Today's Reading
CHAPTER 3
ANGELICA MALNATTI—"JELLY" TO HER FRIENDS—stared at the heavy brass plaque that her friend Ella held. 'Clutched' would be a better word.
"We 'have' to buy it." Ella kept her volume low, like she feared one of the locals wandering the farmer's market might rip the thing from her hands.
Jelly had never seen this vendor here before, and plenty of people in Harley Park gravitated to the booth. Weathered boards, rusting anchors, and dozens of salvaged pieces from sunken boats dominated the space. A handmade sign claimed every artifact had been pulled from wrecks that littered the bottom somewhere off the snaking shoreline of Cape Ann.
"Seriously, Jelly. You think he'll love it?" "Or hate it."
"I know, right?" Ella held it out at arm's length. The actual nameplate from his uncle's lobster boat. "This was screwed right there in the pilothouse. I remember it."
'Deep Trouble'. The name was engraved deep in the weathered brass.
Small barnacles had started to attach themselves to the face of the sign in the eight months since the boat had sunk, making the thing look older than it was.
"Harley can hang it on his bedroom wall," Ella said. "Like a trophy.
How he triumphed over his uncle."
"Or a daily reminder of a really, really bad chapter in his life," Jelly said.
The sign was about as long as her forearm and as wide as she could stretch her hand—pinky to thumb. With all the license plates and street signs Harley liked to decorate with, the plaque would fit in perfectly. "What if it triggers some kind of PTSD reaction? His uncle tried killing Harley with that boat.
The thing may give him nightmares."
"Or . . . the nameplate might help him sleep 'better'."
"Okay," Angelica said. "You might have to explain that one."
"Harley says God rescued him from his uncle. The sign will be a constant reminder of that." Ella raised her eyebrows in a hopeful expression. "We've been looking for the perfect birthday gift for him—and I say this is it. It's way more than we wanted to spend, but if I put this thing down, somebody will snag it pronto."
Angelica wasn't so sure. "'Eighty' bucks? You won't be buying art supplies for a while." It would use up every bit of Angelica's tip stash too.
"It's worth it. And we'll go in together. Fifty-fifty." "That would be forty-forty, by my math."
Ella laughed. "Whatever. Barely a week until his sixteenth birthday. We haven't come up with a decent gift idea yet."
"We still haven't, if you ask me."
A man stepped up—maybe mid-forties. Work boots. Jeans. Pullover sweatshirt that had seen better days. An old Rockport Dive Company baseball cap with a red-and-white diver's flag and 'Don't Drink and Dive' emblazoned across the crown. Weathered face with lots of stubble. "I'm Danny Miller. Diving instructor, salvage diver, and owner of the booth. You two young ladies fighting over the plaque? There's not another like it."
Ella hugged the sign. "It's for a friend. Any chance you can drop the price? We know the man who owned the boat, if that helps."
His eyes narrowed. "Ray Lotitto? The price just doubled. Actually," he held out his hand for the sign. "It's not for sale."
Ella held the thing tighter. "The original price is fine. We'll take it."
Danny shook his head. "He was no friend of mine. I don't wear this hat because I liked the guy. It's my 'justice' hat. Every time I slap it on my head, I smile. It reminds me that what goes around comes around." He leaned in close, his face suddenly looking sunburned. "Ray was a python. A snake. As low as they get. He had a 'rule' for everything—but paying back his debts wasn't one of them. The nameplate ain't for sale at twice the price. No-siree- Bob." He reached for the plaque with both hands, like he'd pry Ella's fingers free if he had to.
Angelica had to do something. "Mr. Miller, please. Ray was no friend of ours." She stepped between Ella and the guy. "We're buying this for his nephew, Harley. Ray hated him. Tried to kill him with the very boat you salvaged this from. It will be Harley's 'justice plaque' . . . a reminder that God saved him from his Uncle Ray—and all his cockeyed rules."
Something about Miller's face changed. Softened. "The kid who filled the tanks at the dive shop? Ray called him 'barista' or 'dead weight' or something like that?"
"Yes, that's Harley," Ella said. "And he's nothing like his uncle. He's quiet. Kind. He'd do anything for a friend, even if it would cost him big. But don't ever tell him I told you that."
The salvage diver gave a half smile. "He always topped my tanks off real good. Never shorted me. Helped me carry them to my van, too. He was a good kid."
"He's even better since his uncle went to prison," Ella said. "He works at BayView Brew now. You should stop in. He'll top off your coffee just fine too."
The man pointed at the oversize Navajo cross necklace around Ella's neck. "Care to trade? The necklace for the plaque."
"Family heirloom," Ella said. "Can't do it."
"Sounds like that plaque is a family heirloom too." He moved to one side so they got a better view of his display of barnacle-encrusted finds. "How about the steering wheel from the very same boat? I'll sell that cheap."
It was just a steering wheel from an old junker car adapted for use on the boat. A Chevy logo was inset at the very center.
Miller walked over to a row of anchors. "One of these is from 'Deep Trouble'. Twenty bucks."
"Mr. Miller," Ella said. "Please."
Danny eyed the plaque in Ella's hands. "Eighty bucks still sounds way too cheap. I sucked up half an air tank unbolting that crazy thing."
"Eighty dollars will buy lots of air fills," Angelica said. "Think of all the treasures you'll salvage."
"And we'll even toss in coffee and a donut if you stop by the shop." Ella raised her eyebrows. "They'll fuel you to find soooo many things on the bottom of Sandy Bay. You'll need 'two' tables next time you set up at the farmer's market."
The man growled, but there was no malice in it. "Eighty bucks. One cup of coffee. And 'two' donuts."
Ella beamed. "You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Miller."
This excerpt is from the ebook edition.
Monay we begin the book KISSES, CODES, AND CONSIPIRACIES by Abigail Hing Wen.
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