Colt Crawford - Chapter 10 (Monday)

Colt and Krissy got out of the BMW. They had only known each other for a couple of days, but Colt was starting to feel as if he had known her his whole life. When he was with Krissy, Colt found himself at ease, comfortable. There was no awkwardness about their relationship. Perhaps that was because it was simply a professional, working relationship and the baggage that accompanies romance was only a distant thought. Despite this, there was one lingering question that had to be answered before he could see their relationship moving anywhere beyond its present state. He would wait for the time to be right, but he knew it was a question he would eventually have to ask.

Colt clutched the plastic bag with the styrofoam containers of beef and broccoli and orange chicken as loose chow mien noodles tried to make a last minute escape from the over-stuffed box. Krissy took care of the drinks and they headed across the lot toward The Yachtery. About 50 yards from the front door was a small picnic table with an umbrella. It would have made for a perfect spot to quietly watch Mathis, but it was directly in the line of sight of his front window. If Mathis were to look out, he could easily see them sitting there. “We need to find a place more discreet than this,” Colt suggested. He glanced around the harbor and his eyes fixated on something near the docks. “Just go with me on this.” Krissy instantly grew nervous, not sure what he was about to do. Regardless, she hesitantly agreed to play Colt’s game. He hadn’t led her astray yet.

A middle-aged man with wispy gray hair, faded blue jeans, and a red windbreaker stepped off a large boat and walked up the ramp from the docks. He opened a gate right in front of Colt and started to walk through. “Excuse me,” Colt began with a sheepish grin. “My wife and I are on our honeymoon.” The words just poured out and, as they did, Colt hoped the man wouldn’t notice a lack of rings on their fingers. Using as much blushing and charm as he could muster, Colt Crawford somehow managed to convince the man to let them eat their lunch on the bridge of a timeless 1972 42 foot Grand Banks Classic.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” Krissy said twirling a pile of chow mien with her chopsticks.

“Hey, it’s a perfect view to Mathis’ office from here and he’ll never suspect a thing. How’s the chicken?”

“Cholesterol ridden and heavenly. Such a curse.” From the top deck of the wooden sided motor yacht, Colt and Krissy could see the entire harbor. They were in the fourth slip on the right side of the dock about a hundred feet from the front door of The Yachtery. As a matter of fact, a sleek 35 foot sailboat two slips down had a for sale sign on it’s bow listing The Yachtery as the broker.

In order to allow both detectives to keep watch on the office, they sat side by side on a bench along the starboard side of the spacious vessel. Given the need to keep a constant eye on the target, the conversation was sparse and mostly focused on business. The time wasn’t right for Colt to ask his lingering question. It was too soon to get that personal.