Bait & Hook

33. Investigations

The doorbell startled me awake, and I glanced at the clock as I rolled from the bed, picked up my bathrobe and raced down the stairs toward the door. Darn! Had I misunderstood? Did Roxy say eight thirty, and my eagerness heard it as eighteen thirty?

I paused to tie the bathrobe closed, then unlocked and opened the door, my heart sinking. "Good morning, Carla. Sorry for my attire; I slept in."

She shrugged, her broad smile brightening my attitude as she entered and looked around. "Oh! So neat and clean – little for me to do today. Have you been away?"

"No, I tidied up for a guest last night."

She craned her neck toward the stairs and grinned. "I'll begin down here, then."

"Thank you." As I headed back up the stairs, I wished her assumptions were based on reality. "Pull me a double espresso, Carla – one for yourself, as well. I'll be down shortly."

A few minutes later, dressed and at my computer, I went to the ship.us site. Darn, still no reply from Roxy. What might have happened to her? Don't go down that rabbit hole. Focus instead on finding her. 

Taking a deep breath, I tabbed to GoogleMail, then I released it when I saw emails with attachments from both mentees. Wonderful! Among the benefits of mentoring. Then with sips of coffee, I read the reports, both showing only two possibilities – Burrard Civic and Heather Civic. Start with Burrard; it's by far the bigger, so a greater chance she's there. Also, quicker out onto the Bay from there – the serious sailor's choice.

I tabbed to the calendar. Great! No commitments this morning, then turning my head, I called, "I need to go out, Carla. Might be an hour or two, so if I'm not back, let yourself out when you finish. Your hundred is on the counter."

"Thank you, sir."

After I had pulled three double espressos into a thermos, I unplugged and pocketed my phone and headed out, across the crescent and down the ramp. Then with Tastevin hauled forward in her slip, I launched the tender and pointed it out into False Creek.

Well over an hour later, after wending my way back and forth between all nineteen fingers and examining and reexamining more than two hundred boats, I gave up on Burrard and headed back up the Creek toward Heather. 

Fortified by another steaming mug of espresso, I tried without success to keep my mind off Roxy's disappearance. Stayed up far too late, then tossed and turned into the wee hours, worrying. Slept-in instead of searching. Am I now too late to help? Darn, this isn't helping. Focus instead on finding her.

Finally at Heather, I realised I should have started here – only six fingers to search. Along the third finger, the red sail of a Hydrovane caught my eye, then the solar panels caused my heart to speed. The MH31 on the hull added evidence, and the IncaVela name on the transom confirmed. And no licence numbers on the bows means she's registered. Simple to find her.

Then as fast as regulations allowed, I headed back across False Creek, entered the marina and moored under Tastevin's stern. Hoist it later. More immediate priorities, now.

Back in the townhouse and at the computer, I noticed the blinking ship.us icon, so I tabbed to it and read:

        Dearest Xander;
        I've been deceitful. I'm not who I pretended to be.
        Please forgive me for the hurt I've caused.
        So sorry to have led you on. I'm not worthy of you.
        R.

Oh, dear Lord! What's this about? Deceit? Not worthy? Is she married? Cheating? Now feeling guilty? Maybe he caught her last night. That's why the no-show.

How to respond? Do I respond? Maybe report her to the site? Surely, they want to prevent predators from deceiving legitimate members. They must have people policing this.

But admitting her deceit here? And apologising? Asking for forgiveness? Calling me dearest? There's something deeper here. What? The grieving she showed – and so easily triggered. Is her sense of deceit to her previous, not to me?

And why am I curious? Don't be so silly – she gave me the fuck of a lifetime. By far the best ever. But beyond that, she's as fine a conversationalist as Gillian was. Whoah! Don't compare. Neither the sex nor anything else. Quantify, but don't compare.

Anyway, I need to draw her out to determine whether I should report her. How do I do that? Something convoluted and obscure, something causing her to think I'm okay with her behaviour. Perhaps cause her to offer more about herself – aha! That's why I know nothing about her. Hiding it for some reason. Need to unmask her. Bring her out.

My fingers flew over the keys, my abstruse poetic muse pouring forth. Too obscure? Too arcane? Go with it. Nothing to lose at this point. I hit Post.

        I was captivated by your masquerade.
        But I cannot imagine reality as enticing.
        I'd love to meet who's behind the façade.
        Surely, she'll prove even more exciting.