Dan and Adam exchanged glances. "A detonator?" Adam leaned forward, letting his feet drop to the floor.
"If it was," Helen said, "he's probably ditched it by now."
"I'll pick him up." Dan straightened and picked up the hat he'd set on Adam's desk. "What's the status on Mandrel?"
"Haven't heard. He was still unconscious when the EMTs took him off the base. The hospital is supposed to keep me updated. I'll question him as soon as he's awake."
"I'd like to ask him a few questions myself," Dan said. "Find out what he was doing on Frazier's boat."
An hour later Helen and Adam pulled into the parking lot of the hospital. The emergency room doctor had called Adam to report that Scott was awake and stable.
Entering the double-glass doors of the single-story building, Helen noted that the hospital was small but had a competent feel to it. Contemporary chairs lined the small waiting room where no one waited. A receptionist with wide brown eyes and over-permed hair beamed at Adam. "You're from the Coast Guard station, aren't you? The doctor said you'd be coming."
"We're here to see Scott Mandrel."
"I know. He's in room four. Just go through these doors and it's the second room on your right." Her smile faded. "Isn't it just awful about the accident? I feel so bad for Shells. Losing her brother and everything."
Adam agreed, thanked her, and ushered Helen down the hall.
"Scott Mandrel?" Adam stepped into the room.
"That's me." Scott held out his hand. "You must be Lieutenant Jorgenson. The nurse said you'd be coming in." His eyes held a questioning look as he turned toward Helen.
Adam introduced Helen, then said, "How are you feeling?"
"Good, thanks to you and Mike. Got a knot on my •head the size of a tennis ball and a few bruises, but I'll be out of here this afternoon."
He looked good, too, Helen noted. The bare chest and long dark hair splayed across the pillow reminded her of the roguish gothic heroes who appeared on many of the historical romances that lined bookstore shelves. Not that she was especially attracted to that type, but at the moment she had to admit Scott Mandrel looked much more like a hero than a villain.
A bruise on his forehead actually enhanced the man's unique features. He was obviously Native American but Caucasian as well, if the hazel eyes had any bearing. She could see why Shells might have chosen him over Adam or Dan. Yet it wasn't the physical appearance alone that made Scott Mandrel appealing. While Dan and Adam seemed perpetually stiff and anxious, in Scott she sensed a certain charisma and ability to put people at ease. Maybe it was just the difference between uniforms and bare chests.
"I'm hoping you can give me some clue as to what happened," Adam said, pulling Helen's attention back to the reason they'd come.
"I'll sure try. Come on in and sit down." He waved toward a couple of chairs. "I can't remember much. We were heading out toward Buoy Ten and bam!"
"Did you notice anything out of the ordinary?" Adam asked. "Engine trouble, anything that might have alerted you or Chuck that there might have been a problem?"
He moved his head back and forth. "All I know is that one minute I'm enjoying the wind in my face and the next I'm in the hospital." He reached for a glass of water and winced.
"Let me get that for you." Helen held the glass, directing the straw into his mouth.
"Thanks." His gaze fastened on Helen's. "Are you with the Coast Guard too?"
"No. I was on the Merry Maid." She explained about writing the guidebook and taking over for Isabelle.
"I remember Isabelle. She came and talked to me a while back about the processing plant, though why she wanted that information for her guidebook, I'll never know." He coughed, holding on to his chest as though it hurt. "Too bad about her accident. She was a nice lady." He looked back at Adam. "Any idea what happened out there?"
"I was hoping you could tell me. Do you know of anyone who might have wanted you or Chuck dead?"
A deep frown etched his forehead. "You're saying it wasn't an accident?"
"I'd be surprised if it was."
"Whoa. I can think of a few people that might want me out of the way, Sheriff Merritt for one. You, too, I imagine. Most of Shells' friends weren't too happy about her dating a Native American. I'm not the most popular guy on the Peninsula." He sighed. "There was a time the Chinook were the only inhabitants around here. By establishing a major processing plant, I saw an opportunity to retrieve some of what was lost to us, but there is still a lot of prejudice.
"I couldn't have been the target, though," Scott went on. "No one knew I was on the boat. I didn't even know I'd be on board until this morning when Shells called me. Wanted me to keep Chuck from going out. He wouldn't listen, so I decided to ride along. With him being so sick and all, we didn't think he should go out alone. I was afraid he might hurt himself but had no idea someone would try to kill him. What makes you so certain he was murdered?"
Adam cleared his throat. "Someone may have tried to kill him last night and failed. Apparently they decided to finish the job this morning."
"I must be missing something here." Scott bunched the sheets in his fist and released them again. "Shells said he took some pain pills and drank too much last night. I didn't hear anything about an attempt on his life."
"He had pain pills in his pocket but hadn't taken them. Someone slipped him some chloral hydrate."
Scott whistled. "Does Shells know?"
She probably does by now. Dan was going to tell her about the explosion."
"Adam." A petite woman with black hair came into the room. "Dan said you might be here." She looked up at Helen, who was at least six inches taller. "You must be the writer Adam was telling me about."
"Yes, I'm Helen Bradley. And you must be Shells." Though Helen considered herself slender, she felt awkward and oversized next to Shells. The woman's waist looked no bigger than one of Helen's thighs. Well, almost. She even had a small voice, the kind you might expect to come out of a cartoon mouse.
Shells had a pixyish face and a shaggy haircut that emphasized her doll-like features. Her cocoa brown eyes held evidence of recent tears. There was a haunting vulnerability about her, and at the same time Helen sensed a certain strength and resilience. Her unflinching gaze met Helen's head on. "This may seem like a stupid question, but why are you here? Adam said you were writing a guidebook."
"Yes. I met your brother last night and was with him when he passed out."
"I asked her to come along," Adam said. "She witnessed the explosion this morning. Shells, I'm so...." Adam looked as though he wanted to hold her.
She glanced away. "Whatever you do, don't tell me you're sorry. If anyone's to blame, it's me."
'You couldn't have stopped him, Shells," Scott said. "No one could."
Shells approached the opposite side of the bed from where Helen and Adam stood and greeted Scott with a lingering kiss. "But you shouldn't have gone out either. I don't know what I'd have done if I'd lost you both."
Scott took hold of her hand. "Don't think about that."
Adam cleared his throat again. "I ... uh ... I need to ask you both some questions. But if you want we can do it later."
Shells looked blank for a moment, then, without relinquishing her hold on Scott's hand, pulled a chair next to the bed. "What do you want to know?"
"Did Chuck tell you anything that might help us find his killer?" Adam directed his question to Shells.
She shook her head. "Dan asked me that too. I didn't even see Chuck this morning. He was gone when I woke up. Left a note saying he was going fishing. I called Scott to see if the boat was still in. He said it was. I asked him to try to stop him."
"Chuck told me he was on to something big," Adam said. "He seemed to be closing in on some illegal activity. He didn't think it was drugs but wouldn't tell me much more than that. Did he give either of you any indication of what he was up to?"
"No, nothing." Shells paused, tears close to the surface.
"Can't you wai
t with the questions?" Scott asked. "She's just lost her brother."
"It's okay, Scott." She squeezed his hand and looked up at Adam. "Chuck and I hadn't been talking much for the past couple weeks. He didn't think I should..." She hesitated, weighing her words. "Let's just say we disagreed about something." Shells paused to dig a tissue out of her jacket pocket and blow her nose. "It had nothing to do with what happened out there today. It was personal."
Helen suspected it involved Scott Mandrel. Isabelle had warned Chuck about him. Isabelle had also written the word curious beside her entry on Scott.
Adam asked several other questions, but neither Scott nor Shells could shed any more light on why anyone would want to murder Chuck. He had no enemies that they knew of.
But he did have at least one, Helen thought. Like Isabelle, Chuck had come too close to discovering a secret. A secret that person meant to protect at any cost.
Chapter Ten
Helen declined Adam's invitation to dinner. She needed time alone. Needed to assimilate the bits and pieces of information she'd been soaking up all day. She was bone tired and badly in need of a nap.
When she pulled into the long, narrow drive at Bayshore Bed and Breakfast at four p.m., Emily clucked over her like a mother hen. "You look like something the cat dragged in."
"Gee thanks." Helen thought about objecting until she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Dirt and charcoal smudged her face. Though she'd tried to clean up earlier, the paper towels she'd used had only managed to move the dirt around. Her hair looked as though a bird had tried to build a nest in it. And she had a nasty bruise forming on her cheekbone where a piece of debris from the Mariner III had hit her. Emily was being kind.
"I know you'll be wanting to clean up, but go on into the parlor and relax for a spell. I was about to have some tea. That should perk you up."
"Tea would be nice." Helen hung her jacket on one of the hooks by the door and followed Emily inside. "Did you hear about the explosion?"
"It's all they were talking about at the post office this morning. Must have been awful seeing something like that."
"Hmm." Helen rubbed her forehead, wishing she hadn't brought it up. But it wasn't fair to keep Emily in the dark either.
"Too bad about Chuck. Guess Shells is taking it pretty hard, but then she would." Emily sighed. "Don't feel like talking about it, huh? Well, I can wait. You just sit and rest. I'll get the tea."
Helen settled into an oak-framed gliding rocker with comfy dark green cushions, then stretched her aching legs out on the matching ottoman and set it into motion. Tipping her head back, she closed her eyes. When images of the explosion burst into her mind, Helen thrust them aside, willing her mind to think on more pleasant things. She wasn't ready to relive the tragedy yet. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe not.
J.B. hadn't called, she realized. But then she hadn't called him either. After her making such a fuss about needing time alone, he probably didn't dare interrupt. The corners of her lips lifted in a smile. She missed him and made a mental note to call after tea.
"You had a couple phone calls today," Emily announced as she set the tray on the coffee table. "One was from someone named Kate."
Helen accepted the china cup and saucer. "My daughter. Did she say what she wanted?"
"Nope. Checking up on you, I suspect."
"Yes, daughters have a way of doing that." Helen brought the cup to her lips, breathing in the comforting and distinct aroma of her favorite tea. "You said there were two."
"Other one was your husband. Said he'd either be at the office or the condo, and for you to call him as soon as possible."
"When did he call?"
"This morning. I told him you'd gone fishing. He didn't sound too happy."
Helen nodded and took a sip of tea. She would make her calls soon. At the moment, however, she had no intention of moving.
"I boarded up the cellar door today," Emily reported. "Still no word on who tried to break in. No fingerprints. Dan said they must have been wearing gloves or weren't in the house. He couldn't get a decent footprint either. We'll probably never know who did it. He says it was probably vandals—some kids messing around."
"Kids wouldn't have taken Isabelle's files."
"Yes, but you don't want to know what he said about that."
Helen raised her eyebrows and gave Emily a wry smile. "Let me guess. Dan thinks I'm senile and probably misplaced them."
She chuckled. "He knows better than to come right out and say something like that to me. Especially since I have a better memory than he does. He was thinking it, though. Said unless we came up with something more pressing than a bunch of papers, I should fix the cellar door and forget it."
"I take it nothing else was missing, then."
"Not that I can see."
"Odd. As far as I could tell Isabelle hadn't written anything incriminating, but then I didn't read everything."
"It's a puzzle. Just hope we can solve it before they come after us."
Helen sat up straighter. "That brings up an interesting point. Why didn't the killer come after you? How would he have known Isabelle hadn't told you what she'd found?"
"Don't know unless he overheard her talking to me on the phone that night. She did say she'd fill me in later, so if someone was listening they might have figured they were safe."
"Yes. That's probably the case. And who knows? Maybe Dan is right. The break-in may have been an act of vandalism. In all honesty, I have been known to misplace things on occasion." Helen eased out of the chair. "Guess I'd better make my phone calls. Then I'm taking a shower and going to bed."
"What about dinner? I took the liberty of making reservations at 42nd Street Cafe in Seaview at six-thirty. Wonderful spot. You really do need to try it."
"Oh." Going out was the last thing Helen wanted to do.
"'Course if you're too tired I could postpone it. Joanna and Libby will be disappointed, but they'll understand."
"I’m sorry."
"Don't give it another thought. They called me today to see what I knew about the explosion. Libby's all set to write an article for the paper. Thought it might be easiest all the way around if we met at the restaurant. Kill two birds with one stone that way. You did say you wanted to check out the best restaurants for your guidebook."
"I wish you'd asked me first. I'm not sure I'm up to an interview. Maybe she could talk to Dan or Adam."
"You know she's not going to get much out of them."
"I'll tell you what. Let me get cleaned up. I'll take a nap and see how I feel later on."
"Fair enough. In the meantime, I'd best get myself ready. Think I'll go even if you don't."
Helen waited until Emily was upstairs, then called J.B. from the phone in the entry. He wasn't in the office or at home. She left a message on both machines and called Kate.
"Oh, hi, Gram," Lisa, Kate's oldest, chirped. "How's the book coming?"
"I haven't made much progress yet." Helen pictured her sixteen-year-old granddaughter and smiled. Lisa was just about the most adorable redhead Helen had ever seen. "Your mother called. Any idea what she wanted?"
"I'm not sure. She and Dad went out to dinner with Aunt Susan and Uncle Jason. Jennie's here with me and we're watching the boys. Hang on a second." After a muffled, "You can talk to her in a minute, Jennie," Lisa came back on. "Sorry about that. Anyway, I think Mom wanted to ask you to stay with Kurt and me when they go on a cruise in November. I hope you'll say yes. They are both getting way too cranky."
"I'd love to, but I'd better ask J.B. before I commit. He may have plans."
"Actually, Mom asked him earlier today and he said it was up to you."
"He was there?"
"Not exactly. He called around noon to talk to Mom about something, and then they went out to lunch."
"Oh?" Helen turned around and leaned against the wall. Though she loved the way her family had so readily accepted J.B., she felt a pang of jealousy at being left out. Of course, J.B. and Kate h
ad tried to call. Her annoyance turned to concern. "Is there something going on that I should know about?"
"They didn't tell us anything."
Helen could hear Jennie's voice in the background. "Come on, Lisa. Let me talk to her."
"Oh, okay. Gram, tell Jennie to cool it. She's way too hyper."
She chuckled. I'll see what I can do. Be sure to tell your mom I called."
"I will. Love you."
"I love you too, honey."
Jennie skipped the preliminary greetings and jumped in. "You're at the beach where that boat exploded, aren't you?"
"How did you find out about that?"
"It was on the news. The authorities think somebody bombed the guy's boat. Did you see it? Are you on the case? Do you have any leads? I wish I could be there with you."
"Whew. Lisa's right, you are hyper." Helen could imagine Jennie pacing the floor as she spoke. The girl had an even stronger propensity for fighting crime than her father or her grandmother. Unfortunately that crime-solving bent had gotten her into hot water on more than one occasion. "To answer your questions, yes, I saw it. The case is being handled by the Coast Guard and the local sheriff. And no, I have no leads."
"You're looking into it though, right? Who do you think did it?"
"Jennie, dear, I'm here to write a book, not solve a crime."
"That's what Dad said. He won't let me come see you. J.B. told him you didn't even want him around 'cause you need to concentrate on writing." She sighed heavily. "Is that really true? You don't want any of us around?"
Helen hesitated. "It's only for two weeks. This is a longer project than what I usually write. It isn't that I don't love you all.
"I know that, but I don't think J.B. does. He seemed sad when he talked about you."
Helen rubbed her eyes. "He'll adjust. Jennie, when did you see J.B.?"
"This afternoon. He stopped by for a minute to say goodbye."
"Good-bye? Did he say where he was going?"
"No, just that he had to go away for a while."
Away. Just what did away mean? Helen didn't ask, of course. J.B. had apparently not confided in the girls. She'd have to wait until he contacted her to find out what he was up to.
Red Sky In Mourning: A Helen Bradley Mystery (Helen Bradley Mysteries Book 3) Page 8
