Adam settled his arm across Helen's shoulders and steered her toward the building he'd come out of and up the steps to his office. "I'm glad. Must have been pretty lonely for you after losing Ian. And then Jason. I... uh ... I should have called you when he died. I meant to, but...."
Helen stopped him. "Jason isn't dead.
"But the plane crash. The papers said he'd been killed."
"That's what the government wanted everyone to believe. Jason had to go undercover for a while. He was working with the DEA to break up several major drug cartels in the Caribbean and South America. He couldn't even tell his family. Not even J.B. or I knew. It's a long story, but thank the Lord, he's back home now."
"Great! That's fantastic! I can't tell you how glad I am to hear that. So, is he still with the DEA or what?"
"He's working as a homicide detective in Portland. So far it seems to be working out well."
"Homicide, huh? Isn't that what you used to do?"
"Uh-huh. What goes around comes around, I suppose."
Adam shook his head. "You always were a strange family. You still chasing criminals?"
Helen smiled. "Occasionally." They spent the next few minutes in his office while she caught Adam up on her family and bragged about her four grandchildren.
"They sound like neat kids."
"Oh, that they are. Jason's oldest, Jennie, is sixteen and giving her parents fits. She's planning a career in law enforcement." Helen caught something akin to loneliness in Adam's blue eyes. "Are your parents still in Florida?"
"Dad is. Mom died last year. Breast cancer."
"I'm so sorry."
Adam shrugged. "She was happy to go in the end, I think."
"Did you ever marry?"
He shook his head. "Came close a couple times."
'You should come spend Thanksgiving and Christmas with us. We've plenty of room."
"I'd like that."
Helen glanced around the tidy office, pulling her thoughts back to her mission. "Adam, when we spoke earlier you mentioned that you'd talked to Isabelle Dupont. Could you tell me more about your visit with her?"
"Better than that. I'll show you." Adam grabbed a jacket from behind his chair and slipped it on. "I told her a little about the history of the place. Coast Guard station's been here since 1875.
Our Motor Lifeboat School is the only one like it in the U.S. We teach the students to perform search and rescue operations in some of the roughest surf conditions in the world. We equip them to handle just about anything they might encounter on the high seas. It's one of the busiest Coast Guard stations on the West Coast."
"Have you been here long?" Helen ducked under his arm and slipped outside when he held open the door.
"Three years. I've got four more to go before I can retire. Then I'm heading south."
"Sounds like you don't like it here."
"I like the scenery and the green. I guess I like the laid-back lifestyle too. But I'm not too crazy about the attitude some of the locals have toward us. It hasn't been easy making friends. I definitely don't like the cold winters and the wind. Speaking of which, you brought a jacket, didn't you? Once we get up to the lighthouse, you'll need it."
Helen grabbed her jacket out of the car and put the top up. As Adam reminded her, the weather conditions could change quickly on the coast. "In case you haven't heard, in the Guinness Book of Records Cape D is listed as the foggiest point in the contiguous U.S."
From the parking lot they took the road Helen had come in on and followed it out to the boat docks.
"This is where we keep our fleet. We have several forty-four- foot motor lifeboats, and a forty-seven-footer. Plus the fifty-two- footer." Adam pointed to a vessel bearing the name Triumph. "We've also got a couple surf rescue boats, a twenty-one-foot inflatable and a thirty-footer. We're equipped to handle just about any emergency that comes up out there."
Adam promised her a trip sometime during her stay. "If you want we can take you out on one boat, then do a vessel-to-vessel transfer so you can experience it firsthand. Hope you don't get seasick."
"Not usually."
From the boat basin they began the trek up the steep hill to the Cape Disappointment Lighthouse, which Adam referred to as Cape D. They'd just cleared the buildings when they passed a picnic area to the right. Helen asked about it.
"Overlooks Dead Man's Cove. We'll get a bird's-eye view of it a little farther on."
"Dead Man's Cove? Sounds ominous."
Adam smiled. "Legend has it a body washed ashore there years ago. I suspect there have been more than one over the years."
"How gruesome."
"It fits when you consider the number of shipwrecks we've had out here. This place is known as 'The Graveyard of the Pacific.' " Adam stopped at a wooden railing and pointed down at a short and inviting sandy beach tucked between two giant headlands. High cliff walls bordered a narrow inlet. "That's Dead Man's Cove."
"It's beautiful."
"Isabelle told me it was her favorite spot on the Peninsula. I'll take you down there later if you want."
"I'd love it. In fact, Emily packed a picnic lunch—that looks like the perfect place to eat it."
"Sounds great." Adam stopped again in front of a concrete bunker. "You knew this used to be part of an army fort, didn't you?"
Helen nodded. In the mid-1800s, the army constructed a number of military installations to protect the country's coastline from enemy invasion. This fort had been in use until around 1957. Many of the old concrete bunkers and batteries were still standing. "I've visited Fort Stevens on the Oregon side, but I haven't been through these."
They continued up the hill for another quarter mile, following a part concrete, part dirt and grass road to the Cape D Lighthouse. Too winded by the steep climb to ask questions, Helen followed Adam until they reached a chain link fence that ran along the cliff's edge. Adam glanced back at her, then rested his arms on top of the fence. "You okay?"
"Why wouldn't I be?" Helen panted. She eyed the concrete steps near the small square building that must have been the Coast Guard's official watchtower but joined Adam at the fence instead. "You think a little hill like that would stop me?"
"I have to admit you surprised me. Must be in pretty good shape."
"I manage. I try to work out nearly every day."
Adam chuckled. "And you still do karate, I'll bet."
"Brown belt. But enough about me." Helen let her gaze drift over the unhindered view of the North Jetty and a stretch of beach beyond that, then south to the mouth of the Columbia river as it divided Washington from Oregon. Isabelle had no doubt stood on this very spot.
Having been raised there, Isabelle must have known the area well, yet she'd come to interview Adam. "What sort of things did you and Isabelle talk about?"
"The Coast Guard station mostly. She knew the history of the area far better than I do. She ended up teaching me some things. For example, the Coast Guard had to build two lighthouses here. This one was built first, in 1856, but ships coming from the north couldn't see it soon enough. There have been around two thousand shipwrecks and about fifteen hundred deaths in these waters.
"Ironically, the first supply ship bringing in the beacon and the precast concrete blocks to build the lighthouse shipwrecked just off the coast, and they had to wait for another one. A second lighthouse, North Head, was built in 1898."
Adam went from one story to another, talking about the Coast Guard officers and relating the legend of how one of the wives went mad from loneliness and jumped off the cliff to her death in the surf 220 feet below. So fascinating were the stories, Helen almost forgot about her original question.
After twenty minutes, she managed to get back on track. "Sounds like Isabelle did all the talking. Did she ask you anything?"
"She wanted to know about me and how much authority I had as base commander and what experience I had as a law enforcement officer."
"And you said...."
"I've had intelligence
training." His lips curled in a melancholy smile. "We have investigative authority over anything that happens on the base and in the water. Most cases are handled by the Marine Safety Office in Portland."
"Did she say why she was interested?"
Adam stroked his chin. "Not exactly. She asked a lot of questions about Chuck Frazier's boat."
Helen recognized the name from Isabelle's list. "He's a commercial fisherman."
"Right. His craft, the Mariner II, was lost a month ago when it smashed up on the rocks right below us. We got a rescue team out there within five minutes. Managed to pick up Chuck but lost the crewman. Young kid. Inexperienced. He wasn't wearing a life jacket. Isabelle wanted to know if I thought it was an accident."
"And was it?"
"No reason to think otherwise. Fog came in. He had engine problems. Started taking on water and drifted too close to the rocks at Peacock Spit."
"Did she talk about anything else?"
Adam rested his arms on the chain link fence and looked out over the ocean. "Drugs." He stepped away from the fence. "She asked if we'd ever caught anyone smuggling drugs into the area. Thought Dead Man's Cove would be the perfect place."
"And have you?"
"Nope. Things are pretty quiet around here as far as I can tell. Oh, we've had the occasional kid hauled in for possession, but nothing major. And trust me, Dead Man's Cove is not the perfect place. Getting a boat of any size through that inlet without it breaking up on the rocks would be close to impossible. Besides, it's too close to the Coast Guard station. A person would have to be crazy to try it." He ran a hand along the brim of his hat before putting it on. "The port's another story. The Department of Fisheries routinely boards boats and checks cargo, but some contraband could still slip through. In hindsight maybe I should have taken Isabelle's comments more seriously."
"According to Emily Merritt, the authorities consider Isabelle's death an accidental drowning. Do you know anything about that?"
"That's what the paper reported. Dan hasn't said much about the case, but I think he's still working on it."
"Dan, the sheriff. Sounds like you know him fairly well."
"I know him."
Apparently not wanting to talk more about Dan, Adam escorted Helen into the observation room and introduced her to the petty officer on duty. The young woman looked up from her clipboard and smiled.
"Anything exciting happening out there?" Adam hunched over to look through a large telescope.
"Pretty quiet today," Lowe reported. "We had to go pick up a guy in a twelve-footer. He nearly capsized going over the bar."
Adam sighed and turned to Helen. "Some people never learn. Had one man try to take a rowboat out this summer. What some people will do to catch a few fish." He turned back to Lowe. "Many out today?"
"Most of the charters went out this morning, a few commercials and some private boats. Looks like a good day for them. By the way, Chuck Frazier on the Mariner III radioed in with a message for you." Lowe shuffled through some notes on the desk and came up with a memo. "Wants you to meet him at six-thirty tonight at Shells' Place. Says he's got proof somebody sabotaged his boat."
Chapter Four
I can't believe that guy. He should have talked to me before he went out." Adam stuffed the note in his pocket. "When did he radio in?"
"As he came over the bar." The petty officer looked uncomfortable. "You think he might be in danger, sir?"
"It's entirely possible. You should have let me know immediately."
"I...I'm sorry. Sir."
Adam picked up the radio and tried unsuccessfully to raise his friend. He then made a call to the Coast Guard patrol boat, asking them to locate him.
Several minutes later a garbled voice reported they had the Mariner III in their sights and everything looked fine. Chuck was on deck waving at them.
Adam heaved an audible sigh of relief. "Keep an eye on him and let me know the minute he comes in."
"I'm sorry," Lowe said again. "I didn't think...."
"We'll talk about it later. Come by my office when you get off duty."
"Yes, sir." Red-faced and jaw set, she turned back to the telescope.
Adam escorted Helen back outside. He muttered some choice words, then apologized. "Don't say it. I'm overreacting. You needn't worry. I'll just remind her to follow protocol."
"I wasn't exactly worried—at least not about her." Helen ran to keep up with Adam as they descended the hill. "Sounds like you have cause for concern about your friend, though."
"I'm not sure what he's up to. Telling me someone sabotaged his boat is one thing, but broadcasting it on every radio unit within a fifty-mile radius was stupid."
"Maybe he doesn't know who did it and is trying to flush the culprit out."
"You may have something there." Adam slowed his pace. "Chuck probably figured I'd send a patrol out to check on him."
"And you did."
"Right. I'm just glad nothing happened before I got the message."
"Um, Adam, about meeting Mr. Frazier this evening. Would you mind if I tagged along? I'd like to talk with him."
"Sure, no problem." His lips stretched into a wide smile. "You'll want to include Shells' Place on your list of favorite dining establishments in the book. She's a fantastic chef."
Adam seemed more relaxed when they detoured off the main trail and headed toward Dead Man's Cove. The plan was to hike to the Lewis and Clark Interpretive Center, on to Waikiki Beach, then back along the road to the Coast Guard station before lunch. Three miles in all and Helen loved every step of it.
The trail wove in and out of the woods, often bringing them to open stretches that offered spectacular views of the coastline. They paused briefly at the Interpretive Center, where Helen picked up some brochures. She'd have to come back later when she could wander through the Lewis and Clark exhibits and the Interpretive Center grounds at a more leisurely pace. Helen took dozens of photos on the way. Adam provided limited information and Helen eventually gave up asking. The man's mind was obviously on Chuck Frazier.
He left her at the guardrail above the huge circular gun wells. Helen snapped a few photos, then followed him around the building to the grassy slope that ended at a chain link fence. The headland on which they now stood was to the north of Cape Disappointment. From here one could see both lighthouses. Adam stared out to sea, his brow knit in a deep frown, his mind apparently as far away as the boats dotting the horizon.
"Still worried about your friend?"
"What?" Adam turned a blank gaze on her. "Oh, in a way. I was thinking about Shells. If anything happened to Chuck... His voice trailed off.
"Shells' as in the restaurant?"
"Not exactly. The restaurant is named after her. Chuck's idea. Shells is a nickname. Her real name is Michelle."
"Oh yes. Isabelle mentioned that in her notes. Is Shells Chuck's wife?"
"Sister. Chuck's all the family she's got left. Their dad and an older brother were lost at sea when she was about eight. Their mom took off a year or so later. Met a farmer and moved to the Midwest. Shells says her mom wanted to get as far away from the ocean as possible. They hear from her at Christmas—that's about it."
"How sad."
Adam nodded, his gaze sweeping back out to sea. "Yeah. Can't say as I blame the woman for leaving, though. Soon as my stint is up here I'm heading back to Florida. It's just too blasted cold and wet out here."
Helen suspected his feelings for Shells went beyond concern or friendship. Before she could explore the matter, he pushed away from the fence and suggested they get moving.
After their picnic lunch at Dead Man's Cove, Adam went back to work, leaving Helen to fend for herself. She had an exquisite afternoon exploring Fort Canby and the Lewis and Clark Interpretive Center. Helen was especially enthralled by a set of moss-covered concrete stairs she found in the woods. "Stairs to Nowhere," she named them. Unable to resist, she climbed to the top and was rewarded with yet another stunning view of the coastline.
By five that afternoon, Helen had gone taken hundreds of photos, hiked three more miles, and still hadn't come close to seeing everything the southern tip of the Peninsula had to offer.
Zipping up her Windbreaker, she made the final quarter- mile trek back to the Coast Guard parking lot. Fog had moved in, turning the landscape a dreary gray and dropping the temperature by at least ten degrees.
Though it wasn't exactly raining, the fine mist soaked through her clothing, leaving her soggy and chilled. She was glad she'd put the top up on her car.
Originally she'd planned to go back into town, give Emily a call, and go straight to the restaurant to wait for Adam. Arriving early would have given her time to meet Shells and perhaps make some notes for the book. Climbing into the T-bird, she thought better of the idea and decided to go back to the bed and breakfast to shower and change.
Emily had been none too happy with Helen's decision to eat elsewhere. Sensing that her annoyance came more from feeling left out than being put out, Helen invited her to come along. On the drive south, she was glad she had. Emily, being somewhat of a historian and a gossip, felt certain she knew exactly who had tampered with Chuck Frazier's boat.
"It's that Pisces International fellow, Scott Mandrel. If you ask me, he's not very bright."
"His name was on Isabelle's list. She'd written a note about him buying up property and small fishing businesses. I haven't had a chance to find out much about him, but I intend to."
"I thought that might be the case. While you were gone, I went through some of the old newspapers. Been planning to toss them out—Isabelle liked to keep 'em in case she needed to look stuff up. Mandrel looks like the proverbial Good Samaritan. I found four different articles from the past year about Pisces International buying out local fishermen who were close to bankruptcy. Mandrel paid off the loans and gave the fishermen a couple thousand besides. Even offered them jobs with his company."
"Doesn't sound like a bad deal to me."
"Humph. Depends on how you look at it. Two of the fishermen he bought out lost their boats only weeks before he made the offer. The losses were too high for them to keep going. They didn't have enough insurance to replace the boats." Emily shrugged. "Looks to me like he might be sinking their boats to force them out of business."
Red Sky In Mourning: A Helen Bradley Mystery (Helen Bradley Mysteries Book 3) Page 3
