"Sorry to barge in on your conversation," a woman two tables down said. "Couldn't help overhearing. That brown gook out there is a natural-occurring algae, clam food, actually. Not very pretty, but there it is. Been around for as long as I can remember. Some days it's worse than others."
"Really?" Helen frowned. "I don't recall seeing it on the Oregon beaches."
"Might have something to do with the river being so close. If you want to know for sure, you can check over at the shellfish laboratories in Nahcotta."
Helen pulled out her map and asked the woman to show her where to find it, then wrote down the name. She'd either drive out there or call tomorrow. When they finished their drinks, they popped into Sweet William's to browse, then headed back to Long Beach, where Kate picked up her car. All in all a fruitful day for the guidebook. All she'd managed to do on the investigation was to raise more questions. It would take days, maybe even weeks, to follow and tie up all the threads. Maybe it was time to put Emily and Kate to work.
"Logan." She said the name aloud when it came to her the next morning as she drifted into wakefulness. The night before she'd prayed that if J.B. had told her his name, she'd be able to recall it. Helen tossed the covers aside and slipped into her robe. "Logan," she repeated again. She didn't know if it was a first name or the last, but it was a name.
Helen hurried downstairs, told Kate and Emily the news, then called Tom at the FBI in Portland. Tom promised to check the files to see if J.B.'s alias was on file from a previous usage and call her back. She called Adam, who promised to alert other local law officials. Soon, she thought. Soon they'd find him. She tried not to think where or in what condition he'd be. She only held on to the image of the two of them staying in the lovely turn-of-the-century house where keepers of the light had helped scores of ships navigate safely along the treacherous coastline.
Chapter Nineteen
I understand you've been asking questions around town." Dan Merritt bent at the waist and peered into Helen's car. He'd passed her on Sandridge Road going south. She'd been heading north toward the bed and breakfast. The moment they passed, he had flipped on his lights and siren, done a U-turn in the middle, of the road, and come after her.
She hadn't been speeding.
"The last I heard, there was no crime against that." Helen was tired of Dan's games. Her head and her stomach hurt. She felt jittery, as if she'd been on an espresso binge. At breakfast she'd given Kate and Emily the job of tracking down the people Scott Mandrel had bought out. She wanted the stats on all of them, what they were doing and who they were working for. Then, after making some notes to herself and writing for two hours, she'd set out for Seaview and worked her way north to Long Beach, taking photos, finding places of interest, and interviewing people on a variety of subjects. With nearly all of them, she'd managed to swing the conversation around to the biker named Logan. She'd gone into nearly every eating and drinking establishment listed in the phone book.
As far as she could tell, Dan didn't know about her relationship to J.B.. Maybe this was the time to tell him. On the other hand, what if Dan was responsible for J.B.'s disappearance?
Dan's challenging gaze fastened on hers. "Got an interesting phone call today. From the FBI office in Portland. Said if I ran into you I should give you a message."
"From Tom?" Helen's discomfort created a tight band around her chest. She bit her lip. "I mean Agent Chambers?"
"Yeah." His nostrils flared when he drew in a deep breath.
"He called you?"
"Apparently they tried Emily, but she says your cell phone isn't working. Emily gave them my number thinking I could track you down. Might want to check your cell phone. They do need recharging now and then."
Helen glanced at the phone lying on the seat, where it had been since the day before. Berating herself for being so forgetful, she said, "What did Agent Chambers say?" Her heart beat out a hard and heavy pattern of growing fear. "Have they. . .?"
"Found your husband?" Dan rubbed his jaw. "No. Look, Mrs. Bradley. I think we'd better have a talk. How about I follow you to my aunt's place?"
Helen swallowed hard and nodded. She didn't like the accusing tone of Dan's voice. Though he'd said they hadn't found J.B., she couldn't help but think he might be holding something back. That's what people often did when they had bad news. Did he want to get her off the road before he told her?
Reminding herself over and over not to think the worst, Helen led the way to the Bayshore Bed and Breakfast. The empty driveway gave her a start. Where was Kate? And Emily? Dan pulled in at an angle behind her, blocking her in. He climbed out of his vehicle and opened her door. "Emily and Kate have gone into town, so we'll have the place to ourselves."
Two possible scenarios scrambled through Helen's head as she walked onto the porch and waited for Dan to open the door. Either the news was very bad, or he had some malevolent plan to put an end to her and her questions.
Making himself at home, he went straight to the kitchen and poured two cups of coffee. If Emily had left the machine plugged in, she must have been expecting him. He handed a mug to Helen. She accepted it without comment, though she would have preferred tea. Bad news always went better with tea.
"Why did Tom call?" Taking a small pitcher of cream from the refrigerator, she slid into a chair and set her cup on a place mat.
"I'll get to that." Dan hooked a chair leg with his foot, pulled it out, and sat down. "In a minute. First I want to know why you lied to me."
"I didn't lie. I came here to write a guidebook. That's what I'm doing." Her hand shook as she poured too much cream into the already full cup. She grabbed for napkins from the center of the table to mop up.
"Maybe not, but you omitted some important details. Okay, so I know you used to be a cop. And I knew you were married to an FBI agent. But today when I tried to talk to Agent Chambers about you, he clammed up. Now I figure you are either in a witness protection program or you're one of them."
"Not necessarily."
"I think you owe me an explanation. Especially since you're so bent on moving in on my territory. Were you sent in to investigate me or something?"
"No." She sipped at the warm brown brew. "I'm not here in an official capacity. What was the message you had for me?" Helen steeled herself to hear it.
"Chambers said, and I quote, 'Tell Mrs. Bradley her husband's name isn't on file.' Now I may be a backwoods sheriff, but I'm not stupid. And every once in a while I even read the papers. Why didn't you tell me the missing agent was your husband?"
"You know how the Feds are. J.B. didn't want anyone to know about our relationship. Adam knew, of course, and Emily. I didn't know how much J.B. had told you, and I didn't want to compromise his investigation."
"In case I was dirty? In case I had something to do with his disappearance?"
Helen's fears about Dan faded. She read no real malice in his eyes, only annoyance at being left out of the loop. "It did cross my mind. After all, besides myself and Emily, you and Adam were the only ones who knew J.B. was with the FBI."
"Don't be too sure. Could be someone he'd talked to the night before got it into their head to follow him. They might have seen him when he met with Adam and me."
And they'd have seen him come to the bed and breakfast. Helen focused on Dan's badge.
Dan leaned forward, pushing his half-empty cup to the center of the table. "Look, Mrs. Bradley, I'm sorry about your husband. We're doing all we can at this end to find him. But for your own safety, I gotta ask you to quit poking into this case. I'm working on about four different angles here. If you stir things up, you could jeopardize the investigation."
"Do you have any idea what happened to J.B.?"
"Yeah, but you don't want to hear them."
"Have you been able to locate Scott and Shells?"
"Not yet. Found Mandrel's car in a long-term parking lot at the Portland airport. Nothing on the passenger lists, though. Looks like he used phony IDs or maybe took a private plane.
On the other hand, he may have parked there to throw us off the trail."
"Which means they could be anywhere." Helen told him about her visit to Pisces International and her suspicions that some of the people Scott had bought out might be involved in drug trafficking.
"As a matter of fact, I've asked Black to keep an eye out. He's a volunteer deputy. If they were pulling in contraband, they've put a moratorium on it. At least for the time being."
"And you feel you can trust Mr. Black?"
"More than I trust your friend Adam."
"Adam? You're not serious."
"Don't tell me you've ruled him out. As you said yourself, you, Emily, Adam, and I are the only ones who knew about J.B. being FBI. Now, I know I didn't do it. I doubt seriously my aunt is into the drug scene. And you? Probably not, but I wouldn't rule out the possibility. Adam? I'm not hedging my bets there either."
"Touché."
Dan was just leaving when Emily and Kate arrived with a large take-out pizza and seafood salad from Bubba's. Kate set the boxes on the table and opened them while Helen set out plates and utensils. Emily poured tall glasses of iced tea, then led them in a table prayer.
Dan's comment about Emily being involved in drug trafficking niggled at her. Was it possible? Only two weeks ago, a seventy-year-old great-grandmother whose only other crime had been crocheting afghans for her children every Christmas had been arrested for cooking methamphetamine for two of her drug-dealing sons.
Helen pushed away the ridiculous image of Emily as a doper and tried to concentrate on the wonderful blend of shrimp, artichoke hearts, dried tomatoes, and cheeses that made up what Bubba called the "Yachtsman." It was excellent, but she wasn't in the mood for pizza, or anything else for that matter.
After raving about the pizza, Emily shifted the conversation to the information she'd gathered that day. "Three of the five fishermen Scott bought out are working for him at the plant," she reported. "I asked a friend of mine who works at the police department in Long Beach to check their records. The three working for Scott were clean, not so much as a parking ticket. Now, the two who aren't working for Scott," Emily paused, "that's a different story. They've both had recent arrests for drunk driving. One was busted for possession last year. Unsavory characters, the both of them. Divorced, deadbeat dads, in and out of treatment centers. If anybody was suspect in drug smuggling, I'd pick them."
"You're certain Scott bought them out?" Helen sipped at her tea in hopes it would settle her churning stomach.
"Oh yes. I got as far as finding out where they lived. Tomorrow I'll pay them a visit."
"That may not be such a good idea. Perhaps we should give Dan the information and let him take care of it."
Kate and Emily both stopped eating and glared at her.
"Mother, don't tell me you're giving up now."
"Not giving up. But for you two, to confront known drug users could be dangerous."
"You think maybe that's what happened to Isabelle?"
"Maybe."
"Mother's right, Emily. There's a point when you have to leave investigating to the authorities." Kate arched an eyebrow, leaving no doubt that the comment had been meant for her mother as well.
"Did you contact the shellfish laboratory?" Helen asked, changing the subject.
"I did," Kate said. "The woman at Colleen's was right. It is a type of algae, food for the clams and other shellfish. It has plant and animal characteristics. Basically one-celled animals hooked together in long chains. They have four hairs and tiny rectangular shells or houses around themselves. The houses break and look like silt in the water, and that mixes with silica." Kate smiled. "That's probably more than you need to know. Right?"
"It's interesting, but you're right. I just wanted to know if it was a pollutant."
"Nope. I was sure glad to hear it. I had this horrid feeling it was from a big oil spill. There's so much pollution these days."
"True." Helen dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. "Earl was telling me he found some mutated fish in some of the rivers around here."
Kate screwed up her face. "Maybe I'll give up fish."
"Pollution is a scary thing." They talked on through dinner about the widespread contamination of the earth's water supply. Not the most pleasant conversation, but like so many other things, it helped Helen through the day. Though she'd been busy, thoughts of J.B. were never far away.
It hit her now, as she sat in Emily's living room, like a fist in the stomach. Where was he, and why hadn't they found anything? Helen wished she had more confidence in the law enforcement agencies. It was J.B. himself who'd found her in that Mexican prison. He hadn't even been on the case and got into trouble for stepping in the middle of it. He hadn't trusted anyone else to do the job. "Half the time these guys can't find a piano in a one-room house," he'd told her later. She was beginning to think he was right.
If she didn't hear anything tonight, she'd take up her personal search again in the morning.
Emily picked up her knitting. Kate sat in an overstuffed chair reading. Helen watched the fire and prayed. She felt queasy, probably from stress. Maybe she should have tried to eat more, but she hadn't been hungry.
The buzz of the doorbell jarred her out of her reverie. She bounced to her feet. "I'll get it." Adam stood on the porch, his face drawn, his eyes full of pity.
"They found him?" Helen's heart must have stopped beating. Everything seemed to slip into slow motion as Adam stepped inside and closed the door.
Chapter Twenty
Helen felt light-headed. Her knees went spongy. Adam's voice sounded hollow, as if it were coming from a well. What was it he'd said?
"Maybe you'd better sit down." Adam cupped her elbow and guided her to the living room.
"What's going on?" Kate was on her feet. The two of them settled Helen into the chair and none too soon.
"I started to tell her we found J.B.'s boat."
"I'll get her some water," Emily said.
"Don't try to get up, Mother. Just sit there a minute."
Helen forced herself to take several deep breaths, then accepted the water Emily brought. "I'm sorry," she said when her head finally cleared." I don't know what came over me. Where's J.B.?"
Adam shook his head. "We don't know."
"But I thought you said you found the boat."
"We did. J.B. wasn't on it."
Helen dragged a hand through her hair. "Maybe you'd better start over. Exactly what did you find?"
"The Hallie B ran ashore about thirty miles west of Longview on the Washington side. The area is uninhabited. River patrols said it had drifted into some brush along the bank."
"It doesn't make sense." Helen leaned back and sipped at the cool water. "J.B. wouldn't leave his craft. If there'd been trouble he'd have radioed for help."
"Um, he may have, Helen. River patrol said they got a Mayday call at sixteen hundred hours on Wednesday. The call came in garbled and when they asked the caller to repeat the message, they got nothing. The mike on the boat was hanging like he'd dropped it."
Had he been the victim of pirates? Had Scott, or whoever the murderer was, followed him and waited until he was in a secluded spot, then. . .?
Helen set the glass down and took a deep breath. She needed to remain rational, calm. One thing for certain, someone had taken J.B. off that boat. They'd either taken him hostage or left him in the river to drown.
Stop it! Helen thought the words with such vehemence she nearly said them aloud. She couldn't let herself think that J.B. might be dead.
"I'm sorry," Adam was saying. "We're checking different angles. At this point it doesn't look good."
She recoiled at Adam's suggestion, her mind racing with possibilities. "Maybe his disappearance has nothing to do with the investigation. He may have gotten sick." Heart attack came to mind, or a stroke. Or he could have fallen and hit his head. It could be serious but not fatal. Surely not fatal. "I need to check the hospitals. Maybe someone picked him up."
&
nbsp; "Helen ..."
"No, don't." Helen gripped the arms of the chair. She didn't want to be reminded of the odds. "Just promise me you'll keep looking."
Adam nodded. "I talked to Jason. He was able to find half a dozen Logans and some John Does in the hospitals upriver, but none of the leads have panned out. It's hard to say where J.B. left the craft. We have no idea how far downstream it drifted. It was set on automatic pilot. I'm guessing around Cathlamet. That means if someone did take him in, it would have been to Longview—maybe Astoria. Jason's taking a couple days off to check it out personally."
"We could go too, Mother. With the three of us . . . Mother?"
Helen fought against the tide of nausea rising in her stomach. A cold sweat sent chills through her. Darkness threatened to engulf her. She struggled to escape. Her breaths came in ragged gasps. Somehow she needed to pull out of it. She had to find J.B. The headache she'd had earlier came back with head-splitting force.
"Mother, talk to me. What's wrong?" Kate gripped Helen's shoulder, rising panic in her voice. Helen tried to reassure her but couldn't find the words.
"Maybe we'd better call an ambulance." Adam moved away.
"No." Helen grabbed at her stomach and pitched forward, succumbing to the pervasive darkness.
For the second time since she'd been on the Peninsula, Helen woke up in the hospital. She'd drifted in and out of consciousness during the night. Each time she awoke, Kate had been at her side. "Just rest, Mom," she'd said the first time. "The doctor says you probably have a bad case of the flu."
"Then why am I in the hospital?"
"For a while we thought it might have been because of the head injury. If you're feeling better he'll let you go home today."
A short time later Helen felt better. She was more alert. More aware of her discomfort. More aware of her weakened state. Kate wasn't there now, Helen noticed. Maybe she'd gone out to eat.
Helen's stomach threatened to rebel at the thought of food. The flu. Unbelievable. "Lord," she grumbled, "your sense of timing couldn't be worse." She needed to be out looking for J.B., not stuck in a hospital bed in what even the locals called the lost corner of the world.
Red Sky In Mourning: A Helen Bradley Mystery (Helen Bradley Mysteries Book 3) Page 15
