Sea Change

She put her arms around his neck, kept her mouth pressed against his and let him pull her from the chair when he straightened up. They held the kiss a long time. When they broke, Jesse exhaled audibly.

“When’s it being broadcast?” he said.

“Well, in syndication it varies by market. But we’re hoping to show it next year around Race Week,” Jenn said.

Jenn kept her arms around his neck and her body pressed against him.

“So you have a whole year to edit and do whatever you do,” Jesse said.

“Yes. Lay in the narration, the music track, enhance the pictures, spruce up the sound. A lot of work, and it gives you an idea of how much hope they have for this, that they’d give us so much time.”

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R O B E R T B . P A R K E R

“A year,” Jesse said.

He felt the press of her thighs against him, of her breasts.

He felt the miasmic press of emotion that he always felt.

“Not really a year. They need it finished in December for the syndication deal.”

“Still a lot better than editing this afternoon for on air tonight,” Jesse said.

They let go of each other.

“Here,” Jenn said. “Sit in your chair. I just couldn’t wait to tell.”

Jesse sat behind his desk. Jenn took a chair on the other side.

“You need a place to stay up here?” Jesse said.

“When we worked late, I was hoping to bunk in with you.”

“That’ll work,” Jesse said.

Here was something to worry about.

“I know you’re not so sure you want to live together full time,” Jenn said.

“I’m not sure what I want,” Jesse said. “Except you . . .

exclusively.”

She nodded.

“Well, I won’t be here every night,” Jenn said.

“One night at a time,” Jesse said, and smiled. “They know you used to be married to the chief of police?”

“I think so. Truth is, I think it’s one reason I got the job.

They figure it’ll give me extra access. I mean I’m a fucking weather girl, you know?”

3 0

S E A C H A N G E

“People like you, Jenn.”

“As long as you do,” Jenn said.

“I love you.”

“Does that mean you really, really like me?”

“I think so,” Jesse said.

3 1

7

Arthur Angstrom came into Jesse’s office with a leathery gray-haired man that Jesse didn’t know.

“This is Mr. Guilfoyle,” Arthur said. “Runs a small boat rental operation out of Ned’s Cove. Says one of his boats is missing. Don’t seem like much, except for that floater, so . . .” He shrugged.

Jesse nodded.

“Thanks, Arthur,” Jesse said. “Have a seat, Mr. Guilfoyle.

Tell me about your boat.”

“A little day sailor, twelve feet long. Marconi rigged, no jib. Centerboard.”

S E A C H A N G E

Jesse nodded as if he understood, or cared.

“And when did it go missing.”

“Woman rented it from me last month,” Guilfoyle said.

“Never returned it.”

“How long did she rent it for?”

“Just the day. These boats sleep no one, you know? Nobody rents them overnight.”

“Do you have the woman’s name?” Jesse said.

“Sure,” Guilfoyle said. “I don’t pass these things out like samples. I got a credit card and a driver’s license. But the thing is, my boat is down in Nelson’s place. In among the other boats.

Nelson didn’t even know he had it, until one of the kids that works for him tried to put one of his own boats away and there was a boat in the slot. He recognized my ID number on the bow and called me. For crissake, she didn’t even clean it out.”

“What was in it?”

“Trash. Half a loaf of bread, some plastic cups, paper napkins all soaking wet, some moldy cheese, couple apple cores, empty wine bottle, some rotten grapes. Didn’t even put it in the damn bag.”

“Where was the bag from?”

“Ranch Market, in town. Like somebody bought stuff for a picnic.”

“Just lying on the floor of the boat,” Jesse said.

“Yeah.”

“Who’s Nelson,” Jesse said.

“Paradise Rentals,” Guilfoyle said. “He’s the big guy in the business, right over here off the town wharf.”

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R O B E R T B . P A R K E R

Jesse nodded.

“I know the place. You think she made a mistake, took it back to the wrong place?”

“How do you do that?” Guilfoyle said.

He wore a pink striped shirt and white duck trousers with wide red suspenders. The shirt was unbuttoned over his chest, as if he were proud of the gray hair.

“I mean he’s here, I’m way the hell down the other end of the harbor. He’s got a hundred boats. I got fifteen. He’s short and fat.”

“And you look like Cesar Romero,” Jesse said.

“Yeah, right. So how does somebody make that kind of mistake.”

“Hard to figure,” Jesse said.

“Plus I got her damn driver’s license. I always hold it until they bring the boat back.”

“You have that with you?” Jesse said.

“Yeah. The credit card slip and her license.”

Guilfoyle took a brown envelope out of his hip pocket and put it on the desk in front of Jesse.

“Kid’s sailing the boat over to my place. I got to charge her credit card for all the time it’s been gone, you know.”

“That’ll be up to you and the credit card company,” Jesse said. “I’ll need to hang on to the license for a few days.”

“What if they want some kind of proof ?”

“I’ll make it available,” Jesse said. “I just want to see what happened to the woman.”