A Time to Swill

Book 2: Chloe Jackson Sea Glass Saloon Mystery

by Sherry Harris

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Culinary Cozy Mysteries

Synopsis

Chloe loves her new life pouring beers and mixing cocktails at the Sea Glass Saloon in the Florida Panhandle town of Emerald Cove. But on the job, the only exercise she gets is walking from one end of the bar to the other, so in the mornings, she loves to run on the beach. On this morning’s foggy run, she spots a sailboat washed up on a sandbar. Hearing a cry, she climbs aboard the beached vessel to investigate and finds not only a mewling kitten but also a human skeleton in the cabin. The skeleton is tied to Chloe’s friend Ralph, whose wife disappeared on a sailboat with three other people twelve years ago. Believing his wife lost at sea, Ralph remarried. Now he finds himself a murder suspect. Chloe is determined to find out who’s been up to some skulduggery, but her sleuthing will lead her into some rough waters and some bone-chilling revelations…

Release date: July 27, 2021

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 320

Sample

My shoes slapped the wet sand as I tried to make out what was up ahead of me through the swirling fog. I’d just arrived back in Emerald Cove, Florida, late last night. I’d driven through a dense fog the last thirty miles. When the advisory popped up on my phone, I’d thought, how bad could it be? Very bad was the answer. I’d crept along. Driving through gumbo would have been preferable. My hands still ached this morning from gripping the steering wheel of my vintage red Volkswagen Beetle.

I’d planned to sleep in. To unpack my worldly goods, which filled my car. Emptying my old life in Chicago into my new life in the Florida panhandle. But loud, angry waves pounding outside my two-bedroom beach house had other plans, so I’d gotten up, pulled on my running gear, and set out just before dawn. I squinted my eyes, but the fog danced and shifted like flowing Arabian head scarves, changing the view. There. There it was again, thirty yards ahead.

It looked like the mast of a sailboat angled oddly. Way too low for a boat to be upright. I tried to speed up, but the sand pulled at my shoes like wet hands trying to drag me under. Usually I found hard sand to run on, but this morning I hadn’t found any. A groan and a creak floated across the air. The sound wasn’t one I normally heard on the runs I’d taken to over the summer months. No one else seemed to be out. But the early hour and fog explained that.

The fog opened up just long enough for me to see a massive sailboat, listing to its side bobbing on the water.

“Hello?” I called as I got closer. I ran my hand through my short, brown hair. It curled wildly in this humidity. The boat was between the two sand bars that ran along this stretch of beach. The groan and creak seemed to be coming from the boat. A muffled cry sounded from inside the boat. A baby’s cry. I whipped out my cell phone and dialed 911.

I thought of Julia Spencer-Fleming’s opening line in In the Bleak Midwinter. “It was one hell of a night to throw away a baby.” A terrible morning here.

“Where’s your emergency?”

“Delores.” Thank heavens it was someone I knew. “This is Chloe Jackson.”

“What’s wrong, honey? I didn’t know you were back.” Delores’s voice was sweeter than the Mile High Pecan Pie she served at her diner when she wasn’t working as a dispatcher.

“There’s a sailboat that seems abandoned. It’s stuck between the two sandbars. I heard a baby cry.”

“Where are you?”

“The fog’s so thick I’m not sure. I left my cottage about seven minutes ago and ran west toward Vivi’s house. But I can’t tell if I’m to her house yet or not.”

“Okay, well, stay put while I get someone from the Walton County Sheriff’s Department out there.”

“Will do.” I hung up and shouted again, “Anyone here?” I peered at the boat. The cry sounded again and tugged at my heart. I noticed a rope ladder dangling off the back end. It was like fate was telling me not to let the baby wait alone. I took off my shoes and dropped my key ring with its Chicago key chain in the toe of one of them. It looked like high tide, but I wasn’t certain. I ran up the beach a few yards and left my shoes so they wouldn’t get wet. There were marks in the sand like the boat had been farther up onshore.

I splashed through the water until it was waist deep and swam the last bit. I tried to keep my phone out of the water doing an awkward, one-armed stroke and kicking hard with my legs. The boat was farther out than I’d originally thought. It tilted up a bit, but I managed to catch the rope ladder and scramble up. As I boarded, a wave smacked the boat. It knocked me off my feet and I landed on my rear end, jolting every bone in my body. My phone flew out of my hand. I grabbed at it in midair but missed. A plop sounded in the water.

“No, no, no.” The boat righted itself and I slid across the deck. My shoulder slammed into the side of the boat. Ouch! I gritted my teeth together. Another bounce, and it tipped precariously away from the sandbar. I clutched the side, managed to stay on the deck, and clung. The crying got louder, but now it didn’t sound as much like a baby as it had from the shore. An animal perhaps? The boat began to move away from the shore and out to sea. What had I done?

“Help,” I yelled toward the shore. But the fog wrapped around my words and muffled them. No one yelled back. The boat moved quickly, probably caught up in a rip current. I eyed what bit of water I could see through the fog. Jumping in and trying to swim out of the current didn’t seem smart, even though I was an excellent swimmer. I could become disoriented in the fog. The boat lurched in the waves. If I jumped, I couldn’t be sure the boat wouldn’t change direction and run me down.

The only thing worse than jumping in would be being tossed overboard. The boat tipped and tilted like the carnival rides I loved as a kid. Then there was the cry to think of. I couldn’t abandon a baby if there was one. Moving would be perilous, but not moving wasn’t an option.

A door that must lead to the cabin below banged open and closed with the motion of the waves. I eyed the distance. Standing would be foolish, but maybe I could slide over on my stomach. A wave pitched, I let loose. For a second I thought I was going in, but the boat rocked the other way. I took advantage and slid and scooted to the door. It banged shut behind me as I rolled down five steps, landing on the floor of the interior.

It took a minute for my eyes to adjust to the dim light that came through narrow, rectangular windows. I was in a living room, dining room, kitchen combo. The boat was a mess, with trash and clothing on the floor. The cry came from a room to my left. I stood and careened toward a door, staggering worse than any drunk I’d ever seen. I pushed on the partially opened door. A gray cat with long, white socks leaped off a bed and into my arms.

Not a baby, then. A cat. The boat pitched and we landed on the bed. I rubbed my cheek against the cat’s head. “So, you’re the one who caused me all this trouble.” If not for the cry, I’d still be onshore. And my phone wouldn’t be dead in the water. Literally. The cat purred and settled into my arms. The prudent thing seemed to try to wait out the waves down here now.

My stomach started to feel a little woozy even though I’d never been seasick before. I closed my eyes and tried to calm my breathing and heart rate. Both were banging along in double time.

“How did you end up on this boat?” Maybe the poor thing had climbed aboard when the boat was onshore. The door could have slammed shut when the boat was being flung around as it went back into the Gulf. The cat continued purring.

“Anyone else here?” No response. This room was a mess too, as if someone had tossed it or the boat had been whipped around by the Gulf for a long time. Clothes, bedding, and shoes were strewn everywhere. I hoped we’d be out of the riptide soon. Most riptides only went out about twenty feet. I prayed that’s all this was.

Besides, Delores would have people looking for me. I hoped the waves wouldn’t obscure where the boat had disturbed the sand. Maybe my phone would wash up onshore and someone would spot it, or my shoes. I wouldn’t think about a scenario where none of those things happened and everyone assumed I’d gone home or continued my run. In that case, it would take hours for someone to realize I was missing.

I talked to the cat until I ran out of things to say trying to keep my mind off the dire situation we were in. We continued to be bounced and pitched at the whims of the Gulf. Down here the boat creaked and groaned like banshees had taken possession. My fear level was high as I wondered if the boat would hold together. I said some prayers and stroked the cat. I’d read in books that people said time had no meaning and finally understood what they were talking about. Then, at last, the waters finally calmed. Now what?

I was chilled because of my damp clothes, even though the air and water temperatures averaged in the eighties during October in this part of Florida. I grabbed a floral shirt off the floor and put it on. It was mildewed and the smell made my nose itch. I picked up a straw hat, with a tall, stiff crown and crammed it on my head.

“Let’s go see where we are,” I said to the cat and it followed me up onto the deck.

I gazed about trying to figure out where I was, disheartened to see that I was way farther away from the shore than I’d hoped. In three directions I saw endless views of the Gulf of Mexico. At any other time I’d admire the sparkling water and enjoy the warmth of the sun. Ominous clouds hung in what must be the southwest. Maybe that was what had passed over and tossed the boat around. Please, don’t let them be headed this way. The fourth direction—north, I assumed—I could see fog still obscured the shoreline. It looked like I would have to save myself.

I stayed still for a couple of moments to get used to the gentle rocking. I wasn’t sure I could sail a boat this size even though I’d been on plenty of sailboats on Lake Michigan. These sails looked ragged anyway. But if the boat had a working engine or a radio of some sort, maybe I could get help. I pictured myself sailing back to shore like a modern-day, older Pippi Longstocking. Hailed as a hero.

I went to the helm and put my hands on the wheel at two and ten. This isn’t driver’s ed, Chloe. The wheel spun a full circle, so it must have been disconnected from the rudder. That was no help. Even if I found a working engine, I couldn’t steer the boat back to shore.

“Is there a radio around?” I asked the cat. It didn’t answer but followed me as I went back below.

I opened doors off the main cabin. One of the doors opened to a bathroom, or the head, as my uncle always called it. I tried to open a second door, but something behind it wouldn’t let me open it fully. I peered through the one-inch crack. This was another cabin with a bed. It too was in terrible condition, with things all over the place. Wood paneling that probably once gleamed was now dulled by sea air. What had happened to this boat and how had it ended up here?

The cat sat in front of a door at the far end of the main cabin. I threw it open. A skeleton sat at the head of a bed. I shrieked. It wore a hat and a dress. Its bony hand stretched out toward me. I stood as if someone had glued me to the floor. The skeleton’s jaw had dropped down in what looked like a creepy grin. I slammed the door closed.

How could someone have died on this boat long enough ago for their bones to remain, yet this cat still be alive, meowing away? Never mind that now. I needed to find the radio. I scanned the room. There. There it was.

The radio was built in to a wall. If the battery that ran it had any juice, it wouldn’t have much. I needed to try to figure out how to work it before I switched it on. A mic was attached by a curly cord to one side. I found the On/Off switch and a volume knob, which I turned up. It looked pretty basic. I hoped it was tuned to the right channel. But what to say? Something short and sweet. I took a deep breath, grabbed the mic, hit the On switch. Nothing happened, but I went on anyway, just in case. “Mayday. Mayday. Adrift off the shore of Emerald Cove. Mayday, Mayday—”

I hoped you were supposed to say “Mayday,” and that wasn’t just something you read in books or saw on films like Jaws. Ugh, why did I have to think about Jaws at a time like this? I released the button and listened. No staticky crackle. No calm voice assuring me they’d heard the message and help was on the way. Nothing but the sound of the ocean and the creaks of the boat. The cat meowed.

It was clawing on something wedged under the counter. It glinted in the dim light. I leaned over and saw a ring. It looked expensive. I pried it out and tucked it into the little pocket in my sports bra. I looked at a stain on the floor. Maybe it was only some dinner spilled, but I scooped up the cat. Where would help come from? A helicopter? A boat that heard my message? A plane? The Coast Guard?

How could I make myself more noticeable? A mirror or something shiny to reflect off the bright, bright sun? I searched the bedroom. It had a mirror securely attached to the wall. I crossed to the bathroom. It had an old mirrored medicine cabinet. I tugged on the door, trying to pull it off, but the rusted hinges fought back.

A crowbar would work, or a screwdriver. Tools? Where would they be? My uncle’s boat had a storage space below the main cabin so I went back out. I scanned the floor, kicking stuff out of the way until I found a hatch. I pulled it up and looked down into the dark space below. It was small. Probably where the engine was. I lay on my stomach and dropped my head down. It was hard to see anything in the dim light. But as my eyes adjusted, I saw the outline of a toolbox sitting on a metal table and tools latched to a pegboard.

I eased myself down, dropping the last bit. The waves felt rougher down here, and I staggered a bit as I grasped the toolbox. I carried it back to the opening, lifted it over my head, and managed to get it out onto the floor. I went back and studied the tools. I picked out a hacksaw and a crowbar. I shoved them through the opening as another wave jolted the ship. The hatch cover creaked.

“No, no, no.” If it slammed closed, I’d be stuck down here in the dark and could soon become the next dead body on this boat. I leaped for the edge, pulled myself up, and rolled away as it crashed back down. I lay on the floor for a minute until the cat licked my face in a time’sa-wasting message.

I opened the toolbox and found a couple of flares and the gun that shot them. They looked old, and I knew from my uncle that old flares could be dangerous. I picked up some tools, and the cat followed me to the bathroom, where I pried the mirror from the cabinet.

I took the mirror up to the deck along with the toolbox, which I set down. I almost blinded myself when the sun hit the reflective surface. Okay, so this might work. As long as I didn’t look at it. I scanned the horizon again. The fog seemed farther away. I hoped that meant it was receding and not that I was farther from shore. I spotted a tanker on the horizon, but it was so far away that I doubted it would be able to see the tiny speck I must be in the vast Gulf.

Usually when I ran on the beach I saw fishing boats dotting the horizon. None were out today. Maybe the fog had kept them in their harbors—the small one at Emerald Cove and the much larger one in Destin. Joaquín, the head bartender at the Sea Glass Saloon, where I worked, fished every morning before coming to work. Was he out here someplace? Did he know I was missing? News traveled faster than a radio message in a small town like Emerald Cove.

My shoulders slumped as I realized no one was racing to my rescue. The cat meowed something that sounded like don’t give up. Or maybe it was just a plain meow and I was losing it.

I held up the mirror and turned in a circle, hoping as I wiggled it around it would catch someone’s attention. My arms ached, but I kept at it. I saw two fighter jets scream by overhead. Probably from Eglin Air Force Base. They’d be too high to see me. But it was a good sign that the fog was dissipating. Otherwise they wouldn’t be flying.

The bad news was, I couldn’t see fog or shore. I’d drifted farther out to sea.

I had to set the mirror down because my arms trembled from holding it up. I propped it up in a spot where the sun hit it. I looked out again and spotted a small, red speck heading this way. A boat! I grabbed the mirror and found a spot where the sun struck it. I lifted it up and down so the light would be like a beacon. It didn’t look like the boat was getting closer.

I set the mirror down and scrambled for the flare gun and flare. I looked at the cat. “I hope this works and doesn’t backfire.” Literally, if it did backfire, it could injure us or start a fire. I aimed skyward and shot. The flare went up like it was supposed to. No way the red boat could miss that.

I shaded my eyes to watch the red boat. It turned away from me. Turned away. It couldn’t have missed the flare. Why was it leaving? I drooped with disappointment, swallowing some curse words no former children’s librarian would ever say at the library. Why would it do that? I couldn’t come up with any good reason. I could, however, come up with a lot of bad ones—pirates, smugglers, drug runners, human traffickers. Of all of them, the last one scared me the most.

My mouth was so dry it felt as if I’d been drinking salt. The cat and I headed back down below. I wiped at my face, finding tears I didn’t know I was crying. “We have to be strong,” I told the cat. But I knew the chances of our rescue diminished with each passing hour. We went into the kitchen and found bottles of water in a cabinet. I took a cautious sip. It tasted fine. My hand trembled as I poured some in a bowl for the cat. I finished the bottle quickly as I watched the cat’s little pink tongue dart in and out of the water.

I leaned against the cabinet for a minute. The boat was swaying harder than it had a few minutes ago. Please let it be the wake of a rescue boat.

The cat and I ran up the stairs to the deck again. But no. I didn’t see a rescue boat or plane or helicopter. What was in sight were black clouds gathering and swirling off to the south. At least I thought it was the south. The clouds I’d noticed earlier that I’d hoped had been moving away from me. Great. Perfect. What was next, sharks? Another wave buffeted the boat. The cat and I were thrown to one side, and the mirror was sliding toward the edge of the boat. I dove for it and managed to pull it back so it didn’t tumble overboard.

I sat hugging the hot mirror for a minute. Even though it was warm out, I was shivering. Fear, I told myself. Adrenaline. Think. Don’t let the fear rule. It was a lesson I’d learned at ten, when I’d almost drowned in Lake Michigan. I thought about sailing on my uncle’s boat, and the time the wind had quit out on the lake. I’d panicked, but my uncle had laughed and said not to worry. He had two backup systems for the sails, a motor and a generator. Maybe I’d find a generator h. . .