Overexposed. Michael Blair

have to think about it.”

      “Of course. Take all the time you need.” Her voice was flat.

      “Okay,” I said. “Um, yup, sounds fine to me.”

      She chuckled. “What about your daughter? Would she be all right with it? I mean, young girls can be pretty protective of their fathers.”

      “Not to worry. I think you and Hilly will get along just fine. If not, well, I’ll just throw her overboard.”

      “Or me.”

      “Hell, no. Who’d sail Pendragon?”

      She smiled and reached for my hand.

      With impeccable timing, a pair of figures appeared on the dock by Pendragon’s gangway: a squat, bald-headed man and sharp-featured woman with enough teased, hennaed hair for the both of them. He wore a rumpled suit and she wore skin-tight jeans and a black leather motorcycle jacket. They exchanged looks, then climbed aboard and stepped onto the afterdeck. I stood up to confront them.

      “It’s customary to ask permission before boarding someone’s boat,” I said.

      “Izzat right?” the man said with an unfriendly smile. He was inches shorter than I was, but sturdy and hard-looking. Turning to the woman, he said, “Y’hear that, Jackie? We gotta ask permission before comin’ onto our own boat.”

      “Imagine,” she said, stainless steel studs of her jacket glinting in lamplight.

      “I think there’s been some mistake here,” I said. Reeny stood close to me, bare shoulder touching mine. I could feel the warmth through my shirt.

      “Izzat right?” the man said again. “If there is, it ain’t us who’s makin’ it.”

      “This boat belongs to Christopher Hastings,” Reeny said.

      “Not anymore, it don’t,” the man said. “It belongs to me and the missus here. Ain’t that right, Jackie.”

      “Uh-huh,” Jackie said. She folded her arms under her full bosom, leather creaking.

      “So, why don’t you two lovebirds just haul ass and git offa our boat.”

      The man started to push past me toward the pilot-house. I put my hand on his chest. It was as hard and unyielding as a tree trunk. He stopped, though, and stared at me. The woman’s face grew tight and expectant and she breathed through parted lips.

      “Just a minute,” I said, relieved, and a bit surprised, that my voice didn’t quaver. “You don’t just walk onto someone’s boat and say it’s yours. Have you got a bill of sale?”

      “Take yer hand offa me,” the man said. I dropped my hand. He reached into his suit coat and took out a folded document. “Read it and weep,” he said, thrusting it at me.

      I took the document, unfolded the single legal-sized sheet of paper, and held it to the light. I read it quickly, then handed it to Reeny. Her face fell as she read it. It was a typewritten contract of sale between Christopher Hastings and one Carl Yeager, dated the last day of August and witnessed and stamped by a notary public named Roland Smithers, transferring ownership of Pendragon to Yeager for the sum of $1 and consideration.

      The man, whom I presumed to be Carl Yeager, snatched the contract from Reeny’s hand, refolded it, and shoved it into his suit coat. “Now,” he growled, “you gonna git offa my boat or am I gonna hafta throw ya off?”

      “Carl,” the woman said. “Maybe we could give these folks a little time to get their stuff together.”

      “Jackie, they’re trespassin’,” Carl Yeager said.

      “We’re not trespassing,” I said. “Miss Lindsey has lived on this boat for years. It’s her home.”

      “You dint know the boat was sold, did you, honey?” Jackie said.

      Reeny shook her head. “No,” she said. Her voice was thick and her cheeks were streaked with tears.

      “Carl,” Jackie said. “We can wait a day or two, can’t we?”

      “Well,” Yeager said uncertainly. Carl may have been the tough guy in the family, I thought, but Jackie wore the pants.

      “I don’t need a day or two,” Reeny said, voice as hard and brittle as glass. “I can be packed in ten minutes. Then you’re welcome to her, dirty dishes, shipworms, and all. I won’t spend another minute on this boat.”

      “Hey,” Yeager said. “I dint — ” But Reeny had fled below. Yeager looked at me. “Ah, what’re shipworms?” he asked.

      It took Reeny a little longer than ten minutes to pack, but not much longer. Everything she took with her fit into two big suitcases, an overnight bag, a large backpack, and a green plastic garbage bag. There were also two cardboard liquor boxes of wine.

      “You sure this is ev’rythin’?” Jackie Yeager asked as Reeny set the green plastic garbage bag onto the dock beside the rest.

      “Yes,” Reeny said.

      “’Cause soon as we can git ’er checked out, we’re plannin’ on takin’ her through the Panama Canal and into the Gulf. We got a charter company outa Galveston.”