CHAPTER 12Tory’s Rest
STEVE was out on the Maquoit next morning tossing the lab stuff he had left aboard her into his skiff when a coast guard buoy tender slowed down alongside.
“Thought you might like to know somebody else saw that gray hull yesterday,” the helmsman called. “A lobsterman phoned in mad as a wet hen, but some old codger with him kept butting in on the call insisting the ‘Dead Ship’ was cruising again!”
Steve quit work and leaned over the Maquoit’s rail to answer. “My passenger called her the ‘Flying Dutchman,’” he said, shrugging, “but, if you ask me, a Coast Guard cutter would have given that ghost plenty of trouble. Her hull looked substantial enough to scare the daylights out of me; I could practically see myself going down for the third time. Thanks for keeping me po
