Ellie: First Mate

By Lois Richman

About the Author:

Lois Richman is now a full-time writer of mysteries surrounding the heart, family life, and other intimate relationships that lead to murder. Currently residing

• Language: English
• Publisher: Writers Branding LLC
• Release date: Dec 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9781639453313

Lois Richman

LOIS RICHMAN left Palm Beach, Florida and went directly to Hollywood, California right after graduation from high school where she was hired as a columnist and west coast editor for various fan magazines. She also wrote articles for national women's magazines before she finished her formal education at Cal State Northridge, earning a B.A. in English Literature. Teaching for the L.A. Unified School District, she taught in gang schools (the basis for her soon-to-be completed third novel in the Paulette Marshall Mystery Series, entitled L.A. Interlude.) Her year in Key West "to do my Ernest Hemingway thing" resulted in a novel entitled "Wanted First Mate" and the first draft for the trilogy, "Key West Interlude" (both available on Amazon.com.) Returning to Florida, she earned her Master's Degree at F.A.U. As a professor at the college level for Keiser University, she established their ESL Department for the West Palm Beach campus where her students learned English and American skills. Her students were from such countries as China, South Korea, Europe, and South America. A serious interest in human nature and its journeys, her books capture the essence of today's society as told through her characters. The travails of Paulette Marshall help the reader escape into her fast-paced, page-turning and intimate style, giving a good read that will make a reader laugh or cry while becoming involved and excited by their ongoing problems and resolutions. She is a swimmer; she gardens, reads, and loves to bring her two rescues, Foxie and Pearlie, along wherever she may go. She is also a collector of movie memorabilia including a "Gone with the Wind" poster board, Disney art, and various dress sketches from "Suddenly Last Summer", "Raintree County," and "Boys Town". She currently resides in Florida.

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Dedication Page

Dedicated to: Dr. David H. Doc Richman, my daughter June Richman Chastain, and friends Fredda Dudley Balling, and Sonia Wolfson for all their encouragements back in the day and to Terry Hudson for currently teaching me endurance.

Chapter One

Boat Babes In The Caribbean

Being in love isn’t supposed to end up like this , Ellie Johnson Livingston thought. When she married Brent L. Livingston III she wanted to live happily ever after, so long as they both shall live.

Her head was throbbing and she was sure the moisture coming from her scalp was her blood. She and husband, Brent L Livingston III, were playing a game of hide and seek when the announcement came from the CB lady that a Category 4 hurricane was headed straight for them.

Where was her husband? He said he loved me, promised to always take care of me. Now this, Ellie thought. He knew what her life had been like before they married; how insecure she became when they were on the water. He was inside the cabin, safe and dry, intentionally leaving her outside on deck tied to the mast of The Meridian, their fifty-eight foot yacht.

Oh sure, over the years there were episodes of too much alcohol on his part and too many pills on hers. With fake struggles before sex, more on the yacht than on land, along with small outbursts, criticisms and moodiness all of which she overlooked. That’s what keeps a marriage going. Right?

That was their pattern until the night of the Category 4 hurricane coming straight at them. The day had started out in the usual way. She was the chirping bird and he had a hangover. When the news came over the system from the CB lady saying they were to find a designated hurricane hold at one of the smaller outer islands where the boat would be safe or they must head for shore and a yacht basin in Miami as quickly as possible. Brent did not listen: Not to the CB lady, not to what he actually saw in front of him knowing within hours this storm was going to wrap around their yacht, killing them both,—and not to Ellie.

Before the turmoil broke loose with high winds and waves, they must take down the sails and travel as fast as they could by motor. I’m going inside to check the charts, Brent said, pulling a yellow slicker out of one of the storage bins near the entrance to the inside cabin. You wait out here. Bring in the lawn chairs, take in the awning, and tie down the two hatches. The chains are at their sides.

Ellie was in shock. Her husband was not paying attention to her fears of separation which occurred even during the smallest of storms, let alone a hurricane. The rain pelted down like chunks of ice upon her naked body and with no towel or other covering in sight and no shoes, she was slipping and sliding as she tried to work.

When he returned she did not have enough time to do everything he’d asked of her and he was spitting mad. And drunk.

Ellie laughed when Brent slipped and had to pick himself up. She shouldn’t have done that. When she saw his face, she knew she was in real trouble. Naked, wet and vulnerable, even so, she was able to pull away from his grasp.

Bitch, he spat at her. He reached for her again and just missed her, falling down. She laughed again. Laughed when she looked down and he couldn’t get it up.

Brent’s anger burst forth, his eyes and body turning to steel: A guarantee this time he would not fail. He forced her to get the ropes and cuffs out of storage. While he worked, he was beyond reason and she was beyond escape. He was going to tie her to the mast, have his way with her and then he was going inside for protection against Nature’s wrath.

Finished with her, he pulled out the hose, turned it on and said, "who wins this time?’

As the winds began to circle, the sheets of rain poured onto the deck. The rope tied around her breasts was leaving red marks, the rest of her body beaten and bruised, leaving Ellie nearly unconscious and surely beyond herself.

How did she ever get into this much trouble? Thinking again, she realized life does not always go the way one plans. She learned this lesson at a very early age that life does not always go the way one plans but unlike those who teach—even preach— about remaining as accepting and flexible as water no matter what crosses one’s path, Ellie decided to leave her secrets and her past behind by visiting and then moving to the Caribbean where life is as good as it gets and she would finally be free.

The Caribbean Islands offer such peace and beauty they take the pressures off the youthful decade of the twenties. The sounds and rhythm of the ocean and its colors of multiple shades of blues and greens inspire lovers and painters to dwell in this place where time somehow just floats away.

The four-month winter boating season was about to begin when the rich, eligible bachelors arrive in their majestic toys, ready to party. Ellie, who worked for Stan at Stan’s Place during the off-season, was happy to have her best friend Allison Morrison return from another semester at teachers’ college where she was taking classes in case her Plan A of finding a millionaire husband of her own did not pan out.

This is my last season. I’m determined to meet an almost boring, predictable, and faithful man with or without money. Who really cares about all of this? Allison told Ellie. In fact, I want a plain, ordinary guy. One who wants to father and then help me raise a couple of kids. Three kids. How about that? Actually, it’s been my ambition ever since my early college days. How long ago was that? My God, six years! Five of them I’ve lived in a bikini. That means we’re twenty-eight! How did that happen?

Today, Ellie and Allison are aboard The Revenge, a one hundred and twenty-five-foot tri-decker Westport, two of the many guests sunbathing on the top deck. A light breeze gently encircles their bodies as the clear, undisturbed waters below are filled with fish swimming by and heading for warmer territory—the weather and scenery far more impressive than all the travel brochures and screen savers combined. In between these friendly jaunts, the girls share an apartment on the one and only block on The Island. I can’t believe you’re still staring at that catamaran, Allison said as she and Ellie relaxed in white lounge chairs gathering up some rays. She’s way less impressive than this one.

Combing through the past is all, Ellie said in that far away tone of hers.

Ellie and Allison knew each other about as well as any nonnative islanders can, their former personal lives remaining on the mainland as they drank and socialized with fellow travelers who sometimes go so far as to forget when their time in paradise is supposed to end. Many exchange their tickets. Some catch island fever and never return home.

I’m not staring. I’m merely wondering if the guys on that other boat are younger and richer. Maybe even better looking, Ellie commented.

Now I know you’re joking, Allison chuckled, reaching for her tube of SPF 45.

Every islander has a story attached to somewhere else and while Ellie knew Allison’s entire history, no one, including Stan, Ellie’s second-best friend, knew that at eighteen Ellie had birthed a child.

Six months pregnant, Ellie said I do to Terrance, the father of her child, the service performed by a minister who kept checking his watch during the three minutes it took to give her life away.

Later stealing their two-year-old daughter, her husband ran away with another woman. Ellie’s adoptive parents spent thousands on attorneys and investigators, but ultimately Terrance slipped so far inside the fabric of America that their task became an impossible one.

Ellie and Terrance met when she was sixteen and Terrance was a first-year law student on scholarship at the University of Pennsylvania. Older and more sophisticated, he fascinated her with his visions of success and traveling.

I expect to see most of the world before I’m forty, he bragged.

The more he talked of his plans, the more Ellie believed she’d found her man: One who would provide for her; one who promised to take care of her.

I’ve always wanted my own family, Terrance insisted when Ellie gave him the exciting news. Let’s elope.

What about your promise to my parents to wait until I finish at least two years of college?

I’m just switching the order around. When we surprise them with their first grandchild, they’ll adjust, he persuaded his innocent, in-love eighteen- year-old bride.

It was near noon and Allison’s freckled face was set to burn while Ellie’s beautifully soft, smooth coloring was as evenly distributed as if she’d been inside a tanning salon. If the men could take their eyes off Ellie’s large, natural breasts, they’d comment on her beauty; her coloring attributed to good genes rather than to any outside precautions or enhancements. Running all the way down her back was a thick head of straight, dark-brown hair that swung loosely behind her as she strolled on by. Tall and lanky, her slinky walk was one with a model’s background. She even dressed like one, accenting her fabulous figure with wispy, colorful fabrics.

Truthfully? Ellie said. It’s time to go home. See Mom and Dad. Dad’s not been too well lately.

And the last time you thought about that? Allison asked.

You’re right, Ellie agreed as she returned from her thousand-mile stare.

High waves and other weather conditions aside, another reason for heading home was concern over how sick she’d been lately. Right now, her stomach felt like rusty, rotting copper, the result of far too many drinks and very little food. She could easily walk away from smokers and needles. However, she’d been dabbling in those little white pills, especially on those weekend cruises where such joy pills were made available. Nothing serious, mind you, all very casual and low profile.

Whenever Ellie began thinking like this, it was time to seriously do more than consider leaving paradise, it was time to go into action by dressing and acting like the rest of the world as though life’s true purpose was to hold down a real job with benefits, and as her adoptive mother puts it, wear a watch, open a bank account, and charge all kinds of purchases to improve your credit score. And, for heaven’s sake, please come home! Every year Ellie thought about it for about a minute and a half, and every year she put off making such a decision.

Like any gentleman yachtsman wishing to surround himself with interesting company, Captain Frank was following the unwritten law that states if a captain wants guests to remain aboard, he must offer good food, open his liquor cabinets filled with the finest wines, and provide the requisite South Beach beauties to gaze upon as they parade around in their bikinis or less, relaxed and blasé, the stronger, more sophisticated drugs offered to only a trusted few.

Aboard on this particular weekend jaunt were several presidents of various corporations and other flashy Florida businessmen from the Miami area, various entrepreneurs, and even a local congressman who arrived by helicopter in time for this morning’s brunch.

Earlier, Ellie had cased the crowd. Mentally clicking off the reasons why none of this season’s eligible men qualified, the most obvious ones were either that they were married, not rich enough, or not good looking enough.

This litany worked until Ellie was blind-sided by a man she truly believed would share all of life’s challenges with her as they strolled down life’s long and dusty trail. Todd Evers was handsome but poor, and while married, he’d told her divorce papers were in the works back in the States. Todd obviously had none of the attributes she was hoping for but from the moment they met she knew she had found her perfect match.

Two o’clock rolled around aboard The Revenge and the perfectly sunny, breezy weather became sweltering as the breezes made a dead stop and the sun stood stiller than granite. By four o’clock the heat index was next to unbearable—unusual beyond the beginning of October, and here it was the end of November. While keeping a steady eye on the too calm, too hot, too humid weather in case conditions should suddenly change into a low front and become hurricane force winds blowing in from Africa’s west coast, Ellie’s irritability and short temper was more about her inability to find a quiet corner for journaling than it was about this slowly growing realization about liking to look at pictures of the water rather than the actuality of riding on top of it.

We’re heading to Stan’s on The Island. This storm should blow over before morning, Captain Frank announced to everyone. Going about the cabin quietly reassuring his guests one by one, he did not tell them this new disturbance was expected to turn into a major Category 3 hurricane. Traveling at one hundred to one hundred and twenty-five miles per hour, meteorologists were predicting a direct hit to The Island during the early morning hours.

The irony of Mother Nature is never wasted on those who closely observe her tricks. Contrary to the calm, peaceful, breathtaking mornings, whenever these afternoon gusts arrive with threats of more stirrings it’s very possible that these shiny, powerful boats can suddenly turn into sticks of wood, their engines sinking below the surface, and their passengers drowning from the winds and the currents.

As the waves continued to toss the guests, the food, and the booze around, everyone’s fear of destruction, even death, was contained inside a calm exterior—all except the congressman’s. He was pacing back and forth informing all those within earshot how headlines would follow should he not be taken back to shore immediately.

I must charter a plane before morning, he insisted. Sorry, buddy. That’s impossible, said the captain. We’ll see about that when we get . . . where? Stan’s Place on The Island, the captain replied. Palm Beach?

No. Stan owns a little hut with a restaurant and bar. Some of these girls boarded from there. You’ll like it. Stan’s the friendly type. The food’s good too, and he has some strong booze. I’m also picking up the tab. What could be better?

If I hadn’t come in the first place, the congressman grumbled. By morning, the storm will pass. Then you can catch your plane.

That better be so, the congressman turned sharply away, returning to the middle of the crowd cramped into the main cabin, eating, laughing, and trying to make conversation.

These sudden changes this time of year are not unusual, Captain Frank said to the congressman’s back. Moving to the captain’s table, he began working on his charts, the threat of exposure to the press a real one. If his name and the name of his yacht ever became a statistic of the storm and it was published in the local papers, Captain Frank would be shot down for the rest of the season, the next, and probably the one after that.

You all right? Allison asked Ellie as she came back inside after throwing up overboard, the rain still clawing to get in.

I was feeding the fish, she replied, grateful when Allison handed her a cool, damp cloth for her face.

It’s those pills. I’m off them for good, Allison observed. No more and I mean it. You need to be saying the same thing. Maybe we should fly home with the congressman.

I’m fine, really. Some food and less booze will fix me up. What a good friend you are, Ellie added. I don’t know where I’d be if we weren’t friends.

Sometimes I feel more like your bodyguard, Allison said, letting loose with a chuckle.

I hope the right one for you is around the next corner. In fact, I know he is, Ellie said.

Wouldn’t it be wild if we met some new guys and danced all night? Had some real fun? Allison asked.

You don’t think we’re having fun now? Ellie asked. Tell me what single girl wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to change places with us?

Chapter Two

Ellie And Allison

When Ellie met Allison the summer after her own arrival, islanders and land lovers alike were still under the shadow of Hurricane Andrew, the storm that skirted the Keys, but destroyed Homestead, Florida, and neighboring communities. While the death toll was low, reconstruction costs ran into the millions, forcing families to settle elsewhere. Most never returned. For native islanders who lost everything as well, rebuilding was not all that difficult. They already lived in old, abandoned buildings and fishing shacks or between sheets hung on scraps of rope.

Do you think the captain will have us far enough south before this storm hits? Allison asked.

I haven’t a clue. Good thing we’re on the way to Stan’s, Ellie said. He won’t leave. His place is all he’s got.

Preparing for the mile or so ride in the dingy from The Revenge to Stan’s Place, there was a fine, light mist spraying down from the incoming, high- floating clouds. On the ride to shore, lightning and thunder were seen in the distance as the darkened rain clouds loomed overhead. Disembarking, a sudden torrential downpour caught them before they could climb out of the dingy and make it to the overhang of the enlarged hut.

Ellie couldn’t wait to see Stan. He offered her comfort and familiarity—a true representation of what a family should feel like. Both her real and adoptive parents were judgmental with high expectations, which they easily expressed, while Stan was warm and cushiony, observing everything while keeping his thoughts to himself.

Ellie once thought that listening without criticizing was what a barkeep did. As time passed and Stan remembered the majority of what she had told him, she began to trust him with certain sections of her story, but never all of it—the missing piece too difficult to share. Buried inside a broken heart and a darkened soul, it was about her teenage years and how she foolishly lost track of her baby. This part of her story and a full explanation she was saving for that special person whenever he arrived.

Allison graduated with a B.A. in Liberal Arts from the University of Miami in the summer of 1991. How specific was that for a college degree? At the time, her parents who married straight out of high school and had stayed together for thirty years, were divorcing. There went that illusion, since her mother and father were the only two people Allison knew who had remained married for longer than five years. Going their own ways, her father accepted a job offer in Phoenix, while her mother was heading for an ashram in India.

Tapes from her childhood were still lodged inside Allison’s head: When are you going to make something of your life? After all the money we’ve spent . . . Blah, blah, blah. Look for a job! Find a husband!

Eventually Allison was able to understand how her mother’s disappointments and frustrations had nothing to do with the abuse and guilt she placed on her daughter, but by then the damage had already been done. Tired of her father’s complacency and her mother’s constant bickering, Allison stormed out with very little money in her pocket and was filled with dreams of adventure. She caught a ride to The Island where she had vacationed during a semester break, hoping never to return to Miami. Unlike many women of her generation, Allison did not believe marriage was like one huge jump into the abyss, but in the meantime, why not have some fun and a little adventure?

The raised eyebrow of her mother was Allison’s only warning about the dangerous territory she was wandering into; and if her mother wanted to talk about danger, she was leaving her family and spending six months tuning out and turning onto some guru in India, whereas before if she went beyond an American hotel with all its amenities she would not go. Now there would be nothing but overpopulation, dust, and poverty.

They were caught in the pouring rain as The Revenge docked on The Island, Ellie and Allison, laughing and shouting, ran the entire length of the long, wooden dock to the hut calling, Stan! Stan! There you are! How are you? They leaned over the bar and give him a big bear hug.

I was worried, Stan said moodily, pulling away and looking them over from head to toe. Not their official protector, he always kept a sharp eye on their whereabouts. Continuing to wipe the bar top down with a wet white rag, he said, A storm is brewing and you two haven’t checked in for over a week.

Nothing to worry about, Captain Frank chimed in while wrapping an arm around each woman’s shoulder. These lovely ladies are being well taken care of, he winked at Stan.

The captain’s party took up the six booths at the far side of the bar facing a small dance floor which was already filled with patrons on a long holiday weekend, the native band expected to play old pop tunes and reggae until the early- morning hours.

Stan served a full round of drinks in silence to Captain Frank’s tables, holding a strong reserve against Captain Frank’s ability to control his vessel. Purchased at the worst time of the year for acquiring a new boat, this guy had only run a small charter service with single-engine, three and four-seater speedboats until his uncle left him a ton of money. Now his passengers paid attention to him, especially the female companions on board who, before this, never noticed him at all.

This guy’s bad news, Ellie, Stan said anxiously as he stood behind her while Ellie was dancing with a member of Captain Frank’s party.

Could you please not bother me? I’m busy enjoying myself. You are not my father! she yelled at him.

That last remark did it. Stan disappeared and specifically avoided both girls for the rest of the night.

Chapter Three

Stan’s Place

Stan’s Place is the only watering hole on the native side of The Island, a good two days boat ride east from Miami. The roof is covered in palm fronds, like most tiki huts on the outer islands and throughout the Keys. Palm trees, native rock and grass, along with overgrown native plants surround the outside of the building. A coy pond and two waterfalls greet his guests at the front entrance, all created by Stan in his younger days. Here the booze flows and this is definitely the place where plenty of available, beautiful women hang out. His bar is also known as the one spot where patrons can sit and enjoy themselves all night never feeling rushed or obligated to spend which is a great part of Stan’s success. Stan knows his customers are rich, at least most of them anyway, but that doesn’t mean he’s entitled to any of it. The profit he makes comes in dribs and drabs, which is OK with him, because where is he going anyway?

The atmosphere inside Stan’s Place is always inviting. A long, dark wooden bar with a cushioned edge reminded his customers of their haunts back home. Glass shelves display all kinds of beers, and the various liquors are lit up by their own colored lighting system. Native shells lay casually about on a top shelf running across and around to the far side and from the back to the front entrance. The shell collection is Stan’s pride and joy. When asked about them, he proudly tells customers how he once was a deep-sea diver and later an instructor, one day hanging up his tanks and masks, using age as the excuse.

Everyone on these islands has his or her own secrets and Stan is no exception. He never mentions the real reason the shells are displayed: They are there to honor a story he will never tell.

Tourists come to the islands to enjoy the outdoors, yet into the dark, dank bar they stroll each morning, eager to hear more of Stan’s tales. As his customers buy extra drinks and stay longer than originally planned, his stories get taller and taller, and he has hundreds of them. Tourists especially enjoy the island stories of those who leave everything behind, asking close friends or family to shut them down, even to sell it all, and forward the proceeds. Ellie always identifies with these curiosity seekers because they are the most like her—lost souls with very little going for them back in the States. However, unlike her, they voice their interest and enthusiasm for a change, unable to believe how their lives would be a thousand times better off away from whatever circumstances brought them to the Caribbean in the first place.

That night, while Captain Frank and his guests enjoyed the food, the music, and the dancing, the Category 3 hurricane with gale-force winds decided sometime around two in the morning and against all educated predictions and computerized spaghetti models—to turn northward, while Captain Frank’s party, including an apprehensive congressman, danced and drank the night away.

This was also the night everything changed for Ellie and Allison.

A subcontractor named Mike Hampton and his two buddies came in from Miami for the weekend, arriving when the captain’s party was in high gear. Quietly, they ordered drinks at the crowded bar, eyeing the women in the group. Mike eventually centered his attention on Allison. Pulling her and Ellie away from their friends. The foursome moved to the opposite side of the room where they shared dinner and drinks while answering the usual Who are you and what do you do back in the States? questions.

Not much of a talker, Mike asked Allison if she’d like to dance.

Finally, alone with the one woman he was definitely interested in, Mike told her how he and his buddies had chartered a plane out of the Miami Airport. Landing on the other side, they were hoping to find a small motel and go fishing for the week-end. When they heard about Stan’s Place, they hiked over the hill and decided to come take a look.

Mike Hampton wanted to kiss Allison all over, more specifically, her moist and unpainted, tempting lips, but he was holding back. She was such a nice person he didn’t want to rush things and scare her away.

This is some place—a true paradise. I’ve been intoxicated ever since we walked in and I’m likin’ it better ‘n better, he pulled away and smiled at her, her body already well-measured as they danced nice and slow; her country- girl attitude and freckled face with no makeup and her naturally curly, reddish-blond hair appealing to him. And only for a second did he wonder what she was doing in a place like this. Everyone feels this way on their first trip, Allison blushed, looking down and away.

Rejoining the others, Ellie suggested, Howard’s Tackle Shop is about a block up the street. He has lots of fishing boats and gear for rent. He’s an old guy about to retire, but he’s honest and he really knows these waters.

Good, they mutually agreed. Will you girls come along? Mike asked. We can’t offer you shade, but we’ll have plenty of cold beer in the ice chest.

Not a very good idea, Allison replied. We’re not about to tempt fate, so until that storm passes and we’re out of danger, you’ll find us waiting right here, candles and all.

Not tonight, one of the others spoke up. Tonight, we dance. Tomorrow we fish.

Chapter Four

Allison Becomes Engaged

On their second day together, Allison sat on the side of Mike’s boat enjoying the reflections on the water and the bright, cloudless sky above.

I’d like you to come back to Miami with me, Mike said, casually swishing the water with his right hand.

I can go home anytime I like, she replied just as casually. Why with you?

I want you to live with me . . . build a life together.

If this works out, what am I expected to do with my time?

Mike began slowly to explain. I thought maybe you could finish your teaching degree so you wouldn’t get bored.

Staring at the same spot of water as this very pretty, strawberry blond, athletically-built woman, Mike’s imagination filled with what it would be like to make love to her. She wasn’t at all like most women he dated. His women were usually built more like Ellie, tall, slinky, and big breasted, except they didn’t have their noses in the air assessing every guy and being standoffish like Allison’s friend.

I want you to meet my family, Mike said, such as it is. My dad dates a woman younger than me. He hasn’t said much about it, but I think they’re planning to start a family.

And your mom? Allison asked.

She’s still in the kitchen cleaning up and fixing meals for my younger brother. Don’t know what she’ll do when he moves to the dorms at the University of Miami next year, Mike replied.

My mom is still in the hinterlands, Allison volunteered further. "She and my dad got married before Women’s Lib sunk in, I guess. Now she’s trying to make up for lost