Passing through Alice Town, she continued driving until they reached Radio Beach. Clear as a bell and pretty as a picture, Siren of the Seas sat majestically docked off in the distance. The women posed for several selfies and even managed a group photo after someone offered to take their picture.
Gloria scanned the horizon. “Curious minds want to know…where do the smaller boats like fishing boats dock?”
“At the Yacht Club, which is our next stop.” Returning to the golf cart, they took off, backtracking to Alice Town. Millie made a sharp right, bypassing the main drag.
Up ahead and slightly right was the Yacht Club, where the rich and famous anchored their private yachts.
“I’m not sure I would come to Bimini if I had big bucks,” Liz said. “What’s the appeal?”
“Big-game fishing,” Millie said. “It’s the Sport Fishing Capital of the World.”
“Boring,” she sing-songed. “Give me a well-stocked Dior store any day.”
“It’s a good thing Floyd is loaded,” Ruth said.
“Liz could run any man out of money,” Lucy laughed.
“Very funny,” Liz huffed. “We all have our vices, even you.”
“Which is?” Millie asked.
“Guns,” Gloria and Lucy said in unison.
“I can’t resist a quality piece of weaponry.”
“Which is how Liz met her hubby…in a roundabout way,” Gloria said.
“How interesting. You’ll have to tell me the story.” Millie tapped the brakes. “After we’re done admiring the Yacht Club.”
Clearing the mangroves, a marina and upscale waterfront restaurant appeared. An array of vessels filled the slips, from bare bones fishing boats to lavish yachts.
“I might look into renting a yacht one day,” Liz said. “They seem quite luxurious.”
“Can we come with you?”
“You can, Dot. I’m not sure about the others.”
“Not even your own sister?” Gloria nudged her arm. “You better invite me.”
Millie stepped onto the dock, motioning to the larger slips and bigger ships. “Over there is where the money is.”
They turned left and began making their way along the pier.
Gloria rattled off the names. “License to Chill, Seas the Day.”
The women reached the end and noticed a similarly sized yacht with passengers on board.
Scout, who had scampered ahead to investigate, stopped in his tracks. His ears shot straight up, his button nose sniffing the air and curiously eyeing the group.
Recognizing the look on his face, Millie called him to her side. It was too late. He took off like a rocket, running right toward the yacht. She watched in horror as he boarded the vessel.
“Scout!” Millie chased after him.
A man, in his late twenties if she had to guess, snatched the pup up. “Mutt,” he growled in a loud voice.
For a fraction of a second, she thought he was going to toss her dog into the water. Millie stood near the ramp, her hands clasped. “I’m sorry about my dog. He’s just curious.”
“What an ugly ball of fur.” The man held Scout at arm’s length, nearly dropping the pup as he handed him to her. “Do a better job of controlling him.”
