“The first sailors are a little premature. Can’t you see?”
Raising my hand I squinted into the sky, bare as a new page, moving along the trees past the now missing Stride and out along the jetty onto the water. A boat was heading towards us, slow as doubt, a little sail uncertainly white flapping furiously in the budding storm.
“It’s green.” I hesitated.
The Paid Nose adjusted his sight. “Leaves.”
“And sticks and mud.” Golden came to a quiet rest a deliberate step behind me.
“But who is sailing it?” Victoria had her Dreadful writ clear on her pinched features as she followed her brother.
“I never can remember, but I suppose if the owl was serenading it would be quite difficult to tack at the same time.” Fenbry was holding her hand and my eyes. He sent a smile up my way. “Maybe Lear never said. It wasn’t really very important.”
“It was a love story,” I agreed looking down to meet his upcoming favour, “Two ill matched souls who never cared a whit.”
The beautiful pea green boat came to a gentle rocking rest in the shallows by our feet. The owl had flowers sprouting about his breast and twig fingers caught in the strings of a guitar crafted from bark.
“Now it’s a murder story.” The splinter couldn’t hide the smile in her voice, as all eyes went to the Pussy Cat.
“Here we are again, Mary Kate: me and my camera and you with a dead body at your feet.” Az- as-in-Triumphant winked behind his Eye.
As I’d come looking for a case and it had found me, with haste, I couldn’t be entirely despondent. “At least this time I remember how I got here.”