Dead In The Water (Rebecca Schwartz Mystery #4) (The Rebecca Schwartz Series)

tight to her chest. It had to be Esperanza he held, though I’d never have recognized her. Tangled in kelp, she resembled the spawn of a sea monster. She was struggling, trying to get away. But then I saw it wasn’t that—she was coughing.
    I was paralyzed. I couldn’t stand to watch, but couldn’t pull my eyes away. Keil swam to the other two and helped Julio get Esperanza into her jacket. She wriggled like an eel, trying to breathe and stay afloat at the same time. Julio kept hollering, “Relax! Relax,
Nena
!” which might have made me smile if I hadn’t been so scared. Relax. Oh, sure, Dad, no problem, two seconds out of a watery grave.
    My breath caught. They weren’t out yet. How was I supposed to sail the damn boat over to them?
    The thought seemed to hit Julio at the same time.
    “Grab the tiller.”
    Great. I was holding it so tight my knuckles were white.
    “Pull in a little bit.”
    Huh? How did you pull a boat in? A car, no problem, but where was the ignition on this baby?
    He hollered something else. Pull my shit in? Was this some Chicano expression meaning “Don’t panic”?
    Libby’s voice was strong, almost authoritative: “Pull your sheet in, Rebecca.”
    Oh, my sheet. He must mean sail. But how did you pull a sail, and what was in? On land, you pulled
into
a parking place; was there a nautical equivalent?
    Libby said, “Grab the line—that’s your sheet. Pull it. Catch it in the cam-cleat.”
    What line
?
And what was a cam
-
cleat
? But I didn’t ask aloud. Things were bad enough.
    Line must mean rope. The same rope Julio had popped off before he’d jumped. It had to be that. It was the only thing I could reach. Ah, and he must have popped it out of a little lock, which might be a cam-cleat; if I could just reverse the procedure …
    I fumbled till Libby said, “Good.”
    “Libby, can you sail?” It hadn’t occurred to me.
    “You’re going to have to jibe!” Julio yelled.
    Dear God, I was going to have to
what
! Libby said, “Rebecca? Could you take the jib?”
    Jib? Jibe? Were they the same thing? I’d thought jib was the little sail on the bow.
    “I took sailing lessons last summer.”
    Julio yelled, “Fill up your sails! Fill up your sails!” His voice was none too gentle.
    Just how the hell do you do that
,
Mr
.
Julio Goddamn Captain Bligh
?
I’d be delighted to fill up my sails if you could be bothered to let me know what the fuck you're talking about
.
    Libby, apparently sick and tired of not being heard, started yelling, too, right in my face, “I can do it, Rebecca! Give me the tiller! Go to the bow! Take the jib.”
    Yes. The jib
was
that little sail. Everyone knows what a jib is; I wasn’t that dumb. “Take the jib” had to mean grab the little rope—I meant sheet—and pull it in or let it out or something.
    “Wrap the sheet around the winch.”
    Winch?
    I winced.
    “Okay, we’re going to jibe now. Watch out. Watch out! Rebecca, watch your head!”
    The boom went boom on the back of my skull. How were you supposed to watch your own head anyway?
    For a few minutes Libby struggled to get into the right reach, or whatever you call it, while Julio was occupied with getting himself and Keil wrapped around Esperanza, putting her in the middle of a huddle, as is recommended for hypothermia.
    Seeing what he was doing reminded me how cold the water was, and how fast a child can succumb to it. With the communications problem, I doubted I’d have been able to handle the boat alone—I only hoped Libby could do it.
    Again, Julio began shouting instructions. Libby, brow furrowed, would nod to show she understood, and would let me know if she needed help from me, remembering, unlike Julio, to translate the jargon. But I didn’t feel very helpful. Mostly I sat there, tense from toes to ears, feeling stupid and useless and hoping against hope.
    We missed them on the first pass, by about six feet. But now we were close enough for Libby to hear better, for her and Julio to work more closely together, and on the second pass we nearly ran over them. Keil had to put a hand out to shove us out of the way. Libby said, “Pop the jib, Rebecca.”
    Right. Remove the sheet from the cam-cleat. I could handle it.
    She popped the mainsheet, and we stalled out, luffing in the wind.
    Julio handed me a limp, glassy-eyed Esperanza. She was shivering like a malaria victim and her lips were blue. She felt a little stiff. Automatically I started to rub her bare arms.
    But Julio,