Death Rides the Ferry

by Patricia Skalka

  Ubell picked up a flaming branch from the fire and tossed it at Cubiak. The sheriff ducked, and the metal shard slipped from his fingers. He swore again. The rope was loose but not loose enough. He had to retrieve the blade and quickly.

  The German was reaching for another torch when Helen-Marlene appeared on the deck. She held a lantern aloft, and in the cone of bright white light that enveloped her, she looked weak and ghostly pale. But when she spoke, her words were fueled with fierce determination. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Ubell will never desert me. We are married. I am his wife.”

  “Husbands kill their wives,” Cubiak said. He leaned back as far as he dared and groped for the blade. On his second attempt, he snagged it between his fingers.

  The fake Helen clambered out of the boat and picked her way down the dock, talking as she advanced toward the shore. “No. Tell him, Ubell. Tell him you love me.”

  The German met her at the foot of the pier. When she was within reach, he clutched her around the waist and kissed her fiercely. Then he stepped away. The fake Helen was still gloating when Ubell grabbed her hair and wrenched her head back. “Enough of this silly nonsense. Go back to the boat and babysit that bitch,” he said. He shoved her toward the Speedy Sister. Helen-Marlene staggered several feet and then turned and stared at him. She seemed confused and hurt.

  “Don’t listen to him,” Ubell said, gesturing toward the sheriff. “He’s desperate. He has nothing but words. Empty words. We have a plan. Remember that.”

  The fake Helen looked at the roaring fire. “A plan,” she said, smiling and echoing the words. Then she pivoted and started back toward the boat.

  As the two put on their show, Cubiak sawed at the rope.

  “He kills anyone who knew him as Eric Fielder. He said so himself.”

  The fake Helen hesitated.

  “Get to the boat,” Ubell yelled.

  “He doesn’t need you. He’s mad, Helen-Marlene. Don’t trust him.”

  The fake Helen let out a loud sob. Then she clamped her hands to her ears and scurried toward the boat.

  Ubell kicked into the fire and sprayed fiery embers at the sheriff. “I told you to shut up.”

  Enveloped in smoke and hot ash, Cubiak coughed and nearly dropped the blade.

  “Chief, you OK?” Rowe said.

  Ubell spun around. His face was red, either from the fire or rage. “Shut up,” he said and stood glaring at the two men.

  The sheriff returned his hard stare.

  “Your father must have been a mean son-of-a-bitch. I know mine was,” he said quietly. “Is that where you get it from?”

  Ubell sneered.

  “Mine beat me when he got drunk. Did your father beat you?”

  The German sniggered but meanness seemed to etch deeper into his face.

  Cubiak rubbed the knife shard against the rope. Almost there. How to taunt Ubell further? “Maybe it’s a good thing you never knew your mother. Mine was no prize, and perhaps yours wasn’t either.”

  Ubell grabbed a burning log from the fire and was turning to swing it at Cubiak when the sound of a motor floated across the water. The roar was distant but steady. Ubell lowered the stick and listened.

  Helen-Marlene emerged from the cabin.

  “Go back,” Ubell ordered. “Now.”

  She disappeared below deck.

  Who was out there? Cubiak wondered. No lights shone through the blackness. Only the steady, low hum gave away the boat’s presence. At this point, the sound was neutral, indicating neither friend nor foe. But it had to be one or the other. Had Ubell’s contact seen the fire, or had the light attracted someone else? Anyone could be out there: fishermen, a boatful of tourists. Just what he didn’t need now was a group of over-eager and even liquored-up men trying to play hero. Had Rowe notified the coast guard and hidden a tracking device on the boat, something that the fake Helen hadn’t found? Would a rescue squad make such a bold approach? Cubiak looked to Rowe for a sign, but the young man was intent on the water. So he didn’t know who was coming either.

  The sound from the lake persisted. Ubell tossed the burning stick on the fire and checked his watch.

  “My friends are here,” he said. He rubbed his hands together and grinned like a little boy about to get the biggest toy at Christmas.

  Forgetting his captives, Ubell moved past the fire and started toward the shore. It was the moment Cubiak had been waiting for. With a final slash, the dull blade severed the last strand of fiber, and the cord dropped away from his wrists. He was stiff and sore, and he staggered getting up. Rowe watched incredulously as the sheriff regained his balance and slipped toward his deputy.

  “How?”

  “Shh.”

  Cubiak cut the ropes and rubbed Rowe’s numb hands. “Ready?”

  “Yeah.”

  Rowe grabbed the cord that had been around his wrists while the sheriff lifted a log from the stack of firewood.

  Cubiak motioned toward the dock, and the two men crouched down and crept forward.

  They were less than a yard from the water when Ubell turned around. But he was too late.

  Cubiak swung the log at his head, and with a single ooph, the German crumpled to the ground.

  22

  THE FALL OF EVIL

  Cubiak had his man, but the moment of triumph was fleeting. The approaching vessel was churning up the water and gaining on them. They had to secure Ubell and hide the Speedy Sister before the mystery boat reached the island.

  “Here, tie his hands,” Cubiak said. While the deputy worked, the sheriff pulled the German’s gun and phone from his pockets. Then he pulled a jacket over his head and secured the sleeves around his chin and mouth. Even if he revived and tried to shout, his voice wouldn’t carry far.

  On the water, the hum of the boat engine swelled to a roar. Cubiak looked up. A small green light danced in the darkness. Green signified starboard. The boat was coming from the north, so it wasn’t the coast guard, which would approach from the opposite direction.

  To the north there was only the Upper Peninsula with its sparse population and more of the turbulent waters of Lake Michigan. Given the lateness of the hour and the threat of more bad weather, the most likely people onboard were Ubell’s contacts, and they were headed to the island to meet him.

  “There’s more line on the boat for his legs and feet,” the deputy said when he finished lashing Ubell’s hands.

  “Not yet.”

  Cubiak checked the lake again. The light was still green but the boat seemed to be moving faster. Judging from the fierce scream of the engine it had to be a very big boat, he thought, and he saw the worry in Rowe’s eyes.

  “Sounds like a cigarette boat.”

  “We have to get away before they see us,” the sheriff said.

  “We don’t have much time.”

  “I know. Wait here.”

  “What about the fire?”

  “Let it be. If it dies, that’s in our favor. When you hear my signal, bring him onboard.”

  Cubiak started toward the dock. He didn’t dare use the flashlight, and in the dark, each step on the decrepit pier was a gamble. The sheriff kept Ubell’s gun in his pocket. He would try to entice the fake Helen out of the cabin. If he had to go below, he would draw the Glock only if she had laid down her silver pistol. If she had her gun aimed at Cate, the weapon would do him no good.

  When he reached the boat, he crouched low and thumped his fist against the side wall.

  For a moment, there was no reaction. Then Helen-Marlene spoke. “Ubell, is that you?”

  In response Cubiak undid a mooring line and noisily tossed it onboard.

  “What’s going on? Who’s there?” The fake Helen sounded excited and scared.

  The sheriff slipped over the gunwale and ducked behind the wheel. Seconds passed and the cabin door cracked open.

  The sound from the mystery boat filled the night air. He knew the fake Helen heard it. He waited. She had to be listening. Eith
er she knew what the plan was or could guess at it.

  “Ah, the boat comes,” she said.

  The fake Helen started up the stairs. Midway, she stopped.

  Come on, Cubiak urged silently. He imagined her squinting into the darkness, uncertain what to do and fearful of making a mistake.

  Then she gambled and came up into the cockpit.

  “Ubell, where are you?”

  The fake Helen looked toward the pier. As she turned toward him, Cubiak stepped out and slapped a hand over her mouth. Startled, she jerked and dropped her pistol. He pinned her arms behind her back and threw his other arm around her shoulders. She clawed and kicked. She was strong and fierce, and she fought hard. But he held tight.

  A muted sound rose up from below.

  “Cate, it’s me. I’ve come for you,” Cubiak said.

  Helen-Marlene squirmed.

  The sheriff tightened his grip. “Ubell is my prisoner and no good to you anymore. You’d do well to cooperate,” he said.

  The fake Helen tried to shake her head and twist her shoulders.

  “Whoever is on that boat isn’t coming for you,” he said.

  She tensed.

  “Do you want to live or not?”

  Helen-Marlene squirmed again.

  “I’ll keep you safe, but he won’t.”

  She made a noise and tried to pull free, but then he felt her resolve fade. He grabbed the silver handgun and pushed her toward the hatch.

  “Go,” he said, sounding much like Ubell had earlier, as he propelled her down the stairs.

  The cabin curtains were pulled, and in the dim light Cubiak saw Cate in the corner, behind the table. The cloth around her mouth was loosened but her hands were tied. He held a finger to his lips.

  After he immobilized the fake Helen and gagged her with a rag, he turned to Cate. She was on her feet. Her gaze was steady and calm. “Thank God, you’re safe,” he said and pulled her into his arms. He wanted to hold her forever. He wanted to tell her again that he loved her. Instead he kissed her forehead, undid her bindings, and put the silver pistol in her cold hands. “You know what to do. We don’t have much time.”

  Topside, Cubiak looked out at the black lake. There were two lights visible now, one red and one green. The mystery boat had turned and was on a straight line toward the island, Boats have distinct sounds, and the vessel that barreled toward them out of the darkness roared like a monster biting its way through the water.

  The sheriff cupped his mouth and whistled. He had never been very good at it and the sound came out flat and weak. Would Rowe hear the signal over the scream of the engine? The sheriff waited. Then he whistled again. After a moment, he heard the clear chirp of a bird. Rowe had signaled back.

  The sheriff met his deputy midway down the pier and helped him drag Ubell to the Speedy Sister. The German was still unconscious.

  “Start the motor and head that way.” Cubiak pointed away from the pier. “Keep it low, just trolling speed.”

  “Got it.”

  Rowe switched on the ignition and the engines came to life. Cubiak felt the hull shiver as they started to move. The boat slid through the water like snow falling in the night, soft and quiet. Neither man spoke. Cubiak kept his eyes on the shore. The bonfire had shrunk but wood was still burning. They had to pass in front of the flaming logs, and as they did they would be visible to anyone on the boat looking toward land.

  “Quickly now,” Cubiak said.

  For a precious moment Rowe let the Sister race forward. Then he cut the engines again and brought the boat back to a crawl.

  The sheriff knew the deputy was worried about ramming into rocks or running aground.

  “You’re doing fine. We’re good,” Cubiak said.

  Despite the heavy cloud cover, his eyes slowly adjusted to the dark. He had no idea how large the island was. As best he could, he followed the faint outline of the shore, searching for an inlet or cove where they could hide.

  They rounded a point and the shoreline dipped inward toward a solid black wall. More trees, Cubiak realized. Then he spotted the dock. It was short and probably as old as the first pier they had moored at. “There,” he said.

  Rowe saw the dock, too. “We must be on Summer. It’s one of the larger islands.” He aimed the Sister toward the shore and cut the engines. The boat drifted forward.

  From out on the lake behind them, the scream of the mystery vessel softened to a throaty murmur.

  “They’re heading in,” Rowe said as Cubiak tied the Sister to the decrepit pier. “Should I radio for help?”

  “We can’t chance it. If they intercept the message, they’ll know we’re here.”

  Suddenly a powerful searchlight swept over the island, illuminating the tops of the trees. Loud voices erupted from the other side of the forest. Two men argued in a mishmash of languages: part English, part French, part something else. One voice was high pitched and the other low and guttural.

  In the onslaught of light and noise, Ubell’s cell phone dinged. A text message appeared on the bright screen: Where r u?

  Cubiak replied, on island hurt neede help.

  “You got any fishing line onboard?” he asked his deputy.

  “Yes.”

  “Get it.”

  Ubell moaned and slowly worked himself up to a sitting position. His expression gave away nothing but there was hate in his eyes. Cubiak pulled him to his feet and prodded him down the stairs. The fake Helen blanched as the sheriff pushed him into the opposite corner and retightened his restraints.

  Bundled in a thick wool blanket, Cate sat holding the silver pistol.

  “If either of them tries anything, shoot to kill. Him first. Her second,” Cubiak said, pointing to the German and his accomplice. Then he leaned down and whispered. “Are you OK?”

  She moved her head up and down.

  He went on so only she could hear. “Rowe and I have to go. But we’ll be back.”

  “Right.” She didn’t ask for an explanation.

  On deck, Rowe waited with two rolls of fishing line.

  “It’s not strong enough to stop anyone,” he said.

  “That’s OK. We just need to trip them up.”

  “We’re going back?”

  “It’s our only option.” Plan C, he thought.

  The sheriff led the way along the edge of the dock. When he reached the end, he leapt past the boulders and onto the ground.

  “We’ll follow the shore back the way we came. We’d make better time on the rocks but we can’t chance being seen, so we’ll keep to the trees.”

  In a few steps, the dense forest closed over the two men.

  “Stay close,” Cubiak said.

  He held up his hands and began to claw through the weblike netting of the pine branches. The searchlight had stopped rotating back and forth.

  “They’re showing us the way,” Rowe said.

  “That’s either good or bad.”

  The sheriff guessed that they were about a quarter mile from the clearing and that it would take them ten minutes to get there. But in the trees, he lost all sense of time and distance.

  The searchlight snapped off, and the men on the water went silent.

  “We have to reach the clearing before they do,” Cubiak said.

  “You think they’ll come ashore?”

  “If they want what Ubell has, they will.”

  When they had gone another ten feet, the man with the high-pitched voice began ranting. His tirade was followed by a menacing silence. Finally, the second man, the one Cubiak pegged as the boss, responded with a curt two-word reply that sounded like Fuck off or Fuck you, or something similar.

  “You catch any of that?”

  “Nope, sorry.”

  “Me neither.”

  Abruptly, Cubiak stopped.

  “Look,” he said.

  Through the dense underbrush, they saw the clearing. The fire was still burning and gave them enough light to see past the pier to the open water where the mystery
boat was anchored some hundred yards offshore. Rowe was right: Ubell’s cohorts had driven a cigarette boat to the rendezvous.

  Cubiak crouched down. Rowe did the same.

  “Think you can get to the other side and secure the line to one of those trees?” he said, pointing across the clearing. “And then bring it back to this side and tie it to another tree.”

  “How high?”

  “Two feet off the ground. I’ll cover you.”

  “Got it.”

  “Be careful. Stay in the trees,” Cubiak said.

  Rowe grunted and crept forward.

  As the deputy inched around the opening, the men on the cigarette boat started up again.

  “I don’t like the looks of this,” the frightened man said.

  “We came too far to go back empty-handed.”

  Seconds passed and Ubell’s mobile vibrated. Another text: Boat?

  Sunk prize safe, Cubiak replied.

  Had Ubell told them about the priceless viol? Probably not, but he would have had to guarantee a big haul to lure them into the scheme.

  “Come and get it, you bastards,” Cubiak said in a whisper.

  The sheriff watched for Rowe. There was no hint of the deputy, no subtle movement in the brush. He had lost track of him.

  “Damn.” Cubiak flattened and low-crawled closer. The ground was cold and smelled of old pine and mildew. He was as far as he could go and still be undercover when Rowe rolled out from behind a thick stump.

  “Jesus, you scared the life out of me.”

  “Sir. Sorry. It’s all done. Now what?”

  “We wait.”

  A wind gust blew smoke from the fire toward them, and Cubiak struggled not to cough. Then a log popped, and a shower of sparks sequined the darkness. As the sparks withered, he felt the ground vibrate with the steady thrum of the cigarette boat’s engines. Ubell’s accomplices were on the move. Were they leaving or heading in?

  The searchlight popped on again, and the island lit up under the blistering glow.

  They were coming ashore.

  “Don’t move, and don’t look at the light or you’ll be blinded,” Cubiak said.

  Head down, he listened as the vessel churned closer. A few minutes passed and it thumped against the dock. He heard the whoosh of the lines being thrown around the same tilting posts where hours earlier they had tied up the Speedy Sister.