The woman opened the door slightly, and said, "Can I help you?"
"I've got to find Vernon Sinclair," Will replied, in an anxious voice. "It's a matter of life and death."
The woman looked at him, puzzled. "I don't recognize the name. Are you sure he lives in Ocean Bay?"
"I'm sure," Will said. "Has anyone moved here in the past few months?"
The woman pondered the question for a moment then replied, "Clay Simpson. He bought the marina."
"Simpson?" Will combed his fingers through his hair. "Tall, gray haired, older man?"
The woman nodded. "It seemed odd that someone would want to buy the marina, or even live here after—"
"You say he lives here? Where?"
The woman pointed to a row of houses on the bluff that overlooked a dam, with what looked to be a swinging foot bridge crossing over it, and said, "He's in the gray house with white trim."
"What's the quickest way there?' Will asked.
The woman glanced up the street, and said, "This road takes you there, but it's at least a couple of miles unless you leave the road when you get to the top of the hill and cross over the dam on the swinging foot bridge. I wouldn't advise it though. No one's been keeping the footbridge up, and the boards are rotten."
Will studied the steep embankment below the bluff. "Any trails up there?" he asked.
The woman shrugged. "Probably. I've seen some of the residents who live up there coming to town that way."
"Look," Will said. "A woman's been kidnapped, the mother of this boy, and I've got to find her. Can the boy stay here with you?"
"No!" Mike yelped.
Will ignored him, saying to the woman, "It would be just for a little while. There’s a man up there with a gun and it's too dangerous to take the boy with me."
The woman looked at Mike in alarm. "Of course he can stay here. He'll be fine. And my friends call me Maggie. Maggie Dunthorp."
"I don't want to stay here," Mike whined.
"Sorry," Will replied. "You don't have a choice." He nodded his thanks to Maggie Dunthorp, then turned and raced up a road that led in the direction of the bluff, pausing a short distance away to scan the steep embankment for an opening in the undergrowth that might indicate a trail.
Catching sight of someone in his peripheral vision, he glanced over his shoulder and saw Mike racing toward him. "Go back," he yelled, waving him away.
"No," Mike yelled.
"Damn it, Mike. Go back!"
"She's my mother and I'm coming too," Mike cried.
"Like hell you are! You're going back! Now!"
"Try and make me."
Will didn't have the time or energy to deal with an obstinate kid while Nellie's life was hanging in limbo. Pointing a stiff finger in the direction of Maggie Dunthorp's house, he shouted, "Get back there right now or I'll—"
"You'll what?" Mike glared at him, fists curled. "I'm not going!"
Blood pulsed in Will's temples. In his mind flashed Nellie's terrified face, the gunman ripping off her clothes, hovering over her… "Damn it, you'll do as I say." As Will flailed out a hand, Mike raised his elbow to ward off a blow that never came. His fist inches from Mike's face, Will slipped back to a time when he'd cowered, arm bent, protecting himself.
Heart pounding erratically, he looked into Mike's anxious eyes… And lowered his arm. He drew in a ragged breath. Would he have struck the boy if he hadn't flinched? Had it come to that? He closed his eyes to collect himself then said in a firm voice, "Your mother's being held by a hired gunman who's killed before and won't hesitate to kill again. Every second wasted could mean her life. Now please, Mike, go back."
Saying nothing, Mike backed several steps, turned and ran toward the woman's house.
Satisfied that Mike wouldn't follow, Will scrambled up the embankment, sending dirt and loose rocks tumbling below. Halfway up the bank he found a narrow path that led in the direction of the houses above. Making his way through dense greenery, he followed a zigzag path until it branched in several directions, then chose a branch that ended abruptly in an almost impenetrable tangle of undergrowth. He backtracked to where another trail cut between trees, then followed it a short distance, coming out on a road in a cleared area that lead to the row of homes.
Spotting the house Maggie Dunthorp pointed out he crouched and made his way to it, then peered through a bedroom window. Seeing no one, but hearing voices, he knew they were in the front of the house. Picking up a fist-sized rock, he crept around to the porch and up the steps, pausing as the boards creaked beneath his feet. Bending low, he peered through the window. The gunman's back was to him, and facing him were Vernon Sinclair, who sat tied in a chair, with Nellie and Captain Nate standing behind. And that’s when Nellie saw him…
Holding Nellie's gaze, he showed her the rock and motioned toward the front door, and she gave him a vague nod of understanding. Moments later, Will hurled the rock at the window, shattering the glass. While the man was distracted by the shattered window, Will burst through the front door and lunged for the gun in the man's hand, dislodging it and sending it skidding across the floor. Will dove for the gun, grasped it in both hands and rolled away from the man.
Nellie grabbed a chair, prepared to strike the man, but the man shoved her aside and raced out the open door, heading toward the dam. Will dragged himself up and was swept by dizziness. Pausing until it passed, he settled the butt of the pistol firmly in his hand and started after the man. Lengthening his stride, he closed the gap while firing a shot over the man's head. His next shot clipped several feet behind the man. Ignoring Will’s warning shots, the man continued running. But when the man's foot hit the rickety wooden footbridge that crossed over the dam, a board gave way and fell into the water rushing over the dam. The man grabbed the cable handrail to steady himself, and turned to face Will.
Will stepped onto the catwalk, the gun aimed directly at the man's belly. "Hold it right there!" Will yelled over the sound of the rushing water below.
The man gave Will a cold, hard look. "You don't have the guts to shoot me or you would have done it when I was running." He started toward Will.
Will fired a shot at the man's feet. "The next one will be closer," he yelled.
"The next one better not miss," the man yelled back, "because that's the only bullet left in that gun." He continued toward Will, eyes unwavering.
Will cocked the hammer. "Keep coming and you're a dead man." As the distance between them closed, the boards beneath Will's feet began to spring with the man's steps. Will edged back, probing for firmer footing, but when he took a step to get his footing, a board gave way and his foot fell through. Desperately, he grabbed for the cable, at the same time releasing the gun, which plunged over the side.
The man started toward him. "One of us is going to follow that gun," he said. Leaping forward, he swung at Will. Will ducked, avoiding the blow. Catching the man around the knees, he toppled him. Arms in vise-like grips, they fell against the precarious walkway and tumbled dangerously close to the edge. Will's head struck the catwalk. The jolt to his wound sent pains shooting through his skull, momentarily dazing him. Sensing a blow coming, he turned his face, and when he did, he saw the water plummeting over the dam, plunging into a turmoil of frenzied spray churning far below. In desperation, he raised his knee and caught the man in the groin, doubling him over. Before the man could regain his balance, Will shoved him back and straddled him, his knotted fist pummeling the man’s face while delivering a series of near-lethal blows.
Without warning, Will felt a fist below his ribs, the blow forcing a rush of air from his lungs, nearly knocking the wind out of him. Trying to catch his breath, he reached for the rusty cable but he seemed to have no strength in his hands, and when he fell back, a ham-like fist hit him in the jaw once. Twice. Three times. All around him things were swirling... the water below… the face looming over him... the rusty cable he no longer held...
Then suddenly the man was gone.
Throug
h the confusion of his mind, Will heard Nellie's cries. "Damn you, damn you, damn you," she yelled in unison with the sound of grunts. Will looked up to find her standing behind the man, a board gripped in her hands as she repeatedly struck him on the head, the momentum of one final blow spinning him around and hurling him against the cable handrail. Staggering forward in an attempt to regain his balance, the man slammed into the cable, then released a long desperate cry as he tumbled over the side and plunged into the rushing water far below.
Will slowly hoisted himself up, feeling Nellie's hands stabilizing him as he struggled to stand against the sharp pain shooting up the side of his head.
Nellie held onto him, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I thought you were going over the side," she said in a desperate voice caught between panic and crying.
"So did I," Will replied. Hearing boards creak beneath their feet, and feeling the footbridge springing and swaying as they moved, he reached for the cable to stable himself, and said, "Let's get off this catwalk."
Nellie curved her arm around Will's waist and he braced his arm across her shoulders for support. When they stepped off the catwalk, she looked at him and gasped. "My God," she said, spotting the gash on his head and the blood dampening his hair.
Nate, who stood at the head of the catwalk, handed him a handkerchief. "Press this to your head and lay down."
Will wadded the handkerchief against the wound. "We'd better radio the authorities about fishing out the man's body," he said, "and Mike will be wondering what's happening."
"Where is he?" Nellie asked.
"With a woman in town," Will replied.
"Which woman?" Nate asked.
"Her name's Maggie," Will replied. "Maggie Dunthorp."
Nate's face clearly showed concern. "We need get down there. Maggie was a patient at the mental hospital. When the mill shut down and the people left, the mental hospital was also shut down and the patients let out. Most of them stayed around and are harmless, but I heard something different about Maggie. Come on." He started down the road.
Nellie's voice cracked with apprehension, as she asked, "What did you hear?"
Nate quickened his pace. "That she poisoned her husband."
"Oh my God!" Nellie raced ahead, but was quickly overtaken by Will, who grabbed her hand, pulling her along.
"I had no way of knowing," Will said, breathless. "She seemed fine when I talked to her." He stopped explaining, not wanting to waste valuable time or energy. They scrambled down the embankment, and within minutes, burst through the door to Maggie’s house.
"Mom!" Mike yelled, racing over to hug Nellie, who caught him in her arms.
Nellie looked over Mike’s head at the woman she assumed was Maggie Dunthorp, who stood in the doorway leading to the kitchen. The woman appeared perfectly normal—plain dress and apron following her plumpish figure, gray hair caught in a bun at her nape, hands holding a mixing bowl. Nellie looked anxiously at the bowl, then looked at Mike and asked, in a tentative voice, "What were you doing in the kitchen?"
Mike shrugged. "Making cookies."
"Did you... eat any cookie dough?"
"No," Mike said. "Maggie said we had to wait till she put some stuff in it to make it taste right, something out of a little bottle."
Nellie stood, holding Mike's hand. Giving Maggie a nervous smile, she said, while backing, "We have to be going. But thank you so much for watching my son."
Mike looked up, miffed. "We haven't finished the cookies. Maggie said—"
"I'm sorry, honey, but we have to go. Now!" She nudged him in the ribs.
"Why are you poking me like that?" Mike said, annoyed. "I don't want to go—"
"Mike!" She smiled politely at Maggie then turned abruptly as the doorway darkened and a tall woman with reddish hair, stepped inside. The woman looked from Nellie and Mike to Will. "Is there a problem here?" she asked.
Maggie smiled, clearly pleased to see the woman, whom she addressed as Georgia. Maggie explained that she and Mike were making cookies. When she'd finished, Georgia told Maggie to return to her cooking. After Maggie left the room, Georgia said, "I'm sorry to barge in like this, but I was concerned about Maggie. Sometimes she doesn't cope very well." Her eyes moved to the gash on Will's head. "Clay told me what happened. You'd better let me put a few stitches in that wound."
Nellie looked at her, uneasily. "Are you a... that is—"
"A nurse?" Georgia said. "Yes, I assure you I am."
"She is indeed." Vernon Sinclair's voice came from behind. "She was on the mental ward of the hospital, and when it shut down, she stayed to help with the patients who refused to leave." He curved his arm around Georgia’s shoulders. "May I introduce my wife," he said, his eyes filled with a combination of love and admiration.
Nellie's lips parted. "You're married? I mean, it's enough of a shock to learn you're alive, much less married."
Vernon released Georgia and took Nellie's hands in his. "I'm sorry. I've put you through a terrible ordeal. But I never expected you to find out I was alive and living here. Believe me, Cornelia, I'm very, very sorry."
"But, I don't understand. Why did you do it?"
"It's a long story. I'll tell you all about it, later."
Nellie looked at Maggie, who stood at the kitchen counter spooning dough onto the metal cookie sheet, and said to Georgia, in a hushed voice, "Nate said Maggie poisoned her husband."
"She did," Georgia replied, "but as an act of kindness. Her husband was dying of cancer and he asked her to help end his pain, which she did by allowing him to take an overdose of sleeping pills."
"Then it was suicide?"
"In essence, yes."
Nellie frowned. "But, if he did it himself, why was Maggie in the hospital?"
"She couldn't cope very well after he died. They'd been childhood sweethearts and married for over sixty years, and they were very close. After he died she suffered a complete mental breakdown, the reason she was in the hospital." Her eyes shifted to Will's head. "I really should clean and dress that gash. Clay brought the car so he can take us back to the house."
"Clay?" Nellie looked at her uncle, puzzled.
Vernon shrugged. "Why don't you let the boy finish making cookies? He'll be fine with Maggie. And while Georgia takes care of Will, you and I can catch up on things."
"Please, Mom." Mike looked pleadingly at Nellie.
"Believe me," Georgia reassured Nellie, "he'll be fine. He couldn't be in safer hands."
Nellie sighed. "Well…" But Mike was already in the kitchen.
Nate went back to the Isadora to radio the authorities, and Nellie, Will and Georgia climbed into Vernon's older-model car, and a few minutes later, arrived back at the house. While Georgia tended to the wound on Will's head, Vernon relayed to Nellie his story...
"It began after your Aunt Maud died and I started gambling," Vernon said, while pacing the floor. "When we first married, she'd get mad and upset when I gambled, even threatened to leave me, so I promised I'd quit, which I did for thirty-five years. But after she died... Well, the will is weak, they say, and I started again. At first my luck was hot. Every bet I made was a winner. The stakes got higher. Then things suddenly changed. The next thing I knew I was heavily in debt. That's when a man approached me about a loan, one so good I couldn't refuse. When I couldn't pay it back on demand, the threats started. Before I knew it, I was in and couldn't get out."
"Why didn't you sell the Isadora or declare bankruptcy and get out of it all?" Nellie asked.
Vernon gave a heavy sigh. "It wasn't that simple. It turned out my creditors were racketeers involved in drugs, prostitution, embezzling and other illicit activities."
"Then why didn't you go to the police and explain what happened?" Nellie asked.
"The mob found out you and Mike were my only relatives and they threatened your lives if I didn't do what they said. When I realized as long as I was connected with them, your life would be in danger, I knew I had to get out. So I turned myself over
to the FBI, and in exchange for information and names, the FBI made me a part of their witness protection program, declared me dead after the accident, gave me a new identity and settled me here. What I didn't count on was your being followed, especially since I knew you had no reason to believe I was alive."
"Then they've been following me for some time," Nellie said, cringing at the thought of her and Mike being watched unknowingly.
"I suspect ever since my funeral," Vernon replied. "They probably assumed if anyone knew the truth it would be my only kin, that you'd eventually lead them to me. I figured you weren't in danger as long as you didn't know I was alive. They didn't want you. They wanted me. I'd recorded everything in case something happened, but I forgot where I put my journal with the names of the mob members. When I remembered it was hidden on the Isadora, I knew I had to get it before the mob did so I could pass it on to the Feds."
"So that’s what Captain Nate was after," Nellie said, "your journal, not his."
Vernon nodded.
"How long until you can come out of hiding?" Nellie asked.
Vernon shrugged. "Pretty soon now since Baxter, my contact with the witness protection program, told me a few minutes ago that the other men had been apprehended. Seems the authorities had been following them, and you. But they were stopped by the storm. They should be here in the next day or so. As soon as they get the names of the other mob members, they'll be picked up too. As for leaving here--" he smiled warmly at Georgia, who tied the last of the stitches closing the gash on Will's head "--I've never been as happy as I am in Ocean Bay. Georgia has family and friends here, and I have a past I'd just as soon forget. Besides, a few of the houses have sold recently and the town's become known as a vacation spot. Who knows, before it's all over there could even be a casino here."
Georgia gave him a dark look, and he qualified that with, "But I'd be at the receiving end this time as casino owner." He took another look at Georgia and said, "Actually, I've had my fill of casino's and gambling for a lifetime."
Georgia reached up and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you, Clay."
Nellie looked from Georgia to Uncle Vern, and said, "Then you intend to keep the name, Clay Simpson?"
A Dolphin's Gift Page 15
