Red Sky In Mourning: A Helen Bradley Mystery (Helen Bradley Mysteries Book 3)

by Patricia H. Rushford

  "It's twelve-thirty." Her daughter's face moved into Helen's line of vision.

  Helen smiled, or tried to. "Hi."

  "Hi yourself." Kate's questioning gaze fastened on Helen's face.

  "Did they take me all the way back to Portland?"

  "Not yet. Adam called Jason and he called me. I thought one of us better come get you."

  "Get me?" Helen scooted back against the pillows and reached for her water. Kate fetched the glass for her and held the straw to Helen's lips.

  "I'm taking you home for a couple weeks so we can keep an eye on you." Kate turned on the light behind the bed.

  Helen squeezed her eyes shut. "Nonsense. There's no need for you to do that." Her headache was coming back.

  "Mother, you've been mugged. The doctor says you have a concussion and that you'll need to rest."

  "Mugged?" Helen gripped the guardrail on the bed and rose up on her elbows. "Is that what Adam told you?"

  "He and the sheriff are pretty certain that's what happened. From the looks of things, some vagrant hit you on the head and took off with your pack. He left the keys in your car and your pack in the trunk after dumping it out. There were papers scattered everywhere. Your wallet's missing. The sheriff was going to check for prints but didn't leave much hope for catching him. Might be a camper, so they're checking that out."

  "Wonder why they didn't steal my car. It's worth almost as much as my house—certainly more than what was in my backpack or wallet."

  "He probably realized a classic car would be too easy to track."

  "I suppose." That made sense. But a vagrant? She wasn't so sure.

  'You shouldn't have been out hiking alone. It's not safe anywhere these days." Kate twisted her hands around the bed railing. "I think I've mentioned that before."

  "Where is the call light? I'd like the bed raised." Helen ran a hand through her matted hair. "I need a shower. Look at my hands." She held her hands up and inspected them. "I look like I've been crawling in the dirt." She smiled. "Maybe because I have."

  "Mother, please don't make jokes. This isn't funny."

  "Relax, darling. I'm fine."

  'You're not fine." Tears gathered in Kate's cobalt blue eyes. "You're going to fight me on this, aren't you?"

  "On what?"

  "Taking you back to Portland with me. Jason said you probably wouldn't come."

  "Jason's right. There's no need for that." Helen clasped Kate's slender fingers. She was so like Helen in appearance but so different in personality. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, darling. I know you're doing what you think is best, but I have work to do here."

  Kate sighed. "Okay. I'm not going to argue."

  "You're not?"

  "If Mohammed won't go to the mountain, I'll bring the mountain to Mohammed."

  At Helen's puzzled gaze, Kate added, "I talked to Emily Merritt. She said I could stay in one of the rooms until I'm satisfied you're all right."

  Kate could be as bullheaded as her mother, but of course that was a trait that seemed to run through her entire family. Helen mulled over Kate's decision. Kate probably wouldn't take no for an answer, and it would be nice to spend a few days with her. Helen just hoped she'd be able to write. She squeezed Kate's hand. "I think that's a wonderful solution."

  A nurse came in, checked Helen's vital signs and pupils, and raised the head of the bed. "How's are you feeling, Mrs. Bradley?"

  "Better."

  "Good. Would you like an ice pack? It'll help ease the pain and keep the swelling down."

  Helen nodded, then turned to Kate. "You look tired."

  Kate yawned. "I am, but I'm not going anywhere, so don't try to talk me into it."

  Helen closed her eyes. She felt incredibly sleepy. "I suppose I should get word to J.B."

  "Jason and Adam are trying to do that. Any idea where he might be?"

  "On the boat. . . he . . ." Helen frowned, trying to cut through the fog that still lingered in her brain. When her mind cleared, fear sliced into her heart. J.B. should have been there by now.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Helen spent the next few hours telling herself that J.B. had gotten caught in the usual governmental red tape. Refusing to dwell on the fact that no one had been able to reach him, or that he hadn't checked in with his superiors, she filled her thoughts with reasonable explanations.

  He was on his way downriver and had probably pulled into one of the ports along the way to get some sleep. Perhaps he'd had a change of plans. He may have found new evidence and detoured briefly. He'd be there. She just needed to be patient. No news is good news, she told herself again and again.

  Still, the moment Kate left to get herself some breakfast, Helen called her friend and J.B.'s immediate superior at the FBI office in Portland. Tom Chambers hadn't heard from J.B. either.

  "I don't know whether to be mad or worried," Tom said gruffly. "I wish we hadn't agreed to bring him back on. He called just before he left, said everything was fine." Helen could imagine Tom leaning back in his chair, legs propped on the desk, an unlit cigar in his mouth.

  "Helen," Tom went on, "did J.B. have any health problems that you know of?"

  "No. He's as fit as always. Might have gained a few pounds since he's been off work, but. . ." Panic clawed at Helen's insides. "Why are you asking?"

  "I got a call today from the doctor who does company physicals. Seems he found some irregularities in J.B.'s cardio tests."

  "Cardio? Something's wrong with his heart?"

  "The doctor said it might not be anything, but he wanted to run some more extensive tests."

  Helen let out an uneven breath. "I wasn't even aware he'd gone in."

  "Had to before we could take him back. J.B. went in on Monday. The doc put him through the paces and, since he's known J.B. for years, signed him off. It wasn't until this morning he noticed there might be a problem."

  "Exactly what is the problem?"

  "I'm not sure. Doc wouldn't say."

  "We need to find J.B. You know him, Tom. He would have found a way to contact us if he could."

  "You're right about that. It's too soon to panic. J.B.'s a good agent, Helen. He can take care of himself."

  "Yes, I suppose you're right. But you will keep trying."

  "You can bet on it."

  Adam arrived just as Helen hung up. "Still no word about J.B.?" she asked, hoping his verbal answer would be different from the one written on his face. And hoping the Coast Guard would have had better luck than the FBI.

  "I'm sorry. All we know for certain is that he got home okay yesterday," Adam assured her. "Jason said J.B. met with him around noon at the Newport Bay Restaurant. He told him he was working on a case and would be out of town for a few days."

  "What about the boat—did he take it out?"

  Adam nodded. "It's gone. Close as we can figure he had lunch with Jason, and left the marina around two."

  Helen rubbed her forehead again, as if she could ease away the headache. "Could he have stopped along the way? Had engine trouble?"

  "Jason's got people checking all the ports now on both sides of the river. If he's in any of them, we'll find him."

  "What about helicopters? Suppose something happened and he drifted into some remote area. There are some rugged places along the Columbia."

  "Got that covered too." Adam squeezed her hand. "He'll show up."

  Helen wished she could be more positive. She hated gut feelings like this. As desperately as she wanted to believe J.B. was safe, part of her knew something had gone dreadfully wrong.

  A short time later the doctor came in and saw no reason not to discharge her. Leaving her in Kate's care seemed the reasonable thing to do.

  Once she'd gotten her discharge papers, Kate drove them back to the bed and breakfast, where she and Emily joined forces to make certain Helen had every possible need met.

  Helen spent the rest of the day in a drug-induced daze, vaguely aware that Emily had gone to Chuck's funeral. The doctor had given her
pain medication for her headaches, which had been incessant all day.

  Eventually, she stopped asking about J.B., figuring Emily and Kate would tell her the minute they learned anything. At one point she tried writing, then reading, but soon gave up when she couldn't make her eyes focus on anything. About the only thing she managed to do was sleep and eat, which Kate kept saying was the best thing for her.

  Helen disagreed. The best thing would be to find J.B. Awake now, she turned to look out at the bay. Soft pink cotton candy clouds gave evidence of another lovely sunset. Tears gathered in her eyes and ran down her temple and into her hair. "J.B.," she whispered. "Where are you? Please, God, let him be safe."

  She'd run out of prayers, run out of energy. Now she wished her mind would run out of things to stew about. When she wasn't thinking about J.B. she was thinking about the mug­ging, if that's what it was. Helen didn't believe much in coincidences and strongly suspected the attack on her, the break-in at the bed and breakfast, and Isabelle's and Chuck's deaths were all linked. The one common thread was information. Now J.B., who'd gone undercover, was missing. Could there be a connection there as well?

  But who'd known about J.B.'s part in all this? Adam, Dan, Emily. J.B. had already made some contacts in Long Beach. He'd been to at least one of the taverns. Could one of those people have suspected he was an agent and followed him?

  Helen closed her eyes. Too many questions.

  The door opened a crack. Kate stepped in. "Mother?" she whispered. "Are you awake?"

  Helen brushed away her tears and sat up, glad for the distraction. "Come in, darling."

  "Emily and I were about to have tea. Would you like to join us? We can bring it up here if you'd rather."

  "No, I'll come down." Helen pushed the covers aside and sat up. Swinging her legs off the bed, she waited for the woozy feeling to pass, then stood.

  "Are you sure you want to go downstairs?" Kate held Helen's white terry bathrobe.

  "I need to move around." She took a deep breath and slipped into the robe. "Have you heard anything about J.B.?"

  "Jason called about an hour ago. Still no news, I'm afraid."

  Helen nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Kate waited while her mother brushed her hair and used the facilities. Walking down the stairs was an arthritic experience. Every joint in her body ached, partly from all the hiking she'd done the last few days, but mostly from last night's injuries. Yet sitting in front of the fire with Emily and Kate was worth the effort.

  "Tell me about the children," Helen said once she'd settled into the gliding rocker. "I want to hear every detail."

  "Lisa has been shopping nearly every day, and Jennie can hardly sit still. They're excited about school starting."

  "Jennie and Lisa are my sixteen-year-old granddaughters," Helen said for Emily's benefit. "Lisa is Kate's oldest and Jennie belongs to my son, Jason."

  "They both wanted to come with me today."

  "I'm surprised they didn't."

  "Kevin's out of town. I told them I needed them to baby-sit. Besides, school starts next week. And I thought I'd be bringing you back."

  "I miss them." She sighed. Almost wish I could go back with you."

  "You can. Maybe you should. Seems to me it would be better with J.B. . . . well . . . missing."

  "I need to get this book written. Stay busy. I still have a lot of research to do." Helen sipped at her tea and rocked. "How are the boys?" Again for Emily's benefit she identified Kate's ten- year-old son, Kurt, and Jason's five-year-old son, Nick.

  "Nick misses J.B.," Kate said. "They must have really bonded while he and Jennie stayed at the coast with you. He's all excited about school too." Kate smiled. "Thinks he's hot stuff now that he's in kindergarten."

  Helen chuckled. "A little knowledge . . ."

  Kate launched into how well the boys were doing with their reading. Well above average. When she moved into the problem of choosing the right school, Helen's thoughts drifted back to J.B. The man of her dreams. She chided herself now for thinking he'd been in her way. She'd much rather have him underfoot than not have him at all. Try as she might not to give into the fearful, negative thoughts, she couldn't change the hard, cold facts. J.B. would never neglect to call her or his superiors unless he'd been injured, captured, or . . . no, she wouldn't let herself think the worst. Maybe he'd had a change of plans. Still, wouldn't he have called?

  Her mind drifted back to the trail her thoughts had taken earlier. Perhaps J.B.'s disappearance was somehow connected to the other incidents. She waited until Kate had finished praising the private school the children attended, then asked, "Emily, did you say anything to anyone about J.B. working undercover?"

  "You asked me not to." She looked hurt and annoyed.

  "I know. I was just trying to make some sense of J.B.'s disappearance. The only logical thing I can come up with other than an illness or injury is that someone discovered who he really was." Helen hauled in a sharp breath. Her thoughts hit in the stomach with the impact of a baseball bat. Everyone was looking for an FBI agent named Jason Bradley. But he'd gone undercover. He was using another name. One she couldn't even remember. And he probably had a fake ID as well. If something had happened to him or if he'd been in an accident. . . .

  "Mother? What's wrong?"

  "J.B. was working undercover. Emily, did J.B. mention the name he was using? I can't remember if he even said."

  "I don't recall. Why is that important?"

  "Because that's who he is right now. It's one of the dangers of working undercover. With a false ID, if something happens and you can't communicate who you really are, it could take days or weeks to straighten things out."

  Kate leaned forward. "So if J.B. was in an accident or had health problems, we wouldn't even be called."

  "Not unless he had a name or number on his person." Helen set her cup aside, moved the ottoman, and stood. "I need to call Tom." If anyone would know, he would.

  "I have no idea which name he used," Tom said when she reached him. "He told me he'd let me know when he checked in."

  "He was dressed as a biker," Helen said. "But he might have been planning something else as he was bringing the boat down."

  "He's got a handful of IDs besides the ones we set up for him. some we have registered, some we don't. I'll see if he told anybody here and print out a list of the ones we have on file. I'll get on it right away and call as soon as I have anything."

  Helen hung up, willing herself not to worry. This was one time when ignorance would have been bliss. She wished she hadn't called Tom, or learned about J.B.'s possible heart problem, or realized how difficult he might be to trace.

  Tom was right. J.B. did have a drawer full of fake IDs and phony registrations he'd picked up in Belize and Colombia. How he'd gotten them and from whom was not something he shared with anyone, not even her. As necessary and good as law enforcement agencies were, Helen was also keenly aware of their shortcomings. They tended to be careless at times. Their record keeping, mostly because they hated paper work, left something to be desired. She didn't trust them to find J.B. Which meant she'd have to.

  She called Adam and hit another dead end. J.B. hadn't told him or Dan his alias.

  "He must have told someone his name," she said aloud much later as she paced back and forth across the braided rug in her room. He'd been nosing around the local pubs and the docks. Maybe someone there remembered him. Tomorrow she'd start looking for that person. She needed a name to go with that handsome Irish face. And if she didn't find one, she'd personally search every hospital in the area and every . . . When the word morgue crept into her thoughts, Helen trashed it, refusing to consider death as an option.

  Before climbing into bed, she glanced at her computer and the notes for the guidebook. "Sorry, Isabelle," she murmured. "J.B. comes first."

  Sleep came easier knowing she'd be doing her part to find J.B. She closed her eyes and envisioned him alive and well and prayed herself asleep.

  The next morni
ng she awoke well before dawn. Creeping around like an errant child running away from home, Helen dressed in jeans and a turtleneck, then added a bulky, oversized cable knit sweater. She'd borrowed it from J.B. a few months earlier to keep him close to her heart when he'd gone off on another of his secret missions. He'd had to marry her to get it back. Wearing the sweater always gave her a strong sense of his presence and reminded her of his strength and capabilities. He'd rescued her on several occasions. And now, if need be, she would rescue him.

  Of course the possibility still existed that J.B. was fine, but experience and common sense cut the logic of her fantasy to shreds.

  Kate and Emily, Helen wrote in a note she planned to leave on the kitchen table. I’ve gone fishing. Don’t worry, I'm fine, no headache. I’ll call you later.

  Helen grabbed up a few snacks and, after making tea, filled a thermos and headed out. The temperature had dropped during the night. She tugged on rag wool mittens and her jacket and unlocked the car. Her warm breath fogged up the windows. She set the defroster on high, then slowly made her way out the long driveway. By the time she hit Sandridge the front window was mostly clear.

  Helen had given her plan a lot of thought. She'd get to the docks early enough to catch Mike Trenton. He'd invited her to go on the charter with him, and that gave her an opportunity to talk to Earl and his friends again. A reunion of sorts. Discovering J.B.'s name was not her only mission. But it was the most important one. Once she learned that, she would let the authorities know immediately so they could begin a search. If he were lying in a hospital somewhere, they'd find him.

  The possibility occurred to her that J.B. had been betrayed. Dan or even Adam could be involved in the drug-smuggling operation. If that was indeed the problem. For that reason she hadn't said anything to them about investigating on her own.

  Though her heart wasn't in it, she would move ahead with the guidebook, at least that's what she would lead everyone to believe. To those who knew about her relationship to J.B., she'd be working to alleviate her worries and fears. To others she'd just be a writer with a retired husband staying in Portland.