Sydell Voeller Special Edition

by Sydell Voeller

  “You're wrong. Terribly wrong. You're a good man, Lowell. You do deserve happiness. And...and the accident. That's all it was, you know. Simply a tragic accident. You must believe that.”

  “No.” He paused, squaring his jaw.

  “So that's why you also blamed yourself when my father disappeared?” she asked, filling in the missing pieces. “You were reliving your guilt because you felt responsible for what happened to Dad?”

  “Yes--that, plus the obvious fact that there's a job to do. Once a cop, always a cop.” He dropped his gaze. His declaration fell like a death sentence as he added, “I can't give you my love, Vanessa...but I will give you my word. I'll do whatever it takes. I'll keeping looking for Eldon...right till it's time for me to go back to L.A.”

  Chapter Nine

  The next few days, Vanessa lived and breathed and moved in a vacuum. Lowell was busy again, scoping out one fishing excursion after the next, and like before, they saw very little of each other.

  She ached for him, for the pain and suffering he'd buried deep inside. Over the past few weeks back here on the island, her own heart had begun to heal. She knew now that her mother and brother would always live on in her memory, and no one could ever take that away from her. And the healing would go on. And because of that, she was ready to reach out again. She could love and be loved and not fear the consequences.

  But Lowell had been dealt a double edged blow. He was not only grieving for Garrett, he was also dealing with guilt.

  The guilt she'd experienced that day she'd gone sailing with Lowell instead of looking for her father had been one grain of sand in an invisible hour glass. Lowell's guilt encompassed the billion others. Ruby was right. His healing would require time. But how much longer would it take for the sands in the hour glass to empty? And how much longer could she wait for him to change his mind about loving her--especially now that he'd sworn it could never be.

  Wednesday morning, a letter in a plain white envelope arrived addressed to Vanessa. Tearing it open, not bothering to grab the ivory letter opener she'd left on the office desk, she began reading the type-written message:

  This is an anonymous note to inform you of

  your father's whereabouts. He is alive in

  a deserted house boat near the old fish

  packing plant at Seafarer's Cove on Sturgis

  Island. It's time for you to come for him.

  I assure you, I seek no ransom. By the time

  you receive this, I'll be well on my way out

  of the country anyway.

  She stuffed the letter into her breast pocket, her hands trembling. Her father was alive! Alive and close by! He'd been the entire time!

  Suddenly fear eclipsed her joy. There were still too many unanswered questions. What if this was a set-up? Could this be a trap to kidnap her too?

  The fear twisted deeper. She rushed to the front window, peering out at the parking lot. Lowell! Please be here!

  Yet his truck was gone again and so was he. Gone for the entire day, most likely, miles away in the Sound on another guided fishing trip, perhaps even as far as the ocean itself.

  Gathering her wits, she knew there was no time to lose! So what Lowell if had warned her to stay close by the lodge? That was ridiculous! How could she stay put now? Especially when Dad's life was still hanging in the balance?

  She decided to leave a note for Ruby and Clinton, phone a message to the sheriff's department, and be on her way.

  In no time, expertly maneuvering Clinton's motor boat, she sped into the bay towards Sturgis Island. The boat pitched across the Sound, jolting her like a bucking bronco. Rain pounded against the top of the cabin. She could feel the counter-force of the wind, hear its muffled roar, see the rising swells of gray-green water undulating before her. The wind had risen to nearly 28 knots.

  Shivering, more out of fear than the penetrating chill, she considered for a moment. Maybe she should turn back. Wait till the weather cleared. But just as quickly as the temptation had surfaced, she pulled her thoughts back into focus. She mustn't let the storm stop her. There was no choice but to stay on course.

  Half an hour later she was nearly there. The downpour continued, slanting before her in glistening silvery sheets, nearly obscuring her vision. Then, through the mist, the shoreline appeared, a gray rocky beach where the water and the land seemed to merge into one.

  She tied the boat, then hurried down the weathered dock. It swayed beneath her. Large raindrops spilled off the wide brim of her vinyl rain hat. Biting spray of saltwater stung her face. A seagull shrieked from overhead, then landed atop another small boat docked close by.

  At the end of the dock, she paused to scan the long row of boathouses. There must've been close to a dozen. Where should she start looking? The front window of the nearest houseboat was boarded. So were the others. There was no smoke curling from any chimney. No firewood stacked on any porch. No sign of activity anywhere. Fresh fear seeped through her. What did this mean? Had the letter been intended as a red herring?

  Shoving the thought aside, thinking only of her father, she began pounding the door of the first houseboat. Silence was her only answer. She continued on, houseboat after houseboat, her chest growing tighter by the second. Dad! Where are you? Please, God! Don't let this be a hoax! Please let my father be here!

  Peering straight ahead, she made a quick count. Only three houseboats left. At the next, she rapped even more loudly than before, then caught the muted sound of someone inside coughing. Without a moment's hesitation, she slammed her shoulder against the door's rough surface, amazed at how easily it flung open.

  Her heart thudded wildly as her gaze swept the narrow room. Directly across from her was an old free-standing Franklin stove, though it appeared it hadn't been used in years. There was no furniture except a dilapidated Formica-covered table and a wooden bench. A musty damp smell assaulted her nostrils.

  “Who's here?” she called in a small voice. More coughing coming from somewhere in the back. She pressed forward and found herself inside a dark passageway that led to a small room. Entering cautiously, she waited for her eyes to adjust to the dimness. A frigid draft washed over her.

  “Vanessa,” came a weak cry, then more coughing.

  “Dad! Oh, Dad...” She gasped, her head whirling. He was tied to a chair, hands bound behind him.

  “Hold on!” she cried. “I'll help you...I'll get you free.”

  A yawning door, dangling half-suspended from rusty hinges, slammed open and shut. At the top was a broken window. Her eyes darted about frantically, coming to rest on the shards of glass that lay scattered at the foot of the door.

  She grasped the closest shard, then attempted to cut through the cord. It seemed to take forever. At last, severed, it snapped free. “We've got to get help...We've got to get you to a hospital...” she said in a frenzy.

  Eldon appeared several pounds thinner. His face was flushed with fever, his eyes dull. His voice broke as his warm tears moistened her cheek. “Vanessa, my kitten...I thought I'd never see you again...this...” His words were dissolved by more coughing until at last he managed, “This cough...it's tearing my lungs apart.”

  “I know, Dad. Clinton's boat is outside. I'll go for help.” She darted a nervous look through the half opened back door

  “I...I've had food...and a little water...but I'm so sick.”

  “Who kidnapped you? Who would ever do something so outrageous as this?”

  Before he could answer, the sound of thudding footsteps on the front porch sliced through her thoughts. The footsteps fell louder as the intruders gained entry and stormed into the houseboat. Vanessa froze, standing rooted to the ground.

  Three men loomed before her--but the images of the outer two faded as her focus sharpened on the one in the middle. Lowell!

  “Vanessa!” His eyes widened. “So you did come. I saw Clinton's boat at the dock. I thought it might be him instead.”

  “The anonymous letter...did the sheriff t
ell you?” Her heart was racing, her breathing so rapid she feared she might pass out.

  “Yes. And there's more to the story. But right now we must take care of your father.”

  Lowell and the other two men lowered her father onto the floor, covered him with a gray wool blanket and secured an oxygen mask in place. Judging from the insignias on their jackets, they were officers from the Fish and Wildlife department.

  “Hold on, Eldon. You'll feel better in a minute,” Lowell murmured with a firmness that was at the same time so gentle it made her heart turn over. “We've radioed for the medevac copter. It should arrive any minute now.”

  Several more agents rushed in, clustered about. Reinforcements, Vanessa assumed.

  Jerking her attention back to her father--so wracked with cough, so wonderfully dear--she hunkered down alongside him. “Your heart pills, Dad. How did you ever get along without them?”

  He shook his head weakly, squeezing his eyes shut. “I...I didn't have to...I had the pills right here...”

  “But how did you get them?”

  “Shh!” Lowell broke in. “Don't tire him. I'll brief you later.”

  She slanted Lowell a quick look, a look filled with desperation and unspoken questions--not only about her father, but the two of them as well.

  Wordlessly he matched it, holding her gaze. The tension spiraled between them, transparent, invisible--and yet so undeniable.

  The drone of a helicopter grew louder, shattering the spell. The noise mixed with the static of the officer's radios.

  In seconds a flight nurse and an emergency medical technician were carrying Eldon Paris on a stretcher to the waiting copter while the other agents filed back to two patrol boats at the dock. Vanessa strode next to her father, keenly aware of Lowell's presence behind them.

  “Don't worry, Dad,” she said above the din of the copter and the agents' raised voices. “You're in good hands. You're going to be fine.” Choking back her escalating dread, she bent over and kissed him on the forehead. His skin felt dry and hot. He appeared so weak and frail.

  Oh dear God, please help him pull through...

  Her father smiled tremulously back at her with trusting gray eyes, though Vanessa sensed the fear his look masked. “Yes, kitten. Go home now. I'll...I'll be quite fine.”

  * * *

  “Uncle Clint! Uncle Clint!” Vanessa clamored into the family living quarters. “I found Dad! Lowell and the wildlife agents--”

  Clinton dug into his hip pocket for his car keys and jangled them nervously. “Yes, yes, I know...I'm still pinching myself to believe it's true...Lowell called about a half an hour ago. How did Eldon look? How sick is he?”

  She told him about the cough and fever and what little she knew about the heart pills. “It's scary,” she added, raking her hands through her wind-tangled hair. “All along I was sick with worry about his heart condition--and now there's the possibility of pneumonia too. I'm not sure how much stamina Dad has to fight it, shut up in that musty old house boat without any heat.”

  “Lowell wants us to meet him in town at the sheriff's right away.”

  “But what about Dad? I was planning to catch the next ferry! Hurry to the hospital as soon as possible!”

  “I know, kiddo. I'm anxious to get going too. But I'm sure the doctors can't tell us nothin' about Eldon till after they've run all their confounded tests--and it really is important we hear what the sheriff has to say.” Her uncle shot her a stern look. “By the way, Lowell also said he tried to talk you into letting him follow you back here in one of the patrol boats, but you insisted on coming alone. He was worried the storm would pick up again. He was worried about your safety.”

  She lifted her chin, hoping he couldn't read on her face the anguish she felt deep inside. “After everything I went through to find Dad, getting back was the easy part.” Those moments following her dad's departure--moments wrought with a kaleidoscope of mixed emotions--she would have welcomed nothing more than the feeling of Lowell's strong, masculine arms wrapped around her, the reassurance of his presence. But they were through now. Dad had been found. The mission was over.

  Clinton shrugged quickly into his denim jacket, then motioned towards the door. “Well, you're here now and that's all that matters. Come on. There's not a minute to waste.”

  * * *

  “The wildlife authorities have almost finished filling out their reports downstairs,” the sheriff began. “Thank you for coming.”

  “You're welcome, Sheriff Morton,” Vanessa replied shakily. She and Clinton were sitting side-by-side facing him at a long narrow table in a conference room.

  “Officer Maxwell said he'd be up in a minute,” the sheriff continued. “In the meantime, I promised him I'd explain what we now know about your father.”

  Vanessa twisted the strap of her handbag, her nerves raw, dangerously on edge. “Yes, we need some answers. Who was keeping Dad in the deserted houseboat? Who would ever want to hold him captive?”

  The sheriff leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head. “As you've already know, there's been a network of sea otter poachers here in the San Juans. Though the majority of the offenders on the other islands have already been caught--most were posing as fishing guides-- there was evidence of activity still going on right here.” He cleared his throat. “Earlier last month, Eldon Paris came across a stash of carcasses at the old lockers near the fish packing plant. At the same time he also came across his friend, Matt Redding, who was not only responsible for the poaching, but was also turning over huge profits on the European black market.”

  “Matt!” Shock waves crashed over her.

  “Jumpin' jack rabbits!” Clinton put in. “Matt Redding was the guilty one?”

  Sheriff Morton nodded, peering at them over his reading glasses, then went on. “At the bait shop the next day, the morning Mr. Paris disappeared, he and Redding had a bitter quarrel. Your father tried to convince Redding to turn himself in, but Redding refused. Later Redding got scared. He was afraid Mr. Paris would report him, so Redding caught up with him on The Lady Luck, knocked him out, and dragged him onto his own boat.”

  The color drained from Clinton's face. “So what's happened to Matt? Has he been arrested?”

  “Yes--in violation of the Marine Mammal Protection act. He's been taken to the county jail in Seattle where he's awaiting arraignment. A few days ago Officer Maxwell discovered the lockers, too, and had good reason to believe Redding was responsible. That's when Maxwell tightened his surveillance, waiting to get the goods on Redding.” The chair creaked as he shifted his weight. “His opportunity came early this morning, barely at the crack of dawn. While Redding and one of his dealers were exchanging hides for big bucks, the officers moved in and busted them--without a shootout, mind you. Redding had planned to rake in his final profits, then money in hand, split for Canada.”

  “Oh no,” Vanessa pressed an open hand against her chest. “I can't believe this. I knew Matt needed money for Fern's nursing home costs, but I never dreamed he'd go to this end.” Her heart went out to him. Despite his wrong-doing, he was still a good man. He could have killed her father, but he didn't.

  “Moments after the bust,” the sheriff continued, “Redding confessed, giving every detail. He was the one, Ms. Paris, who'd sent you the letter. He wanted to make sure your father was discovered and got the help he needed.”

  “And I bet Matt was the one who brought my father his heart pills, and kept him supplied with food and water,” she surmised out loud. “Surely after all this time, Dad couldn't have survived otherwise.”

  “That's right.”

  Vanessa momentarily shut her eyes, then opened them slowly. She felt spent. Bone weary. And knowing the details of Lowell's participation in the sting only added to her anxiety. “And the lockers at the old fish packing plant...they still worked after all these years?” she asked in amazement.

  “Yes. Redding took care of the necessary repairs, reactivated the generators, and got the lock
ers operating again. He figured for a time, at least, he was sitting pretty.”

  “Lowell should certainly be congratulated,” Clinton said heartily. “An operation like that couldn't have been easy to pull off.”

  “Yes, I agree,” the sheriff answered. “The man does deserve our congratulations. He mingles well with the locals. Gains their confidence. In all my years on the department, I've never seen such professional undercover work.”

  The door to the outside opened suddenly and a blast of air swooshed through.

  “Sorry those reports took me so long.” Lowell's voice grew louder.

  “Not a problem,” the sheriff answered. “Come take a seat. I've just finished telling these folks the story. I think we've covered all the bases.”

  As Vanessa felt Lowell's arm brush hers, another rush of longing seized her. Quickly she forced it away.

  “Thanks, sheriff,” Lowell said. He sat down in the empty chair alongside her, only inches away. Vanessa's heart was hammering so loudly, she swore everyone else could hear too.

  “Any word yet about Eldon?” Lowell asked, his gaze sweeping from first Clinton to Vanessa.

  “No, not yet,” Clinton answered. “We're heading over to the mainland in just a little while.”

  Lowell leveled his gaze on her, searching her face. “How're you holding up, Nessie?”

  “All right.” She could tell by the look in his eyes he didn't believe her. “And now if you'll excuse us,” she added stiffly as she pushed herself to her feet, “Clinton and I must be on our way.” In the distance, a siren wailed.

  He rose too and placed a restraining hand on her shoulder. “Before you go, Vanessa, I'd like to have a word with you.” His eyes hardened as he added, “Alone.”

  Chapter Ten

  “What is it?” Vanessa asked tightly. Lowell had led her across the hall to a smaller office, the one the sheriff had been allowing him to use these past several days. She sat on a folding chair while he paced back and forth, arms crossed