"I hope so. Isabelle may have stumbled onto the same group J.B. did. Only they stopped her before she could tell Dan."
"It's hard not knowing for sure. Leaves you hanging, a story without an end."
Helen agreed. It did feel unfinished, as though there needed to be another chapter. "We'll just have to be patient, Emily. Perhaps once the perpetrators are questioned we'll have an answer."
Helen drove the short distance to the boat, wondering what J.B. was really up to. It occurred to her that the missing boat, the heart attack, and everything else may have been an elaborate setup and that J.B. was still working for the FBI. But, no. That was too farfetched even for the FBI.
Yet J.B. had wanted the time alone. To do what? Had he accidentally observed the criminal activity, or had he been working undercover the entire time? The idea was ludicrous. J.B.'s jaw was definitely wired shut, certainly not a surgery he'd undergo if he didn't have to. Would he? Or was that fake as well? She shook her head. It was the one thing she hated about undercover work—the deceit. She supposed at times it was necessary—she had even indulged in some of it herself. Still . . ..
Helen caught her thoughts up short. It did little good to brood about the way Uncle Sam ran covert operations. And it looked like whatever the plan had been, it worked. She'd learn the truth eventually and hoped J.B. had plenty of ink in his pen.
Helen parked in the port parking lot and made her way down to the Hallie B.
The moon shone bright again, half what it had been when she'd first come to the Peninsula, but bright nonetheless. It hung over the bay with a brilliance that took her breath away On her way to the Hallie B she passed the Klipspringer and the Merry Maid. In the stillness both vessels had an eerie quiet about them. Something seemed out of kilter, but she couldn't think what. The Merry Maid seemed larger than she remembered. Or did the Klipspringer seem smaller? No matter.
She paused a moment. It was odd that Bill and Hank weren't there yet. They'd said they were leaving early for a two-day trip. Maybe not so odd. Earlier in the evening they'd said something to Mike about stopping at one of the local taverns on the way home.
"To each his own," she murmured, eager now to check on J.B. Her sixth sense seemed to be sending out warning signals, and she hoped it wasn't because of J.B. He was supposed to be taking it easy, not spying on criminals.
The lights were out on the Hallie B. Could J.B. have gone to bed already? Or was he out solving another crime? It was only nine. Helen climbed aboard and crept to the cabin. It was locked. At the sounds of soft snoring, she released the breath she'd been holding and smiled. Her worries had been for naught. J.B. was safe. She almost wished she had a key, thinking how wonderful it would be to snuggle down beside him. But they hadn't gotten around to making her an extra set of keys yet. Probably just as well. She doubted she'd be able to resist waking him to find out exactly what was going on.
Helen lowered herself onto a deck chair. No wonder J.B. had wanted to stay there. Water lapping at the sides of the boat, lulling him to sleep. The lights of Ilwaco created a halo effect. To the northwest, the town ended almost too abruptly, giving way to a dark, brooding forest. It gave the illusion of isolation. Helen leaned back and watched the moon inch upward. She contemplated walking up to Cape D in the moonlight but decided against it.
She'd need to get back to the bed and breakfast soon or at least call. Emily would be waiting to hear from her. Helen hoisted herself out of the chair.
A noise from the port's west entrance claimed her attention. A man carrying a sack of groceries stumbled down the gangplank, fell to his knees, then got back up again. It took a moment for her to recognize him in the dim light. Obviously intoxicated, Mike Trenton stumbled again, this time reaching out to grab a piling. His sack fell. He dove for it, missed, and landed in the water. Helen scrambled off the boat and ran up to help.
Mike's arms slapped at the water. "Help!" he sputtered before going under.
"Take my hand." Helen wrapped an arm around a piling and reached for him. Grabbing his jacket, she hauled him closer, then caught hold of his wrist. He grasped her hand and nearly pulled her in with him.
"Hold still. I've got you," Helen grunted. "I can get you out, but you'll have to help."
"Sure," Mike panted. "Whatcha wan me ta do?" He'd relaxed some, but Helen doubted he'd be much help.
"Grab the dock with your other hand and try to pull yourself up. I'll help you."
Mike grabbed for the wood and missed, practically yanking her arm out of its socket. Pain shot through her. For a moment she thought he may have dislocated her shoulder again. She leaned forward to reduce the pressure. "Mike!" she yelled. "Let go of my hand and hold on to the dock."
"I'm trying." His hand hit the dock, and this time he managed to hold on.
Helen turned at the sound of footsteps.
"What's going on?" Bill ran toward them, his brother not far behind.
"He's drunk. Help me pull him up." Hank and Bill each grabbed one arm and hauled Mike to his feet.
The fall into the cold water should have sobered Mike up some, and maybe it had. But it was too little to notice.
"You think we should take him to the doctor?" Helen asked.
"Naw. He'll be fine once we get him sobered up," Bill said. "Why don't you get his groceries? We'll take him to the Merry Maid and get him into some dry clothes."
Reluctantly, Helen picked up the bag Mike had been trying to carry down. His groceries consisted of a six-pack, a loaf of bread, pork and beans, and some cold cuts. Helen was tempted to pour the alcohol into the bay. If she thought it would alter the course of Mike's life, she'd have done just that. Unfortunately, Mike would have to conquer his problems in his own time and in his own way.
She followed the men and the wet, drippy trail to the Merry Maid, then helped Hank and Bill get Mike and his things on board. Once they'd gone into the cabin, Helen went back to the Hallie B to collect her pack.
The door to the cabin stood ajar, but the cabin was still dark. Helen moved toward it. J.B. was still lying on the bed. He must have awakened and been in need of some fresh air. Perhaps he was still awake. She slid the door open several inches more and stepped inside.
In the next instant a figure approached from behind. Before she could react, a man clamped a hand over her mouth and dragged her against his hard chest. The muzzle of a gun pressed against her ribs.
Chapter Twenty Four
Helen winced as her husband stumbled to the bed, doubled over in pain. "It serves you right, sneaking up on me like that." It had taken her only five seconds to discover the attacker was J.B., three seconds too late. She'd slammed her heel against his instep, spun around, disarmed him, and cuffed him under the jaw. "What in the world were you doing?"
J.B. groaned and dropped onto the bunk, mumbling something incoherent. What she'd thought was his sleeping form turned out to be pillows.
"Darling, I am sorry. If I'd known." Sympathetic tears sprang to her eyes.
He grabbed the pad and pen lying beside the bed and began writing, then handed it to her.
Not your fault. I heard someone prowling around earlier. Thought maybe one of the kids arrested this afternoon had come back to even the score. Wasn't expecting you.
"Now I feel doubly bad. That prowler was me. Emily and some of the people I've met here threw a party to celebrate my finishing the guidebook. I came by to check on you. You were sleeping, so I decided to go back to the B and B. I was just about to leave when Mike fell in." At his questioning look, she told him about her less-than-heroic rescue efforts. "At any rate, I came back to get my bag and noticed the door was open. Had no idea you were lying in wait." She sat beside him. "I hope I didn't hurt you too badly."
He shook his head and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her snug against him. He murmured something that sounded like, "I'll live."
She asked him then about the roundup of drug dealers and whether or not he'd faked his heart attack.
I wish that w
ere the case, luv, he wrote. It was by accident I spotted them. Maybe the good Lord knew I needed to crack this one. I was feeling pretty low.
"Why didn't you tell me when I came by this afternoon?"
He shrugged and wrote, Didn't want to upset you. Planned to let you know soon enough.
"You seemed anxious to be rid of me. Were you really planning to write or did you mean to work?"
J.B. produced a separate legal pad with several pages written in longhand.
"So you were writing. May I see it?"
He hid it away in the bedside stand and said, "Not yet."
Helen didn't press him. He'd share them when he was ready.
"Will you stay tonight?" J.B. asked a few minutes later.
"I'd like that, but I'd better not. Emily will be waiting for me. This will be my last night at the bed and breakfast."
"It's just as well. I should try to sleep."
She wove her fingers through his still-dark hair. "Will the color wash out?"
He nodded.
"Good. I like it better natural." She kissed him. "I want my old J.B. back." Her hand dropped to his chest, suddenly aware of how much had changed. Not just his hair but his heart.
Helen didn't meet his eyes, but somehow she knew without looking he was feeling the same.
Making her way back to the car, she began having second thoughts about staying on the boat with J.B. She hadn't meant to convey that she somehow loved him less because of his recent changes or disabilities, if that's what they were.
Helen passed the Merry Maid and stopped to observe the merrymaking on board. She momentarily dubbed it the Merry Men. Instead of sobering up their friend, Hank and Bill had apparently decided to join him. The three were singing sailing songs and laughing over crude jokes.
"Glad I don't have to be around them when they wake up in the morning," she mused. "Those hangovers can be gruesome."
When she reached the car, Helen had another attack of guilt. Not just guilt, she realized, but a longing. She really did want to be with J.B., snuggled next to him. Though she'd never tell him, she had the strongest urge to protect him. She'd easily overtaken him when he'd sneaked up on her. That would never have happened before the heart attack. He was weak. And what if one of the people he'd turned in did decide to retaliate?
Helen turned back, walked to the pay phone near the entrance to one of the restaurants, and called Emily. "I'm still in Ilwaco," she said, relating how she'd been talking to J.B. and how Mike had fallen into the water. "I'm not sure what to do."
"Why don't you stay on the boat?" Emily said. "Much as I like your company, I'm about to go to bed. Sounds like J.B. could use some comforting about now."
"I think so too, but this will be our last evening together."
"Nonsense. We can talk tomorrow when you pick up your things. Come for breakfast, bring J.B. if he wants."
Helen glanced toward the Hallie B, her spirits suddenly lifted. The lights were still on in the cabin. "Are you sure?"
"Absolutely."
"We'll see you in the morning, then. Or at least I will."
Walking past the Klipspringer, Helen was again taken aback by an odd sense that something was not as it should be. She glanced across the way at another fishing boat, the Dream Fisher. The boats were nearly the same length, yet different. Her gaze skipped back and forth between the two vessels.
Of course. Why hadn't she seen it before? The Dream Fisher rode several feet higher—as it should have with an empty hold. The Klipspringer sat low in the water, much like it had the day she'd seen them unloading at the fish processing plant.
Logic told her it wouldn't be full of fish. Even though the hold was cool, the fish were unloaded immediately to assure freshness. And they wouldn't have forgotten. If not fish, then what? Drugs? It seemed unlikely with their attitude toward drugs, but that may have been for show. Of course the hold may contain something legitimate. But what?
Perhaps the craft were simply designed differently, making one ride higher than the other. She shrugged and started toward the Hallie B. Hank, Bill, and Mike were still boozing it up. They'd probably be at it for a while. Long enough for her to take a peek into the hold of the Klipspringer?
Her curiosity got the best of her. If she didn't look, she'd be awake all night wondering. Helen retraced her steps. When she reached the Klipspringer she hurriedly climbed aboard. Once on deck, Helen retrieved the flashlight from her pack and searched for the latch that would open the hold. If she remembered correctly there were two doors, each having a rusty metal ring attached to a rope. Helen found them with no trouble and pulled the aft door up. The opening was about four feet square. A rustic ladder attached to the inside wall let her gain entrance. The hold, though clean looking, had the unpleasant smell of fish and something else. Petroleum? Maybe oil or diesel, not surprising, since the craft ran on diesel fuel.
The hold was smaller than she'd thought, and empty, except for several oil drums in the corner. Too small, she decided. With her flashlight she examined the far wall and realized it was a partition. After breaking a nail and getting a nasty sliver in her hand, Helen gave up on the partition and went back to the drums in the corner.
A cursory examination told her what she'd already begun to suspect. They'd all been concentrating on drugs, but Isabelle had written articles about something else as well. The Carlson brothers did a lot of odd jobs. She suspected dumping toxic waste was one of them. One thing for certain, Adam and Dan needed to know about these barrels right away.
"I don't like it," a husky voice broke through the stillness.
Helen doused the light and backed up against the wall.
"Just shut up and help me." She recognized the second voice as Bill's.
"I wish we'd never hired out to make these drops. We coulda done okay without the extra money."
"It's too late now," Bill grunted.
"But why Mike? And why us?"
"You heard the boss. It's either him or us."
"Yeah. Heard that a lot lately."
They were on board now, Helen felt the boat shift and heard their shuffling footfalls. Something thudded to the floor. She headed for the drums and ducked behind one, scooting it forward a few inches.
"Put him in the hold. Hey, what's the door to the hold doing open?" Bill peered inside the hold. "I told you to keep it closed."
Helen hoped the shadows would hide her as she watched the men. At least she had on a black jacket and jeans. Moonlight reflected off Bill's face, giving his tanned skin a ghoulish look.
"I did close it." Hank came up beside him. "Hey, you don't suppose. . .."
"Cops? Nah. They got no reason to suspect us. You probably left it open when you checked it earlier."
Hank shook his head. "I didn't."
"Well, it don't matter. One of us must have. 'Course it could have been Mike. Maybe that's how he found out."
"What if it wasn't?" Hank asked.
"You can look around when I hand Mike down to you."
Helen stopped breathing. Her heart hammered so hard against her chest wall, she felt certain it would break a rib.
Hank stepped onto the ladder. "I'll need a light."
"I'll hold one up for you in a minute." Bill groaned as he lifted Trenton's body over the ledge.
Hank, halfway down the ladder, grabbed Mike around the middle, easing him to the floor. Hank jumped down the rest of the way and dragged Mike across the roughhewn floor and leaned him up against the far wall. "Where's the light?"
Bill shined a high-power flashlight into the hold. Helen scrunched lower, peering through the space between drums.
Hank glanced around, then lumbered over to the partition. Removing a three-foot-wide floor-to-ceiling panel, he peered into the other side. More drums. He slid the panel back in place, then climbed back on deck. "Looks okay, nothing's missing. Mighta just been some kids messin' around."
"We'd better hit the sack. I want to head out before dawn." "Let's have this be the last one
, huh, Bill? I don't much like this business."
"Me neither. Never counted on killin' anybody, especially not our best friend." Bill slapped his brother on the shoulder. The door to the hold fell with a heavy thud."
Chapter Twenty Five
Helen waited until the footsteps overhead subsided, then eased out of her hiding place and turned on the flashlight. The beam danced over the walls and settled on Mike Trenton, but only for a moment. She swung the beam upward.
"Oh, Lord," Helen mumbled. "Why in the world did you have to give me such an insatiable curiosity? I could at this very moment be snuggled up to the love of my life, and instead I'm in the hold of a fishing boat with a corpse."
That is, if he is a corpse. Helen swung the light back to Mike. He wasn't moving, but his skin didn't have the look of death. She moved closer and knelt down beside him. Reaching forward, she placed her fingers alongside his jaw and took a carotid pulse. He brushed her hand away.
Helen gasped and jerked back. His head lolled to one side. "I guess that answers my question." She grabbed his shoulder and shook him.
"Mike, wake up." Shining the light on his face, she lifted an eyelid. His pupils were pinpoint like Chuck Frazier's had been the night before he'd been killed. While she rubbed his neck and shoulder to arouse him, Helen thought back to the scene on the dock. She'd wondered at the time how he could have gotten plastered so quickly. She suspected it would take a lot of drinks to affect him. They had left the party close to the same time. Had Hank and Bill drugged him? Had they sent him down to his boat alone hoping he'd fall in? Whatever their plans, Helen had most likely altered them.
Perhaps she'd come along for a reason. God did, after all, set people in certain places at certain times. The one thing she did know was that they meant to kill him. What she hadn't figured out yet was why. She suspected it had something to do with the drums in the hold. Like the others, Mike had probably seen or heard too much.
"Either way, you're a dead man unless we can get you out of here." Helen grabbed his legs and pulled him away from the wall, then slipped her arms under his arms in an attempt to get him on his feet. Too heavy. He showed no signs of waking up. She'd never be able to get Mike out of the hold unless he regained consciousness. And he could very well die if he stayed on board.
Red Sky In Mourning: A Helen Bradley Mystery (Helen Bradley Mysteries Book 3) Page 19
