Memories

It was the two-buzz sequence that indicated the cove, and I peered down from my cramped perch on the deck to see who my visitor was. I recognized the boat at once. It was Sam Dexter, my nearest neighbor.

I got up slowly, stretching out to uncramp my muscles, and rubbed my hands over my knees to help press out the small grooves that the deck boards had left behind.

I went inside, passed through the kitchen, and grabbed a couple of Killians out of the fridge. It was still a little early, I knew, but I told myself I had earned one.

By the time I got back out Dexter was already clambering out and tying up to the dock situated in the middle of Sunset’s small beach.

I had to shake my head and smile whenever I saw him. He had an awkward frame, (big, but gawky), with bright red, unruly hair that usually sprouted out erratically in every direction. To look at him you’d take him for a throwback to the days of hippies, or maybe just a displaced tourist. It was only when he started talking that you sensed that he was much more...and he was.

Sam Dexter was one of the ten wealthiest men in the world. He was a philanthropist who ran quite a diverse empire designed, for the most part, to help better this complicated, and often forlorn, world we lived in.

He owned the two islands closest to Sunset, and I saw him often. We had become good friends after I had helped him out of a pretty tight jam a little more than a year before. Since that time I had even worked on a couple of small cases for him as an independent consultant.

As he moved up the rock steps leading up from the cove, taking two or more at a time, I noticed the papers clutched in his left hand. Probably another job he wanted me to tackle.

As he reached me, a little out of breath, I handed him one of the Killians, twisting off the cap as I did so. I took a sip of my own and felt the coldness seep down into my body, producing beads of sweat on my forehead and along my back.

I nodded toward the papers with a smile and kidded him jestfully.

“Not another assignment?”

He glanced down to his hand, seemingly absentmindedly, and answered woodenly, without his usual open, friendly smile.

“Not quite, I’m afraid.”

Before I could pursue the subject further, he stepped past me, up to the edge of my staining, inspecting my work.

“Looks good,” he said.

“Yeah. It needed it. Some spots were so bad that this first coat seemed like three or four coats.”

“ How many coats do you put on?”

“I was putting on this primary coat pretty liberally. Then I’ll wait till it dries a little and touch up whatever spots need it. Then wait a day or so and put on the outside coat with the stuff I’ve got just inside the door.”

“What happens if you have to wait more than a day or so before putting on the outside coat?”

He asked it slowly, carefully, not looking up into my eyes, which was unusual for Sam Dexter.

“Nothing,” I answered cautiously. “As long as we don’t get a lot of rain in between. Why? What’s up? You got an emergency or something you want me to look at?”

“Not exactly.”

He did look up then, into my eyes, and I saw sadness there.

“I’m not sure how to tell you this,” he said. “You know how I’m a computer nut, right?”

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