Rusty, on the other hand, seemed to have a certain affinity for handling the boats, and showed great promise of becoming an outstanding driver, but his inexperience was his Achilles heel. Win or not, the performance of Daddy’s boats, especially the new one, was critical in helping to keep Strickland Water Crafts alive. If the professional racing world sat up and took notice, things could rapidly turn around for my parents, but Marv and Rusty needed to handle the boats exceptionally well. There was no doubt about it, Daddy’s skill and craftsmanship rivaled those of his well-respected competitors, like Hacker Boats, or Chris-Craft, and Gar Wood. Daddy had carefully tweaked the lines of his boats so that they road atop the water more cleanly, just skimming the surface, and cutting the turns even tighter. Just those two small variations in design could make all the difference in my father being considered one of the best race boat builders in the world.
I escorted Olivia and the Hollisters to the table on the veranda that was reserved at all times for our family, and then returned to the front of the restaurant, where Peter was already handling a line of people that had quickly formed. He and I took turns seating each party, and about twenty minutes before the first race started, which was at noon, the Aldriches came through the door. Fortunately, they were Peter’s party to seat. They passed me as I returned from seating my minister and his wife. Laura reached out and touched my arm in greeting and Neil just nodded and quietly said my name while avoiding my eyes as he followed his wife and Peter to their table. Suddenly, the beautiful sunny day had a shadow cast over it and I silently scolded myself, yet again, for letting him affect me that way. It had only been a small kiss, just once, I told myself, and nothing more. And it had obviously meant nothing more to Neil. But even though my head knew that fact, my heart couldn’t accept it.
“We just got the crab from Jesse,” Peter said, rejoining me at the podium and sounding greatly relieved.
“What…oh, that’s good,” I said, quickly realizing what he was talking about. I glanced down at our reservation list. “Looks like everyone who made a reservation is here. Hold things down for a few minutes, will you? I need to visit the powder room before the race gets started.”
I hurried out of the Helm. As I rounded the corner in the hallway, I ran right into my grandfather, Max Harjo.
“Slow down there, little girl!” He grabbed me by my upper arms to steady me. “You’re runnin’ like you’re in some race. Where you goin’ in such a hurry?” he laughed, with a twinkle in his still-dark blue eyes. Though my grandfather had just passed seventy, the years had been good to him. He was still a handsome man, and his shock of silver-white hair and tanned skin only emphasized the blueness of his eyes. I was grateful that time had not faded them or his deliciously dry sense of humor—which I could relate to easily.
“I want to get back to the veranda before the real race starts,” I laughed. My grandfather always did my heart good. “I saw Mama and Daddy a little bit ago standing at the seawall by the two boats they’re racing.”
“Yeah, I saw them, too,” Granddaddy nodded. “Lord, they’re keyed up.”
“I know,” I laughed. “They’ve been that way for a week now. Between you and me, I’ll be glad when this is all over. They have a lot riding on these races—we all do,” I added softly, searching my grandfather’s eyes for any sign of worry or strain. If he was anxious in any way, you couldn’t tell by looking at him. Maybe it was because he was half Creek Indian. He grew up learning never to let anyone know what it was he was thinking. Without question, my grandfather was levelheaded and unshakably calm, and the cornerstone of our family.
“Where you watchin’ the races?” I asked.
“Your grandmother and I will be on the third floor, in the Roosevelt suite. Remember, we’re having that small reception there afterward for the drivers and their guests? We have the best seats in the house up there. If Peter can handle things, why don’t you come join us?”
“Oh, I wish I could, Granddaddy, but I’d better stay there and help Peter hold down the fort. Fortunately, the restaurant is packed. Have you got everything you need up there?”
“Actually, we’re low on ice. That’s why I’m down here. I called the kitchen but they’re taking their bloody sweet time. I know, I know; they have their hands full,” he added when he saw me shake my head in disapproval. The kitchen was chaotic and doing the best they could, and, no one was more aware of that than my grandfather was. My grandparents cared deeply about their staff, and the feeling was mutual. It wasn’t often an employee left or was asked to leave, and most of them had been with my grandparents for years.
“I’ll get the ice, Granddaddy,” I offered.
“No, no. You’ve got enough to do. I’ll get it.” He placed both of his hands on each side of my face, pulled me toward him, and then kissed my forehead. “Fingers crossed we’re winners today.”
“Fingers crossed.” I smiled, covering his large, warm hands with mine. Then I reached up and kissed his check before hurrying off to the ladies’ room.
“Did I miss anything?” I asked Peter when I rejoined him at the podium.
“Just a couple of last minute arrivals and a few people asking if we had any tables available. I told them that it’s standing room only at the bar.”
Looking over to the bar, I saw that people were crowded three-deep. Looking from face to face, I recognized most of them, and knew some of them quite well. A few smiled and raised their glasses when they noticed me. Suddenly, a young couple I’d never seen before stepped away, giving me a clear view of Scott Monroe standing there. He leaned casually against the bar as he talked to some man while a brown-haired beauty stood on the other side of Scott, clinging possessively to his arm. He looked down at her and smiled when she said something to him. Then, as he started to look away from her, he caught me watching him. Giving me just the slightest nod of his head, he turned back to the man he was talking to. For some reason, that annoyed me, and I muttered something under my breath about being more careful not to let riffraff into our hotel.
“Did you say something?” Peter asked.
“Oh, nothing, nothing,” I quickly replied. Then, “Peter, who’s that man standing at the bar in the dark brown trousers and light blue sweater?” Obviously, I knew who he was but I wanted to know what Peter knew about him.
“Who?” Peter said, craning his neck around to look past me.
“Discreetly, please!” I said, keeping my face turned away from Scott.
“Oh, that’s…um…” Peter’s brows pinched together as he tried to recall. “That’s that Monroe fellow. He’s the chap that runs that charter plane business. What’s the name of that outfit? Island Air or something like that.”
“What else do you know about him?” I asked, furtively glancing over at Scott from the corner of my eye while pretending to study the reservation list.
“Nothing else, really,” Peter replied. “Although, I tend to think anyone running a shuttle to the Bahamas and Cuba is bringing more than just people back from there, if you catch my drift.”
“You don’t say!” I tried to sound surprised.
“Heck, yeah!” Peter seemed only too happy to enlighten me. “It’s easier to avoid the border patrol by flying the stuff in than bringing it in by boat. You know how it is; dealing with the cops is a breeze. They can be bought