chowder before you turn in? Annabelle made some today.”
Scarnum shook his head and nodded toward his boat. “I wanna hit me bunk,” he said.
Charlie put his hand on his shoulder and pushed him toward his boat.
As Scarnum started to open the hatch on the deck of his boat, Charlie called out to him. “Hey,” he said. “You been aboard the Kelly Lynn?”
Scarnum looked up at him and shook his head.
“Funny thing for there to be a lobster boat floating around without a crew, isn’t it?” he said. “Could be it broke free of its mooring and drifted there, I suppose.”
He let that sink in for a minute.
“Yuh,” Scarnum said. “Or it could be some poor bastard fell off the damn thing and drowned and his widow’s home fretting, not sure if he’s at the bar or dead in the fucking water.”
He shook himself and climbed back onto the wharf. Charlie held out the flashlight for him to take.
“I’ll go out and make sure there’s not somebody dead of a heart attack below. You call the Coast Guard and report the salvage.”
Charlie brightened and put the ball cap back on his head. “That I will do,” he said and started to climb back to his warm house as Scarnum climbed into the little aluminum runabout that Charlie kept at the end of the dock.
“If there’s a body aboard I’ll come tell you,” Scarnum called out. “Otherwise, I’m going to sleep, and in the morning I’m going to see a lawyer about a salvage claim.”
It was easy as pie to climb onto the lobster boat from the little rowboat in the sheltered bay, and Scarnum shivered as he thought of his struggle hours ago.
He played the light around the deck of the boat. There was nothing to see, just a heavy winch, some of the plastic boxes used to store lobsters lashed to the back of the wheelhouse, some old rope, and a few buoys.
Scarnum held his breath before he entered the wheelhouse, half expecting to see some old fishermen dead of a heart attack on the floor.
“I’s the b’y that builds the boat,” he sang to himself. “I’s the b’y that sails her.”
But inside, there was nothing special. The instrument screens were all dead. The throttle handle, Scarnum noticed, was pushed all the way forward. He absently pulled it back to the off position.
Below, there was six inches of water sloshing around in the crew quarters. There was a small TV, three narrow bunks, a duffle bag, and a little galley with a propane stove and fridge and some little cupboards.
In a daze, he made his way back to his boat and collapsed into his berth, still fully dressed.
Friday, April 23
HE DIDN’T FEEL TOO GOOD in the morning.
He didn’t wake up until nine and didn’t get out of bed until ten.
He stripped down in the fibreglass hallway of his Paceship 32 and gave himself a once-over in the little shaving mirror in the cramped head. His arms and legs were badly bruised. He had blackened blood in the palm of his hand, although he didn’t see the source anywhere, aside from a handful of little cuts and scrapes on his hands and forearms.
His tanned, sharp-featured face looked haggard, but not much more so than usual, considering his forty years of hard living.
The Paceships were built without showers, so Scarnum had installed one in the head, but it was awkward, standing half bent over the toilet, under the little shower head. This morning, in the awkward position, his sore body complained as he washed himself.
All his cuts and bruises came to life under the thin stream of piping hot water, and he had to force himself to scrub himself raw. After he shaved and towelled dry, he went to the back of his hanging locker and came out with a pair of grey wool dress pants, a pressed pale blue button-down shirt, and a dark blue blazer. He dressed, then stepped back into the head to survey himself in the mirror.
“Not bad,” he said. “Gentleman salvor.”
Charlie was waiting for him up at the house with a pot of coffee.
Scarnum sat at the table in the warm little kitchen, which was decorated with paintings of boats and photographs of Charlie and Annabelle’s grandchildren. From Annabelle’s sail loft off the kitchen, Scarnum could hear the rattle of a sewing machine.
“There’s Chester’s newest lobster fisherman, Annabelle,” said Charlie, cackling. “Them are fancy clothes for a lobsterman, you.”
The rattle of the sewing machine stopped, and Annabelle came in from her sail loft and gave Scarnum a good look as Charlie poured him a cup of coffee.
“My God, Phillip,” she said, “you must have had quite a time bringing dat ting in.”
Annabelle was sixty and had lived in Chester for forty-two years, but she had never lost her soft Acadian accent.
“It was a good day’s work,” he said and winked at her.
He told them he had no appetite for breakfast, and he settled down to drink his coffee and tell them how he had snagged the Kelly Lynn.
They both looked at him with horror as he told them about his grim minutes hanging off the stern, half in the water, and both grinned as he described the moment when the lobster boat eventually let go of the reef.
When he was done at last, Annabelle suddenly flushed.
“Phillip, I don’t know why you would take such a risk,” she said. “It’s crazy. You could have easily drowned. From the sound of it, you almost did. You can’t spend your money if you’re dead.”
She threw up her hands, got up from the table, and turned to the sink to rinse her cup.
Scarnum looked at Charlie for support, but the old man just looked at him with narrow eyes, as if he was wondering the same thing.
Scarnum looked at them both, down at his coffee cup, and then out at the Kelly Lynn floating on the dock.
“Well,” he said. “I suppose you’re right. I likely should have called it in on the VHF and shared the prize with someone. On the other hand, the Kelly Lynn looks pretty good sitting out there in the Back Harbour.”
She just shook her head at him and walked back to her studio.
When she was gone, Charlie told him that the Coast Guard had no reports of a missing vessel by the name of the Kelly Lynn, and Scarnum told Charlie what he’d found aboard: nothing.
Then Scarnum called a lawyer — William Mayor — who had a little office in Chester.
The receptionist told him at first that Mr. Mayor was booked up.
“Tell him, please, that it’s Phillip Scarnum calling, and that I’ve salvaged a lobster boat, and I’d like to see him today.”
She
