Chase and the Buttermilk Sky

Suddenly she blurts out, “Did you hear about the murder?” “Just that a woman was found dead in the surf this morning. Did you know her?” I ask. “No, not really. The boat that she was on is docked alongside Bernie’s. I saw her sunbathing on the deck a few times. It’s a strange feeling to see someone alive and then suddenly hear that she was pulled from the water. There’s so much talk. I can’t seem to get her off my mind. I have a …” she glances toward her friends, turns back to me and continues, “I just have a bad feeling about it. I didn’t want to come out tonight, but I had to come along with the crowd. It’s very difficult to say ‘no’ sometimes.” “I suppose,” I say. I wait to see if she will elaborate. The music stops and we move to a table. I wait until she is seated, move a chair around beside her, sit, and she does—elaborate, I mean. “Bernie doesn’t take ‘no’ very well.” She glances over her shoulder at the table where Bernie and his friends sit. I know which one is Bernie. He never takes his eyes off her. He’s medium height, possibly five-eight, and medium build. He has yellow curly hair and pale white skin. I wonder how he can be so white and live on a yacht. Teenage acne left him with a scarred face. Adrian continues, “I need to get away from him, but I don’t know anyone on the island. Can you help me?” “Wait a minute. I don’t think I want to get involved between you and your boyfriend. He doesn’t look like a pleasant chap to me.” In spite of my negative reply I know, instinctively that I will help her. I’m a sucker for a damsel in distress.