Poppy McVie Mysteries: Books 1-3 (The Poppy McVie Box Set Series)

by Kimberli A. Bindschatel

  “There’s probably a cup left in the pot.”

  “Mercy,” he said.

  “I’ve got a German pancake in the oven.”

  He looked my way and opened the other eye. “Tryin’ ter take my job?”

  “No, sir,” I said with a grin.

  He poured the mug of coffee and slumped down at the table. “Must be 'e’s finally foun' sum cod.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Dylan shrugged. “We’re actually movin’.”

  “Does that mean we’ll have fish for dinner?” I asked.

  “Oi wouldn’t play dohs odds,” he said.

  I wondered again if he really didn’t know what was going on. He seemed so genuine, it was hard to believe he did. “Do you think maybe we’re not out here for fish but something else?”

  “Loike waaat?” he asked, his expression pure ignorance. “Mermaids?”

  The door opened and Ray poked his head in. “I need to talk to you. Outside.”

  I looked to Dylan, then back to Ray. He was staring at me. My stomach lurched. If he’d seen the camera, I was done for. “Me?”

  “You,” he said and shut the door.

  Dylan and I exchanged a what-the-hell-is-that-about look before I got up and followed Ray out the door.

  When I stepped on deck, Ray pointed aft. “He’s still following us.”

  Dalton. A surge of relief flooded me. “What? Who? No way.”

  Ray fished a battered pack of Marlboros from his coat pocket, whacked it until a cigarette emerged from the opening, then shoved the stick of chemically-soaked tobacco into his mouth. He cupped a lit match in his hands to block the wind and took a long drag before he said, “I want him gone.” When I didn’t react, he leaned forward, smoke oozing from his nose and mouth. “Now.”

  “Well, I’m sure he’s just out—”

  “I’m not going to tell you twice.”

  I believe you. I opened my hands and gave him an innocent shrug. “What do you want me to do about it?”

  “You’ll think of something.” He flashed a condescending frown. “Or I’ll throw you overboard to give him something to do.”

  His expression didn’t change. He wasn’t kidding.

  I swallowed hard. “Can I use the radio?”

  He held out his hand, mocking a cordial, be-my-guest gesture.

  In the wheelhouse, I took the transmitter in hand and held down the button. “Sea Mist, Sea Mist, Sea Mist, this is the Forseti hailing. Over.”

  “Forseti, this is Sea Mist, switch to channel 68. Over.”

  I turned the tuning dial to 68 and heard Dalton’s voice. “Forseti, this is Sea Mist.”

  “Yeah, Sea Mist, uh, you need to divert your course.”

  “Come again?”

  “Stop following us.” Dalton was smart enough to know I wouldn’t be calling on the radio if I wasn’t being watched. He’d know to play along.

  “What is it they say, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? Ha ha. Get over yourself, sweetheart. We aren’t following you. You happen to be on our course.”

  I shook my head. Good Dalton, keep it up. “Whatever. Just choose another course.”

  “What? I will not. You don’t get to tell me where to go.”

  Ray was hovering like a vulture over a kill, his beady eyes fixed on me. Michael stood behind him, arms crossed.

  “It’s over. There’s no point in chasing me,” I said. “I’m not coming back.”

  “Chasing you? Very funny.” There was a click and a second of static. “Our days are over, babe.”

  “Good, then just turn around. Go another way.”

  “No can do. Over and out.”

  I turned to Ray and shrugged.

  He curled up his lip as though he’d just got a whiff of rotting carcass. “Come with me,” he said and grabbed me by the wrist.

  “All right, I’m coming,” I said. What the hell?

  He stomped down the stairs and headed toward the stern, to one of the lazarettes on the port side. The one with the harness inside. My pulse started thrumming, my brain whirring with excuses, denials. He opened the lid, looked inside, and slammed it shut. He moved back to the one with a padlock on it and fished a key from his back pocket, opened the lock, and flipped open the lid. “Take a look,” he said.

  I leaned over the side, making it clear I was obeying. There was an army green case with Russian writing on the side—the case for a rocket-propelled grenade launcher. Oh crap. My knees went numb. “What is it?” I asked as innocently as I could muster.

  Ray reached down and flipped open the lid to reveal the weapon. “It’s proof that I’m not talking out my ass. You don’t get your boyfriend to back off, I will.” He slammed the lid shut and the latch rattled, echoing in my brain.

  “Right,” I said, my eyes wide. “I’ll convince him.”

  Apparently Ray wasn’t concerned at this point about what I knew. Not good. I went straight back to the wheelhouse. Ray didn’t follow me, but I had the feeling he would be listening. I hailed Dalton again. “Listen, my captain won’t take no for an answer. He wants you out of our fishing area.”

  “What does he care? I’m not fishing.”

  “Well, he’s a little hot-headed. Just leave, okay. Don’t make me thump you on the head.”

  Bjørn gave me a curious look. There was no response from Dalton for a moment. I hoped he would pick up on my hint. In the Navy, grenade launchers were nicknamed thumpers and hot meant firepower.

  “Fine. Whatever,” he finally responded. “Have a great life.”

  “I’m set on the course I want to be. You need to find yours.”

  There was no answer.

  I replaced the transmitter to its hook. “Breakups,” I said to Bjørn with a shrug.

  He glanced my way but didn’t acknowledge my comment.

  I chewed my thumbnail, trying to figure out what to do next. With Dalton backing off, I was on my own. The remote cam had better work. My best strategy now was to lie low, give Ray no reason to even think of me again. I’d wait until I was sure I had incriminating video before I made my move. That’s when I’d…I wasn’t sure yet. I’d figure something out.

  “Did you love him?”

  “What?” I turned in surprise. Bjørn initiating conversation was so unexpected.

  He gestured aft with his head, referring to the following boat. “I saw you two in the pub. I don’t know what happened between you—” he turned to face me “—but that boy loves you.”

  My mouth opened, but I didn’t know what to say.

  He grinned. “I might be an old codger, but I recognize love when I see it. He had that look in his eyes.”

  “He and I, we…” I shook my head.

  Bjørn smirked. “Young ’uns. Can’t tell ‘em nothing.”

  The door swept open. Michael came barreling in, his finger pointing forward. “Orca! Off the starboard bow!”

  Bjørn calmly swung forward, raised a pair of binoculars, and nodded. His shoulders sagged with resignation.

  Michael, on the other hand, was fired up like a kid waiting to rip his Christmas stocking down from the hearth. I followed him out to the rail. Five hundred yards or more in the distance, a pod of killer whales moved through the waves, their distinctive triangular dorsal fins breaking the surface. Unlike the slow, steady movement of the humpback whales, these predators cut through the water with menacing speed.

  There were at least twenty of them.

  Bjørn throttled up the engine and changed course. Right for the whales.

  “You stay inside, in the galley or down below,” Michael said and turned to join his father.

  “What? I want to see the whales.”

  He spun around and grabbed me by the arm. “You do as I say. Do you understand?”

  Every fiber of my being wanted to smack that stern, I’m-in-charge look off his face. “Fine,” I managed in a wimpy voice.

  He stormed off. This was it. They were going to try to capture one.
/>   I had to let Dalton know. My phone read no service. Damn. Damn. Dammit!

  The radio. But Bjørn was in there at the helm. What could I say? What excuse could I give?

  I’d think of something. I went back into the pilothouse and straight to the radio.

  “Don’t touch that,” Bjørn said, his voice calm.

  “I forgot to mention—”

  “Doesn’t matter. Ray’s using it now with the handheld.”

  The radio had been switched to a working channel. Ray’s voice came over the line. “Flank from the east.”

  “Yes, sir,” a voice crackled back.

  I had to come up with a reason to stay in the wheelhouse so I’d know what was going on. I looked at Bjørn and he looked at me and frowned. He wasn’t happy about something.

  “Coffee?” I suggested with a casual smile.

  He studied my face for a long moment before responding with a nod.

  “I’ll get some brewing,” I said and slipped out the door.

  Dylan wasn’t in the galley. Probably on deck, helping get ready for the capture. I filled the pot with water and ground coffee and set it on the stove to percolate.

  Then I paced, my stomach churning up a sour bile that fumed at the back of my throat. How was I supposed to stand by and wait while they were about to do…what they were about to do?

  I checked my phone again. Still no service. Dalton, please turn back. If my remote camera didn’t work, all this was for nothing. And even if it did, I had no way of uploading the footage right away. If I was made, the digital files would be here on the boat with me. Ray could easily destroy them—and me—and get away with it.

  I paced some more, twirling the bracelet my dad had given me, round and round my wrist. How was I going to hide my feelings and pretend this was no big deal? Then how long would I be stuck on this boat with them before I had a chance to escape?

  Maybe I could mutiny. Dylan would most likely be an ally. And Bjørn, well, I was sure he wasn’t too keen on this. Maybe he wouldn’t help, but wouldn’t interfere either? That left me against Ray and Michael.

  The boat slowed. The engine quieted. I crawled across the bench and looked out the window. The pod of orcas was directly alongside. This was happening.

  My dad always told me, where there’s a will, there’s a way. When your heart’s in the right place.

  I gave my bracelet another twist. Oh Daddy, you died with your heart in the right place.

  But I can’t stand by and do nothing.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I dumped the entire pot of coffee into a Thermos and hustled back up the stairs to the wheelhouse. Bjørn was standing at the door, looking out the window, his arms crossed.

  “Hot coffee,” I said, pushing past him and reaching for his cup.

  He nodded without comment.

  “Bjørn, what’s going on?” I said as I poured.

  He accepted the cup from me and took a sip. He acted like he was savoring it before he answered, but then his eyes turned misty. “Best if you don’t know.”

  “Why? What do you mean?”

  “Little lady, you should’ve stayed with that other boy. This one’s up to no good.”

  “What are you talking about? What’s going on?”

  He took another sip of the coffee. “Like I said—”

  “It’s better I don’t know. Yeah, I got it.” I was disappointed. I hoped he’d tell me now. I needed to know for sure if he was an ally. “Mind if I stay in here with you?”

  Ray came busting through the door. His eyes settled on me and his lip curved into a snarl. “What did I tell you?” he said as he went straight for the deck controls. “Out!”

  “I was just—”

  “Leave her be. She brought me coffee,” Bjørn said.

  Ray flicked a switch, fiddled with a joystick, and the whirring of the winch rattled the floorboards. They were deploying the seine nets. Michael and Dylan were on deck, hauling the nets and making sure they went into the water without getting tangled.

  I made like a chameleon and blended in with the paneling.

  Bjørn eased the engine throttle forward, turned the wheel, and steered the boat in a circle as the nets unfurled into the ocean.

  Bjørn gestured out the front windows. “Svein and Jænis are here.”

  Two small speedboats zig-zagged through the waves beyond the whales, criss-crossing each other in an irregular pattern, heading toward us. They zoomed back and forth, herding the whales, making them disoriented and scaring them into changing direction, driving them toward the nets.

  I watched with my fingernails dug into my palms, an expression of innocent curiosity pasted on my face.

  Bjørn had steered more than a half circle and was closing the loop. The pod was now a few hundred yards off the starboard bow, the whales crowded into a confused bunch.

  “Gotcha,” said Ray. He pulled back the winch control stick, locked it into place and pushed through the door, heading back out on deck.

  Out of nowhere, a small prop plane dropped from above and buzzed along the surface of the water, right toward the whales.

  I stepped out on the deck as it roared over my head.

  The whales dove and surfaced in frantic patterns, running into each other, their formation getting tighter as they called out with their distinctive chitters and squeaks. I shook with anger. I had to stop this right now before—no, it’ll be okay. Get the video you came for first.

  A few whales slipped from the main pod, but the boats let them go now, staying on the core group, forcing them forward, toward the nets. Ray was taking advantage of the killer whales’ strong family instinct. The pod would remain tightly bunched together for support, making them easy to corral into the net.

  The orcas dove and changed direction as though they recognized the nets and were looking for an open gap to escape.

  I clenched and unclenched my fists. Damn you, Ray Goldman. You’re going to rot in prison for this.

  Then the whales dove, as though synchronized, and disappeared. Ray came charging back up the stairs. “Which way did they go?”

  Bjørn shrugged with indifference.

  About five males surfaced with a loud whoosh. “There!” Ray shouted into the radio. “Flank ‘em. Flank ‘em.”

  Both speedboats zoomed toward the whales and cut them off, making them turn back toward the nets.

  Then came another whoosh. The other whales—the females and younger ones—surfaced past the nets. They’d slipped around.

  “Dammit!” Ray slammed his fist down on the console. He glared at Bjørn as if it were all his fault. “Michael, get those nets back in,” he spat into the handheld radio, then slammed the joystick forward and the winch squealed into motion. “I’m too old for this,” he grumbled.

  I suppressed a grin. They’d worked together and outsmarted him. Ha! Way to go whales!

  Bringing in the nets took several minutes and the orcas were getting away.

  Ray shouted some indiscernible command on the radio and the speedboats chased them down. The plane circled back, flying low over the water, and the whales dove in fear.

  “Damn lines are jammin’ it.” Ray slammed the winch joystick back. “Don’t you dare let them get away, boys. Force them back,” he barked into the radio as he pushed through the door, then bounded down the stairs, shouting at Michael.

  I held the door open behind him, watching through the opening.

  One of the speedboats turned and zoomed along the far side of the pod. The driver raised a gun and fired something into the water. Two seconds later, an explosion reverberated across the water. The whales surfaced in a panic, blowing with frightful force, squealing and screeching.

  I rushed back into the wheelhouse, slamming the door behind me. I stared down Bjørn. “What are they doing?” I knew. They were using seal bombs, explosive devices similar to M-80 firecrackers, to scare and disorient the whales. But I wanted him to say it.

  Another bomb was fired into the water.
Kaboom! Then another. Kaboom! The whales became frantic, churning up the water in their terror. The boats circled around them, forcing them into a bunch.

  “Get this old tug in gear,” Ray ordered Bjørn over the radio.

  “Yessir,” Bjørn said, but he took his time getting to the throttle.

  Dylan pushed through the door and came to a halt, his eyes on Bjørn. “Yer man towl me ter run de winch.” His hands shook and he looked as if he expected to be drawn and quartered if he didn’t get to it right now.

  Bjørn shrugged, so Dylan lunged toward the console and fired it up, his hands fumbling at the controls. The nets once again unfurled into the sea.

  More seal bombs went off. Kaboom! Kaboom!

  Ray’s voice thundered over the radio, shouting orders as Bjørn pulled back on the throttle. The nets were fully deployed. The speedboats closed in, pushing the frantic whales inside.

  My guts churned, building an unbearable pressure in my belly. I took hold of the edge of the console, trying to steady myself for fear I’d burst like a water balloon.

  Ray would adjust the nets now, cinching up the bottom, then the top, forcing the whales closer and closer together, making it easy to get one lassoed. I kept my vigil. Once he had the nets cinched and the whales next to the boat, that was my cue to start the camera recording. My blood pumped double-time in my veins.

  Bjørn set the boat to idle, took a sip of his coffee, then leaned back on the console and crossed his arms. “I’ve got it now,” he said to Dylan, dismissing him. As soon as Dylan was out the door, he turned to me. “I’d go down below, I were you,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Before he comes back.”

  I nodded to Bjørn. Staying clear of Ray was a good idea. I couldn’t risk him seeing me start the camera with the remote. Or that I’d lose it and beat him to a bloody pulp before I had my evidence.

  Having the whales in the nets definitely constituted harassment. Hell, the seal bombs alone were enough to arrest him, but once he had a whale in the sling, there was no denying his intent. That was what I needed on video to nail him to the wall. That was the moment I’d confront him. Stop this terror. I’d bluff, tell him I’d instantly uploaded a video via satellite link. It was plausible enough. A good plan.