The Contract File Put A Price On An Empty Ferry

The draft carried a $34,000 trade-in credit for the Mercy Bell.

I had changed her engine mounts the year before. Her hull survey was clean. She needed a new ferry to take over the school route someday, but she was worth more than a pickup truck.

Lena read the page at my bench.

"Does unfit mean worn out?" she asked.

"It can mean unsafe for the run. But a missing fuse is a repair, not a death notice."

"And he wrote this before the missing fuse."

I nodded.

She turned to the next sheet.

The district planned to open sealed bids on June 12 for a replacement ferry. Crewe's proposed addendum required bidders to accept the Mercy Bell as part payment. A box marked emergency disposal allowed the trade-in value to be set without a fresh running survey.

"Has the board passed this?" I asked.

"Not yet. It's on Thursday's agenda."

My permit hearing was Friday. If the board passed his paper first, my boat would be officially worthless before I could defend my work.

I spread a shop towel under the copies. The bench had oil in its grain.

"Can we stop the vote?"

"We can give them a reason to wait. No promises."

I asked the clerk for the earlier survey, all trade-in estimates, and the emergency charter quotes. She sent a fee estimate of $46. I authorized it in writing.

Then I called Ben.

"Any reason she couldn't serve as a backup after replacement?"

"None I knew of. I told Crewe that last month."

"In writing?"

"Email. I'll forward it."

His email included Crewe's reply.

Please avoid a running valuation until the replacement package is settled.

I printed it twice.

Etta came by after her shift with a paper bag of chowder and two spoons.

"You eating?"

"Eventually."

"That's a poor meal plan."

She stood while I read her the contract terms.

"Marsh Lantern Marine," she said when I named the proposed charter firm. "That's the outfit asking about the school float."

"When?"

"Last week. Wanted a berth through September. Said they'd be moving the Mercy Bell out."

"Did you save the request?"

Her laugh rasped through the shop.

"Naomi."

"Right. Sorry."

The next morning, she supplied the written berth request with its date and sender. Marsh Lantern wanted the Mercy Bell's space starting June 13, the day after bids opened. There was no signed replacement award yet.

The firm also offered the emergency school charter at $4,200 a day.

Fourteen school days remained. That was $58,800 if the Mercy Bell stayed tied up.

Lena drew a line under the total.

"Two benefits," she said. "Charter income now. Cheap boat later. We still need the link to Crewe."

We found the firm's public business filing. Its manager was a man named Owen Sayer. That name meant nothing to me.

I wanted it to mean something. Wanting wasn't evidence.

So we asked the district for its conflict forms and vendor contact log.

At Thursday's meeting, I took a seat between Etta and Ben. Parents filled the back row. One woman held a child's raincoat across her lap.

"We've lost four mornings of school," she said.

Crewe stood at the front with his folder.

"I wish safety were cheap," he said. "I don't enjoy being the person who says no."

When the chair called for comment, I carried up three sheets.

"The outside examiner found a good fuse removed from its clips," I said. "The repair relay passed. Please delay any declaration that the ferry is beyond repair."

Crewe raised his hand.

"She's defending her income."

"Yes," I said. "And these figures concern everybody's money."

I gave the clerk the $34,000 credit, the older $286,000 survey value, and the $58,800 charter quote.

"Both values need review," I said. "Please get a fresh survey before you give away the difference."

The chair asked Crewe why his draft predated the inspection.

"Planning," he said. "We all knew the boat was tired."

Ben stood.

"That's not what I told him. My email is in your packet."

The board delayed the disposal vote and authorized a running survey. The children would use a different local boat for two days at $1,350 a day while the alarm repair was checked.

It was a small vote. I sat down shaking anyway.

Outside, Crewe caught up with me near the granite steps.

"Your hearing could end with permanent revocation," he said.

"Then bring your records."

At home, Lena called.

The district had found an unsigned conflict form in Crewe's file. A stapled payment sheet had come with it.

Marsh Lantern Marine had paid him $9,600 for fleet transition advice.