Myers Boats was by far the largest yard serving Morro Bay. Jenna did not particularly like Wallace Myers. Call it a gut reaction to something the man gave off when she was around. Wallace was friendly enough. He treated Jenna with an offhand courtesy. His work on the motors was first rate, according to Noah. Wallace was on time, his prices were fair. But still. She had always felt there was a strangeness to the man and his yard. Something she could not put her finger on.
“Well, if it isn’t the lady herself.” Wallace was stocky and built low to the ground. He wore his customary outfit of cutoffs and ancient T-shirt and boat shoes. “Where’s our pal?”
“Noah couldn’t get away.” Jenna pretended to ignore his outstretched hand by ducking back inside the cab for the order sheet. She presented it with a smile. “I hope that’s okay?”
“Sure. Sure. I got everything ready to go.” He took the page and pointed toward the sliding metal doors. “Park up over by the loading bay, why don’t you.”
By the time Jenna positioned the pickup, Wallace had pulled a hand dolly from the warehouse. She could feel his eyes on her as she lowered the rear access. She had never liked the way Wallace tracked her. Measuring her from stem to stern every time she came within range. But glancing away whenever she looked his way. Just like now.
Jenna stepped back, putting the truck’s rear wheel between her and the man. Making it clear she was not going to climb up and help him load the gear. Wallace smirked, but there was a glint of something hard in his red-rimmed eyes, a tight rage that made a mockery of his smile.
Just the same, his tone was offhand, the words carrying a false cheeriness. “I ought to be mad with you two. Furious. How you and your guy proved me totally wrong.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I figured Noah for the world’s number one idiot, taking on that boat.” He laughed a single bark, like he wanted to punctuate a lie with false humor. “I figured your guy, he’d play around for a while, run out of money, then I’d buy it for a song. Noah’s made me out like ten kinds of fool.”
Jenna knew he was lying. Or misdirecting. Something. His words seemed to hold a thread that dangled just out of reach, like he was trying to tease a cat. Jenna knew she should probably let him finish loading the gear, close the rear gate, climb in, and drive off. But she was curious. She sensed a secret there in the salvage guy’s eyes, how they shifted about while he talked, never touching anywhere for long, avoiding her gaze entirely.
And something else. Jenna liked having a reason not to fret over Noah and the distance between them and what it all might mean.
So she took a step farther away from where Wallace kept loading items into the pickup. And pulled on the thread. “Noah thinks the world of you and your work. Not to mention all the gear he keeps buying through your store.”
Wallace kept his tone light. His hands stayed busy shifting gear. “Yeah, so here’s the thing. I’ve been talking about your Noah and his boat. Hope that’s okay.”
Jenna started to correct him. Say it was their boat now. Fifty-one, forty-nine. An almost even split. But she held back. Instead, she pulled the string a little further. “Of course it’s all right. Noah’s doing wonderful work, isn’t he? And you’re helping so much.”
Wallace had wiry red hair going gray, both on his head and sprouting from the neck of his T-shirt. His hands were big and dark-stained and looked permanently bruised. “So I’ve been telling people how your Noah’s taken that wreck and made it seaworthy.” Another load shifted, then, “How’s the interior work coming?”
“You should see it. Ethan, our friend, he’s a master craftsman with wood.”
“Yeah, that’s what I heard.” He straightened, pretended to ease his back, squinted into the sun. “Maybe I’ll come have a look tonight after I’ve closed up.”
“Noah would love to show you around.” Giving the thread another tug. “Who have you been talking to?”
“You know, clients, folks in town. People who understand what it means to do repairs like that.” Back to shifting the remaining gear. A fridge, stovetop, bathroom fixtures, piping. “There’s this guy, a lawyer retired from LA. Bought a spread south of Lompoc, on the way to Santa Barbara. He’s rented my big craft a coupla times. Now he wants to buy.” The words tumbled out now, pushing against one another like they’d been rehearsed until they couldn’t wait to emerge. “I told him about what your Noah’s been doing. The guy is beyond eager.”
Now it was her turn to play it light. Stepping away, casting a casual glance at the yard. “Eager to do what?”
“See, what your Noah’s done, I told this guy it’d almost be like buying himself a new boat for less than a fifth the cost.”
Jenna clamped down on her immediate response. That the boat wasn’t for sale. Not at any price. Their boat, their dream. But the unspoken claim brought up all the mysteries, the worries.
Her silence only made Wallace talk faster still. “New your boat runs eight, almost nine mil. Sure, yours is the older version. But with less than a thousand hours on the engines, totally rebuilt, finished up nice, I think this guy might go as high as two mil.”
Jenna found it easier to stay silent. Her antennae were out. Searching. The entire conversation was a lie. How, or why, she couldn’t say. But this wasn’t about a pal interested in buying their boat. On the face of things, Wallace’s nervous dance, the way his gaze skittered everywhere, it could all come down to greed. But she was certain something more was at work.
Again, her silence only made him move faster still. Bundles of piping, cables for the rebuilt kitchen, finished. “You could make some serious money here. How much do you think Noah has in the boat?”
“Not close to that much.”
“See what I mean? Noah could make a solid return on his investment. Get out clean, go for a new craft, something smaller with a totally different set of running costs. I’ll chip in to make sure the interior work is first rate. Which is why I’ll come up tonight. Say, seven o’clock?”
“I’ll let Noah know.” Jenna waited while he closed the pickup’s rear gate, climbed in, started the motor, and waved through her open window.
It was only as she pulled through the yard’s rusty wire fencing that it hit her. The strangeness she had not been able to identify.
There were no women. Not on his staff, or in the yard. All the visits she and Noah had made, the only women Jenna had ever seen were on the boats moored down his series of long piers. And none of those ladies had ever looked their way. Not once.
