Ghost Writer(8)

“I work in a crime lab in Raleigh.”

“What do you do?”

“I do all kinds of things, but most things to do with cars and trucks.”

It was a good job I’d done my homework, or I might have given up about then.

“Is that what you’ve always done?”

She shook her head. “When I first met Reuben, I was a mechanic in my grandpa’s garage and taking night courses at college. I’m good at diagnostics. Y’ know, figuring out what’s wrong with an engine? It occurred to me that if I learned a bit more, I might be able to figure out what went wrong—what killed Papa. So I started takin’ classes in forensic investigation. I eventually joined the Raleigh Police Crime Scene Unit. Now I investigate vehicular homicides, mechanical sabotage, car bombings. I’ve been researching nautical engines and did a job trade with one of my counterparts working for the Coast Guard.”

Talking about her work, she seemed less vulnerable. She sat up straighter, her language was more formal. I noticed a smile play at the corner of Mike’s lips. He kept a possessive hand on her, but he was clearly proud of her. I started to rethink my assumptions about their relationship.

Now that she was warmed up, I asked her about her father.

“I suppose I didn’t really know him well except through Grandpa. I was only four when he disappeared. I wish I could have known him better. I was named for him and his mama. Grandpa says I remind him of his son when I’m around cars, and my grandma the rest of the time. I’ve got a couple of photos of him winning stock car races and lots of photos of him wrecking cars in races. Mama says he was a player before they married, but she never worried about him after. He joined the Navy when my brother was born to give Mama more security. Ironic, ain’t it?”

I thought about the pension her mother must have received and figured Boreman succeeded in his goal.

“Still, he loved the Navy almost as much as he loved cars. The Navy gave him an education and when I was born, he got a posting on a submarine. Mama says he was almost as excited by that as he was in having a little girl.”

According to Mrs. Boreman, her husband was equally excited. He would have longer deployments serving on a sub, but also longer periods at home. Life was good. Lou’s father painted a similar picture. He was proud of his son and sure that as long as Lou was fixing the engines, not driving them, any mishap would not be his fault.

“What about your brother?”

Mary Lou frowned. “Ray never really knew Papa. Dwayne, Mama’s second husband, was the father he knew. Ray’s a Phys Ed teacher. He’s got a nice wife and three beautiful kids. He doesn’t feel the need to dredge up the past.”

That matched with my assessment. I had a short telephone interview with Ray. He was a nice guy, very polite, but he accepted his father’s death and didn’t see the point of ‘picking old scabs,’ as he put it.

“How did you meet Mike?”

Mary Lou blushed like a teenager.

“I seduced her,” said Mike, grinning. “Reuben got us all together about seven years ago. We all met in a hotel in San Francisco. Before that, we stayed in contact through a newsletter he produced. Mary Lou had been sending us all Christmas cards for a couple of years, and I had this image of her as this mousy thing. I started chatting her up before I made the connection. I went too far and she decked me. It was a sucker punch—embarrassing, since I was still in the Navy, and I was in uniform at the time.”

Mary Lou laughed at the memory. “The hotel manager offered to report him, but Reuben showed up and smoothed things over. That might have been the end of it, but we were thrown together for the weekend and…”

“And I don’t give up easily,” Mike said, voice throaty and warm.

“Mama says Papa was the same way with her.”

I looked at the rakishly handsome man in the photo in front of me and up at the exotically good looking man sitting beside Mary Lou and it fit. Though very different in appearance, Lou Boreman and Mike Naire were barely reformed bad boys. Even when they don’t know them, girls often marry their fathers.

Not me, of course. But I’m divorced.





Chapter Eight ~ Rough Weather



Franchot broke the news when we gathered for lunch.

It turned out Reuben knew all about the Navy involvement. As AFFA’s legal counsel, it was one of the compromises he had to make to be permitted to explore a military site. Franchot commanded the émil Gagnan. Reuben and Dora were supposed to be leading the expedition. Tim was in charge of the documentary crew. But none of them really ran the show.

Our lunchtime had become an impromptu summit meeting. The only one missing was Gravell, but I suppose someone had to run the ship. Otherwise, all the key players were there—plus me. I suggested we move to a more private place. Franchot invited us to his cabin.

If the peacemakers are blessed, I was blessed then. In fact, I might have saved Reuben from bodily harm. I don’t think he realized how betrayed Dora felt. The short walk gave her a chance to cool down so, when Reuben started making excuses, she used her words, not her fists.

“I thought you knew,” he said, shrugging.

“You fucking bastard! You bloody well knew that I didn’t know.” This was followed by a string of expletives and a few suggestions on what Reuben could do with himself that would have bent a Cirque du Soleil performer out of shape.