She turned on the men and shook water from her hands into their flushed faces. “I’ll tell you what the hell. Paul and his father are out here, your friends are lost, and all you shits can think of is riding fast and getting drunk. If you can’t do any better than this, then get out of our way,” she yelled. “Go back to town and piss off your wives.”

Victor began to plead, “Aw, we was looking for ’em good.”

“Yeah, baby,” Vincent said, standing up and sitting on the rail. “We been trying these inlets to see if maybe they made a break for one to get out the storm. But they all too shallow,” he said, looking past her to the shore.

She stepped back into the larger boat. “You’ve got to concentrate more,” she snapped. The twins looked subdued and watched her like schoolboys trying to talk to the playground beauty. She looked their boat over again angrily. “Have you two had anything to put in your stomachs besides Schlitz?”

“Aw, we don’t need to eat.” Vincent sat down next to the wheel.

Colette got on her knees in the cabin and began to make them sandwiches. Without food, they would be sick and inattentive, more liable to run over someone than to rescue them. While she spread mustard, she heard a noise overhead and saw a large Coast Guard plane heading out high, due south.

Emile made Vincent discuss a chart with him and Victor banged around the Unsinkabelle, turning over paddles and life jackets as he looked for his binoculars. A slow roller came up under the boat, and he capsized against the seat cushions. Colette went over to the rail and handed him a baloney sandwich. “I want you to slow this thing down, cruise as close in as you can, and use the field glasses on the marsh line. Check the inlets as best you can.” He bit into the sandwich, smiled a crazy mouthful smile, and she laughed, turning away, holding the back of her hand against her mouth.

In the cabin, the shortwave cracked and sizzled, delivering a call from the tug. Emile listened to LeBlanc make arrangements for a rendezvous at six o’clock near an unmanned oil platform. The cloud bottoms had burned off somewhat, but there was not much good light left. She bent over and put her hand in the Gulf, satisfied that at least it was warm. If one of the men was still in the water, he would have a chance.

“Hey,” Victor said. “I see the rig LeBlanc is talking about. It’s a little one about three mile out.” He had finally found his binoculars.

Colette’s head snapped up, a knifeful of mayonnaise in her hand. “Emile, does it say on the chart if there’s a light on that rig?”