The Mollie McGhie Sailing Mysteries

4. 3 - MY LITTLE SWEET POTATO-1

4 3 - MY LITTLE SWEET POTATO

As I made my way back down the dock, I tried to figure out the best way to convince Scooter that we should sell Marjorie Jane to Penny. Once he had his heart set on something, it was hard to get him to change his mind. I thought about pointing out all the things that were wrong with the boat and what a huge project it would be to restore her. Nope, that probably wouldn’t work. Scooter is one of those guys who loves the idea of fixing things up. Unfortunately, he’s not one of those guys who’s good at fixing things up. Just ask me about the time he tried to install a garage door opener at our old house. On second thought, don’t. I ended up having to park on the street for almost a year. It’s possible I might still be a little bitter about that.

I reached the end of the dock and stepped onto the brick patio area in the center of the marina. It really was a lovely spot. People were sitting at tables underneath large umbrellas. Some were chatting, others were reading, and a family with small children was enjoying ice-cream cones.

At the back of the patio, nestled among some palm trees, were a few buildings painted in the bright, cheerful colors common in this part of Florida. I was pondering which was my favorite color when my phone beeped, alerting me to yet another text from my mom. She must have sent a dozen last night wanting to know who Marjorie Jane was and asking why Scooter was too cheap to get me diamonds for our anniversary.

I really didn’t want to deal with responding to her just then. My mom doesn’t get the whole concept of texting and the fact that it’s supposed to be a quick, shorthand way of communicating. One time I texted LOL to her. She was perplexed for a week. I figured it was easier to send her a picture of Marjorie Jane. No words. No chance of getting drawn into a long round of back-and-forth texts. I attached the picture, clicked Send, and chucked my phone back into my purse.

Enough thinking about Scooter, Marjorie Jane, and my mom. I really needed to get focused on my mission at hand—brownies. Normally, I bake my own award-winning, gooey, quadruple-chocolate brownies, but I didn’t have enough time to make them before the barbecue. I decided to pop into the marina office and see if they knew of a good bakery in town.

The office was located in a small two-story wooden building. The white trim and shutters were freshly painted and contrasted nicely with the bright yellow clapboards. As I stopped to admire the colorful flower beds in front of the office, the screen door flew open and a ball of fur streaked past me, followed closely by a woman brandishing a broom.

“If I see you in here again, you’ll be sorry, you mangy cat!” she yelled, waving the broom back and forth for emphasis. I jumped back quickly to avoid getting clobbered. Unfortunately, I stepped straight into the flower bed, crushing some purple impatiens under my flip-flop.

“Look what you did,” she said, shaking her fist. She stared at the flower bed in dismay. “I just planted those, and now they’re ruined!”

She glared at me over the top of her reading glasses without saying a word. I figured she was in her late fifties or early sixties, based on the wrinkles around her eyes and her laugh lines. Although in her case, I suspect they were more like frown lines. Unpleasant reminders of childhood popped into my head. My mom was the master of long, uncomfortable, silent stare-downs. Ultimately, I would confess to whatever it was that she thought I was guilty of, like polishing off the cookies she had been saving for her bridge group. Not that I ever did anything like that as a child, mind you. As the stare-down continued, I began to think that my mom was just an amateur compared to this woman.

I wasn’t sure what made me more uncomfortable—her piercing blue eyes peeking out from underneath her immaculately coiffed hair, or how tightly she was gripping the broom handle. I averted my gaze and noticed she was wearing white capri pants and a navy-blue polo shirt with the Palm Tree Marina logo embroidered on it. A name tag that said “Nancy, Office Manager,” was pinned underneath.

I’d read somewhere that if you use a person’s first name it defuses the tension. “This sure is a nice place you have here, Nancy,” I said. She continued to glare at me while increasing her death grip on the broom. I wondered who was going to c***k first, the broom handle or me. Probably me.

I decided to try a new tack. “Your cat’s awfully cute. What’s its name?” People love it when you ask about their pets.

“That is not my cat,” she said. “Cats don’t have any business being here at the marina. Next time I see the owner of that vile creature, I’m going to give her a piece of my mind.” Her eyes narrowed as she saw the mangled impatiens.

“Um, sorry about the flowers, Nancy. I was just trying to get out of the way and stumbled. I’m a bit of a klutz.”

She relaxed her grip on the broom slightly. “Humph. Well, accidents happen. Especially if you’re klutzy.” She inspected me up and down, pausing when she saw the rip in my jeans.

I put my hand over the tear, trying to cover it up from her disapproving look. “Like I said, I’m klutzy. I ripped my jeans getting off our boat.”

“Your boat? What’s your boat’s name? I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,” Nancy said, tightening her grip on the broom again. I didn’t think the broom was going to live to see another day. “Did you dock here without getting permission first?”

“No, the boat was already here,” I stammered. “We just bought her from Captain Dan. She’s the red boat on B Dock.”

“You don’t mean that floating monstrosity, Marjorie Jane, do you?” I nodded, both in agreement to her question and with her assessment of Marjorie Jane as a monstrosity.

Nancy started to sweep the area around the flower bed furiously. “That man, I swear, he’s always up to something. I’m going to wring his neck when I see him,” she muttered.

“What do you mean, he’s always up to something?” I darted out of the way as Nancy swept the dirt back into the flower bed. She ignored me and kept sweeping.

I tried again. “Listen, I just met a woman named Penny who told me that Marjorie Jane isn’t in the best shape. I’m worried that my husband bought a lemon. Do you think it’s possible that Captain Dan pulled a fast one on us?”

Nancy snorted. “Whatever deal you made with Captain Dan is between you and him. I don’t want any part of it.”

“Well, can you at least tell me a little bit about him? Scooter—that’s my husband—doesn’t really think things through before he buys something. He even bought a case of Elmer’s glue once because it was on sale. I asked him what he thought we were going to do with that many bottles of glue. He was at a loss for an answer but was still convinced it was a great deal. I’m worried that this is another one of his rash decisions. People have taken advantage of him before. I’d hate to think Captain Dan did the same thing.”

Nancy stopped sweeping and looked at me with concern. “Oh, you poor thing. I know all about foolish husbands.” She paused before adding, “To be honest, I don’t really know too much about Captain Dan. He moved down to Coconut Cove about a year ago and opened a boat brokerage business at the marina. We lease him space for his office, and he keeps some of the boats he’s selling here at the marina. It’s purely a business arrangement.”

She leaned the broom on the wall next to the office door. “Now, why don’t you come inside with me, and we’ll get you registered as Marjorie Jane’s new owners.”

I wasn’t convinced that Nancy didn’t know more about Captain Dan, but I was relieved that she had finally let go of the broom. I followed her into the office, wiping my feet on the mat by the door first.

Nancy sat behind a counter, adjusted her reading glasses, and tapped away on the computer keyboard. “It will be just a minute while I pull up the records, dear.”

I thought I saw a faint smile when she called me “dear.” Maybe she wasn’t so scary after all. Turned out it was a short-lived feeling.

“You didn’t track dirt into here, did you?” she barked, peeking over the counter at the gleaming pine floor.

I gulped. “No, I wiped my feet on the mat.”

“Good. We like to run a tidy ship. Being neat is a good thing, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Of course,” I said, while I thought about the fact that I hadn’t made the bed this morning and that the sink was full of dirty dishes.

I looked around the room while she worked away on the computer. The wall behind Nancy was painted turquoise and had framed photographs of dolphins, tropical fish, and seashells on display. Nancy looked up from the computer. “Those are for sale if you’re interested. My daughter took them. We also have some guidebooks and nautical charts by the door. Those might come in handy, considering you just bought a boat.”

I walked over to the shelves stocked with cereal, cans of soup, crackers, and other basic groceries that boaters might need. As I contemplated the mystery of canned artichoke hearts, the screen door opened.

Nancy pursed her lips and glared at the entryway. “Is that you, Ned? Don’t just stand there letting all the flies in. Get in here and close that door.”

A man wearing a matching navy-blue Palm Tree Marina polo shirt tucked into neatly pressed khaki pants entered and quickly shut the door. “What happened to the flower bed?” he asked tentatively, running his fingers through his gray hair.

Nancy pointed at me. “That’s what happened.”

He looked over at me and gave me a warm smile before turning back to Nancy, who was picking some papers off the printer. She stapled the pages together so firmly that I thought the stapler might break. She put the papers down and waved the hunk of metal at Ned angrily. “Her husband just bought that old boat, Marjorie Jane. Can you believe Captain Dan went and did that behind our back?”

Ned stepped back to avoid being hit by the stapler. Nancy certainly had a way with office equipment and cleaning supplies. He rubbed his chin for a few moments. “But maybe that’s a good thing. We won’t have the hassle of trying to track down and deal with the previous owners any—”

Nancy slammed the stapler down on the counter, cutting him off. “Never you mind about that. Shouldn’t you be setting up the tables for the barbecue?”

Ned took that as his cue to leave, nodded at me, and scurried out the door.

“I’ve got your paperwork for you.” Nancy motioned me over to the counter and explained the monthly rates and marina rules and regulations. She became quite animated when she got to section 8.1—pets must be on leashes at all times. I discreetly moved the stapler a safe distance away and filled in my details while Nancy quickly fired questions at me. “You don’t have a pet, do you? You do have a credit card, don’t you? Do you have loud parties at night?” I must have answered yes and no correctly, because she eventually handed me a copy of the papers and a credit card receipt.

As I opened the door, I noticed Ned setting up a folding table next to the grill, which reminded me that I needed to get brownies. I looked back at Nancy, who was busily tapping her perfectly manicured pink nails, each adorned with a white starfish, on the computer keyboard.

“Do you happen to know a good bakery around here?” I asked.

“Try Penelope’s Sugar Shack. It’s just off Main Street. Big purple awning. You can’t miss it.” She stared at the screen door, which I had left partially ajar. “Hurry up now and close the door on your way out. The last thing we need is more flies in here,” she said as she whacked one unfortunate victim on the counter. I’m surprised flies even dared to come into the office when Nancy was on duty. I don’t think I would unless I had to.