Free Shadows of Death by Jeanne M. Dams Page A

idea where to find a life jacket. It was no more than a few seconds, I suppose, before I saw the prominent sign. Life jackets, flares, life preservers, a raft, a boat hook, all were neatly together at one end of the cabin. I put on a jacket, with some difficulty, and then staggered up with Alan’s, nearly falling on the wet steps.
    ‘Here,’ said Alan. ‘Take the wheel a minute while I get into this thing.’
    ‘I don’t know a thing about steering a boat! And I can’t see through the wind and rain!’
    ‘Just keep it steady. We’re all right for a few seconds.’
    Almost as soon as he had taken his hands off the wheel, he had his jacket on and was prying my hands off. ‘No need for the death-like grip, darling,’ he said with the hint of a smile. ‘But do you think you could bear to stay up here for a few minutes? We’re quite close to Tingwall, but as you say, the visibility’s a bit tricky, and I could use a second pair of eyes.’
    Well, that terrified me almost as much as taking the wheel, but I took a firm grip of the rail, made sure my lifejacket was securely fastened, and tried to see my way through the driving rain.
    Oh, how I wished I had a hat, one of those lovely broad-brimmed rain hats. Of all the days for a dedicated hat-wearer to go out without one! But I put my hand to my brow as a visor and peered.
    Alan had cut the engine back to dead slow, which left us pretty well at the mercy of the wind and waves. On the other hand, any faster would have been extremely risky in the limited visibility. Everything looked grey to me, but some of it began to seem thicker, somehow, more solid.
    ‘Alan, there’s a boat ahead, just on the left. Port, I mean!’
    ‘I see it. Can you see any lights anywhere?’
    ‘No-o – yes! A green light! The green light at the end of the pier!’ I was getting light-headed and irrelevant again.
    ‘Thank you, F. Scott. Where, exactly? I don’t see it.’
    I sobered. ‘Just ahead and slightly to the right – starboard. At about not quite one o’clock. I can’t tell how far away.’
    ‘All right. I see it. You can relax, love. We’re here.’
    I could barely stagger out of the boat, and for a few awful moments I was sure I was going to be sick right there on the pier, but Alan took my elbow in a firm grip and said, ‘There now, you’re going to be fine,’ and somehow I was, not fine exactly, but functional. Watson seemed relieved to be back on land, too.
    ‘You might want to leave your life jacket in the boat,’ he said gently. ‘All the gear belongs to the hire firm.’
    ‘Oh, I suppose we should stow them back where they belong,’ I said feebly. ‘And there’s a blanket – it’s all muddy—’
    ‘Tomorrow will do for that. I’ll ring them up. Right now we both need some hot soup and a hot bath as soon as we can get them.’ Alan returned my life jacket to the boat while I watched Watson, and then we all climbed into the car, which was going to need a thorough cleaning before we turned it in.
    The drive back to Stromness was a nightmare, but after several eternities we arrived, had our baths, and sat down at the table in our jammies and robes in front of bowls of steaming chicken noodle soup, courtesy of Campbell.
    ‘Good Scots name, that,’ said Alan, pointing at the familiar red and white can.
    ‘Mm,’ I agreed wordlessly. My throat was getting sorer by the moment, and anyway I was busy absorbing the soup.
    ‘You’re feeling dreadful, aren’t you?’
    I nodded and put down my spoon. ‘I think,’ I croaked, ‘that I’ll have some tea and go to bed.’ Not that I have anything against chicken soup, but the universal remedy in my childhood had always been sweet, milky tea.
    ‘I’ll make the tea.’ He got up to suit the action to the word. ‘Where did I see the pot … oh, there. Nothing like an unfamiliar kitchen to sharpen one’s powers of observation. Do you want to know what Baikie and the rest said about the watch?’
    ‘As long as I