Today she was doing spot checks on the tour boats, which operated on the east coast of the peninsula, so she would see Sam.
He’d sent her a good morning message, and she’d asked if he’d had a good night. All he responded was it had been enlightening, but then hadn’t responded to further questions.
What had he and Brandon been up to?
She’d debated calling Amy, but decided she wanted Sam to be the one to tell her.
The way he’d rescued her on the weekend had been nothing short of heroic, and if she was honest with herself, she was a little bit in love with him for that alone.
But she didn’t know how he felt about her.
Would he call her now he had his licence back? She shut the thought down.
Sam wasn’t like that.
But she hadn’t spoken to him since Sunday and it felt odd after seeing him every day for five days.
Jimmy was the closest operator to her, so she radioed him and arranged to come on board. Everything was as it should be, with no extra passengers, and she watched from afar to ensure they were keeping the correct distance between the boat and the whales.
Then she contacted Sam’s boat, Oceanid. “This is Victor Sierra Foxtrot. Requesting permission to come aboard.”
“Permission granted,” Sam replied. “You’re welcome anytime, Penny.”
She smiled and ran through her checks. Sam joined her. “I guess it would be unprofessional to kiss you in front of everyone,” he murmured.
“Very,” she replied, but couldn’t stop her smile.
She finished her checks and before she climbed back onto her boat, she kissed his cheek. “Call me tonight.”
“Absolutely.” Sam saluted and blew her a kiss.
Her heart was light as she motored away. She was beginning to feel more like the person she’d been before Emelia died. The recent Penelope would have been mortified kissing Sam, even if it had been on the cheek.
She continued north to monitor the bird life on the islands in the gulf. The data would be valuable in ascertaining whether anything was changing.
When she was done, she checked in with the office. It was mid-afternoon and many of the tour boats were already heading back to the boat ramp after a successful day out.
“We’ve had a report of a dead whale floating off the north-east coast.” Declan gave her the coordinates. “Can you check it out? Assess whether it’s likely to end up on the beach?”
How sad. “Copy that,” she answered and turned the boat north. She should have enough time to get out there and back before the sun set.
She passed a few small fishing boats, tourists who came up to trawl and catch big Spanish mackerel and other such game fish, but most were heading back to the harbour as well.
It didn’t take long to spot the dead whale calf. Birds hovered over the area, diving into the water to either feed on the whale carcass or the fish feeding on it. She looked up the prevailing currents and calculated where the carcass would end up if it was left where it was.
Right on a popular swimming beach.
A dead whale would attract sharks. Better she tow it a few nautical miles north so it would drift past the peninsula and further out to sea.
Quite a lot of the body was intact and Penelope scanned the area for an orca who had yet to finish its meal. Nothing, but a large boat heading back to the coast and the water was heaving with bull and tiger sharks. A feast for them, but they made it difficult to get a rope around the dead whale’s tail in order to tow it.
She studied the logistics as the sea breeze whistled around her and the waves jostled the boat. Would her boat be large enough to tow it the required distance even if she could get a rope around it? She circled the carcass, looking for somewhere to attach a rope. There were some strange markings around its head, holes of some kind. They almost looked like large bullet holes.
She took a couple of photos, shifting the boat around to get a better angle.
Odd and disturbing. She took a few more photos for reference.
No one would shoot a whale and then leave it here. What would be the point?
