Anne Bonny's Wake. Dick Elam

trying. Tell me about your escort.”

      “Works for the Raleigh News & Observer. Met him on the dock at Belhaven. By the way, I heard you mention eating oyster fritters at Belhaven. I could have been there last night if I had played my cards right. Found bacon in the icebox. Got any eggs? Never mind. I found them. Here’s bread. You make toast in that oven?”

      “We’ll get to the food later. Tell me about the News & Observer man.”

      “Young, about thirty. Short, about five foot six and a half inches tall. Wears glasses. Blond hair. Answers to Rick. How am I doing? I once worked as a secretary and receptionist at the Wilmington Police Department. What do you do for a living?”

      I ignored her question.

      She spooned the instant coffee and refilled our cups. She waited for the water to boil, her arms folded over her large padded bosoms, her hands rested on her pillowed stomach.

      “Where’s Rick now? Why were you swimming—ummmm—topless?”

      “Good question. I don’t know. You got any jam for the bread?”

      “You don’t know where he is? You don’t know why you were swimming? What is it that you do not know?”

      “Sorry. I knew why I was swimming. And I guess I would have had to stay in the water all day to keep anybody from seeing I had shed my sweatshirt. You really want the whole story on an empty stomach?”

      “Yes.”

      “Okay. Rick was sneaking up to the cockfight. He was shooting fast film, ASA 1800, so he didn’t need a strobe light. He told me later there must have been twenty guys in this lighted barn. I could hear them yelling, mostly cussing. He left me with the motorboat. They didn’t know I was there, but I heard someone yell, ‘Stranger’ at Rick. Then I heard, ‘What’s he doing here?’ Rick told me he said he just wanted to watch, maybe bet. Rick had hid his Nikon camera behind his back. The man shouted at Rick to stand still. I heard that. Well, in just a minute I heard Rick running. He fell down in the dark, grunted, lost his camera. I heard someone yell, ‘He’s here. Come on.’”

      The teakettle began to steam but not whistle.

      “Water should be hot enough?”

      “Probably. Go on with your story.”

      “Well, Rick and I decided to run for the Neuse River, Rick turned northwest, created a false wake, and then headed back this way. When we heard a motorboat running wide open, we took off for the next lighted Intracoastal marker. We ran wide open, and then idled back and listened.

      “Still chasing us. The motor was growing louder.”

      She took out two plates, lifted an egg to each, and then decorated my plate with bacon. She served like a trained waitress.

      “After a couple of miles, we heard the other boat gaining. That’s when I decided to tune the motor. I knew more about a Mercury motor than Rick did. I leaned the intake. We ran faster, but the motor noise behind told us that we didn’t gain any distance.”

      She pumped more water into the teakettle, placed the kettle back on the burner. She looked through shelves and found salt and pepper, knives and forks in the cupboard drawer.

      She sat across the table and pulled paper towels for napkins. I waited for her to start eating.

      “You waiting to say grace?” she asked.

      “No. I was just being polite.”

      “My dad always made us say grace. You raised in a family like that?”

      I nodded. I couldn’t imagine this disguised hag as a young girl. She looked over forty. She also looked silly. Her left bosom sank lower than the right.

      Maggie mopped up her egg with her bread, topped it with the bacon, and folded the bread into a sandwich. She ate at a measured pace, leaving me to carry the conversation.

      The golden bacon tasted like an October morning, just crisp enough to waken your taste buds. Maggie had cooked the egg to correct softness—breakable with the touch of my fork. And I ate too fast. My egg and bacon disappeared. She had eaten all her bread. I offered her my uneaten piece. She nodded thanks and took the bread without stopping her rhythmic chewing. Her jaws moved, but her lips—still marked with a number 2 pencil—parted only to take in food.

      “How did you get out of the Intracoastal Canal, into the Neuse River, and to here?” I asked.

      She took another bite of bread, then answered. “Outran the other boat to the Neuse River. Stayed ahead to Maw Point Shoal.” She chewed her last bite of bread.

      “We cut behind the Maw Point turning mark. Looked back and saw running lights. And that boat following us also cut inside. We knew then that we had no advantage because of our shallow draft.”

      “Who—and how did you identify who—was chasing?” I asked.

      “The big guy wearing the red pants was chasing. He kept gaining. We could see his white wake as well as his running lights. Ahead, we could see the flashing Piney Point inlet buoy, so we headed for that buoy.”

      She cleaned the plates into the garbage bag, sponged off the dishes. She mixed more instant coffee. I stood on a step and looked across the cabin and saw no other boats. Stepped down, went forward, and opened the hatch above the V-berth. I stood on my toes and couldn’t see any boats off our bow. Bear Creek looked clear.

      Morning breeze circulated through the cabin. Dishes wiped, the stove out, the bacon smell gone, I sipped slowly on my third cup. Remembered I should watch my caffeine intake, particularly on lazy mornings.

      She sat at the table, her glutinous head almost touching the kerosene lamp mounted on the bulkhead. Between coffee sips, she sponged off pencil marks and dried her face with a paper towel. Despite her matted hair, she looked no older than thirty. She showed few facial wrinkles.

      “Excuse me for stringing out the story. I haven’t eaten since supper, and I haven’t slept, either. I’m not sleepy, but I sure was hungry. Not to mention, I didn’t want to stay in the water all day. Was beginning to feel a lot like Eve when she and Adam discovered they needed something more fashionable to wear than a fig leaf.”

      Although amazed at her command of details, I was uncomfortable with her offhand account.

      “What time did you reach Bear Creek? I’m a light sleeper. Didn’t hear any boats last night.”

      “We never reached the Bear Creek inlet buoy. The guy didn’t get close enough to fire his shotgun. But he was gaining on us. That’s when we turned in to shore. Cut the motor before it touched.”

      She sipped her coffee, then continued:

      “We wanted to run aground, so I steered while Rick stood by to lift the motor. Big thump. Rick jerked the motor up, and we coasted closer to shore. Rick grabbed a paddle and started pushing off the bottom. I grabbed the other paddle and poled on the other side. I don’t think the guy could see us because of the trees behind us.

      “The guy knew we were in the shallows. We heard him circling in deeper water. We continued to pole ourselves along the shore. Pretty soon we poled into deeper water. Rick decided to try and escape under motor. If I waded ashore, Rick said he could go faster with only one in the boat, and besides, I think Rick wanted me out of range.”

      Her matter-of-fact tone pinned no medals on Rick’s gallantry.

      “I also knew a trick I used to fool my babysitter. I would stuff my bed with pillows and sneak out on her. I suggested we rig decoys.

      “I wrapped Rick’s shirt and my sweatshirt around life preservers that we fitted around boat paddles, blades sticking up to resemble our heads. Found a piece of rope and tied one padded dummy to a seat. I took off my bra and used the straps to lash a second dummy to the other seat. I told Rick to keep his belt handy to lash down the wheel and dive overboard if the guy got