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Compared to her lighter and more skittish sisters, Love Boat II seemed settled and even sedate. Her weight rather than her bulk made her less susceptible to the lift and fall of the small swells, and Peter felt a sense of pride as he pointed her out to his companion. "There's a real lady," he said.
Mar nodded. "I told you I didn't know much about boats, and I don't. But even I can tell that boat is something special. Do you own her?"
"I'm the skipper and a part owner," Peter said. "Let's go aboard. You can just step across there, where the gate is open."
Peter watched Mar step across the gap to the boat's toe rail. Then he turned his attention to her docklines, especially her spring lines, since they prevented her from surging in the backwash. All seemed well, so he stepped aboard.
Peter was surprised when he saw that the companionway hatch was open. I must have forgotten to lock it last evening, he thought.
"Let me jump down below and put this stuff away," Peter said, "and then we can sit in the shade, and I'll tell you my life story. All 53 years of it," he added, putting heavy emphasis on `53 years' as he spoke.
"Touché," she murmured.
Peter stepped down the companionway ladder and started to set his bag on the galley drainboard, when Anne said petulantly, "It's about goddamn time you showed up!"
Startled, Peter peered into the gloom. Anne was sitting on the edge of the forward bunk, holding a dainty chrome plated automatic pistol, aimed directly at his stomach!
(to be continued)
