The Storm (NUMA Files 10)

“Exactly.”

Kurt left the kiosk. And then he, Joe, and the Trouts went aboard the catamaran.

“What a mess,” Gamay said, hands on her hips.

That it was. Fire had charred and blackened half the boat, melting the fiberglass near the aft, where it must have burned the hottest. Equipment and supplies were strewn everywhere.

“What are we looking for?” Paul asked.

“Anything that tells us what might have happened,” Kurt replied. “Was it an accident or foul play? Were they having continuous problems or did something suddenly go wrong?”

“I’ll find the logbook and the GPS unit,” Paul said.

“I’ll check the cabins,” Gamay said.

Joe moved to the driver’s seat. He flicked a few switches. Nothing happened. “Power’s out.”

Kurt glanced around. The catamaran had two solar panels on the roof, which seemed to be intact. In addition, a small windmill high in the mast was spinning freely. The system should have had juice even if there was no one around to use it.

“Check the cables,” he said.

Joe climbed on the cabin’s roof and found the problem. “Burned through up here,” he said. “I think I can splice it.”

As Joe went to work, Kurt began poking around near the life-raft canisters. Not only hadn’t they been deployed but the casings hadn’t even been unlatched.

“Any sign of water below?” he shouted, thinking maybe a rogue wave had hit them and taken them overboard, though that wouldn’t explain the fire.

“No,” Gamay shouted back. “Dry as dust down here.”

Kurt crouched down to examine the marks left by the fire. The residue was odd and thick, more like sludge than soot.

The boat had an auxiliary engine for use in emergencies or when there was no wind; it lay below deck near the aft. He lifted the deck cover to get a look at it.

“No sign of fire in the engine bay,” he said, holding the cowling open and glancing over the top of it.

The Polynesian brunette had moved closer to them, standing on the main walk beside a small tree near the edge of the dock. She held a phone oddly as if she was taking pictures of the catamaran with it.

Was she a reporter?

Somehow, this mess didn’t strike Kurt as

newsworthy unless this woman knew something he didn’t at this point.

Gamay returned from below.

“Anything?” Kurt asked.

She held out a handful of items. “Thalia’s journal,” she said. “Some of Halverson’s notes. A laptop.”

“Anything out of the ordinary?”

“Nothing major, but the table in the main cabin is broken. And there are dishes and plates smashed in there as well. But the cupboards are latched, so I’m assuming what’s broken was out and probably in use at the time. Also, the bulk food in the pantry is gone, everything except the canned goods.”

For a second Gamay’s words sparked some hope inside Kurt. If a situation had put the catamaran’s crew in survival mode, food would be a priority, but they wouldn’t have left the canned goods behind. More likely, that’s all they would have taken.

Paul made his way back from the bow. He had the GPS unit and the sampling tools. “Nothing out of the ordinary up front, except a deck hose left in the on position.”

“Maybe they used it to fight the fire,” Gamay said.