Kensies treasures, p.5
Kensie's Treasures, page 5
“Sure. But don’t forget we have to be at dinner shortly,” she said, giving Kensie an easy out if she needed one.
“Right. Thanks for reminding me.”
Van took note of the veiled escape hatch in stride. “I won’t keep her long, I promise.” Kensie furrowed her brow a bit at that. Hopefully, he meant it as a joke, as she wasn’t his to keep. “It was nice to meet you, Catrina.”
“You too, Van,” she responded, while Brian kind of half-waved, half-pointed at Van in a very awkward response. Furrowing her brow slightly at him, Catrina guided Brian in the opposite direction.
“So,” Van asked once they had gathered at the small table, “is this your first cruise?”
“Yeah, I’ve never done one before? You?”
“Oh, yeah… I’ve done, um… this is my fifth.”
“Well,” Kensie said, hoping it didn’t sound too flirty, “you’ll have to give me some pointers on how to have fun on the ship then!”
“I’d be happy to.” He flashed a smile that showed very straight and very white teeth. “Do you have any idea of what you’d like to do? What do you enjoy?”
“I don’t really know,” Kensie hedged. “I just had the chance to get away, and I took it.” She paused, considering the wisdom of sharing her next thought, but determined there was no harm in doing so. “Maybe I’ll do some SCUBA diving at one of the islands.”
Van nodded. “SCUBA, huh? What are you looking for?”
“Nothing. I just like to see what’s down there.”
Van nodded. “That sounds interesting. I’d love to tag along if you wouldn’t mind some company.”
Whoops. The one thing Kensie did not want was someone she did not know getting wind of her real goal. If Van was around and she was successful in her attempt to find the Couronne, he might not have the same honest intentions with the artifact. She backtracked a bit. “Well, I’m not sure – it’s just one idea. I might not have the guts to try it.”
“Right, right. But if you do…”
“You’ll be first on my list.”
“Promise?” Van’s tone was casual, but Kensie detected an undertone of interest that went beyond a sincere interest in the activity or even a desire to get into her pants. She wasn’t sure what it was about, but she made a note to talk less – even in generalizations – about her plans, especially with Van.
“Absolutely,” she said with mock seriousness, fingering her necklace. Van’s eyes didn’t wander down to eyeball her cleavage like she expected – like any straight man would. Weird.
“Kensie, we should get going.” It was Catrina, with Brian a few steps behind her, looking overwhelmed.
Kensie didn’t mind the interruption, but out of the corner of her eye she saw Van check his watch. “That was quick,” he announced.
“I know,” Catrina said smoothly. “But I forgot something in the cabin and the steward said that the line, even for set dining times, is super long on the first night.”
Kensie felt a little relief. She wasn’t totally comfortable with Van, and Catrina appeared uninterested in Brian, so the decision was easy. “No problem, we can go.” She turned to Van. “We’ll talk another time.”
He was obviously disappointed with her decision. “OK. I’ll be on the lookout for you. I’m in cabin G114. Let me know if you decide to try diving.” He nodded to Brian. “Let’s go.” The two men headed out of the room, talking quietly to each other.
Catrina grabbed Kensie’s arm and guided her in the opposite direction, both women keeping silent until they got back into the passageway. “I hope I didn’t cramp your style or anything, but that Brian guy was kind of weird,” Catrina told her in a quasi-apologetic tone.
“Weird, how?”
“Like he was a 6th-grader trying to get me to go behind the gym to make out,” Catrina answered, her lips twisting in distaste. “Way too nervous, way too eager. I can’t put my finger on it.”
Even though Van had not made a good impression, the idea that Kensie might have attracted the better-looking of the two men was flattering. She giggled but moved past the thought. “Sounds like the beginning of a bad teen movie,” she offered with a slight chuckle. “But it’s fine. Van wasn’t really doing much for me either. And he seemed awfully focused on my plans, to the point that it kind of made me feel like he already knew exactly what he wanted to do with me.”
“Or maybe to you,” Catrina added, a lecherous smile on her lips.
“Oh, knock it off. Do you really think I’d dive into bed with a guy I just met?”
“Of course not, but he did approach you, just like I said,” Catrina pointed out. “And maybe he was a little creepy, but Van was pretty cute.”
“Yeah, I guess he was.”
“Feels good, doesn’t it?”
Kensie smiled at her friend. “It does. Thanks. I appreciate the encouragement.”
“No problem. You deserve it. Now, let’s get a drink before dinner.”
Chapter 3 – Not Quite the Cream of the Crop
Kensie stood on the hard gravel in front of the rickety wood structure that purported to serve as a dock in St. Vincent.
Unlike the other docks that she’d passed in the last hour, which were easily visible right off the road, this one required a short hike down a narrow trail surrounded by thick bushes. Kensie got a little nervous at how secluded it was – she half-expected someone to lunge from the brush and grab her – but when she saw the dock itself she realized she feared the wrong thing. It was badly warped and splintered, the victim of harsh tropical sunlight, salt air, and years of neglect. She questioned if she should even consider stepping on it – the badly-rusted nails she could see seemed incapable of keeping it together with even her trim frame on it, and Kensie had no desire to be tossed into the drink.
Stop being dramatic. It’s a two-foot drop into warm and calm bay water.
There might not have been much danger, but she was running out of options. And there was a boat – Julian’s Empire II, the stern proclaimed in faded red letters – tied to the warped pilings, supporting the sign that indicated she was at the right location. The craft was, to put it politely, very well-used and matched the dock in appearance, but there was diving equipment visible in the open back of the boat. That was what she needed, and right now this dilapidated option was the only one she had left. With a quiet sigh and a pronounced lack of hope, she stepped as gently as possible onto the gnarled wood.
***
She’d gotten up before six, drawing grumbles and complaints from Catrina even though she tried to dress quietly. From the sound of the uneven steps and the thuds from her crashing into the walls in the small cabin late the previous night, Catrina had made liberal use of her drink-inclusive package long after Kensie had retired for the evening. She was the only person at the Excursion Desk when an overly-peppy woman opened for the morning. “Can I help you?”
“Yes,” Kensie said, explaining that she needed information about local divers who would be willing to take a day charter, or perhaps a multi-day charter.
“Oh, there’s no need for that,” the employee explained. “We have several approved dive companies who take groups of people from the ship out to dive on local wrecks and other features. I can put you on one of their lists from here.”
“I’m sure you can, but I’m an experienced diver and I have some specific locations I’d like to explore on my own.”
The cruise line employee was undaunted, dismissing Kensie’s request and forging ahead about the different locations, pointing out that their dive excursions were for “divers of all skill sets” and that one of the locations even had a shipwreck to explore, her eyes going wide with badly-forced excitement. She could talk to the tour director on the embarkation deck and see which one was right for her.
This is a dead end. Kensie thanked her politely and exited the ship, figuring she could make more progress once she got on shore, and she was right. The woman at the little chamber of commerce kiosk right at the end of the wharf was much more helpful. She handed Kensie several brochures and pamphlets of local divers and gave her a few tips. Grateful, Kensie grabbed a local cab and, after insisting she didn’t want or need to go to a nearby beach, was dropped off without fanfare at Eastern Caribbean Diving, a modest but colorful building a few feet off the bay.
“Oh, hell nah,” the suddenly unfriendly man at the counter said, his eyes jerking up from her chest and bulging upon hearing Kensie’s desired diving destination. “That’s mighty far. It would take over an hour just to get ya there, and it’s nothing but a mound of sand. Plus, it’s not for rookies.” He returned to the newspaper he was reading.
“I’m not a rookie diver, and I’ll be happy to compensate you for your gas and any lost time,” Kensie said pleasantly.
“I’m sayin’ I’m not interested. I don’t want to run all the way out there and put the strain on my boat,” he told her. She persisted, even going so far as to use her most flattering smile and batting her eyes a little, but it had no effect, and in a minute she was back on the sidewalk trying to figure out which of the remaining divers was closest.
It wasn’t a far walk, but the results were the same there, and the next one. After each visit she shuffled the brochures to determine her next destination, and each time she left frustrated. For whatever reason, no one would even discuss the trip beyond an unconditional refusal and a few excuses about how far it was. It reminded her of bad mafia movies, where the hoods had gotten to the witnesses and scared them so badly they were afraid to talk (SCUBA diving? Never heard of it.) Walking out of her sixth stop, she flipped to the last brochure. It was devoid of the exotic images and adventurous language that graced the other documents. It had only block lettering on off-white paper:
SCUBA Diving – Snorkeling – Site seeing
Fully Certified - All Levels of Experience Welcome!
Captain J. Burke
48 Seraphine Road
The complete lack of design or color suggested to Kensie that this Captain Burke either didn’t have access to anyone with a bit of graphics skill, or he was so good that he didn’t need to waste his time and money on fancy advertising.
What have I got to lose? She checked the map on her phone and, failing to hail a cab on the busy street, set off on foot.
Twenty minutes later she found herself hot, sweaty, tired, and frustrated, standing at the precipice of a dock that looked like it had been built by three kids with too few nails and no paint, jutting out into a narrow, secluded channel hidden from the rest of the harbor by what looked like tall cocoplum shrubs. With little hope that this encounter would be any different than the others, she stepped on the first wood slat and, finding it to be sturdier than expected, continued down to the boat. No one stirred, and Kensie figured she was out of luck. Still, she had to make the attempt – she was already here.
“Hello? Captain Burke? Are you there?”
No answer.
“He-llo! Anyone in there? Captain?”
Still nothing. Taking a deep breath, she gave it one more try.
“I’M LOOKING FOR CAPTAIN BURKE!” A startled frigate bird took off, but nothing in or around the badly-discolored hull moved. She shook her head and turned back to the shore when she heard a hacking cough and grunt come through an open hatch at the bow.
“Yeah, dammit, wait a minute!” He sounded like someone waking up from an epic bender. Great. Kensie had already formed extremely low expectations upon seeing the boat, but the crashing and banging from the v-berth suggested that she’d been optimistic. Now that she had his attention, she wished she’d given up after two tries. She would have to waste time talking with him instead of trying to figure out alternatives.
Finally, the boat rocked and shifted slightly, and she heard the heavy smack of bare feet plodding on the deck. They were slow and unsteady and the cadence reminded her of a fat old man with a bad hip. She imagined a toothless, tottering wreck of a sailor.
But when the man making the noise came through the hatch, even with his hand shielding his eyes from the sun, she recognized him as an incarnation of Cyrus Buckwell, returned from the dead.
***
Julian Burke woke with a start at the insistent shriek of a female voice that sounded like it had run out of patience. Women usually roused him more gently, through the artful use of her lips and tongue on certain parts of his anatomy, although it had been quite a while since that had happened. He barked out a response, his voice hoarse and raspy from the dry throat he got when he snored. He only snored after a night of drinking.
Opening his eyes required a Herculean effort, to say nothing of actually getting his feet under him, but he managed to stagger to the head and splash tepid water on his face. He looked down at his ratty shorts that looked like they had come from a castaway on a deserted island, but they were appropriate in that the holes in the fabric showed nothing inappropriate. His lack of a shirt didn’t trouble him; after all, this was a tropical island.
He coughed a few times to clear his lungs and took a quick look in the mirror. His hair was nearly to his shoulders and looked like he was allergic to combs. His skin was ruddy from the sun, but it also sagged under his eyes from too much cheap island rum and too many nights thinking of things that needed to stay in the past. Not exactly his best look, but it would have to do.
The boat rocked more than it should have as he headed up to the main deck, which meant that he was probably not quite sober despite the – he glanced at his watch – six hours of sleep he’d gotten. Not enough.
The sun was far too bright – the hatch faced the east – so he squinted and shaded his eyes with his hands. Turning towards the dock, he saw a pair of tennis shoes and the bottom of some trim, ghostly white legs. Fuck. A tourist. Shoulda known. He wasn’t exactly in the mood or physical condition to troll around the island so that entitled college students could dive on the numerous “wrecks” (old barges intentionally sunk in shallow waters to entertain novice explorers) but he could use the cash. He got so few paying customers anymore – he wasn’t exactly on the cruise line’s list of approved diving instructors, and the few visitors that did make their way here assumed his worn boat would spring a leak any second.
“Yeah, I’m Captain Burke. What can I do for ya?”
“Well, um, yeah – I’m trying to charter – to hire a boat, um, for some diving.” Her uneven response sounded a little higher-pitched than he expected, like she’d been startled by his appearance. Maybe it was because he was shirtless and she was some kind of religious prude.
“How’d you find me?”
“The lady at the Chamber of Commerce stand at the cruise ship dock gave me your brochure,” she said.
“And you picked me first? There must be 10 SCUBA tour places between the dock and here.”
“No, not first. But no one else will take the job.”
That got Burke’s attention. The competition for taking tourists out to the many nearby coral reefs to see the trigger fish was fierce, and he could not imagine anyone turning a young woman down unless she had an enormous number of people with her or was making unreasonable requests. His interest piqued, he lowered his hand and opened his eyes fully, ignoring the slight flash of pain above his nose.
She was pretty – more than pretty. True, she was whiter than Casper the Friendly Ghost in Maine in January, but she had a face that pulled his gaze to it and wouldn’t let go. Her chestnut-brown hair framed keen, inquisitive green eyes that regarded him with curiosity and… something else. Burke couldn’t put his finger on it, but this young lady was checking him out with a mix of admiration and amazement. Her mouth hung open slightly, and she kept turning her head from side to side like she didn’t quite believe what she was seeing. It made him uncomfortable.
He shook off the uneasy feeling. “How big is your party?” he asked.
“It’s just me.”
“And you want to learn how to SCUBA dive?”
“No,” she responded in a way that indicated she’d done this dance more than once today. “I’ve got a master SCUBA rating with a deep diver specialty. I don’t need any instruction. I need a boat and gear and someone who knows how to back me up while I explore an area. The right way.”
She sounded knowledgeable and determined, and that made her different from other potential clients. What is this woman about?
“OK. For a normal party of four, I charge $150 US for four hours. Per person.”
“That’s fine, but I’d like to get the whole day for starters, and maybe another couple of days depending on how things go.”
“That’s a lot of money and a lot of diving. How many sites do you want to visit?”
“Just one. Fraunce’s Shoal. Do you know it?”
Burke blinked. “Yeah, and that’s far. Like 40 miles far, and not exactly an easy run or an easy dive. I don’t know too much about it, but I’ve heard there are a lot of dangerous currents. It’s a tricky dive, even if you are highly-experienced. I’ve never actually been there myself.”
Her curious look gave way to irritation. “I know. I know all about the area. Even if I didn’t, every diver on this damn island has told me about it in glorious detail. That’s why I need someone who knows how to get there safely, how to back me up, and how to let me do my job. Can you do it or not?”
Burke raised his eyebrows at the slight rebuke. This woman wasn’t some bubblehead just interested in recreation; she had a goal and was determined to fulfill it. But whenever people needed his services in a non-recreational manner, they always set things up ahead of time. He’d taken out a bunch of students and academics who wanted to test their theories of sand density and fish migration and feeding patterns, but they’d always given him a check from a university or research center. This was not quite right.
“So this is research? Who are you with and what do you want to find out?”
“I’m working independently for my doctoral thesis. I have a theory about how global warming affects erosion and sediment displacement, and how it interacts with metallic anomalies in the sediment and bedrock. Fraunce’s Shoal is the perfect environment for me to learn what I need.” Her words came out too fast and too well-rehearsed, setting off another yellow flag. Whatever she was after, it had nothing to do with erosion and Burke knew it – her explanation didn’t make a bit of sense. He thought about sharing a little piece of his own story with her, one that was very relevant to her fictional task, but chose not to right now. Entertainment is where you find it sometimes.
