The sound of a siren interrupted her reverie. She glanced in the rearview mirror. "Oh no, not again." She took note of her speedometer, slowed down, and drove on until she could find a safe place to pull over. Once stopped, she got out of the car and leaned against the door. Dan Merritt crunched to a stop behind her.
"Good morning, Sheriff," she called as he approached. "What's the problem? I know I wasn't speeding this time."
"Nope. Just wanted to see how you were getting along. You had a pretty busy day yesterday." He seemed friendlier this morning and more in charge.
"How nice of you to ask. Except for a few sore muscles, I'm doing fine."
"Did Emily tell you about Scott Mandrel?"
"Yes, yes she did. I must say, I'm rather surprised."
"You and a few others. He denies having anything to do with it. Claims he was set up." Dan shook his head. "If I had a dime for every time I've heard that one. But I'm not worried. We got an FBI agent on the case. Between us we should be able to get the evidence we need to put him away."
Helen nodded, attributing Dan's good mood to the fact they'd been able to find their killer so quickly. If indeed they had the right man. "Doesn't it seem odd that Scott would have blown up Chuck Frazier's boat? From what Shells told me, she and Scott planned to marry soon."
His lips curled in a churlish smile. "Chuck didn't want Shells to have anything to do with Mandrel. Now I see why. My guess is Chuck suspected Mandrel was into drugs and planned to get proof. Makes perfect sense. Mandrel buys up small businesses, sometimes at a loss, and eases out the competition. Only he's not buying them out for the fish. That never jived. He's eliminating potential witnesses."
"I see." Helen had a hunch Dan's dislike of Mandrel stemmed from the fact that Shells loved him. He'd made up his mind about Scott and would work to find the proof. That in itself wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Unfortunately, predetermining a guilty party could result in overlooking important evidence that pointed to another suspect. It also opened the door to a witch hunt of sorts. "Sounds like you're certain Scott is guilty."
"You'd better believe it." The sheriff adjusted his hat and hitched up his belt.
Not able to resist, Helen asked, "Didn't Chuck say it wasn't drugs?"
"Chuck was wrong!"
"Hmm. Well, I'd best be going. I have a lot of ground to cover today." Helen opened her car door.
"What are you up to?"
Helen told him about her plans. "With any luck I'll be able to finish out my day with a hike to McKenzie Head. Might time it so I can catch the sunset."
"I'm not sure that's a good idea, Mrs. Bradley. You'd be coming back down the trail in the dark. Not that the park is dangerous, but we have had some trouble on occasion. Best to go in daylight."
"Your point is well taken, Sheriff. I appreciate your concern."
Good-byes said, Dan returned to his car, reported in on his radio, then headed back in the direction he'd come. Helen found herself wondering if he'd run into her on routine patrol, or if he'd purposely sought her out. She suspected the latter. But there would be no point unless he meant to keep an eye on her.
Had J.B. told Dan about her being his wife? Helen doubted that. For security reasons he'd want as few people as possible to make the connection. Unless Emily had told him. But why would she? And when it came down to it, why had Dan stopped her? There had been nothing urgent in his message. Maybe he just wanted to gloat over his success in apprehending his criminal.
An uneasy feeling floated through her, and for a moment she wished she hadn't told him where she was going. "Helen Bradley, you're being absolutely ridiculous. Next thing you know you'll be suspecting Adam."
Helen plucked a soda from the cooler in the rear and arranged her long frame into the narrow space behind the wheel and within a few minutes was back on the road. Her good mood had drifted behind clouds of apprehension. She plugged one of her favorite tapes into the player, cranked up the volume, and belted out Handel's "Hallelujah Chorus" with the Philadelphia Orchestra and the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.
Helen drove about half a mile past the bridge and turned around at a rest area. There she picked up half a dozen brochures, used the facilities, then headed west again. The area nearest the bridge, Megler, had served as a ferry station until the Astoria- Megler bridge was completed in 1966. There had once been an Indian village called Chinookville, but it was abandoned before the turn of the century when most of the Native Americans died from diseases the early settlers brought in. Helen paused briefly at the Robert Gray historical marker, then went on to St. Mary's Catholic Church at McGowan. There she wandered around the still-used, weather-beaten building that settlers had built in 1904. Helen loved to visit old churches. Though she couldn't get inside, she lingered at the entry for a few minutes, soaking up the saintly feel of it.
Helen loved the feel of the day as well. No pressures. No danger, she hoped. It was a day for enjoying life and hanging out with God, nature, and history. It would be a day of mourning too. Though Helen hadn't known Chuck Frazier well, she couldn't help being saddened by his death and sharing the grief of the friends and family he'd left behind. "Poor Shells," Helen murmured. "Somehow it doesn't seem fair that one person should suffer so much." Before leaving the church, Helen paused to say a prayer for Shells and the others affected by yesterday's tragedy. She prayed also for J.B., Adam, and Dan, and for the quick resolution of the case with no more lives lost.
Over the next three hours she explored the Lewis and Clark campsite, had lunch at the awesome Fort Columbia, then meandered through the town of Chinook and the small community of Baker Bay.
It was two-thirty when she pulled into the parking lot at Shells' Place, and Helen was more than ready for a break. She settled into a seat near the window, where she could watch the boats come in. Gracie finished up with the only other customer and brought Helen a menu.
"I don't need that. I'll have an Irish Cream latte, single, tall, and iced."
"Sure." Gracie hesitated. The grief etched on her face had aged her ten years. "You were out there, weren't you? You saw it happen?"
"Yes. Such a terrible thing. I'm so sorry. You loved him, didn't you?"
Gracie nodded. "It wasn't mutual, not really. We dated some, but...." Gracie dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. "I suppose I shouldn't have come in today. Shells told me I could stay home. But she had to make the funeral arrangements and everything. It's Thursday, if you want to come." She sighed heavily. "Oh, listen to me babbling on."
Shells came through the swinging door of the kitchen carrying two glass pedestal mugs. "Here's your latte, Mrs. Bradley." At their questioning looks she added, "I heard you order it." She placed the cups on the table and touched Gracie's forearm. "Why don't you take off early, Gracie? I can get one of the other servers to cover for you."
"No, I'm okay. You're the one who should be home."
"I suppose, but...." Shells shook her head. "I can't stand being there alone having nothing to do. At least here I can keep busy so I don't have to think about...." She faltered.
"Yeah, I feel the same way. Nothing to do at home but cry. Guess we're both better off here." Gracie offered Shells a half smile. "Thanks for getting the latte."
"No problem. I wanted to talk to Mrs. Bradley anyway."
The waitress nodded. "I'll leave you alone, then. Call if you need me."
"Do you mind if I sit down?" Shells slid into the chair opposite Helen and pulled the second cup of what looked like black coffee toward her.
"Not at all. What did you want to talk to me about?"
"I know it must seem strange, but when I met you at the hospital yesterday, I said to myself, now there is a person I can trust. Maybe it was a premonition or something, but I had this feeling we'd be friends. I didn't know then that I'd need your help." She pinched her lips together.
"Go on. What can I help you with?"
"I suppose you heard about Scott." Her doe brown eyes held a mixture of grief and anger.
"Yes, Sheriff Merritt made a point of telling me this morning."
Shells grasped her steaming cup in both hands. "Did he also tell you I disagree? Not that it does much good. Adam and Dan both seem pretty anxious to blame Scott."
"Not without just cause. There is the matter of Steve Kendall's confession."
"He's wrong. I know Scott." Shells' eyes filled with tears, but she didn't wipe them away. "I know he didn't kill Chuck. I just wish there were something I could do."
Helen wasn't certain how to deal with Shells. In some ways she, too, was having a hard time seeing Scott as a killer. "Hopefully the truth will come out in the investigation. For now I can only suggest that you pray that happens."
"I haven't stopped praying since the explosion, well before, really. I've been worried about Chuck for the last few weeks. Ever since the Mariner II went down." Shells fastened her gaze on the water and took a drink. "Frankly, I'm not sure how much good it's doing. I probably shouldn't say this, but I'm pretty upset with God right now."
"Hmm. I can certainly understand that." Helen turned to watch a sea gull walk along the deck, wondering whether or not she should comment. The last thing Shells needed was to hear religious platitudes about having faith or reassurances that everything would work out fine. "I was angry with God for a long time when my first husband died," she finally said. "For a while I blamed God for taking him from me."
"How did your husband die?"
"In a bombing."
Shells jerked her gaze back to Helen. "How? What happened?"
"Ian was working as a government agent. He'd been sent over to Beirut, I never did learn why. Not that it mattered. A terrorist group bombed the embassy. Ian was there. He may have been the target. Ian's superiors alluded to the possibility, but I never knew for certain."
"Wow! Were the terrorists ever caught?"
"I don't know. For a while I pushed for details, but after four years, I gave it up. Decided it didn't really matter anymore and I'd be better off leaving the revenge to God." They sat in silence for a time and Helen's thoughts drifting back over the years. Though she still experienced twinges of pain and rage, God and time had healed her. It had taken many years to work through her grief. It would for Shells as well.
"Thanks." Shells' gaze drifted back to Helen.
"For what?" Helen pulled herself back to the present.
"For not telling me something good will come of Chuck's death. Like if I have enough faith everything is supposed to work out. I thought that when I was a little kid, but nothing happened the way I prayed it would. I just wish I knew why God lets stuff like this happen."
"You sound bitter."
"I guess I am sometimes. Wouldn't you be?"
Helen's resolve to shut up and listen flew off in the face of a need to dispel what she saw as myth. "I learned long ago that having faith doesn't always keep tragedies from happening, but it does make us strong enough to overcome them." She hesitated, then plunged in with perhaps a bit more vigor than necessary. "I don't believe for a moment that the bombing was God's will. Not in Ian's case or in Chuck's. Murder is never sanctioned by God. God's desire is that people love one another. Unfortunately, too many people ignore God's will and make choices based on greed and anger and revenge. Their choices destroy lives, and God is left to clean up the mess." Feeling she'd said too much, Helen concentrated on her latte.
Shells stared out at the water again, looking vulnerable and teary eyed. Her childlike features made Helen want to hold and comfort her.
"I'm sorry," Helen began. "I told myself I wasn't going to get preachy."
"You didn't." The corners of Shells' mouth curved into a wry smile. "What you said makes sense. God didn't kill Chuck. Someone with a sick, twisted mind did. I need to stop thinking about it and do something. I'm going to find my brother's killer. It's obvious to me that whoever did it is framing Scott. I don't know why Steve would lie like that."
"Steve? You know Steve Kendall?"
"Sort of. He and some of his buddies have been in here before. He seemed like an okay guy, kind of quiet. Don't know what he'd have against Scott, though. I don't think Scott even knew him."
"You didn't know Steve well, then."
"No. Just didn't figure him for a liar. Makes me mad. Dan and Adam aren't going to bother looking anywhere else, so it's up to me."
"Shells, I don't think it's wise for you to investigate."
"Would you help me, Mrs. Bradley? Adam told me you used to be a homicide detective. And you agree with me, right? About Scott not being a killer."
Helen couldn't very well tell Shells about J.B. or FBI involvement in the case, but she had to do something to prevent Shells from getting involved and maybe getting hurt. "I'll look into it," Helen heard herself say. "But you must promise not to do any investigating on your own. We're obviously dealing with dangerous people here, Shells. They've already killed Chuck, and I have a hunch they may have killed Isabelle too. If they find out we're looking for information, we could be the next to go."
Shells nodded. "I'll be discreet. What can I do?"
"Eavesdrop. Listen to your customers. You'd be surprised what interesting tidbits you can pick up. Let me know if you hear anything that might be of interest. And think back to the days before Chuck was killed. See if you can remember who he talked to and what they talked about."
The bell ringer on the door dinged and two women walked in. When Gracie didn't come out, Shells excused herself to wait on them.
Helen heaved a deep sigh, gathered her belongings, and picked up her check.
While ringing up the tab, Shells asked, "What are you planning to do now?"
The bell jingled behind Helen, announcing the arrival of two new customers. Hank and Bill Carlson.
Helen dug into her bag for her wallet and extracted a five. "If there's time I'd like to hike up to McKenzie Head, then meet Emily at Bubba's for pizza."
"Oh, you'll love Bubba's. Maybe I can get someone to take over for me here and I'll join you." She closed the register and handed Helen her change. "I hope people won't think it's weird for me to be going out. It's just....
"You don't have to explain. People grieve in many different ways." Helen glanced at her watch. "I think I'll go down to the dock and take some pictures before my hike. Hopefully I can get a shot of some lucky fishermen, or women."
Helen stuck the change in her wallet. "That reminds me, what's the politically correct term for a woman who fishes? Fisherperson sounds ridiculous, and I can't very well call them all fishermen. Someone might feel slighted."
"How about fishwives?" Bill Carlson chuckled at his own joke, then sauntered up and leaned against the counter, introducing himself and Hank.
Helen grinned despite her resolve not to. "Somehow I think 'fishwives' might alienate my readers even more."
He winked at her. "All that fussing for the right word. Isabelle, um... A friend of mine used to do the same thing." A hint of sadness flickered in his gray-blue eyes.
"Did you know Isabelle?" she asked.
"Everybody knew Isabelle," Hank said. "And Emily."
Bill's gaze moved from Helen to Shells. "So you two are eating at Bubba's tonight, huh? Mind if Hank and me tag along?"
"Nothing like inviting yourself." Hank Carlson shook his head. "Maybe the ladies have other plans."
"As a matter of fact, we do have some business to discuss," Shells said.
"Oh? Like what?" Hank asked. His bulk made Shells look more like a little girl than a mature woman.
"It's none of your business." Shells gave him a good-natured tap on the shoulder. "If you must know, Helen is going to help me prove Scott's innocence."
Helen chewed on her lower lip. So much for discretion.
Hank's wide forehead creased in a frown. He stroked his thick fuzzy beard. "Why would you need to do that? Somethin' happening we should know about?"
Shells pulled two menus off the counter. "Steve Kendall told Dan and Adam that Scott hired him to blow up the boa
t."
"That's crazy," Bill said. "Scott was on the boat, wasn't he?"
Shells explained the theory and added, "Anyway, I've got to find evidence to the contrary. Helen's an ex-cop and has agreed to help me."
"Oh yeah?" The corner of Bill's eyes crinkled in a smile. "Don't that beat all. And here I thought you was just another writer like Isabelle."
"I'm a writer too, of course. That's primarily why I'm here. I've been asked to finish the guidebook she started."
Hank's thick arm went around Shells' shoulder. "We'll help you too, honey. If you say Scott's innocent, I believe you." He turned to Helen. "You just let us know what we can do."
"There might be something," Helen said as she followed them to a table. "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"
Bill shrugged. "Ask ahead." He sat next to the window and pulled out the chair beside him for Helen. Hank nearly took up both spaces on the other side.
"Bring me the usual, Shells." Hank handed her back the menu without looking at it. "Can't wait to start in on that chowder of yours."
Bill glanced at the menu. "Bring me a burger and fries."
"Did you want anything to eat, Mrs. Bradley? Another latte?" Shells asked.
"Thanks. Water will be fine." She turned to Bill when Shells left. "You two seem to know Shells quite well."
"She's like a kid sister," Bill said, sadness apparent in his eyes. "We went to school with Chuck. Been best friends since I can remember. After her mom left, we all kinda felt responsible for her."
"Is what she said true?" Hank reached for his cloth napkin. "You going to help her prove her boyfriend didn't do it?"
"Shells is prematurely optimistic, I'm afraid. I'm not sure I can do that. The case is already being investigated by the authorities, but I'll do what I can."
Red Sky In Mourning: A Helen Bradley Mystery (Helen Bradley Mysteries Book 3) Page 10
