They were going into the yacht. The yacht. A woman in an old-timey apron—housekeeper?—was holding the door for them, stepping out of the way to let them pass. They disappeared, the housekeeper shouting instructions behind them.

This was almost too easy. It was a gift.

Without thinking, I darted up the ramp and into the truck. There were a few tubs left. I grabbed the first one I could get my hands on and hauled it down the ramp, grunting the whole way. I could hear clinking inside that sounded like wine or beer bottles. They were stocking up. For what? Were they leaving town? Had they figured out that I had found them and planned to skip out before I could do anything about it?

I could hear the voices of the two men approaching. Panicked, I opened my car door and jammed the box inside, then dove in behind it. I waited, listening for their thunking metal footsteps on the truck floor and their voices getting farther away again. When I was pretty sure they were gone, I crawled over the seat. They were at the top of the steps again. I started my car and moved it to a spot on the other side of the marina. I could still see the yacht, and the delivery truck. I watched as they emerged from the yacht with a clipboard, stared bewilderedly into the back of the truck, one of them gabbing into a cell phone, and then got back in the truck and drove away—undoubtedly to retrieve the box of booze they’d “forgotten” to bring.

As soon as the truck was out of sight, I raced back to my spot and got out. It was going to be a long walk heaving this box, and my knees already felt weak from nerves. But I would make it. Or I would die trying.

Bad choice of words, Nikki.

I was sweating and breathing hard by the time I got to the top of the stairs. I knocked on the door, bringing up one knee and balancing the box atop it. I heard a faint voice from inside and then the woman opened the door. She looked surprised, first taking in me and then the box and then me again.

“Are the guys gone?” I asked. “Sorry, I’m from Ambrosia Catering?” I lifted the box a little higher to show it to her. “Our delivery guys forgot a box. I think it’s alcohol. Can’t forget that.” I let out a breathy, conspiratorial laugh.

“Oh, yes,” she said, standing on her tiptoes to look over my shoulder. “They left to find it. You must have just missed them.”

“Darn it,” I said, following her eyes over my shoulder, as if I were looking for them, too. “I was hoping to catch them. Is it okay if I just bring it in myself? I’ll give them a call.”