Solomon's Compass

by Carol Kilgore

  “That sounds like Mother. I was in the middle of the Atlantic.”

  The day the email from her mother arrived telling her of Randy’s death, she’d been at sea, three days out from a port call at Copenhagen. She’d given the bridge to her executive officer and spent the day in her cabin, rereading the emails and letters she’d received, trying to make sense of his death. And nursing the empty place in her heart. Randy had taught her to take her job seriously. He would understand her being a year late to get to Rock Harbor to handle his affairs and say goodbye.

  “I didn’t know you existed. Your uncle seemed fine one day. But the next, one of his oars didn’t quite reach the water. The last year or so, he stopped cutting the grass. Will cut it a few times. Rats and snakes can be a problem out here. I remember Mr. Rankin painting his house once when I was in high school. When it needed it again, he no longer cared.”

  “The last time I was here was spring break my last year in high school. That was in the early nineties. The house and shop still looked nice then. Randy was proud to have built a successful business from scratch. White paint, blue shutters. I used to play over here when I was little. Before the boatyard, this was sandy field with patches of grass between Uncle Randy’s and the water. I fished from a pier down the road.”

  “The government settled my grandparents here from Vietnam after the war. Your uncle and my grandfather sometimes fished together.”

  “Randy loved to fish.”

  “I didn’t know him real well, but I liked him. He always told me jokes and talked about Vietnam. He remembered a lot from the war. Did you join the Coast Guard because of his stories?”

  Taylor held up her hands. “You got me. The summers I came here, we talked and fished. He loved people and Vietnamese food. He used to make rice or pasta with grilled fish or meat and fresh cucumbers and carrots. He probably fixed Minute Rice and ramen noodles, but he called it Vietnamese. We always ate with chopsticks.”

  Because of Randy, she had applied to the Academy all those years ago. She shared his obsession for doing the best job possible, and that would never change. No matter what duty she performed in the Coast Guard, bottom line her job—and the job of every Coastie—was to protect people on the sea and protect the country from threats delivered by sea. Coasties were adaptable and responsive. Plain and simple, she and the others were Always Ready. Semper Paratus.

  Will came up and laid his Cowboys hat on the counter. His stubby strawberry-blond hair looked like the working side of a shoe brush.

  “Ms. Campbell—”

  “Taylor. Please call me Taylor. Both of you.”

  “All right. Taylor, I hope you’ll forgive my bluntness earlier. It’s just that Rankin never got the assistance he needed in the housekeeping department, and the mess grew.”

  She remembered Uncle Randy sweeping the kitchen and keeping the bathroom spotless. But people changed. “I understand. Apology accepted.”

  The door opened and a huge man entered. Tall, with a ruddy complexion. Graying blond hair receded from his high forehead and wicked eyebrows.

  Will raised a hand in greeting. “Hey, Glen. What’s up?”

  He walked toward them. A Rock Harbor Police ID hung from a lanyard draped around the man’s neck. He turned his blue stare to her, and his bushy brows squirmed. His expression was kind, but she’d seen eyes like his. They would freeze to ice if the need arose.

  “Glen, this is Taylor Campbell—Rankin’s niece. Taylor, Glen Upchurch. Rock Harbor’s finest detective.”

  “That’s me.” Upchurch smiled. “Pleased to meet you. Sorry for your loss. I liked your uncle.”

  “Thanks. Good to meet you, too.”

  “That your car under the tree? Are you all right?”

  Will answered for her. “She’s fine. A.J.’s on his way. She’ll need a report. Can you fix her up?”

  “I’ll call it in.” He turned back to her. “The officer will ask you some questions and look at your license.”

  “Everything is in the car. I’ll go out when the limb is off.”

  “While you’re seeing to your vehicle, I’m going to help myself to some of Will’s coffee and see how cheap he’ll sell me a new Bimini top. As soon as I call the dispatcher.” He walked toward the door.

  The phone on the counter rang, and Trinh picked it up.

  Will touched Taylor’s elbow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve been thinking about making an offer on Rankin’s place. Are you interested in selling?”

  Selling? Sell her uncle’s dreams? He’d been the one person in her life who’d kept her grounded. “No. Not at all.”

  “Will?” Trinh’s voice shook, and so did the receiver in her hand. Her face had paled and her eyes were huge.

  “What? Who is it?”

  “I don’t know, but they said we’re going to die.”

  Glen hurried to the counter, returning his phone to his pocket and pulling out a notebook. “Tell me exactly what the caller said.”

  Trinh licked her lips. “‘If you help that woman, you’ll die, too.’ That was all. Whispered.”

  “Did you recognize the voice?”

  “No. I couldn’t even tell if it was a man or a woman.”

  “I was looking outside while I called in Ms. Campbell’s accident. I didn’t see anyone out there. Do you have caller ID?”

  Trinh nodded. “Private Caller.”

  Will tugged his ball cap over his thick hair, scowling. “The caller could have driven past and then called. Taylor, does anyone know you’re here?”

  “No. Well, Randy’s lawyer. And some service contractors.”

  “Word travels fast around here, Ms. Campbell. Where are you staying?” Glen’s pencil hovered over the pad.

  “The Waterfront. Call me Taylor, please.”

  “Taylor it is. Your hotel is reputable. How about back home? Any problems? And where is home?”

  The cutter was her home, but she slept at a rented condo in the West Ashley area of town when the Susquehanna was in port. “No. No problems. I’m Coast Guard, stationed aboard a cutter homeported in Charleston, South Carolina.”

  Glen turned to Will. “How about you? Someone playing a joke?”

  Will pulled off his cap, dragged his hand through his hair, and shoved the cap back on. “You know everyone I know. I wouldn’t put it past any of them. If it was a bad joke, somebody will fess up in a day or two.”

  “Trinh.” Glen’s eyebrows hitched up in the middle.

  They looked in Trinh’s direction, but she’d vanished.

  “Trinh!” Will stomped off toward the back as Trinh poked her head around the corner.

  “I’m making coffee. Jesus, Will. Do some breathing exercises or something. Get a grip.”

  “How did that caller sound to you?”

  “The words were scary, but—I don’t know—it didn’t hit me until after I hung up.”

  Glen’s pencil hovered again. “Do you believe someone was playing a joke on you?”

  Trinh shrugged. “Possibly.”

  Taylor paced the aisles past shelves filled with boating supplies. No one in Rock Harbor knew her. The people who knew she would be here didn’t know she would be at Will’s boatyard. Hell, she hadn’t known the boatyard existed until a few minutes ago. Obviously, someone would confess over a beer to playing a joke on Will. She reached the counter.

  Glen handed her his card. “If someone tells you they made this call, let me know. Best to use my cell. I already told Will and Trinh.”

  “Okay.” A clap of thunder made her flinch. The rain no longer fell in torrents, and the sky had gone from charcoal to ash. Across the street, the back end of her rental poked out from beneath live oak branches. What a way to introduce herself to the neighbors.

  A police cruiser rolled through the gate. “Here’s the officer. Let me talk to him first.” Glen strode toward the chandlery door.

  Taylor leaned against the counter. The call was too bizarre to be real, but she couldn’t stop thinking
about it. No one had any reason to want to kill her. The only person she’d ever known here was dead.

  The door opened, and a uniformed officer walked through. He put his hands on his hips and looked down at her. “That your car under the tree?”

  “Rental, but I was the driver.”

  He nodded. “How’d it fall?”

  “Only one large limb.” She made a slicing motion. “Lightning.”

  “You were coming here?”

  “No. I’m Randy Rankin’s niece. I was going to see his . . . my property. Still having a hard time with that. The papers and keys are in the car.” Flashing yellow lights reflected off the glass. Taylor pointed out the window at the arriving tow truck. “Trinh called someone named A.J. for a tow. After he gets the limb off, I’ll show you everything.”

  The truck parked in front of her rental and a tall, slim figure jumped down from the cab. She’d expected a burly man with a scraggly ponytail and dressed in baggy clothes.

  “A.J.’s fast. He’ll do a good job.”

  “I’ll go get the papers. No use both of us getting wet.”

  Without waiting for a response, she ran out—and stopped. Parked behind the covered work area across the driveway stood WILL-U. Will Knox. How messed up had Randy’s head been? Don’t think about it now.

  She ran to the tow truck, and the driver turned.

  “I’m Taylor Campbell. It’s my rental hiding under the tree.” Rain blew in her face, and she blinked it out of her eyes. It was slacking off, and the sky grew lighter by the second.

  “August Janacek. Everyone calls me A.J.” His neutral accent bounced off the local twang and pegged him as an outsider. Strands of gray ran through his hair, and his leathery skin showed his love of the outdoors.

  “I need my things as soon as you get the limb off. An officer is waiting inside to make a report.” And I’ve got a full day planned.

  “Won’t take but a minute.” He pulled a pair of dirty leather gloves over long-fingered hands. She would’ve never pegged him as a tow truck driver.

  “Have you lived here long?”

  “About ten years. I’m a Colorado transplant. Moved to Austin for the climate and came here to fish. Gasoline went up, and I decided to move here full time. Have you known Will long?”

  “Just met him.” She inclined her head toward her uncle’s. “I’m Randy Rankin’s niece.”

  “I didn’t know. Sorry for your loss.” He looped chain around the limb in two places.

  “It’s okay. You did right to move to the place you love. Randy loved it here, too. “

  From the control panel on the side of the truck, he maneuvered the boom and attached the ends of the chains to the hook. “Stand over in Will’s driveway in case a chain snaps.”

  A.J. worked with the controls, and a minute later, the limb sat on the side of the road. The front third of the roof was smashed level with the hood, the windshield folded inside the car.

  “Wow.” The word came out unbidden. If she hadn’t escaped, she would be dead. “Thank you. How much do I owe you?”

  “Nothing. I’ll collect from the rental company . . . and from Will.”

  “I’d say a prop adjustment is a good deal.”

  “You know about props?”

  “A little.” She raised her chin toward the car. “Will you get my things out?”

  “Sure.”

  “Keys are in the ignition. My purse and a large envelope are on the seat. Rental papers in the glove box.” She stood where she could watch. The rain had stopped. Randy had called these morning downpours tropical thunderstorms.

  He popped the glove box with a crowbar. “Your uncle was a good man. We miss him.”

  A good man. Yes. Randy Rankin had been the rock in her life. As he pinned on her first set of shoulder boards when she graduated from the Coast Guard Academy, he reminded her about devotion to duty. Randy was an Old Guard Coastie and always told her we have to go out, but we don’t have to come back. The political correctness of the twenty-first century had diluted that Old Guard motto, but for most Coasties, the passion remained. And it carried over into their lives outside and after the Guard.

  She touched A.J.’s arm. “Thank you. I’m aware Randy lost it those last couple of years, so I appreciate your kindness.”

  A.J. shrugged. “You may hear all kinds of comments around. I wanted you to know that many people here cared about him.”

  “That means a lot. I haven’t been here in years. The place probably didn’t look so bad when he was alive.” She hoped. Randy was a squared-away sailor. And the Randy she knew would have been embarrassed by the current state of disrepair. She still hurt when she thought about him.

  “You may meet a few crawly critters in there.” He nodded toward Randy’s house.

  “The exterminator has been out twice.”

  “That’s good. Do you need a ride to the rental company?”

  “Yes, but I may be a while. I need to go back and talk with the officer.”

  “Not a problem. If I get your car loaded before you’re ready, I’ll just check my email and the market.” He pulled a smartphone an inch or two out of his shirt pocket and let it drop back in.

  Taylor must be the only person left on the planet with a non-smartphone. Hers may be a three-year-old antique, but it didn’t matter. It got the job done for her.

  An SUV pulled to a stop next to them. The wine-red exterior was so dark it was almost black. The tinted passenger window slid down revealing the blonde from the airport behind the wheel. “A.J. What the hell happened here? Is everything all right?”

  “Got it under control. Zia, this is Taylor Campbell, Rankin’s niece. His place is hers now. Taylor, Zia Markham.”

  “We talked at the airport last night.” Taylor stood up straighter.

  Zia leaned toward her. “What a fiasco. Are you all right?”

  “Fine.” Taylor managed half a smile.

  Zia passed her a card. “Call if I can help you while you’re here. Or if you want to sell. I have to run. Showing a house down the way.” The window slid up, and Zia drove off.

  Taylor turned the card over. “Zia Grant Markham. ZGM Properties.”

  “Don’t mind Zia.” A.J. rubbed a stray drop of rain from his cheek with a knuckle. “She’s hot and cold. Her brain is always on business. If you break through, she’s a hundred percent with you, but keeping her there is on you.”

  “High maintenance.”

  “And then some. But very successful.” A.J. started hooking up the rental. “Tell Will if he wants some firewood, he better get here with his saw before I bring my boat over tomorrow.”

  “Got it. Thanks.”

  Inside the chandlery, Glen and the officer stood at the counter talking with Trinh. Taylor held out the rental papers to the officer. “Here you go. One second, and I’ll get my ID.”

  She removed her driver’s license and Coast Guard ID from her wallet, placed them on the counter, and turned to Trinh. “A.J. said he’s taking the limb for firewood tomorrow if Will doesn’t get it before then.”

  “He’s gassing up the chainsaw now.”

  The officer picked up her ID. “You’re Coast Guard?”

  She lifted her chin. “Right. Here on leave. I have a copy of my orders in the envelope.”

  “Not necessary. I’ll be back. I’m going out to look at your car before A.J. loads it.”

  Glen looked at her ID, too. “What do you do in the Coast Guard?”

  She smiled. “I’m CO of the Susquehanna out of Charleston.”

  “My nephew enlisted a few years ago. He’s an avionics guy.”

  Will came through the door and went into the back room.

  “Great field. Where’s he stationed?”

  Will returned and joined them.

  “At the air station on Cape Cod.”

  “Always hectic up there.” To say the least. Cape Cod was the only Air Station in First District, and its units were responsible for all the waters from New Jersey to the
Canadian border. They had to be ready to go within thirty minutes 24/7, so equipment and replacements always had to be in working order and good repair.

  “He loves it.”

  “I understand. I do, too.”

  Will kicked the tile with the heel of his work boot. “You inherited Randy’s business. Isn’t that a conflict of interest or something, a marine salvage business run by someone in the Coast Guard?”

  “No conflict—there is no more business.”

  Trinh pushed Will’s arm. “Don’t mess with her. She’s captain of a ship.”

  His eyebrows drew together. “You’re a busy woman. If you decide you want to sell, let me know.”

  “You and Zia. Don’t hold your breath.”

  The officer returned, gave her information about accessing the report online, and said goodbye. Taylor gathered her belongings. “Thanks for everything. I’ll be around. Right now A.J. is taking me to get a replacement car.”

  She walked out by herself. Will, Trinh, and Glen were friendly enough, but Taylor was happy to be back in the rain-freshened air, even if would be a sauna in about three minutes.

  A.J. spotted her and waved. He slipped his phone in his pocket. “Ready?”

  “You bet.” She pulled herself into his truck.

  He turned the key. “You did that like a pro.”

  “I learned early how to get myself into and out of places. Nothing is designed for those of us who are vertically challenged.”

  A.J. laughed. “How challenged are you?”

  “About four or five inches at minimum. I’m five-one. Almost. With shoes.”

  Instead of staying at a hotel, Kelly had rented a small pink cabin by the water. Jake stretched out on the sofa, willing his body to settle into local time, while she started to work.

  She had taken photos of everyone Taylor Campbell met at the boatyard through a long-lens camera. He had kept track of their plate numbers through binoculars. After the tree branch fell, it was all he could do to keep his hands steady. His mission to keep Taylor safe almost ended before it began.