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

by Patricia H. Rushford

  Still, she couldn't let the urgency of the situation cloud common sense. She'd planned on waiting until she felt certain Hank and Bill were asleep before making her escape. Helen hauled in a deep breath and concentrated on settling down her adrenalized body. This was doable, but she needed her wits about her. She'd climb out of the hold and call for help. Hank and Bill would be arrested and the EMTs would get Mike to the hospital.

  After a few minutes of reassuring herself that the bad boys upstairs had gone to bed, Helen climbed the steps and pushed at the door. It moved about a quarter of an inch.

  "Come on, open," Helen muttered as she pushed for a third, then a fourth time on the heavy door. Even with her good shoulder against it, the door wouldn't open. The men had either set something heavy on it to restrain Mike, or somehow secured it. Whatever they'd done, she was not likely to get out anytime soon.

  Helen descended the ladder. Before sitting down, she checked on Mike again. Still breathing. She wondered how much alcohol he'd consumed and if he'd taken, or been given, something else, like chloral hydrate. And if so, had he ingested enough to kill him? Mike probably weighed fifty pounds more than Chuck had. The fact that he was still alive gave her hope. Now if she could just keep him that way.

  The sound and smell of diesel engines awakened her. The Klipspringer was moving. Helen tried moving as well and found the task nearly impossible. Her joints ached from the numbing cold. Beneath her ear she could hear the steady normal beating of Mike's heart. How her head had ended up on his chest, she wasn't certain. During the night she'd poked, prodded, and talked to Mike in an effort to revive him and hopefully keep him from dying in his sleep. Her efforts had worked so far.

  The flashlight lay on the floor beside her, but she didn't reach for it. The batteries had died. Though she'd tried to con­serve them, they'd given out the last time she'd checked on Mike and left her in the dark. She sat up and began working the sore­ness out of her joints.

  Helen couldn't see her watch but remembered Bill saying they'd be heading out before daybreak. She wouldn't be missed for hours. J.B. thought she was with Emily. Emily thought she was with J.B. By the time they thought to call one another she and Mike would probably be fish food. Thinking of the con­tainers of toxic waste, she smirked. At least they'd be healthy fish food.

  Not that she planned on giving up. Hank and Bill would have a mighty hard time throwing her to the sharks.

  "Hey, Mike. Wake up." Helen gave him a shove. He'd no doubt have a hangover, and she didn't even have a cup of coffee to offer him, but she needed him awake and alert. Between the two of them, she felt certain they could overpower the Carlson brothers. She just wasn't sure how.

  "Go away." He groaned and rolled over, his head hitting the floor. "Ow, what the. . . ? Where's my pillow? Where am I?"

  "You're in the hold of the Klipspringer. Courtesy of your drinking buddies. No amenities like pillows—or food, I'm afraid. No lights either. My flashlight batteries died. Your friends are taking us out to sea. And I don't think they plan on bringing us back."

  "No, that's not pos . . . they said they were going to quit. O- o-ow."

  Helen heard a thud. And another groan. "Mike? Are you okay?"

  "Oh, geez, no. I can't. . . my head."

  "Just sit still. Take some deep breaths."

  "Easy enough for you to say. . . ."

  Helen helped him sit up. "I'm going to help you move over to the wall. You can rest your back against it."

  "Ouch. Take it easy." When her backside hit the wall, Helen instructed him to scoot back.

  Apparently more comfortable, he mumbled a thank-you. "You're . . . that Bradley woman . . . aren't you?" His words were strained and halting.

  "What gave me away?"

  "Recognized your voice. Wh-what are you doing here?"

  Helen explained how the position of the boat in the water had made her suspicious.

  "That's what cued me in too. I've been following them. Yes­terday I saw them load up the drums over at the dock up at Bay Center."

  "Do you know where the drums came from?"

  "No. Just a broken-down old truck. License number was caked over with mud, so I couldn't read it."

  "How did you get close enough to see what they were do­ing?"

  "High-powered scope. I have a rifle on the boat."

  "A rifle . . . the one that killed Harry Bolton."

  He was silent for a long moment. "How'd you find out about that?"

  "Gossip. Some people think—"

  "That it wasn't an accident. I know." He pushed out a heavy sigh. "It was. Haven't gone hunting since. I ... I swear I didn't know it was him. He was wearing camouflage."

  Helen couldn't see his tears but knew they were there by the sudden roughness in his voice. He sniffed. Sorry she had brought up such painful memories, she waited a few minutes, then changed the subject.

  "You said the Carlson brothers were supposed to quit. Quit what?"

  "I found out what they were doing, and like a jerk I con­fronted them."

  "That wasn't too bright. Especially after what happened to Chuck and Isabelle."

  He moaned again. "They didn't kill Chuck—or Isabelle."

  "Right, just like they didn't drug you and aren't at this very minute hauling you out to sea to give you a proper burial."

  "I can't believe that."

  "I heard them, Mike. I'm sorry. When they find out I'm down here with you, they'll try to kill me too."

  "Oh man. I trusted them. We've been friends since . . ."

  "I know. Since grade school. If it makes you feel any better, I overheard them say they felt bad about it."

  Feeling hungry and cold, Helen jumped up and paced back and forth across the floor trying to maintain her balance as the boat picked up speed. "We must be in the river." She gave up and sat back down, hoping the movement of the boat wouldn't make her seasick. "Why didn't you tell Dan when you found out?"

  "I couldn't believe Hank and Bill would do anything like that—at least not knowingly. Thought maybe somebody had set them up." Helen heard him shift positions. "Last night when we left the party I told 'em we needed to talk. Thought maybe if I explained it to them, they'd quit. It was working. They told me they didn't know what the stuff was and that the guy that hired him said there wouldn't be any danger to the fish."

  "They couldn't possibly be that gullible."

  "Guess not. They must have slipped something into my drink when I went to the bathroom. Not long after that I started feeling sick. Stopped to get a couple things at the store and went home."

  "And that's when you fell into the water."

  "Yeah." He released a deep sigh. "Don't suppose you got any aspirin on you."

  "Sorry." Helen folded her arms across her knees and rested her chin on them. "Mike, do you have any idea who Hank and Bill are working for?"

  "No. I sort of assumed it was Mandrel."

  "I don't think so. He's in jail. And somehow I don't see him doing anything to jeopardize the fishing industry. It's his live­lihood. He has seafood plants up and down the coast. I guess I might be able to accept his involvement in drugs, but not dump­ing toxic waste."

  "It might be a waste management business upriver."

  "Yes. I've been wondering that myself. Just recently a Port­land company got caught dumping into the Willamette River. Earl Wilson told me about another dump in the Cowlitz."

  "The guy with the EPA?"

  "Hmm. You know, it's odd that Earl's brother-in-law would be carrying the detonator to blow up Chuck's boat. I never really did buy the part about Scott Mandrel hiring him." Helen chewed on her lower lip while her mind fit pieces of the puzzle together. "I think I may know who killed Chuck."

  "Who?"

  "Earl Wilson. He could easily have hired his brother-in-law. Earl knew how distraught the man was and how desperate. He probably promised to pay him off in drugs. Or maybe he agreed to help him commit suicide. As far as we know, Kendall only had three visitors the day he die
d. Scott and Shells, and Earl."

  "Earl is EPA. He's supposed to protect the environment, not destroy it."

  "True. Perhaps I'm wrong. He always seemed like such a nice young man." Helen chewed on her lower lip. "Hank and Bill knew him. He'd gone out with them the day before he chartered out with you. And I saw them together at Shells' Place the day before Chuck was killed."

  "Yeah, I remember. Come to think of it, the boys did seem pretty flush that night. Bought drinks for everybody. Said they'd gotten some extra work."

  The water was getting choppier. Helen could hear waves slapping against the sides of the boat. She leaned against the wall and took several deep breaths to ward off nausea. Since she hadn't eaten, it wasn't affecting her like it had when she'd gone out on the Merry Maid. Still, being below deck was definitely taking its toll. "Think we're crossing the bar?" she asked.

  "Feels like it."

  "Wonder how far out we're going."

  "I'd say twenty miles at least. They'll want to be out of sight."

  Helen shuddered. The trip was only just beginning. A surge of sorrow washed over her with the intensity of an ocean wave.

  "This could be it, Mike," she said softly. "I'm praying we'll be able to gain the upper hand, but anything could happen."

  "I know. They'll probably kill us before they throw us over. I hope they do. Be easier that way."

  "Yes, I suppose it would."

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Mrs. Bradley," Mike said after a time. "Do you believe in God?" "Yes. That's the one good thing in all of this. If I do die today, I'll go to a better place."

  "You mean heaven?"

  "Hmm."

  "How do you know you'll end up there?"

  "I believe in what the Bible teaches." Helen closed her eyes. " 'For God so loved the world he gave his only begotten son. And whoever believes in Him will not perish but have everlasting life.' John 3:16. I learned that verse as a child and never forgot it. My mother always used to say God was the one thing in life we could be sure of."

  "I used to go to church. Took my wife and kids every Sunday. That was before . . .before the hunting accident. My life sort of fell apart after I shot Harry." Mike hesitated, then said. "I have a drinking problem. Wife left me a while back. Said I needed to go in for treatment. Haven't been to church since. I'm a killer and an alcoholic. Figure God hasn't got much use for me anymore."

  "I don't believe that for a minute. God loves you. He always has and always will. Nothing you do can change that."

  "So you think if I tell God I'm sorry for screwing up, He'll forgive me?"

  "Yes."

  "How can you be sure? Don't you ever have doubts?"

  "I don't know of anyone who doesn't have some doubts. While I believe in God with all my heart, there's a part of me that isn't so sure, a part that wonders if any of it is real. Yet when I think of the alternatives . . .."

  "What alternatives?"

  "That there is no God. That the world came about as a result of some cosmic fluke. Or if there is a God, He's too high and mighty to care about us. I can't look at the order and the won­ders of this planet and the universe and believe that. I've seen enough miracles in my day to confirm to me that we have a God who not only created the universe and whatever lies beyond, but that He cares for each one of us in a personal way."

  "Like a father."

  "And mother. God is so much more than either." Helen sighed. "It's funny. We're sitting here in the bowels of a boat heading for what could be our final resting place, and I'm not the least bit frightened of dying. At least not at the moment."

  "I am."

  They continued to sit there in the utter darkness and talk. About their families, about not getting to say good-bye, about death and the life to come. Mike ended up praying and asking God to forgive him and to take care of his family. They prayed together that they might somehow overtake their captors and live.

  "You know, Mike, I have a very positive feeling about all of this." Helen could almost feel him smile.

  "Yeah. I know what you mean. God must be looking after us. My headache is gone."

  "I'm glad."

  They sat for a time in silence listening to the steady roar of engines. Faith was a wonderful thing. And Helen intended to cling to every last strand of it to stay alive. She certainly wouldn't give up. That thought brought her back to Isabelle and Chuck.

  "Mike?"

  "What?"

  "You said you didn't think Hank and Bill killed Chuck or Isabelle."

  "Yeah. Isabelle was like family to us you know? Us guys, Chuck, Dan, Hank, Bill, and me did everything together. Isabelle and Emily took us in more than once. They were like our own mothers. For a while Hank and Bill even stayed with them. They were about fifteen when their parents were killed in a car accident. Um, their dad was a fisherman and an alcoholic. Isabelle and Emily helped them hold on to their dad's house and the Klipspringer by paying the bills until the boys were able to finish high school and go to work. I suppose it's possible, but I can't see them hurting Isabelle."

  "You may be right. Do you remember if Earl was around when Isabelle died?"

  "I think he was. He chartered out with me the weekend before. Brought his buddies down then too. Thing is, Hank and Bill wouldn't have taken the job if they thought Earl was responsible for killing Isabelle. Neither would Chuck. They told me they thought their deaths had to do with the drug business."

  "There have been a lot of cover-ups. Earl may have killed Chuck and Isabelle and set Scott up to take the blame. He may have used the drug ring as a means to cover up his own activity, then made certain everyone focused on that."

  "Maybe, but why? He always seemed sincere about his job and everything."

  "Money? We may never know." Her voice rang out in the sudden stillness. The engines had stopped.

  Helen scrambled to her feet, her heart racing. "Mike," she whispered, "we'll stand our best chance of getting out of here if we pretend like I'm not here and you're still out of it. Lie very still and make them come down and get you. I'll get behind the barrels. We'll surprise them."

  "What do you plan to do?"

  Helen didn't get a chance to answer. The door to the hold opened as she found the drums and slipped in behind them. Bill peered down into the hold, shining a light on Mike. Mike looked like a rag doll, head forward, arms hanging at his sides, legs slightly apart. "He's still out. Either that or he's already dead. You'll have to go down and carry him up."

  "Why me?" Hank whined. "This was your idea. I wanted to dope him up and throw him off the docks."

  "Come on, bro. You're stronger than I am. Besides, I have to radio in that we're ready."

  Grumbling, Hank backed down the ladder into the hold. He headed straight for Mike. "Hate doing this, old buddy."

  Mike bounced to his feet and thrust a fist into Hank's gut. "Maybe you won't have to."

  "What the. . .?" Hank doubled over, letting out a long string of expletives. He came at Mike, smashing him against the wall. Helen crept up behind Hank and tapped him on the shoulder. He spun around, his eyes wide with shock. Before he could recover, Helen delivered a sharp kick to his knee-cap then jabbed a fist to his trachea. He buckled and slumped to the floor.

  "Let's go." Helen helped Mike to his feet and climbed up on deck. Mike was still on the ladder when Bill came out of the cabin.

  "How'd you. . .?" Bill stammered.

  "Bill, I'm glad you're here," Helen gasped. "Hank's been hurt."

  "No way." Bill bent over the hold and before he could catch on, Helen stepped behind him and shoved him in.

  "Quick," she shouted to Mike. "Close the hatch."

  Mike did, latching it in place. He grinned up at her. "Wow, you're good."

  "I've had a lot of practice."

  Mike climbed up to the fly-bridge, started the engines, and radioed in to the Coast Guard station. "They'll meet us at the dock," he yelled down to her.

  Helen nodded and gave him a thumbs-up sign. They'd done
it. Now all that remained was to have Dan pick up Earl Wilson for questioning. She wondered if he really worked for the EPA. Like Mike had said, that was the one hitch. Earl had seemed sincere. She was usually able to read people quite well. Was she losing her touch?

  They'd only gone a short distance when Mike yelled for her to join him. When she got up on the fly-bridge, he pointed to a boat in the distance. "I'm not positive, but I think that's the Merry Maid."

  "How can you tell?" she yelled over the sound of the engines.

  "Been sailing her for years. See if you can find me a pair of binoculars. Might be some in the forward cabin."

  Helen found a pair on the berths near the bow. The cabin was in as big a mess as Hank's and Bill's lives. She felt sorry for them in a way From what Mike had said, they'd had a hard life. No excuse for what they were doing, but it helped her understand their desperation. She passed the ice box on her way out, stopped, and went back to it, snagging a couple of sodas and apples. She also grabbed a bag of unopened chips from the counter.

  Helen brought the binoculars topside and handed them to Mike. She set an apple and drink on the console for him, then opened the chips.

  "Thanks." He squinted at the boat on the horizon, then raised the glasses. "It's the Merry Maid all right."

  "Can you see who's piloting her?"

  "No." He handed the glasses to Helen. "Take a look. I'll head toward her."

  "That might not be a good idea. I have a hunch it might be whoever Hank and Bill were working for." Helen lifted the binoculars and nearly made herself sick looking at the high swells. She strongly suspected Hank and Bill's boss had arranged to meet with the Klipspringer. Perhaps they'd planned on staging Mike's death. He'd be found on his own boat, a victim of drug and alcohol overdose. That way they'd never have to contend with a body washing ashore.

  Helen found the boat and focused in on it. The driver was piloting from the fly-bridge, but she couldn't quite make out who it was. Not Earl, she realized. He was much taller. This person was no bigger than a child and had dark hair. She closed her eyes and hung the glasses around her neck. Shells?