A Superior Death

No one was on deck but there was a faint glow from the cabin. A

Patience headed the Venture straight for the side of the anchored vessel and didn’t cut power. For a sickening moment, A

With an accuracy that would have done Holly Bradshaw credit, Patience pulled up short, came alongside, and caught the Gone Fishin‘ with her stern line before the wake could wash it out of reach.

“Let me handle this,” she said as A

A

Patience stopped at the cabin door and drew her five feet two inches up to what appeared a quite formidable height. A

Patience knocked, opened the door a crack, and softly called: “Carrie, honey, it’s Mom.” Then she waited a few moments as if to give her daughter time to drag on enough clothes to cover the worst of her embarrassment.

From within the cabin came a frantic scuffling that, despite the situation, made A

The cabin light flicked out. Patience pushed open the door and stepped inside. “It’s me, baby. You’re not in any trouble,” A

At some point in the two hours it had taken to locate Carrie, she had lost her blouse. She crossed her arms protectively over her flat chest. She’d retained black denim trousers, and her high-topped sneakers were on and still laced. They’d arrived in time to save her, if not from sex, A

Carrie was crying like a baby, great whooping sobs and hiccups. Whether from humiliation or fear or just plain anger at being caught, A

Patience pulled off the sweatshirt she was wearing and Carrie struggled into it awkwardly, twitching away from her mother’s helping hands.

“Get on the Venture,” Patience ordered, maternal softness turned back to asperity by rejection. She caught up something from the floor just inside the cabin door. “You forgot this,” she added acidly, dangling a white bit of cloth from her fingers. It was a training bra. In the light from the stern, A

With a shriek Carrie grabbed it and, gulping air and sobs, clambered over the gunwale into her mother’s boat and disappeared into the cabin, slamming the door behind her. From the muffled sounds that followed, A

During all this Jim Tattinger had not appeared. The light in the cabin on the Gone Fishin‘ had stayed resolutely out, and there hadn’t been a single sound from within.

Patience pushed the cabin door wide. An unseen hand pushed it shut again. With a force that made A

A rustling followed, then a pale shape began to insinuate itself into the darkness of the doorway.

“All the way out,” Patience said coldly. “I’ve never seen a child molester up close.”

Tattinger came out into the unflattering white light. He’d either retained or dragged on his tee-shirt and underpants. They were white Fruit of the Looms, baggy like ill-fitting diapers. The undershirt was tucked into the panties. He had blue socks on his feet and his carroty hair was standing on end.

From the shadows of the Venture, A

“Look here, Mrs. Bittner,” he said as if Patience, instead of being his peer, were decades older than he. “It’s not what you think.”

One graceful hand shot out, plucked the blue and white band of his underpants away from his bony frame and let it snap back. Tattinger turned pigeon-toed and grabbed his crotch in a parody of masculine modesty.

“It’s what I think,” Patience said. “Just shriveled and uglier.” Tattinger opened his mouth to speak but she forestalled him. “You will not talk to me,” she commanded. “You will not talk to nor come near Carrie. If you do I will kill you. Really. If you stay away, I will content myself with telling Lucas, getting you fired, getting you sent to jail. There you will be the little girl the ugly men want and I shall rejoice in every day you spend facedown bent over some bench with your trousers down around your ankles.”

Finished, Patience stepped away from him, took a solid stance, doubled one fist inside the other, and, straight-armed, swung a roundhouse. Her knuckles collided with Jim’s jaw just below his left ear and he went down.

As the Venture motored away, A

“He will, you know,” she said. “He’s that slimy.”

“So will I,” Patience returned. “And mine will stick.”

Carrie A

TWENTY FOUR

Counseled!“ Patience fumed, spitting out the word. At Patience’s request A

“Counseled again,” A

“I’m getting cynical in my old age,” A

“Cynicism is the fool’s synonym for realism,” Patience snarled. A