I shook my head. “I try my cases in the courtroom, not the media.”
“Okay, then. I wouldn’t run anything until after the trial. At least think about it, Bryce. That corporation wants to take your client down. I’m sure you’re an excellent attorney. You’ll do the best you can for her. Maybe there’re ways I can help Marisa that you haven’t considered, if you’ll get me in touch with her.”
16
The sky darkened. We had to leave this cove. Waves thudded against the hull, rocking the speedboat and throwing me off balance. I gripped a metal rail and scanned the black horizon.
Jennifer stood next to me and leaned softly against my shoulder. “It wasn’t supposed to rain until late.”
“Yeah,” I replied. “The meteorologists got it wrong. Now there’s a shocker.”
We watched the clouds churn far in the distance. She wanted to interview Marisa. E.J. Nielsen and I needed to try and reach a settlement agreement before Wednesday, and publicity about the lawsuit would make that harder. If the media became involved, opposing counsel would issue a press release and be theatrical at the hearing. Keeping the case out of the public eye was in Marisa’s best interest. There would be no interview, despite how stunning Jennifer was or how persuasive she might attempt to be this afternoon.
The thunderstorm headed toward us, perhaps a half hour away. We had to return to the harbor. At the bow, I weighed the anchor, pulling up the rope hand over hand.
Apparently everyone in Bridgeford wanted to speak with Marisa Dupree. Benton Dynamics. Their lawyers. Sheriff Tompkins. Now a reporter. Soon the FBI. At this rate, Tyrell the bartender would be next in line.
Everyone connected with this case thought that Marisa was hiding something, myself included. She had taken my advice and moved out of her house for a few days, due to my concerns over her safety. I had not even considered the possibility of a journalist wanting to break a story about the case. Maybe Jennifer had already tried to call her, but probably not. My date had learned of the lawsuit only a few hours ago when she looked me up online. She had no way of knowing that Marisa was staying at the Cormorant Hotel. I hoped that Marisa was smart enough to ignore phone calls from strangers.
I set the dripping anchor on the deck and returned to the helm. Turning the key, I heard only a dull click. The motors were silent. The ignition failed.
“What’s wrong?” Jennifer asked.
“Not sure.” I turned the key again. Another click. “The battery couldn’t have drained that fast.”
“We weren’t here that long.”
I shook my head. The wind and waves pushed the boat toward the shoals. No warning lights glowed on the dashboard. The fuel gauge read three-quarters of a tank. The voltmeter showed plenty of power. The instrument panel offered no clues.
Unsure of what to do, I turned toward Jennifer. “We’ll give it a sec and see if it decides to play nice and cooperate.”
“Okay,” she replied, sounding uncertain and concerned. She touched her warm fingertips on my arm. “Bryce, you got all tightlipped when I mentioned your lawsuit. I think I know why. You suspect I have some ulterior motive.”
I said nothing, waiting for her to continue. Her blue-green eyes simply met mine as the whirling winds around us died down and left us standing in an eerie calm.
Eventually I asked, “Well, did you?”
“No. But I see how maybe you thought that. Look, I just wanted to go out on the bay with you today. That’s it.”
“All right,” I replied, again focusing on the dashboard and trying to figure out why we were stuck on the water. Walking to the stern, I examined the lines to the dual outboard motors. To be honest, I did not know what to look for, but everything seemed to be in order.
Jennifer said, “Bryce, no journalist gets far without pushing for stories, but that wasn’t my intention. Sorry, okay? Can we forget I mentioned it?”
“Yeah, no problem.” I could let it go, if she would do the same.
The boat drifted closer to the grassy shore. A mosquito buzzed around my ear. I waved it away. Jennifer swatted a mosquito on her tanned wrist. In the still air, a swarm of mosquitos hovered around us, their legs dangling beneath beating wings.
“Where’d they come from? They’re everywhere,” Jennifer said, shooing the insects away.
“Got any repellant?”
“No. How ‘bout you?” she asked.
“No,” I replied. “Not even sure where to look.”
A blue-white bolt of lightning arced toward the western shoreline and split into branches. The sky lit up. A few seconds later, thunder crackled and grumbled across the atmosphere.
Jennifer looked worried. “We have to get off the water.”
“Lightning and monster mosquitos? You got that right.”
At the helm, I suppressed a growing sense of panic and consciously went through each step to start the boat. The handle to the throttle leaned slightly forward. That was it. The motors would not start unless the throttle was in neutral. I slid the handle less than an inch to the upright position until it felt loose. Now that the boat was in neutral, I turned the key. The motors roared to a start. With any luck, Jennifer missed my landlubber’s mistake.
“Fantastic,” she said as I accelerated out of the cove and headed in the direction of Bridgeford Harbor.
I punched the boat up to maximum speed. “I’m not sure we’ll beat this storm, but I’ll try.”
Jennifer nodded and held tightly onto the sides of her seat as a cool drizzle landed on us. Foamy sea spray launched into the air each time the bow
