Dangling by a Thread

by Lea Wait

  Would he try to go out to King’s Island to see Jesse?

  Me. Pete. Simon. Maybe Gerry Bentley. Too many people wanted to talk to a man who wanted to be alone.

  What if someone else got hurt?

  Jesse deserved a chance to quietly tell his side of the story to the police. He needed to prove he was competent.

  After what happened today, could he do that?

  As I called the Haven Harbor Police Department, I crossed my fingers that Pete would still be there. “Pete? It’s Angie. You were right. I don’t think it’s a smart idea for me to go out to King’s Island alone tomorrow.”

  Pete was silent for a moment. “I’m glad. I checked with the hospital. Sounds like Dave Percy is out of danger, although he won’t be in great shape for a while. I’ve been worrying about your going out to the island. I shouldn’t have agreed you could do that. You’re right, I don’t want you to be in danger. The police department has a boat, and I know the marine patrol officers. I’ll take one of the other guys and go myself.”

  “But I’d like to go with you,” I put in quickly. “I just don’t think I should go alone. I still think Jesse might talk with me. My being there could keep him from being nervous. I’m going to see Dave first thing in the morning, but I’ll be ready to leave after that.”

  “You don’t need to come with me, Angie. In fact, my boss wouldn’t be enthused to find out you were going to.”

  “Jesse’s under a lot of stress right now. I can explain it while we’re on our way to the island.”

  “Maybe,” Pete said reluctantly. “Could you also explain why people were asking about him at the police station this morning? I assumed it was a coincidence. Now I’d like to know as much as possible about whatever Jesse’s involved with. But first I want to hear Dave’s side of the story. Let me think about it. I’ll see you at the hospital in the morning.”

  “See you then.”

  Chapter 23

  “Remark my soul thy Narrow Bounds

  Of the Revolving Year

  How swift the weeks Complete Their rounds

  How short the Months Appear.”

  —“Sarah Ann Chamberlain performed this work in the 10 year of her age.” Sarah worked this sampler in Bristol, Maine, in 1818 using cross, Algerian eye, satin, padded satin, stem, and chair stitches.

  Some people say they can ask their subconscious a question before they go to sleep and wake up with the answer.

  I had no such luck. I had no clue what I could do that would make a difference to Dave, to Jesse, or even to the cormorants.

  Gram walked in my door at seven thirty the next morning. So far I hadn’t seen a need to change the lock. I didn’t have secrets from Gram.

  At least, no major secrets.

  I’d already been awake for a couple of hours. I’d had two cups of coffee. But I didn’t have any answers.

  “Pete Lambert’s going to meet us at the hospital. He has to talk to Dave, if Dave’s well enough.”

  “Dave’s doing better, but he has a lot of healing to do.”

  “Is that new information?” I asked.

  “From about an hour ago. Tom added Dave to the list of people he visits at Haven Harbor Hospital. He went over there early this morning. Ministers don’t have to keep to visiting hours. Dave’s still pretty drugged up. But he’s also upset about what happened, and about what might happen to the island.” Gram stopped. “A nurse said they were going to give him another sedative. We ought to get there before he’s so relaxed he can’t talk with us.”

  “Is he in a regular room?”

  “I think so.”

  I pulled half of Patrick’s roses out of their vase and wrapped their wet ends in wax paper. “Then let’s go. Does he know how much trouble Jesse’s in for shooting him?”

  “Tom didn’t mention that. He said Dave was worried Jesse would be pressured to leave the island.”

  “I want us to get there before Pete questions him. I don’t want Dave to lie, but he may not understand how much trouble Jesse’s in. He needs to be careful about exactly what he says on the record.”

  Dave had a private room on the surgical floor. As Gram and I walked in he tried to sit, but then groaned and fell back onto his pillows. His window looked out at the heavy clouds over Haven Harbor and at a line of gulls perched on the roof of the clinic next to the hospital.

  “Beautiful women bearing gifts,” he managed to say as I put the roses on the windowsill. “Vase?” His words were blurred. He was still on those heavy meds.

  “I’ll find a vase before I leave,” I promised.

  “I’ll do that now,” said Gram, picking up the roses. “At my age I’ve visited enough people in this hospital to know where the staff stores extra containers.” She headed out, giving me a look that said, I’m giving you two some privacy.

  I liked Dave, and we certainly were adding shared experiences to our relationship. Gram might like there to be more between us, but right now I was overwhelmed by the responsibilities of friendship alone.

  I spoke quickly, before Gram returned. “Pete Lambert is on his way here. He’s going to ask you questions about Jesse and what happened yesterday. The police are considering charging Jesse with attempted murder.”

  “No!” said Dave. That word was clear. “Damn! Jesse didn’t mean to hurt me!”

  “I know. But he did shoot you. They want to bring him to Haven Harbor for questioning. I’m going with them to King’s Island. Jesse’ll listen to me.”

  Dave shook his head. “Not safe.”

  “I know he shot you,” I said. “But he wouldn’t shoot at a marine patrol boat. Would he?”

  Dave hesitated. “Jesse doesn’t like company. And he’s feeling threatened. He could shoot someone else.”

  “I’ll do my best to keep him from doing that.”

  “Don’t want you to get hurt.” Dave shook his head. “You can’t talk with him if he’s up on a cliff and you’re in a boat.”

  “Maybe Pete has a megaphone. I know if Jesse shoots at the police they might shoot back. I don’t want him to get hurt. I’ll be all right. Jesse knows me.” I sounded more confident than I felt.

  “He’s known me a lot longer than he’s known you,” said Dave, pointing to his heavily bandaged leg with a hand connected to an IV.

  I grimaced. “I know.”

  Gram rejoined us, the roses now arranged in a large vase. She put them on the small bureau in the corner of Dave’s room.

  “Beautiful,” said Dave. “Thank you.”

  I didn’t mention the roses were regifted.

  “What can we do for you?” asked Gram. “You’ll need clothes. Toiletries? Anything need doing at your house?”

  Thank goodness for practical Gram.

  “My keys are in the top drawer,” said Dave, pointing at the bureau. “The doctors say I’ll be here for a few days. But I’ll need loose pants to wear home. Ones that will fit over bandages. Pajamas? And could you check to make sure my windows are closed?” He gestured toward the window, where, outside, dark clouds were gathering. “It looks like rain.” His words started to slur.

  Gram picked up his keys. “We’ll check your house, Dave. And get your pajamas. If you think of anything else, let one of us know.”

  “Thank you,” he said, as Pete Lambert walked in.

  “Morning, Dave,” said Pete. “Sorry to see you laid up.”

  Dave nodded slightly.

  “Angie’s told us her version of what happened out on King’s Island, but I’d like to ask you a few questions.” He turned to Gram and me. “Privately, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course,” I said, glancing at Dave. “I’ll check back with you later, Dave. And Pete, call me when you’re finished?”

  “Will do,” said Pete. Luckily, he didn’t mention my going with him to the island. Gram wouldn’t be happy about that, and I didn’t feel like arguing with her. She’d find out after I got back.

  Jesse didn’t have many friends. He’d need one today.<
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  And, after all, I wasn’t going out to the island alone. I’d have police protection.

  What could go wrong?

  Chapter 24

  “From low pursuits exalt my mind,

  From every vice of every kind,

  And may my conduct never tend,

  To wound the feelings of a friend.”

  —From a sampler stitched by Eliza Ann Frazier of Steubenville in Jefferson County, Ohio, in 1824. Eliza Ann was ten years old. She included three different alphabets, numbers, corner designs in rococo stitch, and a satin-stitch sawtooth border.

  Gram believed me when I said I had several business calls to make. She dropped me at home and went on to check Dave’s house. What kind of pajamas did he wear? Ones with botanical patterns? Skeletons? Plain-colored ones? I wasn’t sure I was ready to know.

  I poured another cup of coffee. I was crazy to even imagine Dave’s pajamas.

  Pete called within fifteen minutes. “Still want to come with me to the island, Angie?”

  “You got permission?”

  “Not exactly. But Joe Floyd is going with me. I promised you wouldn’t get in our way, and he agreed you might be a help.”

  “Joe Floyd?”

  “I don’t think you know him. He’s a good guy, been on marine patrol several years now. Joe enforces the conservation laws, which’re important to Jesse, and he helps us out when there’s a problem on an island. Plus, Jesse knows him. He’s checked on Jesse in the past. Everyone who knows Jesse worries about him, especially in winter, or when there are strong nor’easters.”

  “When are you leaving?”

  “I’m picking up paperwork at the station. Then I’ll be heading to the wharf. Joe’s already there. Make sure you bring a slicker. Weather’s coming in.”

  In Maine, “weather” meant rain or snow. “See you in a few minutes, then.”

  My heaviest sweatshirt was still soaking in the bathtub. I quickly drained the water and resoaked it, hoping the rest of the bloodstains would come out in the second soak. Then I grabbed one of the sweatshirts I’d saved when I’d cleaned out Mama’s things two months ago. Mama’s taste was a little brighter than mine. Her sweatshirt was yellow, appliqued with red tulips. But sweatshirts lasted forever, and it was warm. No one on King’s Island would care what I wore. I wasn’t looking to make a fashion statement.

  On my way out I grabbed my Glock. Mama’s sweatshirt and my yellow slicker would cover my holster.

  Maine laws had changed in the past month; I no longer had to wait six months to apply for a concealed carry permit. I wasn’t sure how Pete or the marine patrol guy would feel about my carrying when I was with them. But as long as no one knew . . . I had no idea what Jesse would do when we got to King’s Island. I wanted to be prepared.

  I pulled into the wharf parking lot next to Pete’s police cruiser.

  The side of Joe’s boat, which looked like a repurposed lobster boat, was labeled UNITED STATES MARINE PATROL in large white letters. Anyone within one hundred yards would be able to identify it.

  Good. Jesse would know who we were.

  Joe looked about fifty, and seemed calm and totally in control. “Welcome on board,” he said, waving at us as he adjusted his boat’s controls. “We’re about set. Understand you know Jesse, Angie.”

  “I’ve met him several times,” I said, only exaggerating a little.

  Joe was taller than Pete. Or Patrick. Or anyone else I knew. His thick brown hair was wavy and streaked with gray. His eyes were shaded by sunglasses. How many years had he been with the marine patrol? His skin was that permanent tan that marked men and women who spent hours each day on the water.

  “Heard Jesse got a little carried away with island security yesterday,” Joe continued.

  “He’s pretty protective of his island. And the great cormorants,” I said.

  “Law’s on his side when it comes to trespassing. And nesting grounds shouldn’t be disturbed. But shooting someone . . .” Joe shook his head. “Jesse’s got to take it easy. King’s Island is about three miles out. On the border of my jurisdiction and the coast guard’s. He could have called either of us if he needed help.”

  “He doesn’t have a telephone,” I pointed out.

  “There is that,” Joe agreed. “Tried to talk him into having a battery-powered shortwave, in case of emergency, but he’s a little set in his ways.”

  A little.

  “Angie, you said on the phone Jesse was unhappy about something,” said Pete. “Might as well tell us now, before we head out. Hard to hear without yelling when the engine’s going.”

  “Gerry Bentley wants to buy King’s Island,” I said.

  “Bentley? The guy with the yacht moored outside the harbor?” Joe frowned.

  “Right. He has friends in town, and he wants Jesse to sell.”

  “Does he know about the seabirds’ nesting grounds?” asked Joe.

  “I don’t know. But he does know Jesse owns King’s Island with his cousin, Simon Lockhart. He flew Simon in from Chicago Wednesday. I suspect Bentley thinks he can buy Simon, and Simon can convince Jesse to sell.”

  Joe shook his head. “That Bentley fellow must not know Jesse.”

  “I don’t think they’ve ever met,” I agreed. “Jed Fitch went out to the island and talked to Jesse earlier this week. Jesse told him he wouldn’t sell.” Jesse hadn’t shot him, either.

  “That’s our Solitary,” said Joe, sending Pete an affirming glance. “Money doesn’t mean much to Jesse.”

  “But it’s upsetting him,” I added. “I think that’s why he shot Dave Percy by mistake yesterday. He’s especially nervous about people coming to his island.”

  “He’s never liked anyone stopping in,” said Joe. “Unfortunately, we’re about to give him more company.”

  “We stop in to check on him every once in a while anyway. A welfare check. But he’s never shot anyone before, either,” Pete pointed out.

  Joe shrugged. “Figured it was a matter of time. Jesse’s got issues.”

  “Let’s get on with it,” said Pete. “Wish we could talk with him out on the island, where he’s comfortable, but my boss insists we bring him in for questioning.” He looked over at the dark clouds moving north, over Haven Harbor Light. “Looks as though rain’s coming in fast.”

  “Jesse won’t be happy about coming with us,” I agreed. “We could suggest he visit Dave in the hospital when he’s in the Harbor. He doesn’t know whether Dave lived or died. I thought he might row in himself this morning to find out.”

  “Haven’t seen him around,” said Joe. “’Course I don’t see him every time he comes into town, but usually someone mentions him to me. He was here a couple of days in a row earlier this week. That was unusual. I suspect he’s staying to the island for now. Especially if he thinks he could lose his home.”

  “Bentley wants to buy it. Not steal it, buy it from him,” Pete pointed out.

  “I suspect Jesse would quibble with that wording,” Joe said. “Let’s get out there and see how he’s doing. Explain the lay of the land. He won’t be happy. But maybe he’s calmed down since yesterday and won’t pull out his bow and arrows.”

  We headed out of Haven Harbor.

  The marine patrol boat was a twenty-six footer equipped with a lot of electronics. It was a lot bigger and had a much more powerful engine than the Sweet Life.

  As we headed out of the harbor I pulled the hood of my slicker up. I should have tied my hair back; despite the hood, it blew into my face. Mama’s sweatshirt helped block the winds. My slicker and the open cabin of the boat protected most of me, but the sharp rain and spray blew onto the deck and into my face.

  This trip would be shorter than the one Dave and I took yesterday. Today I couldn’t concentrate on the scenery.

  Joe sped up as we passed the harbor buoy.

  By the time we’d get to King’s Island we’d be soaked. I kept reminding myself coming with the men had been my idea. I was only with them because I’d c
onvinced Pete I might be able to help. Joe’d been polite, but I suspected my presence didn’t fit within his regulations.

  Rain trickled down my back and legs. My sneakers slipped on the wet deck.

  The sea that had sparkled yesterday was now dark and menacing. We cut into the swells, pounding forward through whitecaps and foam. Few other boats were out and fewer birds. Not a day for a pleasure ride.

  Joe expertly navigated around King’s Island and headed toward the small cove where Dave had landed the Sweet Life. I scanned the shoreline, looking for Jesse.

  Yesterday he’d been hidden in the trees. I hadn’t seen him until he’d shot at us.

  Today I couldn’t see him, or any of the great cormorants, through the rain.

  Had he seen us?

  Pete secured a ladder and threw it over the side.

  “Where was Jesse yesterday, when you got here?”

  “Up on that cliff.” I pointed. “He came down to the beach from there.”

  Both men looked up, following where I’d pointed. The ledges bordered the edge of sparse woods above us. Those ledges had been a part of King’s Island, protecting the land from the sea around it, since before my Scots ancestors immigrated to Maine three centuries ago.

  “If he’s there now, he’s well hidden,” said Joe. “When I come out here I use the horn. Let him know I’m coming. He recognizes the boat. Not thrilled to see me, but he knows it’s my job, and I try not to stop by during nesting season unless there’s a storm warning I need to pass on. Coast guard keeps an eye on him, too, but he gets on better with me. Didn’t use the horn today. Most of the birds are out of the nests, but officially it’s still nesting season. Jesse’s right not to want any loud noises that might disturb them. Or get Jesse more upset than he already is.”

  “In this rain, he’s probably in his shelter,” said Pete, scanning the tree line. “I suggest we pay him a call.”

  I climbed over the side. I hadn’t done that in years. The basics came back pretty fast, but it would have been easier if the rain hadn’t blurred my vision and made the ladder slippery.