Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
I’m thinking of people I know in town who might have extra hands to spare on their boat when I pass the ice cream shack and stop dead.
Mark isn’t waiting for me on the dock. No, the gangplank I know I stowed before I left town is down and the yacht is filled with twenty-something kids drinking beer and…pouring it all over the deck.
There are four of them that I can see—two boys and two girls. Mark isn’t topside, but I’m sure he’s around somewhere. I recognize at least one member of his lobstering crew, and I’m pretty sure he used to date the skinny blond humming to herself as she pulls stuffing from the ripped cushions of the deck furniture. Meanwhile, the large boy with the buzz cut, who works with Mark, has his pocketknife out, carving something in the deck railing.
I watch, my blood simmering toward a boil, as a guy with bright red hair and a sunburned nose take a final swig of his beer before hurling the bottle against the already cracked window of the cockpit.
He snorts with laughter before shouting, “We’re going to need more beer, Mark.”
The girl next to him, a pale thing in a yellow sweatshirt with greasy brown pigtails emerging from her orange sock hat giggles and hugs him around the waist. “And music. Something fun. It’s too quiet out here.”
“That’s because I told you we have to be quiet,” Mark says, emerging from below deck with another member of his lobstering team, our cousin, Barry, behind him. “So, keep it down, will you? We don’t want anyone to hear us and come over to see what’s up.”
“That won’t matter,” I say flatly, causing all their heads to swivel my way. Most of them have the sense to look shocked and guilty, but the red-haired kid only smirks and opens another beer.
I smile, imagining how much I’m going to enjoy calling the authorities on him, in particular.
Looks like I’ll get to press charges today, after all.
I point to the telephone pole near the edge of the water, still smiling as I say, “I had cameras installed. Everything you’ve done has been recorded. All I have to do is contact the sheriff’s department with the footage.”
Greasy Pigtails curses, her already pale face now marble white as she lifts her hands in the air. “I didn’t do nothing, sir. I promise. I’m just here with my boyfriend.”
“Then maybe you’ll only be charged as an accessory to aggravated criminal mischief,” I say, ambling closer to the boat, my hands sliding into my pockets. “That’s the charge for damages over two thousand dollars. You’ve easily racked up that much from what I can see aboveboard. And who knows what you’ve done down below.” Mark’s face blanches, confirming my suspicion that he didn’t confine his petty destruction to the deck.
“I looked it up after someone vandalized my car not once, but twice in the past week,” I continue, cocking my head. “Are any of you familiar with the penalty for aggravated criminal mischief?”
“Uncle Weaver, please, I—”
“Quiet, Mark, a grown-up is talking,” I say, still grinning as I glance from face to stunned, increasingly worried face. “No? None of you? Well, no worries. If convicted, it’s up to five years in prison and five thousand dollars in fines. Five years.” I chuckle. “That’s a long time. And I don’t think the prosecutor will have any problem getting a conviction with video evidence and all of you caught in the act, do you?”
“Please,” the blonde begs, her voice wavering like she’s about to cry. “My dad will kill me. Like, maybe for real. He kicked my brother out of the house when he was only seventeen for selling marijuana and that’s not even really a crime anymore. I’m so sorry, Mr. Tripp. I promise I’ll never do anything like this again.”
Ignoring her, I scan the rest of the group. Red doesn’t look so smug now. He looks angry.
Good, let him get angry. I don’t mind making another enemy.
I already have plenty in this town.
“So,” I say, motioning toward the parking lot, “I suggest you all hurry home and start shopping for lawyers. Good luck and thank you for stopping by.”
“We can clean it all up,” the blonde sputters, her arms shaking visibly as she motions toward the ruined deck furniture. “I can sew these and I can get beer out of anything. I was in a sorority in college.”
“Yeah, we’ll clean it up,” Greasy Pigtails says, ignoring her boyfriend when he nudges her in the side with his elbow. “We will,” she doubles down. “I work at the daycare, Mr. Tripp. If I get in trouble with the cops, even just for being here while bad things happened, they’ll fire me. I need that job, sir. Please, it’s the only thing I could find where they’d let me bring my son to work with me.”