"You know, Laura, by almost anyone's definition this might be construed as a romantic setting, fraught with wonderful possibilities...."
The sounds of gently rolling waves, anchor chains clinking musically, muted dock lights and twinkling stars, along with sweet sea breezes combined with the slight rocking motion of the boat to lull the pair of detectives into a state of perfect contentment. Steele and Laura sat shoulder to shoulder on the fly bridge of a fifty-two foot Grand Banks cruiser in the harbor of the Reef Yacht Club. They were alone in the quiet, moonless early morning hours, facing opposite directions, ostensibly in order to see the yachts to either side of them, Laura's lips tantalizingly close to Steele's.
"We're working, Mr. Steele, remember?" Laura cautioned, even as she allowed Steele to briefly silence her with a soft, slow kiss. "We need to keep our eyes open, and our thoughts focused."
"I'm doing both, Miss Holt." Steele grinned lazily as he ran one long finger gently along the curve of Laura's cheek, his thumb cradling her chin.
"We need to watch for thieves...or vandals... boarding yachts that don't belong to them...and absconding with electronics... and engine parts ...that render the boats... unusable." Laura's words were punctuated by the light kisses Steele placed on her eyes, her nose, her cheeks and her lips.
"We're always watching for someone, or something Miss Holt." Steele murmured softly as he gazed fondly into Laura's dark eyes.
Laura seemed to be staring hard at something in a slip several boats down from them. "I felt SO bad for Fred yesterday when we arrived at the salvage yard to find the limo stripped of its tires, radio and, well everything. It was as if vultures had descended on carrion."
Steele sighed and reluctantly pulled his hand away from Laura's face. "He WAS rather upset. I thought you were extremely understanding, Laura. Allowing Fred to install the replacement parts himself will go a long way towards making him feel better about the whole incident."
"It was so important to him to make things right. I really wasn't angry that he'd driven the limo there. By all rights, it should have been a 30 minute stop on his way home from work. How was anyone to guess he'd spend the night there, unconscious on the floor?" Laura turned back to Steele, a frown creasing her forehead. "I haven't come up with anything to explain a murder either. Even assuming there are literally hundreds of wrecks in the junkyard, there isn't anything on ANY of them worth more than about twenty-five dollars. Doesn't seem to justify killing a man."
"Money isn't behind every crime, Laura. What about crimes of passion?"
Laura looked a little bemused. "According to the police sergeant, the man killed was a frequent consumer of some of California's less notable vintages, hadn't bathed in weeks, and was missing a number of his teeth. Not exactly the likely focus of a crime of passion."
"Are you telling me Laura that in some forty odd years I'd better have all my teeth and an acceptable hygienic routine?"
"You may be on the right track, Mr. Steele. None of the thefts here at Reef Yacht Club are particularly costly. The goal seems to be more one of aggravating boat owners, leaving them unable to get out on the ocean when they arrive ready for an afternoon's outing, and putting Mr. Carlson and his staff in the position of appearing to be lax in their care of the yachts Carlson is responsible for; humiliating him, discrediting his abilities. Perhaps something on the same order happened at the South Side Salvage Yard!"
"Laauurra, there's absolutely nothing similar...."
"Come on, Mr. Steele. The sun's coming up. Let's regroup at noon at the agency. I need to make some phone calls. I think we can safely say nothing has happened here tonight. "
"Not for lack of trying." Steele muttered as he stood to follow Laura off the fly bridge.