The sun glimmered bright off the river, making it look like a polished stone as I stepped up to The Miss Twila. Gulls made their squawking calls as they darted above looking for an easy meal. A tall man wearing a bandanna twisted around his head was painting the side on the upper deck.
The Miss Twila“Hello!” I yelled.
Lassiter stopped in mid-stroke of the paintbrush and looked down at me on the dock. He waved and yelled his greeting back.
“Coming aboard!” I called out and jogged to the ropes of the boat that led to the deck, turned toward the stairs, and climbed up. The boat itself was a treasure, a replica of a lavish Victorian steamboat from that time. It had a rounded stern and ornate architectural detailing of those times when they were called “floating palaces”. The main deck, if I
