The First Step, page 3
Chapter Four
“MR. BAR—Reed?” Greg poked his head into the waiting room, looking flustered and more than a little embarrassed. “I’m really sorry about Justin. He’ll be fine once he’s had a good night’s sleep. It’s been busy and he’s been up the past three nights.”
Reed doubted a good night’s sleep would make Justin into a talker, but he’d find a way to get the guy to give him the interview. “Don’t apologize,” he said. “Lots of people look at me crossways. Besides, I’m the one who screwed up yesterday, not him.”
Greg nodded. “He knows that. I think it just gave him a scare is all. Something like that could cost a pilot his license.”
“Really?”
“Yes. It’s a pilot’s job to keep everyone safe. That includes folks who aren’t paying attention.”
Shit. No wonder he nearly strangled me. “I didn’t realize that. I’m sorry I caused him so much trouble.” Reed really felt bad now.
“Justin’s a good guy and a great pilot. He’ll get over it. But if he doesn’t cooperate, let me know.” He winked and added, “I’m the one who approves all the schedules around here.” He waved and went back into his office.
Reed looked around. The dispatcher, who’d introduced himself as Ed when Reed had first come in, smiled at him. “Justin’s a little rough around the edges,” he said, “but he’s a damn good pilot.”
“Good to know. Ed, right?”
Ed nodded. “That’s me.”
“Mind if I ask you a few questions?”
“Me?” Ed clearly hadn’t expected Reed to take any interest in him.
“Yes, you.” Reed smiled reassuringly. If he couldn’t interview Justin, at least he’d make some headway on the background for the piece.
“’Course.” Ed sat a little straighter. “Not like there’s much to tell, though.”
“How long’ve you been working here?” Reed pulled out his notebook.
“I started back in 2009. Used to be up in Morehead City.”
“Why did you come here?”
“Wife’s family’s near Calabash. When her daddy died, she wanted to move closer to her mom. We got a place outside town and a little land.” He grinned and added, “Got me a sweet little center-console powerboat out of the deal. When I’m not working, me and her go fishin’.”
“Sounds like a good trade. I’ve heard the fishing’s good out this way.” He’d done enough research on the GenX story to know that the area around Southport was a hot spot for sport fishermen as well as commercial industry.
“You bet. Caught me a beauty of a king mackerel a few weeks back. Nearly sixty pounds.”
“I’d love to try ocean fishing while I’m down here.” Reed wasn’t making that part up, even if it was unlikely he’d have time to spend a day on the water.
“Smart man.” Ed smirked.
At that moment the front door to the pilot building opened and a woman walked in. She eyed him with interest, then leaned on Ed’s desk and said, “You the reporter?”
“That would be me.” Reed flashed her his usual smile, which she entirely ignored.
“Greg says we’re supposed to help you out. I heard you’re gonna be following Justin around while you’re here.” She snorted. “Bet he’s lovin’ that.”
“Reed Barfield.” He held out his hand.
“Kerry Ridgeway.” She shook his hand with surprising strength, considering she looked to be all of five feet and a few inches and barely a hundred pounds.
Reed scribbled her name in his notebook. “You know Justin, I take it.”
“Sure. Most of us do.”
“Sounds like you know him better than most,” Reed pressed.
She shrugged. “My boys watch his dog when he’s on shift. He’s pretty new to the business, but he’s as good as they come.”
“How new is that?”
“Been with us about eight years now. Apprenticed the first few, ’course. Marty Gaines recommended him.” She snagged a piece of candy from a bowl on Ed’s desk and unwrapped it.
“No small feat,” Ed put in, “getting Marty’s recommendation. I hear they go way back.”
“Justin spent a few years workin’ on a container ship. Marty was the ship’s master,” Kerry said. “Justin sailed a few more years after Marty retired.”
Reed scribbled a few notes. “This Marty—Gaines, you said? He from around here?”
“He lives in Wilmington,” Ed said. “He’s—”
“I gotta be goin’.” Kerry smiled, but Reed had the definite impression that she’d made up her mind that they’d said enough about Justin and Marty and that anything left to be said was up to Justin himself. Sometimes what’s left unsaid is as important as what’s spoken aloud.
She waved and walked out the front door without saying goodbye.
“Good meeting you,” Reed said as the door closed. He wrote a few more thoughts in his notebook, then turned back to Ed. “So what were you going to say about Marty Gaines?”
“Nothin’ much. Just that he’s been a mentor, but these days he ain’t doing real good.” Ed pulled a lunchbox out of his desk. “Hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” Reed was getting hungry too. “If I have any more questions, I’ll catch you later.” He’d pick up something to eat on his way back to Wilmington for his two-o’clock interview with a seafood distributor, and then he’d head over to the local BeaconCorp affiliate, a small-town paper named the Wilmington River Watch.
“Sounds good.” Ed unwrapped a sandwich and began to eat.
Reed glanced at his watch. If he got the interview done quickly, he’d have just enough time to stop by the Wilmington River Watch’s offices before they closed. He’d hit Justin up for the interview the next morning. That’d give him time to get something written on the GenX story and still grab dinner in town.
Chapter Five
THE WILMINGTON River Watch’s offices were located around the back of an old storefront on Market Street in downtown Wilmington. The place was so small, Reed circled the block three times before he saw the tiny sign etched on the glass door. Inside, however, the place had character. The weathered wood floors that creaked as you walked on them, painted tin ceilings, and the exposed brick all reminded him a bit of his loft apartment.
He climbed the steep wooden steps to the second floor and glanced around the narrow corridor with offices on either side. Loretta Lynn’s “Stand by Your Man” blared from the office at the end. “Hello?”
No one answered.
“Hello?”
The music abruptly stopped and a man poked his head out of the door. His salt-and-pepper hair was cut short to reveal a single silver stud in one ear, and he wore a pair of teal-rimmed glasses that echoed the blue of his eyes. His beard was neatly trimmed, with a dusting of silver. “Who’re you?” he demanded.
Reed flashed him a smile. “Reed Barfield.”
He frowned and raised an eyebrow. “That’s helpful.” He disappeared into the office again.
Reed waited a minute, then another, but he didn’t come out again. Finally he drew a long breath and knocked on the door.
“I’m not interested,” the man said without looking up. His desk was piled so high with papers and books that he was barely visible behind his computer screen. Up close, he looked younger than Reed originally thought. Mid-to-late thirties.
“I’m not selling anything.” Reed pulled a business card out of his jacket pocket and handed it to him.
“Oh.”
Another talker. He peered around the monitor. “You knew I was coming, right?”
“Right.”
Reed scratched the back of his neck. Getting pushed into ice-cream cakes was looking better by the moment. At least those assholes engaged in conversation when they blew you off. “I don’t need much,” he said, doing his best not to come off as irritated as he was. “Names and phone numbers. A place to put my laptop and internet access. I’m sure your admin can set me up—”
“You’re looking at him.” He stood and held out his hand. “Zachary Caldwell. Everyone calls me Zach.”
Reed shook Zach’s hand. “Admin? I thought you were the paper’s editor.”
“Editor, admin, master of all you see.” Zach chuckled and motioned to the seat in front of his desk, which was also covered with papers. “I pretty much live here. These days, weekends too.”
Reed picked up the papers and set them on the only somewhat free space on Zach’s desk and sat.
“You were clearly expecting more.” From Zach’s tone, Reed could guess what he was thinking. And he was right. He had been expecting a warmer reception and someone to help him locate people to interview for his story.
Honesty usually worked best in these situations. “Yes.”
Zach laughed outright. “Fair enough.” He glanced down at Reed’s card, then up again. “You don’t look like the type who covers lifestyle stories.”
“Political beat. Let’s just say I’m on hiatus.”
“I would have punched the asshole too.” Zach grinned.
“How much do you know?” First impressions aside, Reed was quickly warming up to the guy.
“I’m a reporter—at least I used to be. I do my research.” He pointed to a nearby table. “Coffee? I’m sure it’s not as rarified as what you’ve got in Manhattan, but it’s good. Cream’s in the fridge underneath.”
“Nespresso? Not bad.”
“It’s cheaper than the place downstairs. Unlike you, we don’t exactly get paid the big bucks.”
Reed turned on the machine and popped one of the capsules inside, then sighed as he inhaled the heady scent of espresso. “You’re not from here, are you?” he asked.
“I’m not.” Zach waited, and Reed realized he wanted him to guess.
“Hmmm.” He lifted the cup from beneath the nozzle and sat facing Zach again. “Northeast, definitely. Not New York. Not Boston either. Maybe Jersey?”
“I owe you another cup.” A smile lit his face. “New Brunswick, New Jersey. Born and raised.”
“And yet you’re here.” Reed loosened his tie and leaned back in the chair.
“You might have a hard time believing this,” Zach replied, “but that’s by choice.” He gestured around the room. “I’m sure you’re jealous of the opulence.”
“Entirely.”
“I spent thirteen years in the business. Television mostly. Five years with BeaconCorp’s predecessor.” Zach tilted his head to one side and propped his chin on several long fingers.
“Downsized in the merger?”
“Nope. I meant it when I said it was by choice. I was tired of living in the city. Burned out. I saw an internal posting for a bureau chief in Wilmington. The cost of living was so much lower here, the salary cut just wasn’t that bad. Plus the beach makes it all worth it.”
“But it’s just you running the place.” Reed set his cup on the floor and studied Zach. “Sounds like a lot of work.”
“My reporter quit last month to take a job in Raleigh, and my admin’s on maternity leave until November.” Zach shrugged. “I’m handling it.”
Reed eyed the coffee machine longingly, then decided against a refill. With the Mountain Dew he’d downed on the drive from Southport and the Diet Coke he’d had with lunch, if he drank another cup, he’d be bouncing off the walls.
“So what can I do to help?” Zach asked. “Other than plying you with coffee.”
“I need a place to work. Internet. Phone.” He’d figure out the rest. He’d spent a few years working his way up through the ranks without someone to do the grunt work, and he had plenty of time on his hands.
“That’s easy. You can take the office next door to mine.” Zach opened his desk drawer and fished around for a few minutes, then handed him a crumpled piece of paper. “Here. That’s the password for the Wi-Fi. Just give that back when you’re done.”
“Sure.” Reed picked up his empty paper cup and stood. “Thanks.”
“You might want this too.” Zach handed him a manila folder and offered him a cockeyed smirk.
Reed tossed the paper cup into the wastebasket and opened the folder. Inside were several news articles about the Cape Fear River pilots, as well as a typed list of names of people and their positions. So Cal told him about the pilot story. That meant Cal was sold on it. He grinned and made a mental note to shoot Cal a text and thank him. “I like you,” Reed said with a laugh.
“Happy to hear it.” Zach pointed to the door. “Now get the hell out of my hair so I can get some work done. My deadline to get the paper to the printer is close of business tomorrow. I can’t be bothered.” He made a shooing gesture with his hand, but his smile was as big as ever.
“Yes, sir.” Reed headed for the door. “And thanks.”
Chapter Six
JUSTIN MADE it back to the Southport docks just after nine on Friday morning, having sailed another container ship from Wilmington out to the pilot transfer station around four thirty that morning. Charlie was on dispatch, but not much was happening. A fruit juice tanker from Brazil was scheduled to arrive early afternoon, so he figured he’d hang out at HQ and enjoy a few hours of quiet before meeting the boat at the pilot station.
Justin grabbed a book and a beach chair from his truck. At nine thirty, it was already eighty degrees, and the forecast called for a high of eighty-nine. A perfect day to make some reading progress. As nice as it was, he’d already decided to grab a sandwich and eat lunch outside before heading back to the docks.
“Charlie said you might be here.” The reporter—Reed—smiled down at him from the first level of the watchtower next to HQ. He looked good. Better, even, than the day before. Not that the suit he’d worn the day before hadn’t looked good, but the T-shirt and shorts made him appear approachable. Comfortable. Cute, even.
Don’t go there. Remember, he’s a pain in the ass. Not to mention Justin never mixed work and pleasure.
“Remind me to thank him.” Justin sighed and closed his book.
“You weren’t expecting me,” Reed said as he sat on the sandy riverbank next to Justin.
“Stating the obvious.” Justin lifted his book. “I was hoping to get a few chapters read before my shift ends.” Clearly not going to happen.
“How many days do you work when you’re on call?” Reed reached into the backpack he’d been carrying and pulled out a small notebook. The black leather cover was dog-eared and reminded Justin of the notepad his grandmother had kept by the telephone when he was a kid. He caught the shimmer of gold letters, R. R. Z., before Reed opened it. Not Reed’s initials, unless he went by another name.
“One week on, one week off.”
“Where do you stay when you’re on call?”
“My place.” And I should have stayed there. It would have been a lot quieter.
“Really? I’d have figured you’d stay at the pilot building.”
Justin didn’t respond—Reed already had his answer, didn’t he?
Reed didn’t miss a beat. “So how many pilots are on call at any given time?”
“Four.”
Reed scribbled for a minute or so, then looked up again. “You’re going to make me work for this, aren’t you?”
Justin shrugged. Damn straight I am.
“I don’t mind. I’m used to dealing with people like you.” This last statement was clearly meant to get a rise out of Justin, because Reed smiled once again and waited patiently for him to respond.
Justin pretended he hadn’t heard. Two can play at that game.
In the distance, the Bald Head Island Ferry made its way toward Southport. A sailboat headed for the ocean entered the Cape Fear Inlet. Justin closed his eyes and imagined he was on the sailboat. On such a perfect day, with the main and jib, he’d probably be making a good ten knots right about—
Justin’s phone buzzed—Charlie texting him that the juice tanker had been making good time and would arrive at the transfer point in about two hours. “Gotta go.” He stuck the paperback under his arm and folded the chair.
“Already?”
“Boat’s coming in. I’m working, remember?” Justin walked back to HQ. Reed’s sharp inhalation over his shoulder made him smile.
JUSTIN HONESTLY hoped Reed wouldn’t be waiting for him when he checked back in, but there he was, seated in one of the chairs in the front office, reading something on his phone. “Oh good. You’re back. I was hoping we’d have time to talk a little before dinner.”
“Talk?” Justin rubbed the back of his neck. The muscles there were tenser than before.
“So you’ve got a little time?” Reed persisted.
“Justin’s shift is officially over,” Charlie chimed in uninvited.
Justin glanced at his watch—4:37 p.m. Too early to pretend he needed to get some food. “Sure.” He glared at Charlie, who grinned back at him. “We can talk in the break room.”
Justin gestured Reed down the hall. Reed smiled again—the guy knew how to work it, Justin would give him that—then got to his feet and walked across the room. Even if Reed was a pain in the ass, he also had a very nice ass.
Reed sat on the couch near the window and crossed his legs, then waited patiently until Justin took a seat across from him. Justin felt suddenly awkward in his wrinkled work pants and shirt. In a different context, he’d want a man like Reed to notice him and like what he saw. “Mr. Barfield,” he began, “I—”
“Reed.”
“Mr. Barfield,” he repeated, “I’m doing this because I was told to. Let’s get it done so I can start enjoying my week off.”
Irritation flickered on Reed’s handsome face, but he remained cordial. “Of course. I appreciate that. I know you’re a busy man.”
Justin could work with that. And if they got this done quickly, he might even be able to grab a drink at Craven’s before heading home for dinner. “What do you want to know?”
“How long have you been a pilot?”
“Eight years.” Five of which had been as an apprentice, but Justin wasn’t going to do anything more than answer Reed’s questions.
