LITMIR.BIZ

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Tusconi, John Hamilton. Apologize for not introducing myself. With all that’s happened—so terribly sorry.”

      Hamilton tossed his black knit cap from one hand to the other. With his deeply creased forehead, worried eyes, and downturned lips, the guy looked undeniably sad. I mumbled a few words of thanks. He nodded and walked away. It took me a minute to recall that he was Seymour’s friend. He sure seemed a lot nicer than Seymour.

      I was out on deck, duffle bag at my feet, when the first features of Spruce Harbor came into view. Actually, the Juniper Ledge bell buoy’s clanging first announced the harbor’s presence. In perfect order, houses and docks took shape, as if the town didn’t yet know what had happened.

      The ship passed the twin headlands protecting the harbor and left behind the buoys and what they’d tell us. Compared to the horror Peter and his family were going through, the April temperature data seemed a whole lot less important.

      RV Intrepid slid alongside the institute’s dock. As the crew secured the boat, I leaned over the rail and looked out at the venerable MOI brick buildings. My parents had worked in the same one that housed my lab and office now. The shadow of an idea drifted by and faded with a more immediate thought.

      Harvey joined me. “You okay?”

      “Just musing. Our building, my parents dead, maybe Peter dead. It looked like he was, you know, sleeping there on the deck.”

      A tall man with white curly hair jogged around the nearest building. He waved and called out, “Mara!”

      Warmth filled me. “Angelo! I wasn’t expecting you.”

      I turned to Harvey. “See you tomorrow. Get some sleep. You deserve it.”

      My godfather met me at the bottom of the gangway and led me to the side. His handsome face was pinched, and with dark smudges beneath them, his eyes looked cloud gray without the usual flecks of blue. Hands on my shoulders, he glanced down as if he’d worried I’d lost a body part. “I had to see that you were all right.”

      Angelo enveloped me, and I leaned into the softness of his down vest. My exhaustion and anguish gave way to tears. He let me go, and I stepped back and pulled myself together.

      “My god, Mara. When I heard on the VHF about an accident on Intrepid. Well—”

      “It was awful, dreadful. There’s so much to talk about. But not now.”

      “I’ll make a nice dinner tonight. We can talk then. Okay, sweetheart?”

      That sounded perfect. Angelo strode away with a brisk step, and he waved at two seamen on their way to the ship. I watched until my godfather disappeared around the corner.

      With the ship docked, we had to unload her. Even after a two-day trip, there was a lot to haul. Scientists and students marched up and down the gangway with crates of water samples, chemicals, computers—all the paraphernalia they’d brought aboard. Everything had to be moved to the loading dock, up the elevator, and into MOI labs. After it was stowed, people could go home to hot showers and meals with their housemates and spouses.

      Except Peter, of course.

      I did a final check of my lab. The microscopes were back in their usual places, computers reconnected, water samples stored safely in the freezer. All in good order, except for a flash drive I’d stashed in a drawer in Intrepid’s main lab. With a sigh, I schlepped back to the ship.

      I stepped off the gangway. Two men caught my eye. Seymour was talking to a crewmate—liver-eyed Jake. Seymour’s face was inches away from Jake’s nose as the crewmate backed away. Hidden by a portable van, I slipped closer. The van blocked my view, but I could easily hear them.

      Seymour growled, “Don’t give me that duff. You’re a clumsy fool!”

      “But I mean that—”

      “You mean? Mean what?”

      Pause. Someone spoke in a calm, firm voice. Ted.

      “Gentlemen, either of you need help?”

      I backed off. The last thing I needed was for Seymour and Ted to see me spying on them. I made my way to the lab, pocketed the flash drive, and leaned against the counter. Seymour only spoke to the crew if he had to. But clearly Jake did something to make Seymour livid. Maybe the crewmate was somehow involved in the buoy disaster. If Seymour knew that, maybe he also knew why Peter kept checking that buoy—and other critical pieces of information.

      Angelo De Luca is a widower who frustrates Spruce Harbor’s older ladies. He’s got a full head of hair—thick, white, and swept back—and a square chin sometimes darkened by stubble that gives him a rugged look. With the classic aquiline nose he calls beaked, his face would be at home on an old Roman coin. And, he can pull in a fighting bluefish no sweat.

      But four years after they were married, Angelo’s wife died in a car accident. She was twenty-five. Angelo says he’ll never love another. Recently retired from MOI, Angelo is a brilliant marine engineer. In the 1960s, his oceanographic engineering teams designed instruments to help meteorologists make better weather models. That saved lives of Maine fishermen and boaters, some of them now his friends.

      Angelo’s home sits atop a bluff at the tip of Seal Point, one of Spruce Harbor’s two headlands. At seven on the dot, my car splattered pebbles across the driveway as I swung to a stop. I reached for the door and hesitated, hand in mid-air. In order to make it on time, I’d driven too fast—and now wasn’t ready to get out of the car.

      Leaning back against the headrest, I deliberated in the shadow of the old gray shingled cottage that had been my refuge for the last eleven years.

      I was uncertain about what to tell Angelo. I wanted him to know that Peter was injured by a buoy I was scheduled to deploy. But I had no evidence that inexperienced crewmembers might’ve been the cause. Maybe I was over-reacting to what Intrepid’s captain guessed was an accident caused by a defective winch.

      Start with the buoy, that’s it. As a marine engineer, Angelo was the perfect person to ask why a winch designed not to fail did fail. Even better, Angelo helped lead buoy cruises on the newly acquired Intrepid. I stepped out of the car and walked briskly up the granite steps.

      I kissed my godfather on the top of the head. He smelled of sea with a touch of olive oil. I took the opposite armchair in front of the crackling fire. He wore the wool vest I’d given him for Christmas. The blend of fibers picked up hints of blue in his gray eyes. A glass of wine sat on the wooden coffee table.

      Like every good Italian, Angelo talked with his hands. Palms up, he gestured toward the solo glass. “Want some? It’s Gavi, your favorite.”

      “Gavi would be perfect.”

      I leaned back in the chair and let out a long, slow breath. For the first time in days, I could let go and relax.

      The living room—with wood planked floors and windows facing the harbor on one side and open Atlantic on the other—is my favorite. Growing up, I’d spent hours staring out those windows while Angelo and my parents talked about fish, fishermen, boats, and everything else to do with the sea.

      Angelo returned with my wine and handed me the glass. “You seem far away.”

      “Oh, just picturing myself when I was little, nose pressed against the pane.”

      “The ocean was like a magnet for you.”

      I gestured toward the harbor. “Gorgeous sunset tonight.”

      Angelo nodded. For the evening’s show, clouds on the horizon were slowly fading from vermillion to shifting mixes of purple. They’d soon turn gray.

      We sat in comfortable silence—as people who’d suffered and taken care of each other can do. Finally, the only light came from dancing flames in the fireplace. Angelo got up and turned on a brass table lamp in the middle of an antique cherry table.

      It was time to sift through the events on Intrepid.

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