Black Otter Bay

by Vincent Wyckoff

  “Marcy!” she cried when she saw her friend race around the corner.

  Her sudden call caused Marcy to scream, stopping her dead in her tracks. “Where are you?” she demanded, squinting around in the dark.

  Abby bounced down the steps. She could breathe again. She ran to Marcy and asked, “What are you doing here?”

  “I saw you from across the street. I was going back to my motel. Wait until you hear what happened to me.” The cool night air and excitement painted a brilliant blush on Marcy’s cheeks. “What on earth are you doing sneaking around back here?”

  Abby held up the ring of keys. “I’m going inside to look around.” From under her smile of joy at the sight of her friend, Abby feigned a glare of anger and swatted Marcy on the shoulder. “You scared me half to death, Marcella Soderstrom!”

  “Sorry. But that’s what you get for sneaking around in the dark.” Marcy scanned the parking lot, the puddles, and all the trash. “It’s spooky back here,” she said. “Does your mother know what you’re doing?”

  Abby rolled her eyes and returned to the stairs.

  “That’s what I thought,” Marcy called after her. “Speaking of Jackie, I saw her a little while ago. I’m sure she has no idea what you’re up to.”

  Abby stopped on the landing. “You saw my mom?”

  Marcy climbed the metal steps behind her. “I was up at the casino. She came in, but just to check the bus schedule. She got on the charter headed south.”

  “Did she see you?”

  “No. Why?”

  Abby worked with the keys again. She saw no point in telling Marcy that her mother had lied about her plans for the evening. “You’re in my light,” she said, hipping Marcy to the side.

  It took a few tries, but the door finally opened. “Wait here while I shut off the alarm system.”

  “You know, I won a bunch of money,” Marcy called, but Abby was already deep inside the darkness of the gallery. In the sudden stillness, the sounds of music and laughter from the bar wafted across the parking lot, but here on this side not a soul could be seen. Marcy peered into the dark corners and hiding places in the parking lot. She’d meant it when she’d said it was spooky out here. She didn’t like standing alone on the landing, but just as she turned back to the door, Abby grabbed her arm and pulled her inside. The door slid shut with a click behind them.

  The Tempest was dark and still, long and narrow like a cavern, with a brooding silence that could be hiding almost anything. Abby held Marcy’s hand when she asked, “So, how much money did you win?”

  “I don’t know. I gave it to some old Indian woman. I had to get out of there because security was after me.”

  “Security?”

  “It’s a complicated story.”

  Abby shook her head. “You’re crazy, Marcy. But I’m glad you’re here. Come on.” She led her friend through the maze of artwork to the office door.

  “There was this guy in the casino,” Marcy explained, following close on Abby’s heels. “A big guy. He looked to be in charge or something. Actually, he looked like a gangster, like he should be in The Sopranos.”

  Abby paused at the office door and looked at her. “What’s The Sopranos?”

  “Well, you know, like the mafia or something. A gangster.”

  “Is he the guy who threw you out?”

  “Oh, no. He’s more important than that. He called security on me because I spilled my beer on him.”

  Abby’s eyebrow went up.

  “I know, it sounds crazy. But this guy really scared me. He wore dark sunglasses, even inside the casino, and a flat top haircut.”

  Abby’s eyes narrowed. “A flat top? You mean like a crew cut?”

  “Yep.”

  “And it stuck straight up on top?” Abby held her hand several inches over her head. “Kind of like a Mohawk?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  The girl thought about it, and then asked, “Was he wearing a suit coat? Like a black blazer or something?”

  “Yes! Exactly! And a black shirt, too. How did you know?”

  Abby hesitated before answering. “I think I’ve seen him before. I think he’s one of Randall’s business partners.”

  “Oh, that’s bad, Abby. That’s real bad. This guy is not someone you want to mess around with.”

  Abby ignored her, instead holding up the ring of keys to inspect them.

  Having told Abby about the man in the casino, Marcy’s fear flared up again, so she tried another argument. “I really don’t think we should be here.”

  “It’s okay. We’re not doing anything wrong.”

  “You want to tell that to Randall? Remember that gun of his?”

  “We’ll only be a minute. I just want to see what’s in the office.”

  The door before them was completely shrouded in darkness. Abby knew where the lights were but feared attracting attention by using them. Once again she struggled with the keys, and with Marcy crowding up tight against her back, Abby’s frustration quickly mounted. She finally gave up, banged on the door with a fist, and then pressed an ear against it to listen. “Ben?” she called in a hoarse whisper, even though she knew her voice couldn’t be heard inside.

  A small light suddenly appeared on the door, and Abby turned to see Marcy holding a miniature LED penlight. “Girl Scouts,” Marcy explained. “Always be prepared. Mrs. Bean was our scout leader. I always thought she did it because she never had children of her own.”

  Abby’s expression glazed over in pure confusion. Marcy’s words were so out of the moment that they came at her like a foreign language. Finally, she shook her head and held the keys up between them. “Hold that light over here.”

  Marcy watched as Abby fingered through the ring of keys. “What were you saying about Ben?” she asked.

  Abby didn’t answer. In a moment the door quietly eased open, and Abby stuck her head into the darkened room, calling softly, “Ben?”

  The room was pitch black. Abby snaked her hand along the wall until she found the light switch. “Come on,” she said, pulling Marcy inside with her.

  After closing the door to hide the light, Marcy locked it, and they stood side by side looking around the office. The room was actually quite large, just as Abby had imagined, but it was only the one big room, with nowhere to hide—and more importantly, with no sign of her brother. She walked around the desk, opening and closing drawers, feeling the futility of her efforts mounting.

  Marcy clicked the computer on while Abby wandered over to the file cabinet. Marcy asked, “What are we looking for?”

  “Ben,” Abby answered, yanking the top drawer open.

  “What?”

  “We’re looking for signs of Ben.” She fingered through files with labels for artist information, billings, contracts, and sales receipts. She pulled out the file of receipts and laid it open across the top of the drawer of files.

  Marcy said, “If I knew the password, we could look at their books. I always wondered how this place made enough money to stay in business.”

  “Oh, yeah, like you know anything about bookkeeping.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Marcy said, smirking. “Who do you think keeps the books for the café?”

  Abby found herself grinning at her friend. “Really?” She had to admit that Marcy looked comfortable behind the computer. She studied the monitor with a gleam in her eye, clicking away on the keyboard like she knew what she was doing and belonged there. Abby returned to the file and found the latest receipts, including the one her mother had bragged about at dinner. She paused, staring at the receipt, and then over her shoulder blurted, “Try Fitzgerald.”

  “For a password? Really? Okay.” And than a moment later, “Nope, too long. Six characters or less.”

  “How about Edmund?”

  Marcy typed away. “Oh, my God, Abby. That’s a bingo, girl!”

  Abby smiled. She didn’t expect Marcy would find anything in the computer, but it was amusing to see her settling in behi
nd the monitor, concentration wrinkling her brow. Abby returned to looking through the files. She pulled out the most recent receipt, the thousand-dollar credit card transaction for the Fitzgerald painting. Fingering through the rest of the file revealed only a few small purchases over the last several weeks.

  “Wow,” Marcy sighed, studying the ledger on the computer. “I had no idea this stuff was worth so much.”

  Abby grabbed her file and walked over to the desk. She watched as Marcy scrolled through the entries. “Look at this one,” Marcy said as she brought up the current transactions. She read out loud. “Phillip Oberg, Deep Water Passage. Oil on canvas, framed.” She pointed to a column on the far right side of the monitor, and whistled, “Fifteen thousand dollars.”

  Abby was stunned. “Mom never mentioned that one. She told me about selling a painting of the Edmund Fitzgerald for a thousand dollars. She made it sound like that was a big deal.”

  Marcy scrolled down, and read, “Sinking of the Edmund Fitzgerald. Oil on canvas, framed.” She looked up at Abby standing over her. “Sold today for ten thousand dollars.”

  “No way,” Abby declared. “It must be a mistake.” She dropped the file on the desk and opened it to the charge account receipt. “Look here, Marcy. One thousand dollars. Randall must have entered it wrong in the computer.”

  “There’s a big difference between one thousand and ten thousand dollars,” Marcy said. “It would be hard to make a mistake like that.” They studied the numbers on the monitor and the smaller numbers in the file. Then Marcy slowly sat back and looked at Abby again. “Unless . . .”

  “Unless what?”

  “Unless he didn’t make a mistake. He could be cooking the books.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know, Abby. I don’t know. But he might be using the gallery to launder money for his buddies, like that mafia guy I saw in the casino.” She reached over to turn on the printer sitting on a tray table next to the desk. It buzzed and beeped, and when it settled down, she hit the print function on the computer and the machine went to work. “Your file there only goes back a few weeks, right?” she asked. “These computer records go all the way back through last year. I bet if we look closer, we’ll find bank account deposits to match the higher figures on the computer.”

  “Can he do that?”

  “As long as he doesn’t get audited. But I’m guessing that when you consider the characters he hangs out with, an audit is probably the least of his worries.”

  “But what about these receipts?”

  “He’ll keep most of them, but the ones he alters in the computer probably get shredded. That’s why there are so few of them, and this way he doesn’t leave a paper trail. Anyway, I’m only just guessing. We need to get these files to someone who knows about this stuff.”

  Abby’s thoughts whirled through what they’d discovered. She didn’t know exactly what Marcy was talking about, but she didn’t need to. This could be the connection between Randall and that horrible fellow she’d seen out at Big Island Lake, the man carrying Rosie’s body over his shoulder. The same man who’d come looking for her, but took her little brother instead.

  Then they heard a key in the office door lock.

  Abby froze. Marcy calmly canceled the print command and snatched a small pile of printed pages out of the tray. In one smooth movement she shoved them into the file folder of receipts and closed it, looking up just as the door opened.

  “Randall!” Abby exclaimed.

  He looked genuinely surprised to see them, but downplayed his reaction. “What are you two doing in here?”

  His voice may have sounded calm, Abby thought, but she could sense the monster lurking within. And she had no doubt that he carried the handgun on him somewhere. She looked at Marcy, who held Randall square in her field of vision while quietly typing away. They hadn’t responded to his question yet, so Abby shut the file cabinet and said, “I’m just trying to learn my way around here. You know, getting used to the filing system and stuff.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said, obviously not believing a word she said. “If you’re not up to anything, why is the door locked?”

  Marcy continued typing, silently pressing keys while watching Randall, ready at a moment’s notice to shut down the computer.

  Holding her breath, Abby took a step toward him to buy some time. His eyes were bloodshot, and his hair hung in limp strands along the side of his face. A mottled-gray sport coat hung loosely over a pale blue button-down shirt. He licked his lips, and with his long, narrow nose, Abby pictured a poisonous lizard confronting them. “It’s scary in here at night,” she finally answered. “And we’re not used to all the strange noises in a big city.”

  He stepped quickly around the desk to look over Marcy’s shoulder at the computer monitor. A game of solitaire was underway on the screen. To Abby, he asked, “Where’s your mother?”

  “She went out. Said she had a meeting. I was bored, so we decided to come down here.”

  Randall snickered, then looked down at Marcy again. The knuckles on her hand holding the mouse were white. “Move,” he said. The smell of alcohol and stale cigars clung to the air around him.

  Marcy rocked sideways out of the chair, leaning over the desk while sliding the manila file folder along with her. Randall shook his head as he fell into the chair. “Dear, sweet Jackie,” he said, chuckling, as if no one else was in the room to hear. “We just get you solvent again, and it’s off to the card tables with you.” He closed the solitaire game, and brought up his work files. He turned an evil grin on Abby. “Sorry to tell you this, young lady, but your mother isn’t at any meeting tonight.”

  Abby stood her ground near the file cabinet. She noticed that the power light on the printer was still on, and now that she’d seen it, it seemed to glow like a beacon in the room. Meanwhile, Marcy backed away from the desk, slowly, her hands behind her back clutching the file folder.

  Betraying a trace if belligerence, Abby said, “Well, Mom said that you were at a meeting tonight, too.”

  Marcy winced. The room was completely silent while Randall studied the computer monitor. After a few tense moments he seemed satisfied that his files hadn’t been compromised. He looked over at Abby again and laughed. “Jackie. You got to love her, don’t you?” Then the smile disappeared, and he added, “I mean, if I didn’t love her, why would I put up with all her crap?”

  Now it was Abby’s turn to get mad. Lately, she hadn’t been so fond of her mother herself, but that didn’t mean she would listen to snide comments about her from the likes of Randall. She looked over at Marcy, standing wide-eyed and frozen in the middle of the office floor. She seemed to have some sense that Abby was about to speak, and tried to will her to silence with a glare and a barely perceptible shake of her head.

  Abby turned her attention back to Randall. While her fear may have subsided, the feeling that they were close to some answers rendered her temporarily speechless. She didn’t want to jeopardize the information they’d already uncovered. Besides, even though she wasn’t so scared right now, she certainly hadn’t forgotten about Randall’s gun, nor his wild shots in the bait shop.

  Just as the silence in the room became awkward, Randall spoke up again. “The thing about Jackie is, everything with her is about money.” He leaned back and pulled a stray length of hair away from his face. “She thinks I care about the money.” Now he laughed, a sour-sounding cackle, and swiveled on his chair like a little kid proud of himself. Another pocket of stale, alcohol-scented air floated past Abby.

  She looked at Marcy, who by now had backed her way across the office to the doorway. Abby gave her a slight shrug, as if to ask, “Why is he telling me all this?”

  “I mean, it’s only money,” Randall continued. “What’s the big deal? Money is the easy part. It’s like I tell her: it’s the relationship that’s important. Money comes and goes, but you take care of each other in a partnership. Hell, I don’t care about Jackie’s gambling.” He took a moment t
o refocus on Abby, waving a drunken hand of dismissal through the air. “No, sir, the gambling doesn’t mean a thing to me. What your mother does have is an eye for class, which is something that is important to me. She has a knack for style, and she likes to have a good time.”

  Randall stared into the computer monitor again, his sudden glassy-eyed silence making Abby uncomfortable. Was she supposed to say something? Was he going to pass out?

  “No, it’s not about the money,” he finally concluded. He sat up straight and pointed a wobbling finger at Abby. “I promised Jackie that I’d do everything in my power to keep Ben safe.”

  Abby bolted to attention, standing up straight. “What have you done with him?”

  Randall snickered. “I hope you’re not going to screw this up for your mother.”

  She was standing by the corner of the desk now, and noticed the difficulty he had in focusing on her. His breath once again assaulted the room. Marcy no longer tried to hide her feelings. She emphatically wagged her head in the negative while making faces at Abby, who saw her theatrics out of the corner of her eye, but wasn’t about to back off from this particular discussion.

  “I’m not going to screw up anything,” she said. “I promise. Just tell me where he is, and I won’t say a word to anyone.”

  Once again Randall emitted his devious little cackle.

  “Come on,” Abby pleaded. “You can trust me. I haven’t told anyone anything yet, have I?”

  Randall turned a questioning eye on Marcy, as if wondering how much she knew. Then he looked at Abby again, and said, “You know, if it hadn’t been for you, none of this would be happening. The whole thing is your fault.”

  Abby stepped back, stealing a glance at Marcy. This latest revelation had left her friend’s mouth hanging open in shock. Then Randall said to Abby, “And now, for your mother’s sake, I’ve had to argue on your behalf, too. Fortunately for her, I’ve been able to keep you two kids safe. You messed up everything for us, but so far I’ve managed to fix it. Now Ben is on his way home.”