Dark Storm

by Karen Harper

  “They sure wouldn’t do a butterfly one. Whenever this ends, we need to hightail it before people get near us, then try to follow Clint’s car if we can spot which one he gets into, hopefully when it’s dark.”

  “Nick, thanks for agreeing to this. It seems to be our only lead, since Will didn’t pan out.”

  “But look—look who’s here!” Nick said. They gripped each other’s arms as they recognized Steve. “Should we let him know we’re here? He must have read the obit and decided to come, too, when we thought he just needed time alone. I’m starting to get the feeling that we’re trying to stay ahead of the police—but Steve is, too.”

  To Claire’s dismay, Steve turned and saw them, even though they were standing on the other side of the rocks. He dipped his head, obviously studying them, and came over.

  “I can’t believe you guys are here, too,” he said.

  “So much for the disguises, right?” Claire asked.

  “I don’t think most would notice. I know you’re suspicious of the Ralstons, so thought I’d hang back and just listen. Let’s not stand near each other, and we can confer later on what we learn.”

  He turned away and started back toward the cluster of mourners, but they saw him immediately stopped by another man. Trouble? Had Ralston brought more security than his usual “associate”? But Claire thought the man speaking to Steve looked vaguely familiar.

  She whispered to Nick, “That’s the man we asked for directions at the cove dock to find Larry’s boat.”

  He nodded as they overheard words on the breeze. “Seen you looking for Captain Larry the day he died,” the old man said as if he had read their minds.

  “He must be confused,” Claire said. “He means us.”

  “No. Remember, he said someone else had just asked for Larry? Besides that, I didn’t think anything of it since Steve has been so upset in general, but the day Jace got to Biloxi, he emailed me that Heck had told Steve who we went to find and Steve was ticked and rushed out. Maybe we’ve made a mistake to keep some of our investigation from Steve, so he’s done things his own way.”

  “But surely Steve wasn’t at Larry’s ahead of us, because he would have found—Well, he probably just didn’t find Larry and left, so...”

  She couldn’t finish the thought. What if he had found Larry before they had? She felt sick to her stomach, even worse than the gnawing pain she’d had since Darcy disappeared. Steve had come back that day with those bruises and cuts...someone had evidently had a fight in the cabin of the Down Under.

  “I greatly appreciate your attendance here this evening.” Clint Ralston’s voice rang out as they watched Steve walk away from the old man. Since they could hear and see from here despite the wash of waves and occasional screech of seagulls, Claire and Nick went no closer.

  “I recognize the woman from the Fly Safe office,” Nick whispered.

  “My brother, Lawrence Andrew Ralston, loved the sea,” Clint went on, his words clearly discernible. “Let me begin this sunset of his life memorial service with these words from the poem Requiem by Robert Louis Stevenson. ‘Home is the sailor, home from the sea, and the hunter home from the hill.’

  “I know many of you have had questions as to the cause of Larry’s death. I have been asked why he isn’t being buried by a Ralston funeral home. Simply to that I say, because his home was the sea, as vast as the unknown future. So please just accept that he left a sort of living will that requested no burial in the ground. But we are not here to ponder that tonight. We are here to celebrate his life, not his death, either accidental or intentional, his going onward, and I assure you that he will.

  “You know,” he continued, “most people don’t realize that about seventy-five percent of what deep-sea fishermen and their charters do is catch and release. Yes, really. Reeling in delicious fish in legal season is a great thing, but most fishermen, including Larry, treasure the fight, the hand-to-hand primitive combat with a huge denizen of the deep. We all have our battles in life, don’t we, but we want to go on, to live on.

  “He also reveled in sometimes tagging fish for scientific study, and then releasing them to fight another day. The battle with nature but also the support of nature by letting great fish go.

  “Larry had his favorite offshore or backwater spots. I’ll always picture him there on a sunny day in the future, alive again. Immortality—it can take many forms, future forms. Soon, mankind will find a way.”

  She had no idea what he was alluding to, but the sun was sinking bloodred into blackness. She needed to listen to the weather report again, but she didn’t need something else to panic her.

  Other than a newspaper reporter she recognized hovering at the back of the crowd, she knew no one else, and Nick had only mentioned one beside the Yosts. Several other people spoke with memories about Larry. When it seemed the event was ending, Claire and Nick moved farther back.

  “It sure got dark fast, so maybe there is a storm coming in,” Claire whispered. “They’re lighting those paper lanterns to send them up. I can’t quite hear what they are saying anymore, but it looks like Jedi Brown’s in charge of that.”

  “Memorial lanterns,” Nick whispered. “They put candles in those things to make them lift since hot air rises. Actually, they are fire hazards if they tip too much or land sideways.”

  “With all this water around, maybe it will be okay.”

  Perhaps attracted by the lighted lanterns sailing on the breeze into the quickly darkening sky, a motorboat heading in hovered, then turned around to head back out.

  “Maybe the boaters just like the sight,” Claire whispered. “But what is that they are doing?”

  Although the mourners were busy watching their lanterns drift aloft, she and Nick saw something else released in a dark blur that fluttered sideways, then skyward.

  “What in the world?” Nick asked.

  The wind was just right—or wrong—to take the mass toward the mourners. With the graying sky the winged creatures were hard to see at first. The boat sped away with a plume of white foam behind it, going over the posted speed limit.

  Clint and the crowd swatted at the dark cloud at first until Jedi’s voice cried out, “Black butterflies! Where from? Over the water?”

  Everyone looked that way as the hum of the inboard motor faded and the boat’s running lights were swallowed by the darkness. Claire felt Nick shudder, perhaps because he didn’t like butterflies landing on him, and a few came this way. Carefully, she captured one by its wings, holding it as gently as she could.

  “Walk slowly, don’t run,” Nick told her as they went farther toward the shore. “Don’t draw attention, and we’ll wait on the sand. Ralston could not have parked closer than we did, so we can get in our car to follow him.”

  “Could Tara be behind that butterfly release, or if not, she might know who ordered that many and has a boat. And black ones—to symbolize death?”

  “The least of our worries right now,” Nick whispered. “I’m thinking that murderers sometimes have a compulsion to attend their victim’s funeral.”

  “Don’t even think that about Steve!”

  “Let’s sit down on the sand now that it’s really getting dark. Keep an eye out for Clint.”

  “Compared to all I’m grieving for, I don’t think I’ll ever get upset over little things again. I just want to find Darcy, and everything’s working against us!”

  Before they sat down in a small shaft of light from the nearest house, Claire lifted the captive butterfly close to her face on her palm and let it open its wings. It was all black but for a crimson rim on the bottom edges of the sculpted wings. She blew gently on it to encourage it to fly, and it did. Then she lifted her hands to hide her tears.

  They both jumped at a familiar voice close behind them. “I’ve either got to swear you two in as adjunct officers or lock you up just to keep you safe,” Ken Jensen said.

  20

  Claire gasped, but Nick seemed to handle the shock of Detective Jensen
standing right behind them.

  “Let’s just say great minds run in the same saltwater boat channels,” Nick told him, steadying Claire with his hand on her upper arm. “You’re not the only one who needs to know more about Larry and Clint Ralston.”

  “But you two don’t learn, don’t listen—and I’m on your side,” Ken insisted, drawing them farther back into the darkness. “You have heard, haven’t you, that some criminals return to the scenes of their crimes?”

  “Meaning what?” Nick asked. “That everyone here is under suspicion for Larry Ralston’s death—his accident or suicide?”

  “I don’t want to face off with you two, whom I consider friends, but I haven’t discounted murder—and neither have you, right? You were on the scene of his death about the time he died.”

  “So the ME has established the time of death?” Nick demanded.

  “No, and may not be able to pin it down. But then, there’s another possible suspect here in this crowd, one who didn’t make an attempt to disguise himself as you two did.”

  Despite the cooling breeze, Claire felt her face flush. This was her idea to try to hide who they were. But if this man thought he was going to intimidate them by suggesting blame when they were only desperate to track down Darcy, she would tell him off. But before she could react, Nick tightened his grip as if he sensed her outrage.

  “Is someone else here from Fly Safe?” he asked. “If we could get some of the other names they seem to hide—”

  “There may not be other names, since the group is fairly new, though it seems to be well-funded. But don’t tell me you two haven’t thought of the other person of interest here, or are you too close to him to get it? Darcy’s husband is here tonight. He even spoke to me about the progress of the official search when he came in. Yeah, I know he wasn’t anywhere in the area when Darcy disappeared, but stranger things have happened. I’ve seen cases where someone hired someone else to do their dirty work.”

  “We told you from the first, they were not having marital problems,” Claire insisted.

  “As close as you are to her, some people don’t share things like that.”

  “Detective Jensen,” she said, putting her hands on her hips, “look at it this way since you’re watching what everyone wears tonight. Steve had nothing to hide or fear from you, no reason to be here but to get information—like us, like you—or he would have hidden or even disguised himself. And not come here at all.”

  “And yet another person here tonight is first mate Bernie Thompson,” Ken went on, “who’s always around the cove docks to help fishermen clean up—he’s the janitor of the place, so to speak, the guy you asked for directions the night you were looking for Ralston’s boat, so he’s ID’d you, too. He’s the same guy Steve had also asked for directions to find Ralston’s boat before you got there. Even if Steve would never hurt Darcy, he could have lost his temper talking to Ralston. I asked him about that black eye tonight, and he said he got in a bar fight.”

  “It’s true. He did,” Claire said, but her stomach went into free fall. For one frozen moment, she just stared at Ken. It suddenly seemed so dark, so late, standing here on the shore waiting for the mourners to scatter. She almost blurted out that she and Nick had just become aware of Steve visiting Larry, but neither of them shared that now. And did Steve need a lawyer?

  She felt faint. If Nick had not had such a strong grip on her arm, she might have fallen. All she wanted was Darcy back, Darcy safe. Was Ken going to accuse or arrest Steve for Larry Ralston’s death? Question or accuse her and Nick since they’d been there, too?

  Nick spoke, though it seemed he had been silent for hours.

  “Detective, are you asking for a statement? For some sort of confession to something we know nothing about except the statements we have already given about finding Ralston’s body? Do we or Steve Stanley need legal representation?”

  “Not at this time, Counselor,” Ken said, matching Nick’s formal tone. “Still, for a while, an active investigation. But let me advise you that you should go home immediately and not question, confront or follow anyone here, namely Clint Ralston. You don’t need to tangle with him or his associate, Jedi Brown. I will take care of that and keep you informed if there is any information pertaining to Darcy Stanley’s disappearance.”

  So formal, even fierce. Claire’s legs almost gave way. Nick exhaled hard. “It isn’t working out for us to stay friends through this, is it, Detective?”

  “That doesn’t change but needs to be set aside for now. Otherwise, as you know, Counselor, it could well compromise the investigation. Claire,” he said, turning to her, “I assure you again we are doing everything we can to find your sister. We are following every viable lead. We have checked each day to be certain her credit cards were not used anywhere, even outside the state, and they were not this past week. This is not just a Collier County search, or a state of Florida search, but a national search. Now, I’d walk you two to your car, but I’ll trust you to do that, and I will be in touch.”

  He turned away and went a few yards down the beach where he could watch those leaving the memorial service. Nick still held her arm, and they plodded through the thick sand and seagrass toward the street to walk to their car.

  “Caught,” she said. “My fault. Nick, what about Steve since it wasn’t us who hurt Larry or even saw him alive?”

  “We’ll have to talk to him—prepare him. Ken said he wasn’t here to arrest him. If Steve needs representation, it would look bad if I do it, even if someone in the firm did.”

  “And here Steve came back beat up and had a story about a fight in a bar the night Larry died. I feel like the world is falling in, falling on me—on us! But I can’t just do nothing. It’s like waiting for this horrible hurricane to hit they keep watching for.”

  * * *

  When Claire and Nick got home, they tucked the girls in bed, trying to assure them that everyone, especially the police, were still looking for Darcy.

  “Where have you been tonight looking for Mommy?” Jilly had asked the question the doll had repeated more than once.

  “We took a walk on the beach and talked to a detective about how they are looking hard for her,” Claire said. “Now let’s turn out the light so all of you—all three—can get to sleep.”

  Nick kissed both girls and went out, hoping to wait for Steve to come in. Claire sat on Lexi’s bed until both girls fell asleep. But the doll’s eyes stayed wide-open as if she were watching—judging. Claire had a good nerve to dig out the raggedly doll and bury this one in the depths of the closet, but of course, Lexi, Jilly, too, needed this pretty programmed machine right now.

  When she heard a car door slam outside, she went to join Nick. He and Steve were just going into the library.

  “The three of us weren’t the only ones watching that memorial service tonight,” Nick was saying.

  “You mean Ralston’s lackey? That tall, blond shadow of his?” Steve asked.

  “I mean Detective Ken Jensen of the Collier County sheriff’s office.”

  “Yeah, I talked to him briefly. At least he’s on the case. Good move on his part to keep an eye on Ralston. He’d better hustle now in case that storm turns to a hurricane, since that will pull all the police away from trying to find Darcy. I can’t stand to think of her out there—out there somewhere in a storm.”

  “My point is, Jensen spotted us—and you,” Nick told him as they all sat down facing each other, she and Nick on the couch and Steve in the club chair. She could see that his body language had gone from tense to hostile.

  “You talked to him, too?” Steve asked, narrowing his gaze.

  “We did. He also talked to the guy—name of Bernie Thompson—you asked about Larry’s boat the day he was killed.”

  “So? What is this, one of your courtroom grillings?”

  “What it is, is our attempt to get you ready to be seriously questioned or worse by Jensen. You need to get your story straight—and true. Do I need to find so
meone to represent you if Jensen tries to question you so that—”

  “I didn’t kill that Ralston bastard! I only wanted to question him about his ties to that Fly Safe bunch, but I couldn’t find him. I yelled for him. I got so damn frustrated at everything I went to a bar and got into a fight, okay?”

  “With someone you said you didn’t know who then left,” Nick said. “At least the bartender or regulars there can vouch for that and that will clear—”

  “You two actually thought I’d beat someone up to get information? Then kill him? I was just frantic for a useful fact, for a trail, for a clue—anything!”

  “We totally sympathize,” Nick insisted. “Keep your voice down, or we’ll have the girls awake, or Bronco coming in here to find out what’s—”

  “I hear my name?” Bronco asked from the door. “Boss, sorry to interrupt but when I turned on the outside lights for a safety check before Nita and me turned in, I saw a little problem in the backyard. Someone—it wasn’t the girls, Nita says—yanked up every one of them butterfly bushes and plants out there. I went out. They’re not wilted or dead yet, so it might’ve just happened. Things were okay a little bit ago when I looked out, walked around. The girls gonna be real upset.”

  “Hell, I’m real upset!” Nick said.

  The four of them raced to the back windows where Nita stood, looking out. She’d turned the inside lights off to be able to see without someone seeing her. The safety lights flooded the area.

  How different things looked, Claire thought as even more adrenaline poured through her to fight her narcoleptic exhaustion. The yard looked naked and ugly along the back fence. And the message? Forget about butterflies? Your home isn’t safe? These are dying or dead and Darcy is, too—or will be if you don’t back off?

  “We should go out and put them in water,” Nita said. “Maybe replant now or in the morning. You are right, the girls will be upset.”