"I see you decided to join us." Mike reached for her backpack with one hand and helped her board with the other. "Wasn't sure, what with your getting mugged the other night."
"I wasn't either. Amazing what a day of rest can do."
"Hmm. You need any Dramamine? I noticed you got sick last time."
"Took some this morning." Helen looked up toward the parking lot, where several vehicles were pulling in. "Are Earl and his friends still coming?"
"Better be. They didn't cancel. Still a little early. I'll give them another half hour."
Catching sight of Bill and Hank Carlson down near their boat, Helen grabbed her camera. "In that case, I'll see if I can get a few photos." She scrambled out onto the dock and aimed the lens at Mike. "Look busy."
He laughed and stooped to pick up her cooler. "What do you mean, look?"
She caught him in a rare smile, and when he disappeared into the galley, Helen walked down to where the Klipspringer was docked.
"Ahoy!" she called. "I was hoping to catch you. To thank you again. Do you suppose I could get some photos of my two rescuers? I appreciate your bringing me back down the trail."
"Glad we could help. A little dark yet for picture takin', isn't it?" Bill asked.
"Not really." She focused her lens. Bill yelled for Hank to join them.
The big fisherman emerged from the hold wearing a plaid shirt over a black turtleneck, and to Helen's delight he had on his Greek hat. He carefully lowered the wooden cover over the hold.
Obviously not used to being photographed, the men grew restless after the first shot. "I hope this ain't gonna take long," Bill said "We gotta head out."
"Just a couple more." When finished, Helen covered the camera lens. "Say, guys, maybe you can help me. A couple of days ago I saw a guy on a motorcycle. About this tall." She held her hand six inches above her head. "Clean-shaven. I wanted to get some photos of him but didn't have my camera. He was in town Tuesday night."
Bill frowned. "I might know the guy you mean. Said he was thinking about mooring his boat down here."
"Yes," Helen worked at keeping her tone level. "He told me that too. Unfortunately, I didn't catch his name."
"Can't help you there. Not much good at names. How 'bout you, Hank?"
Hank wagged his head back and forth. "Nope. Don't know what you'd want with the likes of him, though. He was hanging out with some druggies. Told Dan to keep an eye on him. Wouldn't surprise me if the guy was into dealing."
"Quit the jawing, Hank. We gotta go. Sorry, Mrs. Bradley. Maybe we can talk some more when we get back."
Helen waved them off, then hurried back to the Merry Maid, where Earl and Mike seemed to be arguing about something.
"Look, I'm sorry to bail out on you," she heard Earl say.
"Don't expect a refund. It's too late now for me to get anyone." Mike glowered.
"That's fine." Earl shifted his gaze to Helen as she approached. "Hi, Mrs. Bradley."
"Hi. I couldn't help but overhear. you're not going out?"
"No. I have to head home, to Longview." Earl wore the mask of tragedy.
"Not bad news, I hope."
"I'm afraid it is. You remember Steve Kendall?"
"Your brother-in-law. The one who confessed to detonating the bomb?"
"Yeah. Cops found him in his cell. Died of a drug overdose."
Chapter Sixteen
Hate to take just one person out, Mrs. Bradley." Mike jumped onto the dock, setting it to swaying. "I'll run up to the office and see if anybody's waiting for a cancellation."
Helen grabbed onto a piling to steady herself. "You don't need to go out on my account, Mike. In fact, if it's all the same to you, I'd just as soon wait. I'd like to talk to Earl."
"Sure, no problem. I could use a day off. Got some business to take care of anyway."
Mike boarded the boat, handed Helen her bag and cooler, and went back to the helm. As she and Earl walked away, Mike started the engines and headed out. He seemed almost relieved to be rid of her, and she wondered where he was going.
Reluctantly, she turned her attention back to Earl. "I'm sorry about Steve," Helen said as they walked.
"Yeah, it's heavy stuff. I could understand why my sister divorced him, but we'd gotten close over the years. He was pretty messed up. I just didn't realize how bad. What gets me is how he could have overdosed in jail."
"Drugs are available everywhere for a price, even in prison. Maybe I should say especially in prison."
"I suppose that's true," Earl said. "Still, I can't help but feel responsible. He'd been despondent for several weeks. I thought he was handling it. S'pose I shouldn't be surprised. After all, he did agree to detonate that bomb for Mandrel."
"You're sure it was suicide?"
"That's what the authorities told me." Earl shivered and put his hands in his pockets. The temperature had dipped into the forties and he was wearing a T-shirt under a thin cotton jacket. "Hard to believe. When I went to see him yesterday he seemed up. Said the DA was willing to cut him a deal. They offered a lighter sentence if he'd testify against Mandrel."
"You mustn't blame yourself, though it's a natural tendency." Heaven knew she'd been suffering enormous guilt over letting J.B. go. Not that there was much she could have done.
"Wish I'd known what he was up to, maybe I could have helped." His gaze met hers. "Can I buy you a cup of coffee, Mrs. Bradley? You're an easy person to talk to, and my goose bumps are getting goose bumps."
"Of course." Helen had wanted to talk to Earl and this was as good a time as any. The Charter House Cafe was open and had been since three in the morning.
"Good morning, Mrs. Bradley, Earl. You can sit anywhere. Just pick a spot." Gracie, the waitress from Shells' Place, picked up two menus and followed them to the table.
"I'm surprised to see you here," Helen said. "Thought you worked for Shells."
She half smiled. "I do. Fill in here most mornings. Shells doesn't open until eleven. By then the day shift is here."
"Long hours for you." Helen removed her mittens and slipped out of her jacket.
"Yeah, well, keeps me busy. I need it right now. Coffee?"
Earl pushed his cup toward her and she filled it.
"I'd rather have herbal tea if you have it."
"Sure do. We usually carry a good supply of teas. I'll bring you a basket and you can choose." She glanced from Earl to Helen and frowned. "This may seem like a stupid question, but what are you two doing down here so early? Not that it's any of my business. I mean . . ."
"If you're wondering if we've got something going, the answer is no." Earl winked at Helen. "At least not yet."
Helen rolled her eyes. "In case you hadn't noticed I'm old enough to be his mother. Besides, I'm happily married." At least I was. No, she wouldn't let herself think of J.B. or her marriage in the past tense. She bit her lower lip and swallowed hard to still the wave of grief crashing in her stomach. "We were going fishing, but Earl and his friends needed to cancel."
"Death in the family." Earl went on to explain about his brother-in-law.
Gracie shook her head. "Nothing but bad news these days. Which reminds me. . ." Gracie headed toward the kitchen. "I saw an article in The Oregonian this morning about an FBI agent named Bradley being missing. I wondered at the time if you might be related, but I guess not, huh?"
Helen's heart lurched. "May I see the article?" Tom must have been extremely worried. For the FBI to go public so soon was practically unheard of. Yet with the possibility of J.B. having a heart problem might have initiated a more prompt response. Her wall of stoicism was beginning to crumble.
"Sure. There's a copy on the counter."
"I'll get it." Earl got up before Helen could and looked over the article on his way back to the table, then handed it to her.
J.B.'s photo had been placed beneath a headline that read, "FBI AGENT MISSING." Tears blurred the rest. She dabbed at her eyes with a napkin, but it wasn't doing much good.
"Yo
u do know him." Gracie placed a hand on Helen's shoulder. "Your husband?"
Helen nodded.
"Didn't you know he was missing?" Earl asked.
Avoiding his question, Helen asked, "Could you read it for me please?"
Earl turned the paper around and began reading.
" 'FBI Agent Jason Bradley of Portland, Oregon, disappeared Wednesday during a routine investigation. Officials became concerned when Bradley failed to show up at a scheduled rendezvous point on the Washington Coast, where he was working with local law enforcement officials. Bradley is 6'2", 185 pounds, has silver gray hair, and speaks with an Irish accent. If you have any information regarding Agent Bradley's whereabouts, contact the Portland Federal Bureau of Investigation immediately.' "
"Doesn't tell you much. They listed a couple numbers at the end. Want to keep the article?"
Helen reached for it, tore out the article, and set the paper aside.
"Do you know what kind of case he was working on? Bet it was drugs." Earl answered his own question. "It's always drugs." Earl leaned back, somber faced, thinking no doubt about his brother-in-law.
Helen closed her eyes. They hadn't mentioned J.B.'s alias, or the fact that he'd been working undercover, or that he might have a heart condition. He may have even lost his accent for his role. He'd done it before. The photo of J.B. bore little resemblance to the man he was pretending to be. God forbid they would want to jeopardize his mission with the truth. She wondered how many days would pass before they let the public know he'd been on the Peninsula. That he had been wearing leathers and riding a motorcycle. And that he'd dyed his hair black and now looked a lot like the original James Bond. She'd often linked J.B. to James Bond of movie fame and with good reason. J.B. had worked for British Intelligence and done similar work. He even had the same initials.
She wasn't being fair. Knowing the way J.B. worked, it was entirely possible they hadn't seen him in disguise. As Tom had said, J.B. could have used any one of over a dozen aliases.
Gracie brought her tea. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Bradley. What an awful way to find out. I can't believe they didn't contact you."
"I alerted them when J.B. didn't call me. It's just such a shock to see it in writing."
"Yeah, I know, like when I read the obits and saw Chuck's name. It was so final." She crossed her thin arms and blinked back the tears. "Um, that reminds me, I heard what happened to you the other day."
"News does travel fast."
"Being a waitress I hear a lot."
"What happened?" Earl asked.
Helen filled him in on the details of her fiasco at McKenzie Head.
"I can't believe I'm hearing this conversation," Earl responded. "This is crazy. Frazier killed in an explosion, you getting hit over the head, your husband missing, and Steve committing suicide. What's going on around here?"
"You forgot about Isabelle's death," Gracie added. "One thing for sure, it's more than a run of bad luck."
Fading out of the conversation, Helen chose a raspberry tea and concentrated on dunking the bag in the hot water until it turned a deep shade of red. She brought it up to her lips and inhaled the fruity aroma. All she really wanted to do was go back to the bed and breakfast, curl up under the comforter, and cry. But she couldn't afford herself that luxury. J.B. had been missing for nearly thirty-six hours.
Gracie left to wait on a couple who'd walked in. Earl's gaze left the waitress and focused on Helen. "You want to ask me something. I can tell."
"You're very astute. I do have a question. There was a man in town on Tuesday." Helen chose her words carefully." I wondered if you might have seen him. Dark hair, tall, blue eyes, wearing jeans and a worn leather jacket. He had a motorcycle with Oregon plates and was frequenting some of the pubs."
Earl's eyes turned to narrow slits when he frowned. "I might have seen somebody like that at the Lightship. Couple of the guys and I had dinner there. I remember thinking he seemed out of place. Tough-looking character. Why are you asking?"
"Adam and Dan seemed to think he might have something to do with the drug-smuggling operation they've been investigating. I'm wondering if he's somehow connected to my husband's disappearance. The biker seems to have vanished as well."
Earl looked thoughtful. "I can see why they might think he was dealing. Wish I could help you, but I didn't actually talk to him. He was having dinner with Scott Mandrel."
Chapter Seventeen
Morning," Adam grunted, looking about as cheerful as Helen felt.
She had gone up to the Coast Guard station directly from the restaurant. Catching Adam on his daily walk up to the lighthouse, Helen fell into step beside him.
"I need to talk to Scott Mandrel," she explained. "I tried to call Shells, but she wasn't home. I need a phone number or an address for him."
"I could give you the information, but it won't do much good."
"Why?" Helen stopped him. "Don't tell me he's skipped town." She felt out of breath, but it wasn't from walking up the steep hill.
Adam shook his head. "I don't know. Dan and I went to talk to him last night. No sign of him or his car. The relief chef at the restaurant, Rusty, told us Scott and Shells had gone to Portland on business after the funeral. He thought they'd be back last night. They never showed up. Dan and I think maybe he might have run and forced Shells to go with him."
"I see." She hated being wrong. Almost as much as she hated wrongdoing. Had she been wrong about Scott? At the moment, Mandrel had too many strikes against him to be considered an innocent bystander. Now it seems he may have had something to do with J.B.'s disappearance. "I thought he was your prime suspect. How could you let him go off like that?"
Adam glanced away. "Don't say it. We should have had a tail on him." He started walking again. "What do you need to see Mandrel about?"
Helen told him about her conversation with Earl. Adam denied knowing anything about Scott's meeting with J.B.
"Are you sure J.B. didn't mention talking to Scott?" Helen asked.
"All J.B. told Dan and me was that he'd baited some hooks and may have gotten a couple bites. He was in a rush to get back to Portland to pick up his boat and said he'd fill us in on the details when he got back."
"So it's possible J.B. may have gotten too close." Helen closed her eyes. "I'm worried, Adam. I'm really worried. What if Scott saw through J.B.'s cover? I need to talk to him. I need to find out why he was with my husband. He may know where J.B. is. If anything's happened to him. . .." She stopped the negative thought and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. And on the puffs of steam released by her mouth as each breath hit the cool morning air.
"We're trying to track Mandrel down. Got the state police searching both sides of the river. It isn't looking good. Mandrel could be anywhere by now. He could even be in South America."
"Let's hope not."
Helen walked the rest of the way up the hill, then lingered awhile after Adam had gone back to his office. She tried a relaxation technique in order to come up with J.B.'s phony name. Sometimes clearing her mind and taking deep, steady breaths worked. Today it didn't. Anxiety formed a thick fog in her brain, thicker than the heavy fogbank that kept her from seeing anything on the horizon but gray. Still, she stood at the chain link fence, staring out into the distance, praying, aching to hear God's still small voice tell her everything would be okay.
But all she could hear was the plaintive cry of sea gulls, the mournful bellow of a foghorn, and her own weeping.
After twenty more minutes of ruminating, Helen returned to her car. She'd stopped briefly at Adam's office, but he'd had no further news of J.B. or Scott Mandrel. While there, Helen called Emily to let her know the fishing trip had been canceled, then filled her in on the other details she'd learned that morning.
"You might have told me you were going, Emily scolded. "I'd have made you a nice breakfast and packed you a lunch."
"I didn't want to bother you," Helen said. "Besides, I was afraid Kate would ha
ve a fit. She hovers over me like a mother hen. I'm beginning to feel smothered. She's a wonderful daughter and I love her dearly, but she seems bound and determined to get me into a rocking chair."
"Don't know much about getting around this younger generation, do you? Maybe I can give you a few pointers. Been fighting Danny since I turned fifty He used to be underfoot all the time trying to take care of his old auntie. Now his old auntie's taking care of him." Emily chuckled. "In fact, he's coming over for breakfast this morning. Which reminds me, I'd better see if your daughter is up."
Helen glanced at her watch, surprised to find it was only seven-thirty. Unlike Helen, Kate was not a morning person. "I don't suppose anyone's called there about J.B."
"Nope. I'll ask Dan. 'Spect we'd hear right away if they found him." Emily paused. "You planning on coming back soon? Want me to set an extra plate for breakfast?"
"N-no." Helen hesitated. "Since I'm here at the south end, I'll do some exploring. I'd like to see the North Head Lighthouse and make a few notes."
"Lunch, then?"
"Maybe. Don't look for me, though. I'm not good company just now. I may catch a bite at Shells' Place. Need to talk to somebody over there anyway. I'm hoping Rusty can shed some light on Scott and Shells' disappearing act."
"Come again?"
"Shells and Scott left town. The way news travels I was sure you'd have heard by now. Ask Dan to give you the details over breakfast."
"I will. What if I hear anything about J.B.?"
"Call me." Helen gave Emily her cell phone number. "I'll keep it with me."
"Okay." Emily hesitated. "What shall I tell Kate?"
"That I'm working." Helen bit her lip. "On second thought, have her meet me at Shells' Place at twelve-thirty. Since she's here, I may as well put her to work."
After promising to be back in time for dinner, Helen rang off.
Out of sheer desperation to keep from going to pieces over J.B., Helen focused on the guidebook. She left the Coast Guard station, parked at the trail head, and hiked the three miles to the North Head Lighthouse. There she took a tour, climbing the stairs to the top of the lighthouse. The fog was finally lifting and the day promised sunshine.
Red Sky In Mourning: A Helen Bradley Mystery (Helen Bradley Mysteries Book 3) Page 13
