“Okay, everything I need to know to be an A- one ship’s cook,” Stephanie said. She narrowed her eyes at the menu. According to Lucy, she was supposed to begin by making yeast rolls for supper and fish stew, biscuits, chocolate chip cookies, and fresh fruit for lunch. Stephanie checked her watch. Eleven o’clock. She looked at the woodstove and thought authenticity had been carried a bit far.

Ivan squatted at the top of the ladder. “How’s it going?”

“We’re stopping at a fast-food place for lunch, aren’t we?”

He grimaced and left.

“Does that mean no?” Stephanie called after him.

A young man swung down the stairs Tarzan style. His T-shirt was three sizes too large, and his baggy shorts hung precariously low on his hips. He struck a negligent pose against the stairwell and looked at her over the top of his dark glasses.

“Ace,” he said with a crooked grin. “I’m here to answer your every need.”

Ivan reappeared. “He’s here to do your dishes and peel your potatoes. He’s nineteen and walking on very thin ice.” He gave Ace a stern look and vanished.

“The captain runs a tight ship,” Ace explained. “And I’m kind of a loose sort of guy.”

“You know anything about working this woodstove?”

“Sure.”

“Good. You’re in charge. I do the cooking, and you do the wood stuff.”

Ace took a chunk of wood from the cache under the stove and flipped it into the air. He spun around and caught the wood one- handed. “I’m good with my hands,” he said, giving Stephanie another crooked grin.

This poor kid has watched too many Tom Cruise movies, Stephanie thought. He had him down pretty well, too, except Ace’s nose was larger, making him seem closer to Snoopy doing Joe Cool.

“Okay, Ace, I’m going to give your hands a chance to make lunch. I think we’ll have an abbreviated menu of fish chowder and biscuits. I don’t suppose we have twenty or thirty cans of fish chowder lying around somewhere?”