“Clarence Barre.”

His face registered nothing, but he did give a slight nod. He worked the knife through the apple and popped a chunk into his mouth.

“I’m leaving in thirty seconds,” he finally said. “You can talk to me when I get back.”

“How long are you staying out?”

“Eighteen hours.”

“Are you sure you don’t have a minute to talk?”

He shook his head no and stared at me.

“Randy called in sick,” he said. “More work for me and Rollie.”

“What if I came along?” I said, thinking eighteen hours was a motherfuck of a long time, but if I had to do it, I would.

Hornsby nodded as if he’d known all along that was going to be my response. “If you stay, you work,” he said.

I didn’t like the sound of that. I had a feeling the lumber-recovery profession was a pretty dangerous job, probably second only to road construction workers in Cairo.

Of course, Hornsby could stay out for a lot longer than eighteen hours—days, even weeks—or just motor up to some other harbor in some other town and I’d never see him again. Or at least not for a long time.

“Ten seconds,” he said. He flipped a few switches and looked back at me.

“Aren’t we going to talk about my hourly rate?”

“Zero dollars an hour. Anything else?” He revved the engines for emphasis.

“Do you have a 401(k)?” I said.

His response this time was to jam the throttle down. I stumbled backward, knocking his Styrofoam coffee cup off the low shelf next to the table.

“You better have workers’ comp!” I yelled over the screaming engines.

I struggled to my feet to say something to him, but he was gone. My eyes were drawn to a picture on the wall that he had been blocking.

It was old and hung in a cheap frame, but there was no mistaking the woman caught on film.

It was Jesse Barre.

Chapter Fifteen

“There she is,” Hornsby said, his voice a dull growl, not quite as deep as the sound of the ship’s engines.

I looked out through the streaked windshield and saw the second ugliest water vessel known to man.

This beast looked like a giant concrete block with an angled front and square back. Its surface was virtually empty save for the roughly fifteen-foot crane standing in the middle. It sat on top of the dark greenish-brown water, rocking gently in the three-foot waves, the sky a solid sheet of gray overhead. Not exactly a Norman Rockwell scene.

Looking back, I couldn’t see any signs of land. We were a long way out.

It had been nearly an hour since Hornsby’s sudden burst of acceleration had thrown me off my feet. He’d said little more than to tell me we were going out to a barge he used to retrieve sunken lumber. The rest of the ride, he’d ignored my questions.

Now, Hornsby and his worker, Rollie, lashed the boat up against the barge. A few minutes later, Rollie emerged in a wetsuit. I watched him spit out his giant ball of chewing tobacco. It landed in a little metal pail. He set it against the side of the cabin. Ooh, leftovers.

Rollie then went over the side into the water while Hornsby jumped between the two vessels and immediately began hauling a chain and rigging harness to the side of the barge. When Rollie reemerged from the water, Hornsby fed him the chain.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” I said. After all, he’d given me the big lecture about working.

“Yeah, keep out of the way,” Hornsby said.

Right. I could do that.

So I watched, waiting for the right moment to begin questioning Hornsby about his relationship with Jesse Barre. I was here to get some goddamn answers. I would be pretty pissed if I spent all day on the S.S. Piece of Shit with nothing to show for it but the vague smell of dead carp.

After a few minutes of feeding the chains into the dark water, Hornsby stopped. He stood there, looking down for several minutes. Finally, after Rollie disappeared back into the olive-green depths, I took my opportunity.

“So you know, Clarence thinks you killed her.” I figured what the hell, he wasn’t answering my questions, maybe I could goad him into talking.

The wind ruffled his dark brown hair, and he smirked. Well, there went that plan. Pissing him off wasn’t going to be easy.

A flock of gulls screamed overhead, and Hornsby stepped closer to the edge of the boat.

“He loved his daughter, I’ll give you that,” he said. “But he never understood her.”

“What didn’t he understand?”

He waved me away like it was a question not worth answering. After a few minutes of staring into the water, though, he did give me an answer.

“He thinks she wanted to leave me, right?”

I waited, not wanting to divulge anything he didn’t already know.

“You don’t have to answer. I know I’m right.” He walked along the deck of the barge to the base of the tower, with me right on his heels. He put his hands on some of the crane’s levers and made a few adjustments. Overhead, I heard the creak of old machinery beginning to awaken.

“So maybe you’re right,” I said. “Do you want to deny it?”

“I want to tell you and Clarence to go fuck yourselves, but I can’t,” he said. “Well, you I can. But not Clarence. She was crazy about him. I wouldn’t want to do anything that would upset him. If Jesse were here, that’s what she’d be saying.”

I took a closer look at him, at his eyes, and for some reason, I believed him. Maybe it was the way he said it. Maybe he was just a helluva good actor. Or maybe it was the dark circles under his eyes, the tired, beaten look in his face. It rang true. It looked like the face of a man who’d just lost the woman he loved.

“So why does he think she was leaving you?” I said.

“Who says she wasn’t?”

Okay, he had me there.

“Can we stop playing games?” I asked. “Was she leaving you?”

“She was and she wasn’t.”

I sighed and looked out toward the lake. The wind shifted a bit, and a giant wave crashed over the side of the barge. I looked down and the front of my Dockers were wet, like I’d pissed my pants. I glanced at Hornsby. He was dry.

“She was and she wasn’t?” I said. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I walked to Hornsby’s left, trying to get a glimpse of what he was doing. I heard a noise overhead and then Hornsby grabbed me. I thought he was going to throw me in the water. But he pushed me forward just as a large pool of heavy chain dropped onto the deck from the crane overhead. It landed right where I’d been standing.

“Shouldn’t I be wearing a hard hat?” I said. “I’m a bleeder.”

Hornsby appeared not to have heard what I said, nor did he seem to notice the fact that he’d just saved me from grave injury.

“She was taking a sabbatical,” he said. “From the shop. From Grosse Pointe. And from me. But she was coming back. She said so. I think she told the old man too.” He laughed. “I just don’t think he believed her.”

“What was she going to do on this . . . sabbatical?”

“I’ll tell you when we’re done,” he said, gesturing toward the water. I looked down, and the first log was ascending to the surface, like an ancient submarine finally coming to port.

“Stay out of the way,” he told me. No problem, Ahab.

The chain around the log was hooked to a winch, and Hornsby crossed the deck, released the chain from the winch, and Rollie, in the water, backed away from the log then disappeared.

Hornsby walked back to the crane’s control center, fired it up, and slowly maneuvered the big arm out over the water. He spread the clamping mechanism open, brought it down on top of the log, closed it, and hoisted the three-ton, four-hundred-year-old log onto the surface of the barge.

It lay there, still, like a harpooned whale. It was dark brown with a tinge of green on it. Hard to believe beautiful wood could come from that.