon that he realized he had landed in a spider’s web and not a nice warm nest. They had intercourse that night and that night only. After that, Rebecca declared that sex was out. If that’s all there was to it, he probably would have been able to handle it. But there was more.”

  Shingo sighed and took another drink of water. “You see, Mac, the whole time they were dating, Rebecca said anything and everything she thought Billy wanted to hear. If he liked the color green, then it was Rebecca’s favorite color. If he wanted children then she wanted them too. After they got married, she laid out a new set of ground rules and stated emphatically that there would never be any children. Children were an unnecessary expense, loud, obnoxious and an entity sent by the devil to ruin women’s figures. You know it only takes one time and as luck would have it, Rebecca got pregnant. She was horrified and told Billy she wanted to abort the fetus. I doubt she would have done that though. My guess is that it was an elaborate plan on her part. If she really didn’t want a child she would have just aborted it. Everything was her way. Instead, she got in Billy’s face and ragged on him. Billy begged and pleaded for her to keep the baby, but it fell on deaf ears.”

  “One night he became extremely distraught and called me. He said Rebecca only had two weeks left to make a decision about keeping the baby. He was at wits end and didn’t know what to do. I simply told him to give her what she wants. She wanted money and status. One generally attracts the other, if you know what I mean. After he hung up with me, he made her a financial offer. He agreed to pay her two hundred thousand dollars a year and buy her a new car of her choosing, every year for a minimum of ten years. The agreement was conditional. She had to carry the baby to term and ensure she did everything she could to keep the baby healthy while in the womb. She also had to grant him total custody and give him a divorce the moment the child was delivered. She countered by saying that she also wanted their new four hundred thousand dollar house and 45 thousand in stocks. He agreed to her demands instantly and the deal was done. It was so sad, Mac. She was serious about children. When Katherine was born she refused to nurse or even hold her. She wanted nothing to do with Katherine. After the divorce was finalized, Rebecca never made contact with Katherine again. No birthday cards or Christmas cards and certainly never any presents. Absolutely nada,” said Shingo angrily.

  “What a cold-hearted bitch!” snapped Mac. “I’d love to give her my ex’s phone number if I had it! The two really deserve each other’s affections.”

  The man at the counter coughed a couple of times and looked in Shingo’s direction. Shingo realized the coughing was feigned for his benefit but ignored the man and continued where he left off. “Quite honestly, Mac, the arrangement Billy made with Rebecca put a serious dent in his financial resources. It never bothered him though. He always said that Katherine was his only irreplaceable treasure. Her dividends dwarfed anything he had in his portfolio.”

  “It’s sad that her mother was so selfish. There may come a day that she regrets it. Poor Katherine. I can’t imagine growing up knowing that your mother hates you,” said Mac unhappily.

  “I think Billy handled it well, Mac.” Shingo pulled Mac’s cup toward him and said, “How about if I top this off for you?”

  “No thanks, Shingo. I’ve got to go home and check my voice mail. I really should have done it before I came over here. One of the private investigators is due in today and she may be trying to reach me.”

  “Why don’t you come back and do lunch? I want to hear more about the problems you had with that guy and your boss in Atlanta. You only gave me a brief overview when you called.”

  “Maybe. If I don’t make today, then tomorrow for sure.”

  “Hmmmmm, tomorrow would be bad. I’m ordinarily closed on Sunday this time of year. I’ll make an exception for you though. Just let me know when to be here.”

  “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I’d never ask you to open on your day off. Let’s make it Monday,” said Mac apologetically.

  “Monday it is then. I might even break out some real hamburger. I think the horse meat I’ve been serving has freezer burn,” said Shingo as he winked at Mac.

 
Mac walked behind the counter, gave Shingo a warm hug and said, “It’s sure great seeing you again.” She planted a gentle kiss on his cheek and headed for the Hall of Fame to get one last look. She rubbed her hand over the glass of the photo of her and Billy. Her focus then shifted a few photos over to one of her and her dad holding a stringer of fish. They were coming off the pier and taking their big catch bag for a fish fry. She stared longingly into the picture and said, “Let’s go home, Dad. Mom’s waiting.”

  Mac turned to the door and headed home.

  The stranger watched as Mac left. He looked at Shingo and said, “Seems like a nice enough woman. She’s very attractive too.”

  “Mac is a kind, warm and caring person. She walks around like a turtle hiding under its carapace sometimes, but when she sticks her head out, she can be very sweet. We’ve shared a wholesome relationship for over two decades,” said Shingo as he brought the coffeepot over and filled the stranger’s cup.

  Shingo offered his hand in friendship and said, “By the way, my name is Shingo and my buddy over there goes by the name Waldo. I don’t recall seeing you in here before. Are you new to the area?”

  The stranger shook Shingo’s hand and replied, “My name is Paul Porter. This is my first time to this area. I’ll only be here long enough to catch a night’s sleep and I’ll be on the road again. I have a pretty tight schedule to keep.”

  Waldo woke up, stretched and started sniffing around. The hair on his back shot straight up and began barking uncontrollably at Paul.

  “It’s okay, Waldo,” said Shingo soothingly. “Sorry about that, Paul. I don’t know what his problem is. He’s normally very friendly.”

  “No problem. I have that effect on people sometimes too. He doesn’t bother me. Let me go ahead and settle with you and I’ll be moving on.”

  Paul paid Shingo and headed for the door. He was just pulling the door open when Waldo charged and nipped him slightly on the calf.

  Shingo bolted from behind the counter and grabbed Waldo around the neck. “It’s okay, Waldo. Calm down.” He looked at Paul and expected the worst. His first thought was lawsuit.

  Paul simply smiled and said, “Nice meeting you, Shingo. You have a great dog there. I have to go now. I have things to pick up.” Paul left and never looked back.

  “What’s with you, Waldo? If I ever get sued we’ll both be eating dog food!”

  Shingo looked at Waldo’s bowl and said, “Speaking of which, I never gave you your breakfast, did I?” He fed Waldo and turned on the television that was mounted to the wall. Then he went behind the counter and started cleaning up. He finished wiping everything down and heard Waldo scratching to go outside. He let the dog out and was leaning against the counter watching television when Brian Caufield walked in.

  “Pre-afternoon to you, Shingo,” said Brian in an attempt to be humorous.

  “It’s a good thing you’re a computer programmer and not a comedian. You would have to look for another career!” replied Shingo.

  “I saw Mackenzie headed toward the pier this morning. Did she happen to stop in here?” asked Brian.

  “Mackenzie? Oh, you mean Mac. What’s it to you?”

  “Just curious. She’s one hot babe! I can tell that she has spirit. Once she gets to know me, we’ll spend days together in bed. She just has to get to know me and know what a great lover I am. The greater the challenge, the greater the victory I always say.”

  Shingo returned Brian’s banter with a stern look but refrained from commenting.

  “How much do you know about her?” asked Brian.

  “Did you just meet Mac or do you know her from somewhere?” asked Shingo.

  “I’ve seen her around a few places in Atlanta. It’s an amazing coincidence that we happen to be vacationing next to each other. Only difference is that I need to work a few hours a day or I won’t eat. She doesn’t have to. She has plenty of money. My vacation was a last minute, spur of the moment kind of thing. I needed a break from my job before I exploded.”

  Brian sat at the stool and said, “So what can you tell me about her?”

  “I’m her friend, not her spokesman,” replied Shingo as he opened the door and let Waldo back in.

  “Can you at least tell me what she likes to do? What does she order when she comes in here? It was a real stroke of luck that you had an opening. Maybe you could give me some idea of what she likes in men,” said Brian.

  Shingo looked at Brian and then at Waldo. Brian reminded him of a dog in heat trying to hump a tree.

  “You’re a beer drinker,” sighed Shingo.

  “A what? A beer drinker?” said Brian.

  “A beer drinker is a person who only wants the alcohol for the effects alcohol brings. Some like the taste, but what taste does it have? You need to learn how to be a drinker of fine wines. Take the time to learn everything about the beverage. Look at it before you smell it. Smell it before you taste it. Then savor the taste with slow, thoughtful sips. It will stay with you longer that way. Refine your taste, Brian, and you’ll greatly improve your drink,” stated Shingo in an authoritative voice.

  “I hear ya’, Shingo. Good advice,” replied Brian patronizingly. Brian heard Shingo all right. It was a pity it didn’t mesh with his agenda.

  “Now, I have an opening for a grill attendant. It doesn’t require much skill. You only have to cook hamburgers and hot dogs. It carries a collateral responsibility as well. You’ll also have to keep the kitchen clean and wash some dishes. The position pays seven dollars an hour. I’ll only need you about 10-15 hours a week, so it should give you eating money and leave you enough time to relax. Are you still interested?”

  Brian chuckled and said, “Grill attendant? That title sounds more dignified. When I’m cleaning the kitchen, I guess my collateral title will be kitchen technician.” Brian smirked and said, “I didn’t want to break into any of my investments just for this Florida gambit.

  Yah, I’m interested. I need the spending money.”

  Shingo eyed Brian suspiciously and said, “Okay. Is there any reason why you can’t start Monday?”

  “None whatsoever. Do you have a dress code here?”

  Shingo scrutinized Brian’s blue jeans and button-down, long sleeve shirt and smiled. “Not much of a dress code required for cooking and cleaning. What you’re wearing will be fine. I’ll provide an apron.”

  “What time on Monday?” asked Brian.

  “Eight o’clock sharp. I’ll need you to bring a driver’s license and social security card.”

  “No problem, Sir. Eight it is. He shook Shingo’s hand, walked pensively past Waldo and quickly out the door.

  Waldo growled menacingly from his bed. He didn’t bother to stand because Brian didn’t pose a real threat, he just smelled bad. He wanted to remind Brian to watch his step while he was there.