Tickler Chain

All was quiet at the marina; at this late hour everyone was either asleep or passed out. All the workers at the marina would have gone home, so Estelle felt safe and inconspicuous as she made her way toward the docks and boats, scanning each to see if something there would fit her agenda. And then she spied the skiff laying sort of cockeyed against a bulkhead, the spongy marsh and its thick salty grasses nearly hid it completely.

Estelle hissed gleefully into the thick night air, she couldn’t believe her luck, this abandoned vessel was exactly what she needed, even the towing posts were intact near the stern of the little craft. She made her way quickly through the muck to where it lay and examined it, jostling the posts set about three and a half feet from the transom. Of course, the boat held water, but that would have come from neglect; it also meant that there were no leaks. A few tin cans and empty beer bottles floated in the murky water inside it; Estelle tossed them from the boat.

“Nobody is going to miss this thing,” she whispered as she began chucking debris from the craft. She used a nearby bucket to bail out the foot of water standing in the fiberglass vessel then stood back to re-examine her new boat.