Ezme Worthington stood on the pier and shrieked. “We’re getting on that!”
“Yes, Dear.” Cedric looked around, hoping no one had overheard her complaint. “It’s a special charter. The young men who run the company know exactly what they’re doing, and they’ll do just what we ask. We’ll drop anchor, have a lovely lunch, watch some wildlife—”
“How wild is wild?” she demanded.
“You know what I mean, native species. Birds, seals, otters—”
“Those horrible, dirty things that poop on the piers?”
“Well, I don’t know about pooping. . . .”
“I know what I’m talking about, Cedric. I read up on them. They steal people’s oar . . . oar . . . the things that hold the oars in place on rowboats.”
“Exactly. And they smash rocks against boats and ruin the paint. I overheard a woman talking all about it while you were in that office. Isn’t that right, young man?”
Dave had just walked down the pier and was making ready to walk across the gangplank. “Uh, well, otters can be pretty crafty.” He smiled.
“Nasty is what they can be. I won’t have anything to do with them!”
“Well, uh, there are some other people on the trip who might want to watch some otters, but you’re welcome to ignore them, Ma’am,” Dave reassured her.
“Good! That’s exactly what I plan to do. Now, give me a hand walking up that spindly little walkway. We came early so I could get myself settled.”
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