Deceived - Laura S. Wharton Page 0,47
from the docks and into the inky river.
Sam pulled the oars and guided the boat to keep it from bumping into anything as he rowed. At this speed, they would be back at her boat in no time.
Chapter twenty-three
Molly sat quietly as Sam rowed them back to B-dock at Bennett Brothers’ Marina. She hadn’t said a word since they boarded, and that made Sam a little nervous. For the short time he’d known her, she rarely stopped chattering. Looking at her from time to time, he could barely see her profile. There was little light now that they were well away from the docks’ bright lights. He rowed toward the glow of lights at the marina, the same glow that began to illuminate Molly’s face on their approach.
Not knowing what to make of the situation, Sam held his tongue as they came close enough to the stern of Hullabaloo to grab the boarding ladder. Sam held the dinghy steady for Molly as she stood in the center, deftly tying the painter line to one of the stanchions. Once aboard, Sam pulled the dinghy high onto the aft deck and secured it. He joined Molly, who was on her knees, precariously perched on the cockpit floor, leaning into the engine compartment. Stooped over the starboard engine, she was systematically checking the water, checking the oil, and checking the transmission fluid, then starting the glow plugs to heat the one engine that worked for sure before firing it up. She said a quick prayer out loud as the old engine sputtered a few times before turning over and stalling. Molly pumped fuel into the starboard engine by using a hand bulb as she started her praying again. On the third try, the engine roared to life. She followed the same steps, prayer included, for the port-side engine.
“May the eel grass and sand stay out of our filters,” she chanted a made-up blessing.
“And may the anchor hold when we get where we’re going,” added Sam, as he moved forward to start untying the boat from the slip. “Where are we going?”
“To the Brunswick River,” Molly called from the wheel house as he passed the window. “South of Wilmington. There’s a lot of shoaling, so we will have to enter slowly.” She hesitantly added, “I noticed one or two other boats coming to port as we were leaving the docks. Hopefully, we won’t call attention to ourselves.”
“Relax. It’s too dark for anyone to see who’s aboard. Stay to the far side of the river, if that will make you feel better.”
“I will. We are going against the current so we will have an easier time of it on that side.” Molly slipped the boat into gear and backed out of the slip effortlessly. She steered toward the far bank (but not too close) and made way for the Brunswick River.
Sam joined her in the pilothouse once they were underway, and he sat on the portside settee where he could watch the docks as they passed by. Using a pair of binoculars, he searched the waterfront for the linebackers. He didn’t find them.
“Make yourself useful,” Molly said, pointing to the binoculars. “Help me find the next channel marker. I am not used to running in the dark. I see the green marker over there, but I don’t see the red.”
Sam searched the dark until he saw a flash-flash of a small red light affixed to the top of a channel marker. He trained the flashlight on the square red sign until Molly acknowledged seeing it.
Molly slowed and turned onto the Brunswick River, picking her way by the ancient radar’s sonar readings. “Been meaning to update this old thing, but at least I didn’t get around to yanking it out yet.” She watched the sounding register the water’s falling depth until she saw a number she liked. “Here’s a good spot. I’ll hold her here until you get the anchor down.”
Sam moved forward with one hand on the lifeline. He dropped the fifty-five-pound CQR anchor and galvanized chain to the appropriate seven-to-one scope, then waved his arms to indicate it was down, his silhouette made visible by the bow light.
He felt the boat shudder as Molly revved the engines in reverse until the anchor set, then shut them down. Sam watched her in the quiet of the pilothouse as she flipped open a green log book to note the date, time, and engine hours. She was all business with the boat, that was for sure. She