Seawitch by Kat Richardson Page A

seconds at what his father was saying, then raised his head, frowning. “I think Dad’s really tired and he’s not making sense. He says he saw Shelly the last time we were down at the marina. But that couldn’t be right.”
    “Why not?” I asked. “When was he last at the marina?”
    “About a year ago. Before he went into the hospital this last time. We went down with the broker to finalize the sale of Dad’s fishing boat—nothing fancy, but he wasn’t going to use it and we kind of needed the money for the medical bills. But, anyway. He’s sure he saw Shelly sitting on the dock when we were there. I don’t remember that but he says he did. I think he’s imagining things, myself.”
    Jen smacked him on the arm. “Don’t say that. Dad’s not senile.”
    “I didn’t say he was. I just don’t think he’s remembering quite right. It was a year ago. A lot’s happened since then.”
    “How could you misremember a girl with green hair?”
    “These days there’s a lot of them I’d like to misremember. Ecch. Green hair.”
    Jen made a face at him. “Bigot.”
    “I don’t make fun of
you
for dyeing your hair.”
    “That’s because I look good.”
    “That’s because you dye it a nice color, not green. You look like a femme fatale from an old movie.”
    Jen beamed at him. “Thank you!”
    Solis’s cell phone vibrated and made a rattling sound against the chair where his pocket touched the seat. He reached down and silenced it without looking. “So,” he started, “your sister didn’t have any fear about this trip?”
    “Oh, heck, no!” Jen said. “It sounded like a great adventure. I wish it—I wish it hadn’t been. I wish she’d stayed home.” Her face went suddenly and deeply sad.
    Jon put his hand over hers on the tabletop. “It’s all right, honey. We all miss Ruthie.”
    “I just wish I’d been nicer to her. I wish I hadn’t been such a brat to her.”
    “You
were
a brat; you were twelve.”
    “I said some mean things to her before she left. I guess I was jealous, but I wish I could take them back. And I can’t.”
    Jen teetered on the verge of tears until her father interrupted with a soft snore. Both adult children jumped a bit and looked at their father. Walter had fallen asleep in his chair.
    Jen wiped her eyes, smearing a bit of eyeliner on the back of her hand and sniffling around a wobbling smile. “Oh, Dad. Silly old Dad. Maybe we’d better put him to bed. . . .”
    Jon stood up, unfolding to a comfortable six feet and stretching his arms a bit. “All right. Let’s do it. You get the door; I’ll drive.”
    They paused and glanced at us. “Umm . . .” Jen said.
    I stood up and Solis followed suit. “We’d better be going,” I said. “You’ve been very helpful. Thanks. If you think of anything else about Ruthie’s friends or the trip, you’ll let us know, right?” I added, holding out my card.
    “Oh. Sure.” Jen took my card and another from Solis and tucked them into the back pocket of her jeans. “I hope you find out what happened to her. We—we all really miss her.”
    “We will let you know,” Solis offered.
    Jen nodded and we let ourselves out as the Ireland kids put their father to bed.
    Outside, Solis glanced at his cell phone and poked it a few times. Then he held it out to me.
    I took it, not sure what I was going to see. On the big screen there was a photograph of a sheet of paper that was stained with green and black marks and yellowed unevenly all over. I couldn’t see more than that and started to hand back the phone, scowling in confusion. Solis reached over my arm and made the picture suddenly zoom larger.
    “Oh,” I said in surprise, looking down at the photo of a page from the log book floating in a shallow tank of water. “Oh . . . my.” It was the passenger and crew manifest for the last voyage of the
Seawitch
. For the crew, two positions were listed: a captain/navigator and a cook.
    Solis looked over my arm at the