he asked. “Do you mind?”
“Should I?”
“You’re within your rights to tell Captain Conroy to go spit in his mess kit.”
“Is that your recommendation?”
Jake shrugged. “An inspection now should save us getting stopped at a more inconvenient time.” He looked back at Conroy. “Right, Captain?”
“If I have anything to say about it, yes.”
Jake’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Message received. Hell of a job they handed you.”
“There are worse.” Conroy jerked his head at the other guardsman. “Check the usual.”
“Yessir!” The young man turned briskly toward the cabin.
“Show him that the blower works,” Jake drawled to Honor.
She went ahead of the young man into the cabin. The blower came on. Thirty seconds later it shut off.
“New recruit?” Jake asked, handing the registration papers over to Conroy.
“Somebody has to train them.”
While the two men remaining in the Zodiac kept their craft close to the Tomorrow, Conroy thumbed through the registration papers. To no one’s surprise everything was in order. He returned the papers to Jake.
“What is he looking for in here?” Honor asked from the cabin door.
“Compliance with regulations,” Jake said.
“Such as?”
“Fire extinguishers, Coast Guard-approved PFDs for everyone aboard, the proper bureaucratic placards reminding you that it’s illegal to put anything other than fishing gear into Puget Sound waters, that sort of thing.”
“So that’s why Kyle had that tacky red garbage sign pasted over the stove.”
“Don’t forget the tacky black sign about the evils of motor oil that’s pasted on the underside of the engine cover.” He turned to Conroy. “Want to look?”
“I’ll wait. Jimmy hasn’t seen one of the big new Volvos yet. He’ll get a kick out of it.”
“I’m always glad to help in the education of our youth,” Honor said, wide-eyed.
Jake snickered.
Conroy looked philosophical. As he had said, there were worse jobs out there.
When the time came to open the engine cover, it was Honor who conducted the magical mechanical tour with the detailed enthusiasm of a professor discussing the use of past participles in Shakespearean sonnets. She was especially careful to point out the dipstick, the leak-free fuel lines, and the flame arrester on the carburetor. She described intake, outgo, filters, ignition, water cooling, and the care and feeding of all four hundred and fifty-four cubic inches until even Jimmy’s eyes began to glaze over.
Jake stepped in before she began dismantling the engine so they could inspect every moving part and some that didn’t.
“Not today,” he said easily. “You start field-stripping this puppy and we’ll never get around to fishing.”
For a moment he would have sworn Honor looked appointed.
“You sure?” she asked, looking at both Coast Guardsmen. “This is a really sweet hunk of machinery.”
Reluctantly Conroy smiled. “I know a few engineers who would love to show you around below decks.”
“Steam engines don’t count. Neither do nukes. I’m the true-blue, all-American internal combustion type.”
This time Conroy laughed out loud. Then he gestured for Jimmy to get back into the Zodiac. The young man scrambled to obey.
“Thank you for your hospitality, Ms. Donovan,” Conroy said. “I’ll never look at engines in quite the same way again.”
“Off to make more inspections?” Jake asked.
“You never know.”
“If you get bored,” he said, pointing over the stern, “there are two civilian boats back there. Or are they yours?”
“Not so far as I know.”
“Going to inspect them?”
“Not today.”
“Tomorrow?”
Conroy’s mouth flattened. It was obvious that he wasn’t happy with this particular assignment. “When did you get back in town?” he asked.
“Not long ago. You off tonight?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll buy you a beer.”
Conroy relaxed. “Sure. How about the Salty Log? Eighteen hundred hours.”
Jake glanced
P. J. Parrish
Sebastian Gregory
Danelle Harmon
Lily R. Mason
Philip Short
Tawny Weber
Caroline B. Cooney
Simon Kewin
Francesca Simon
Mary Ting