you,” Sonya said as they entered the pilot house, the room getting considerably smaller with their muscled bodies taking up the space. “Wes, Peter, and I can handle this.”
“Every pair of eyes helps.” Gramps grabbed the binoculars and began scanning the area.
Sonya powered up the jet engine and headed west. She’d just come from the river and would have noticed their skiff adrift with no one aboard. “With the tide going out, we don’t have a lot of time. Wes, you concentrate along the shore; Gramps, look out to the bay.” Her gaze shot to Peter. “Who tied up the skiff when you returned last night?”
Her brother’s mouth tightened. “Why ask when you already know it was me?”
He had a point. “Are you sure you tied it up tight?” She couldn’t bring herself to let it rest. She was tired and hungry. The last thing she wanted to do was chase down a skiff that should have been secured.
“I know how to tie up a skiff, Sonya.”
“You weren’t in a hurry? Distracted?” Had Lana been around and caught his attention? The boy only had half a brain when a girl was around.
“No.” He scowled and folded his arms across his chest.
“Let’s focus on finding the skiff,” Gramps interjected.
Placing blame wasn’t helping the situation. There’d be time for that later. Sonya concentrated on piloting the boat while looking for the gray aluminum skiff among an ocean of gray waves. The tide was headed out fast to a minus two. If they didn’t locate the skiff soon, it would probably be on its way to Japan. They’d be down to one skiff for the season. That wouldn’t do. Not to mention the cost to replace it would eat up all their profits and then some.
“I’m heading on deck.” Wes covered another yawn as he left the pilot house and positioned himself at the bow.
“So am I.” Peter followed Wes, and Sonya knew he would be dissing her to him.
“You were a bit hard on the boy,” Gramps said, still searching through the binoculars.
“Fishing’s a hard business. He’s got to learn to pay attention to every detail.”
“Sonya, we all understand the seriousness of losing the skiff. Don’t let the pressure of this season cloud your reasoning. People make mistakes.” He lowered the binoculars and met her eyes. “The measure of a good captain is how she deals with those mistakes.”
He was right. She shouldn’t have automatically assumed Peter was being lax in his job. There were many reasons the skiff could have come loose. The painter’s line might have broken or worked its way free in the tossing surf. Things like that happened. Not often, but they did happen.
“Thanks, Gramps.”
He raised the binoculars. “Just trying to help.”
Wes pointed southwest and Sonya quickly made the corrections. There it was, bobbing in the waves without a care in the world. She felt, rather than heard, her crew sigh with relief.
She brought the boat alongside the skiff, sliding the engine into neutral, while Wes hooked the skiff with the long boat hook and Peter jumped into it. Wes threw him a rope to tie the skiff to the Double Dippin’. Peter’s movements were fast and sure as he secured the bow first and then the stern.
Sonya cut the engine and joined Gramps and Wes on deck.
The sun broke through the clouds and she lowered her ball cap over her eyes as the aluminum boats reflected the bright light. “How’s she look?” From this distance, Sonya couldn’t see any damage.
Peter went to the bow and fished the painter’s line, where it hung off the side into the water, and held it up for everyone to see.
The line had been cut.
C HAPTER T EN
“That’s two acts of criminal mischief,” Peter said, sliding his empty plate forward and planting his elbows on the table. “First the hydraulic lines and now the skiff.”
They’d just finished the warmed-up breakfast Grams had kept for them and were sitting around the table trying to come up with a game plan.
“‘Criminal mischief?’”
“Every pair of eyes helps.” Gramps grabbed the binoculars and began scanning the area.
Sonya powered up the jet engine and headed west. She’d just come from the river and would have noticed their skiff adrift with no one aboard. “With the tide going out, we don’t have a lot of time. Wes, you concentrate along the shore; Gramps, look out to the bay.” Her gaze shot to Peter. “Who tied up the skiff when you returned last night?”
Her brother’s mouth tightened. “Why ask when you already know it was me?”
He had a point. “Are you sure you tied it up tight?” She couldn’t bring herself to let it rest. She was tired and hungry. The last thing she wanted to do was chase down a skiff that should have been secured.
“I know how to tie up a skiff, Sonya.”
“You weren’t in a hurry? Distracted?” Had Lana been around and caught his attention? The boy only had half a brain when a girl was around.
“No.” He scowled and folded his arms across his chest.
“Let’s focus on finding the skiff,” Gramps interjected.
Placing blame wasn’t helping the situation. There’d be time for that later. Sonya concentrated on piloting the boat while looking for the gray aluminum skiff among an ocean of gray waves. The tide was headed out fast to a minus two. If they didn’t locate the skiff soon, it would probably be on its way to Japan. They’d be down to one skiff for the season. That wouldn’t do. Not to mention the cost to replace it would eat up all their profits and then some.
“I’m heading on deck.” Wes covered another yawn as he left the pilot house and positioned himself at the bow.
“So am I.” Peter followed Wes, and Sonya knew he would be dissing her to him.
“You were a bit hard on the boy,” Gramps said, still searching through the binoculars.
“Fishing’s a hard business. He’s got to learn to pay attention to every detail.”
“Sonya, we all understand the seriousness of losing the skiff. Don’t let the pressure of this season cloud your reasoning. People make mistakes.” He lowered the binoculars and met her eyes. “The measure of a good captain is how she deals with those mistakes.”
He was right. She shouldn’t have automatically assumed Peter was being lax in his job. There were many reasons the skiff could have come loose. The painter’s line might have broken or worked its way free in the tossing surf. Things like that happened. Not often, but they did happen.
“Thanks, Gramps.”
He raised the binoculars. “Just trying to help.”
Wes pointed southwest and Sonya quickly made the corrections. There it was, bobbing in the waves without a care in the world. She felt, rather than heard, her crew sigh with relief.
She brought the boat alongside the skiff, sliding the engine into neutral, while Wes hooked the skiff with the long boat hook and Peter jumped into it. Wes threw him a rope to tie the skiff to the Double Dippin’. Peter’s movements were fast and sure as he secured the bow first and then the stern.
Sonya cut the engine and joined Gramps and Wes on deck.
The sun broke through the clouds and she lowered her ball cap over her eyes as the aluminum boats reflected the bright light. “How’s she look?” From this distance, Sonya couldn’t see any damage.
Peter went to the bow and fished the painter’s line, where it hung off the side into the water, and held it up for everyone to see.
The line had been cut.
C HAPTER T EN
“That’s two acts of criminal mischief,” Peter said, sliding his empty plate forward and planting his elbows on the table. “First the hydraulic lines and now the skiff.”
They’d just finished the warmed-up breakfast Grams had kept for them and were sitting around the table trying to come up with a game plan.
“‘Criminal mischief?’”
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