Category:

Rockport Harbor, Massachusetts

Spring Break— Monday, April 17, 11:00 a.m.

Jumping into the ocean wasn't like leaping into a pool—except for getting wet. A pool held no nasty surprises. The ocean was full of them.

Even here, standing in full wet suit on the floating dock in the South Basin of Rockport Harbor, Parker Buckman felt that moment of hesitation from the place deep in his brain where survival instinct is king. That part that fired messages and questions at him. 'Diving alone isn't smart. Is this safe?'

Parker knew that cleaning boat bottoms paid a lot better than mowing lawns. And he loved his new little business. Except the part about going underwater without a dive buddy.

Parker eyed the water around his client's sailboat. Whenever his imagination started with creepy images of what might be lurking below the surface, he herded them into a vault and locked the door tight. But those images always seemed to escape right at the no- turning-back moment when he stepped off a pier or a boat and let gravity do its thing. For three long seconds after he plunged underwater, temporarily blinded by the bubbles, all kinds of creepy images flashed in his head. This had prompted a new routine. Just before dropping into the water, he'd slip his dive knife from its sheath and have it at the ready.

His own boat was tied just three slips away. The twenty-five-foot Boston Whaler had once belonged to his employer Mr. Steadman. 'Ex'- employer now, and still a fugitive at large.

Steadman's boat had been auctioned off ridiculously cheap, and it was Parker's now. The boat had never been named—until Parker became the owner. 'Wings'. Right about now he'd rather fire up the 400- horsepower

Mercury motor on the transom and take flight.

Parker glanced at the dark waterline on the rocks along the shore. The tide would still be going out for a couple more hours. If he didn't get to work soon, the water would be too shallow, and his tank might hit bottom as he scooted under the keel.

'Stop thinking and do this, Parker.' He shuffled to the edge of the dock until the tips of his fins hung over the dark water. He stood there staring, unable to see the bottom.

"Hey, Parks!" Parker's friend Harley Lotitto jogged along the granite- block wall of T-wharf, holding a leash. A chocolate lab trotted alongside him. The dog was dripping wet, and so was Harley.

Parker raised his mask. "You starting your own side business now?

Walking dogs?"

Harley grinned and took the ramp down to the floating network of boat slips. The dog led the way to where Parker stood—like it knew exactly where Harley was headed. The dog jumped up—its paws resting on Parker's waist, tail swinging like crazy.

"Hi, pup." Parker guessed the thing was six or eight months old.

Definitely under a year. "Whose dog?"

"No idea. Found her paddling in a circle just off Tuna Wharf. Trapped— with the leash stuck between some rocks. Can you imagine what would've happened when the tide came back in? I had to swim out to free her. She's been sticking to me like a tick ever since."

Had the pup fallen off a fishing boat? The dog shook, spraying saltwater in a three-foot radius. A short length of green garden hose circled the dog's neck. Both ends were connected with brass couplings like on a full-length hose. An eye loop had been welded to one of the fittings, and a metal Harley- Davidson logo dangled below it. Probably a keychain fob originally, but it made a tough-looking dog tag. A carabiner was clipped onto the custom collar—with the leash attached. "Crazy collar," Parker said.

"Right? Not some foo-foo thing. Pretty creative owner, I guess." 

"The owner's name on that tag?"

Harley shook his head. "Not the dog's name either. Just a phone number—which I already called. Voicemail is full." "So, what now?"

"I'll ask the harbormaster's office if anyone reported a missing dog." Harley knelt on the dock next to the dog and tapped the motorcycle-emblem tag. "Your owner has a motorcycle? I used to have a Harley-Davidson. Its name was Kemosabe. And I'm saving to get a new one." The dog fanned its tail like it understood everything Harley said.

The dog turned her attention to Parker. She nuzzled Parker's gloved hand, then dropped onto her belly. She hung her head over the edge of the dock, sniffing the air above the water. Her ears went straight back; she whined like she intended to jump in.

"Don't even think about it." Harley coiled up the slack in the leash. "I'm not going in for you again, pup."