I stared at him. “And you’ll tell Nash…?”
He grinned. “Well, probably wouldn’t sound so good if I told him you’d been kicked out of two bars already.”
I started up the ladder, but stopped and climbed back down. Sure, I might be able to reel Michael in, get him to talk, but would he really get me on the boat with him? My luck, he really did just expect a sleazy romp in the lifeboat with the plan to disappear in the night. I needed an edge. I needed a slam dunk.
“Toss me the phone.”
“Sure,” said Dalton. “What are you thinking?”
“Michael said they’re leaving in the morning. I’ve got one shot at this.” I punched in Dr. Parker’s number. “I need some advice.”
Finally, on the seventh ring she picked up.
“Uh, hi, this is Poppy. Listen, I need to know as much as you can tell me about these fishing boats, how it works, what I could do that would be irresistibly useful.”
“How would that help?”
“I’m trying to get on the boat.”
“But they aren’t actually fishing, right?”
“Well, right, but I need to have a reason to be invited on board, something that I know about fishing that would be useful capturing an orca. Maybe something they haven’t thought of or I don’t know.” I turned so Dalton couldn’t hear me. “I know it’s a long shot, but…”
“What kind of boat is he on?”
“An old fishing trawler. Purse seine nets, I think.”
“That’s hard work. He’d never hire you. He wouldn’t believe you could do it. You can cook, right?”
“Yeah, but he has a cook.”
“Can’t you put something in his stew? Get him fired or something.”
“It had crossed my mind,” I said with a chuckle. She and I were kindred spirits. “But they’re heading out to sea in the morning. I’ve been working an angle, batting my eyelashes. Got a crewman’s attention, the son actually, but I need something more.”
“Okay, okay. I’m thinking.” I could hear her tapping a pencil on something. “Is the boat big enough for an on-board tank? One large enough to keep the orca submersed?”
“No. That’s the thing. It’s a really small boat.”
She was thinking. “So he plans to use a drag net for transport?”
“The thing is, Dr. Parker, I have no idea. I suppose he could use a drag net. I didn’t realize that was an option.” I looked at Dalton and shrugged. He shrugged. He hadn’t been aware of that technique either. “Unless he’d put the whales right on deck.”
“God, I hope not. They’d never survive it.” She was quiet for some time. “This doesn’t make sense. I can’t imagine he has a holding facility nearby in Norway. I figured he planned to transport on board. This guy must be a complete amateur.”
“He’s no amateur. He’s been doing this since the 60s.”
“Maybe that’s the biggest boat he could afford? Or he’s planning to meet up with another boat?”
“The transport boat?” I said.
“Maybe, but that would mean extra work. Extra stress on the animals,” she said with a sigh. “Well, whatever he’s planning, at some point he’ll be yanking one from the water. Their bodies aren’t designed for it. Even if he has a proper harness, if he gets one on board, he’ll have to keep its body temperature down with sea water, or even ice. Did you see anything on board for that?”
“I didn’t get a good look—”
“This is tragic,” she huffed, exasperated. “He’s just going to kill them. No matter how he plans to transport, the odds of survival are slim. The risk is so high.” She paused. “At least back in the days when it was legal to capture they usually had a veterinarian on board who knew about the—”
“A veterinarian?”
“I don’t know how any reputable—”
My feet were already in motion. I handed Dalton the phone. “Get all the info you can on how to care for a killer whale during transport. I’ll be back.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You want me to—” he gestured toward the phone.
“What? You’re tired of flirting?” I shoved the phone at him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I went straight back to the pub and flung the front door open. No one much cared that I was there save for the bartender. He threw down his wet towel and lumbered over to me. “I told you not to come back.”
Michael wasn’t anywhere I could see, so I frowned at the grumpy old man and backed out of the door. I’d learned what I wanted to know. Ray was back, and Dylan and Bjørn were there. That meant Michael was likely back on the Forseti. Alone.
I raced down the docks to the boat. Should I just step aboard? Etiquette says no. But how else would I get to him?
I crossed the deck and banged on the door to the galley. I could see there was no one inside, but if he was down below, he should hear me. After what seemed like forever, I went up the stairs to the wheelhouse and peeked in the window. He wasn’t in there either. Now what?
Where else would he be? I went back toward the pub and slumped down on my now favorite street bench. The wind howled down the street. A plastic bag whipped in circles at the corner of the building. I held onto my hair with one hand to keep it out of my face and watched a raven hippety-hoppin’ on the sidewalk, plucking at some tidbit of a snack floating in a giant mud puddle.
“Yer lookin’ for Michael, ain’t yer.”
I looked up. It was Dylan, the gangly young man, the one Michael had said was the cook and deckhand.
“You know where he is?” I asked.
He had the expression of a child expecting to be punished for spilling his milk. He looked down at his hands, fiddled with his fingers. “If yer don’t mind me askin’, why’s a bonny lady loike yer loike ‘im anyway. It don’t make naw sense.”
I shrugged. “You’re right. Sometimes the heart doesn’t make any sense.”
“Ain’t dat de truth,” he said and plopped down next to me, then unfurled his long legs out in front of him.
He seemed like a genuine, kind soul. Made me wonder if he had the slightest inkling what Ray was really up to. And what he would do when he found out. He might make a good ally, but I couldn’t risk testing those waters now.
“So do you know where I can find him?”
He examined his boot laces, then scratched behind his ear. He pointed down the road. “Proobably de church,” he said. “Sometimes yer man goes dare.”
“Is he a religious man?” That’d be good to know.
“Oi don’t tink so.” He scrunched up his face in thought. “Proobably figures it’s de last place 'is auld paddy wud luk.”
I nodded. “Thanks. Dylan, right?”
His eyes brightened. “Yeah, Dylan.”
An old stave church, one of the few remaining that had been completely constructed of wood during the Middle Ages, stood at the end of the road, its shingled steeple pointing upward, toward the heavens.
As I approached, I admired the intricately-carved timbers that criss-crossed over the entry. The large wooden door was adorned with swirling etchings that looked like angel’s wings and reindeer with ornately-curved antlers.
If I hadn’t been here for work, I could’ve spent hours learning the history of this place. The architecture alone was fascinating. I was tempted to take a quick walk around the outside, check it out, but I didn’t want to risk missing Michael.
The iron hinges creaked as I pushed the heavy wooden door open and stepped inside.
A gust of wind followed me in, past the rows of pews, all the way to the altar, where a single candle burned below a simple wooden cross. The flame flickered and danced before it settled again to a peaceful glow, long after the door had closed behind me and my eyes had adjusted to the dim light inside.
As far as I could tell, I had the place to myself. Michael was nowhere in sight.
I silently stepped from the entry area into the empty sanctuary, my eyes drawn to the vaulted ceiling, suspended by ancie
nt wooden timbers, and the painted cherubs and fluffy clouds that seemed to hover between earth and the celestial realm. The scent of incense lingered in the air. The place had a peaceful, dreamlike quality. Timeless. I could picture the Vikings, crowded into the long pews, horned helmets in their laps, tamed by the angelic choir and the gentle words of the priest. I almost envied the serenity they must have felt here, in this place of respite from their lives of constant conflict.
I sat down in the fourth pew from the back. Now what? Was I to pray to find Michael?
I wasn’t much for church or religion. Nature was my sanctuary, the natural order, my code. But I had to admit, the solace some found in “giving it all up to God” was appealing. Comforting even. For those who believed. And this building made me feel it.
I don’t claim to have any answers. I suppose that makes me agnostic. I just don’t know. Maybe there is some invisible, guiding force in the universe. The sense of awe when I entered this old church was enough to give me pause, cause me to reflect, recognize that I was but a tiny speck in a vast universe, that my tiny, insignificant problems were just that—insignificant. The only thing that truly mattered was love and goodness and living a good life. Wasn’t that the point of religion?
What baffles me most is how, for so many, the call to be compassionate, caring, doesn’t extend to animals. I know there is a debate over the very words of the Bible, as written in the book of Genesis, as to whether God intended the animals of the world to be here for the use of humankind or that humankind was to be the steward of all the animals and the environment. For me, the answer is clear. We are part of the animal world as sure as we live and breathe. Only arrogance keeps humans separate from it, that assumption that somehow humans alone have an elite birthright.
Interesting, how here, in this church, the walls are adorned with magnificent murals that prominently portray the animals of this region, obviously with great reverence. The antler motif repeats throughout. When did we give up this respect for the other living creatures among us? Seems it somehow coincided with our gaze being drawn ever skyward.
A door to the side of the altar squeaked open and the Reverend appeared.
Suddenly I realized that I didn’t know what denomination this church was. Catholic, probably, right? Anglican? One of those that had taken over during the Protestant Reformation? I glanced around. No obvious confessionals. Is that what Michael had been doing? Confessing? Was he feeling guilt over his quest to capture a whale? Or was it the fight with Dalton that concerned him?
The Reverend approached me, his arms hanging comfortably in front of him, one hand holding the other. He wore street clothes, but I could tell by his manner, he was the reverend. And the kind smile, rosy cheeks. In fact, he looked a lot like Reverend Alden from Little House on the Prairie, the only Reverend I’ve ever known.
“May I help you, young lady?”
I shook my head. “No, thank you. I’m actually just here looking for a friend.”
“Ah,” he said with a knowing nod. He glanced toward the door from whence he had come, then patted me on the shoulder. “Perhaps you need only to be patient.”
I pointed to the door. “So he’s…?”
A warm smile lit up his face. His eyes even seemed to sparkle. He nodded again, reassuring me, but gave no explanation. “I’ve someone to visit,” he said. “But stay as long as you’d like.” I watched him walk down the aisle and stop briefly in the vestibule for his raincoat, then push through the heavy door.
I turned around and leaned back in the pew. Patience, huh?
About thirty seconds later, Michael shuffled through the door. To look at him now, I could barely tell he’d been in a fight, save for the cut on his cheek and red knuckles. Dalton had taken most of the hits.
Michael saw me, but his expression didn’t change. He ambled down the aisle and eased into the pew next to me.
“What’s a lady like you doing in a place like this?” he whispered.
I couldn’t resist a tiny smirk. Adorable. “I got kicked out of the pub and didn’t want to go back to the boat so I—” I fiddled with the hymnal. Why play coy? “I was looking for you, actually.”
He turned to me and smiled like a hyena on the prowl. “Yeah? How’d you know where to find me?”
“A little Irish bird.”
He grinned and nodded.
“I wouldn’t have guessed you were a religious man.” Or a cat lover, actually.
“I’m not,” he said with a slight shake of his head. “I just like it here, you know. The solitude. I can think.”
I glanced around the sanctuary. “I know what you mean.” My eyes found his again. “It keeps me humble.”
He let go a laugh.
“I get it though, living on a boat. Close quarters and all.” I blew out my breath. “Especially with someone you don’t like.”
He smirked. “My dad can be trying.”
“I lived on a boat with my dad for an entire summer when I was a kid.” Why’d I just share that?
“Really?” He turned to face me.
“A sailboat.” I started to chew my thumbnail, then yanked it back out of my mouth. “My dad died right after that.”
His eyes turned soft. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well, it was…” I shrugged.
He turned back toward the altar. “Life’s funny sometimes, isn’t it? Here you are, back on a sailboat. What do you suppose that means?”
“That I’m crazy?”
“I was thinking it might mean”—his eyebrow shot up—“you’ve got a thing for sailors.”
My turn to smirk. “Maybe you’re right.” I looked away. “My dad was the captain of my world. I swore one day I’d marry a man like him.” Why was I being so honest with this guy?
“Is that why you agreed to go sailing with”—he jerked his thumb toward the marina—“him? You thought you’d marry him some day?”
“I could ask you the same question. Why are you on a boat with your dad, thousands of miles from home, when it sounds like you two don’t get along.”
He looked at me for a long time, his stare laced with suspicion. Or maybe he was contemplating an answer. Finally, he said, “You don’t want to talk about him. I get it. So you turn the tables.”
“Or maybe that’s what you’re doing right now?” I held his gaze. “It’s okay. I didn’t mean to pry. Your relationship with your father is your business.”
“There’s nothing to tell.” He flashed me a disarming grin. “A man’s gotta make a living, right?”
We both turned back toward the altar and sat in silence for a while. When he started to fidget, I whispered, “I’m sorry about my boyfriend.”
His one eyebrow shot upward. “I thought he was your ex boyfriend.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Definitely.”
I smiled. He smiled.
The wind whistled through the rafters and the timbers creaked.
I placed my hand on his. “I suppose I shouldn’t have followed you here. It’s just that, I know you’re leaving in the morning and I didn’t want you to go without saying goodbye.”
“Where will you go now?” he asked. “And don’t tell me you’re staying with him.”
“I don’t know. I don’t really have anywhere to go.” I turned away, drew in a breath like I was fighting back tears. “I don’t even know where I’m sleeping tonight.” Okay, here goes nothing. I turned back and let my gaze linger on his lips. “I thought maybe…”
His breathing changed, more shallow. His eyes lowered to my breasts.
I turned away. “I’m sorry. You must think I’m a…” I covered my eyes with my hands. “I’m just, I don’t know, frustrated.” I turned back, tears in my eyes. “I had dreams, you know. When I got out of college, I thought I’d have a position right away. Maybe even open my own practice.” I lowered my head and fiddled with my thumbnail. “I was so naive.”
He shifted in the seat. “You went to college? What for?”
Atta boy
. “Veterinary school.” A hint of interest flashed in his eyes. Good. “I love horses, you know. But the business. You gotta know somebody.” I shrugged. “The only internship I could get was at the Detroit Zoo.” I hesitated. I had to be careful not to lay it on too thick. Thankfully, my verbal blunder about spaying and neutering the kittens could turn to my favor. “For three months I took care of the hedgehogs. Can you believe it? Hedgehogs.” I raised my eyebrows. “Do you know how to take the body temperature of a hedgehog?”
He shook his head. “Not sure I want to know.” Something in his demeanor had changed. Subtle. He hid it well. But I could see he was thinking, pondering. Was he trying to figure out how to get me to come with him now without seeming too forward?
“Trust me. You don’t.” I sighed, let my shoulders slump. “I’ll be lucky if I can get a job in some big city neutering feral cats.”
Michael didn’t say anything in response. His eyes fixed on his hands in his lap and I wasn’t sure where to take the conversation from here. If I drove it home, I risked being too obvious.
I sat silently next to him for a while.
Finally, he said, “Well, we still have tonight.”
Crap. He was either testing me or I’d misjudged him. I was going to have to take it up a notch. “I’m sorry. I was mistaken.” I rose to leave.
He took hold of my hand. “What do you mean?”
I spun on him. “I thought you were my knight in shining armor. But I see now, you’re just like all the rest.” I pursed my lips. “I need to get out of here. Do something exciting.” I looked him in the eyes. “Something bold. Like the Vikings, you know.” I let my eyes travel to the ceiling, around the sanctuary, like I was being inspired. “Sail into the sunset, destined for new horizons. Conquer the world.” Geez. I should audition for a soap opera. “You know what I mean?”
“Yeah, sure, I guess,” he said.
Now we were in a careful cat and mouse game. I had one chance at this. Here goes… I plopped down and leaned back in the pew. “Maybe I’ll just stowaway on your boat,” I muttered. “Now that’d be a story to tell my kids someday.”
Poppy McVie Mysteries: Books 1-3 (The Poppy McVie Box Set Series) Page 29
