Helen shook her head in disbelief. She hadn't even suspected . . . no, that wasn't quite true. There had been a time when Shells had disappeared with Scott. Taking a bite of her
apple, Helen turned back to tell Mike.
"There has to be an explanation." Mike ran a hand through his thick hair. "She couldn't possibly be involved. Even if she was, she's a woman . . ."
Helen lifted an eyebrow. "Shells is a strong woman. We've seen that in the way she's put together her restaurant. She's determined. Besides, she apparently isn't working alone. She must have hired Hank and Bill to do her dirty work for her. And Kendall. Maybe she and Scott were together on it."
"I'll grant you she's tough, but to kill her own brother?" He shook his head. "I don't think so."
"I guess we'll find out soon enough, won't we?" The boats continued toward each other until only a few feet of ocean separated them. Shells idled the engines, letting the Merry Maid drift closer. If her and Mike's presence surprised her she didn't let on.
Helen recoiled at the severe look on her face.
"What are you doing on my boat?" Mike hollered over to her.
"I heard you might be in trouble. Came out to see if I could help." Shells jumped onto the aft deck. "Quick, toss me a line and help me tie the boats together."
"No way," Mike yelled. "It's too dangerous."
"Don't be silly. The water's calm as glass. Besides, I'm coming aboard one way or another, Mike. Would you rather I let your craft float free?"
"What makes you think I'll let you get close enough to climb aboard?"
Shells lifted the lid on the bench in front of her and pulled out Mike's rifle. "If you don't, I'll blow a hole clean through your Merry Maid and the Klipspringer."
"You wouldn't! You'd die in the process."
"Ha. I'll have the dinghy. Your choice." She pointed the barrel down.
Mike swore and tossed her a line, which she attached to one of the cleats on the Merry Maid. Mike helped her secure the boats together until they were separated only by the fenders.
Helen shuddered. Mike was right. Tying the boats together was a dangerous thing to do. She and J.B. had stopped to help a boater in trouble, rough water, wind blowing. Boats don't rock together, she and J.B. had discovered. One bobs up, the other down. The pressure on the cleats and lines had pulled one of their cleats out.
"That's better," Shells said.
"How'd you know I'd be out here?" Mike asked. Helen had to give him credit. With all he'd been through, he was acting as though the situation were as everyday as washing clothes.
"I finally figured out who was framing Scott." She made no move to set down the rifle. "I came down to the docks last night to talk to you and saw Hank and Bill take you on board the Klipspringer. I was afraid they might dump you, so I went back to your boat and followed them out this morning."
"You expect me to believe that?"
"I don't care what you believe, Mike. It's true."
"Why didn't you go to the police?" Helen asked.
"With what? My suspicions? I didn't know what was going on. I thought maybe I'd find out more by following them." She tipped her head to one side.
"Not a smart thing to do," Helen said. Though her face now appeared strangely innocent, Shells had a cold, calculating look in her eyes. Helen remembered seeing it before and had mistaken it for determination.
"What are you doing here, Mrs. Bradley? Don't tell me Hank and Bill got you too."
"Almost. I'm not that easy to get rid of."
"Where are they?" Shells scanned the deck of the Klipspringer.
"In the hold. Which is where you're going." Mike advanced on her and made it as far as the railing.
Shells raised the rifle and fired.
"Mike, don't!" Helen's warning came too late. Mike teetered on the rail, then fell back on deck. The shell from the 30.06 tore a hole in his side. He dropped to his knees, writhing in pain.
Helen started toward him.
"Hold it. Make one move and you're next."
Helen lifted her hands and backed away. "He's bleeding. At least let me put pressure on it."
"For what? He's going to die anyway. All of you are." A large swell lifted one boat, then the other, causing the line to shudder and the fenders to groan. Shells pressed her knees against the bench for balance.
Helen stumbled, catching herself on the ladder leading to the bridge. "You won't get away with this."
"Of course I will. Don't you see? Hank, Bill, and Mike were dumping toxic waste. We confronted them and they were going to kill us. I managed to get to the gun. But I was too late to save you. You'd already been killed. I'll be the only survivor. After a while I'll get over my grief and Adam and I will. . .."
"Adam? Surely he doesn't have anything to do with this."
"Of course not. But he loves me. He'll believe anything I say."
"What about Scott?"
"Oh, I'll feel terrible about him, but no one will blame me for divorcing him. Poor Scott will be convicted as a drug smuggler. Even as we speak the boys are naming him as the big gun." Her smile came far too easy, and Helen couldn't help but wonder how it had happened. How a sweet little girl could have grown up to become so sinister.
"You were behind the drug dealing too?"
"Been doing that for years. Small scale until recently. It takes a lot of money to run a restaurant and my training wasn't cheap." Shells lowered the lid on the bench and replaced the cushions, then knelt on them.
Helen shook her head. "What about your brother, Shells and Isabelle? Did you kill them as well?"
"Oh, I didn't kill them. Steve Kendall did that. He loved me too, you know."
"But you hired him. Just like you hired Hank and Bill to kill Mike." Helen shook her head. "How could you, Shells? Especially Chuck."
"That was unfortunate. But what else could I do?" Shell's small voice held a hint of remorse. "I slipped him the chloral hydrate, hoping he'd give up his stupid idea of investigating on his own. If I'd let him follow Hank and Bill, he'd have found out what they were doing and turned them in. They would have told Dan it was me who hired them. I couldn't take the chance, so I had Steve plant the bomb."
"Why, Shells?"
"I told you. Money." Shells shrugged. "Enough with the questions. Open the hatch and let my bungling buddies out."
"I'm not sure I can," Helen said. "It's awfully heavy."
"Do it."
"I can't. Last night after they left Mike and me down there, I couldn't budge it. If you want it open you'll have to help me."
"Try."
Helen hooked a hand around the ring and pulled, not bothering to loosen the bolt that locked it in place. She grunted and strained for several seconds, then collapsed on her knees. "I can't."
For a moment Helen didn't think Shells would fall for the bait. In disgust, Shells shifted the rifle to her left hand. Using her right, she steadied herself on the railing and crossed over to the Klipspringer.
Before Shells could raise the rifle again, Helen charged her. The blow knocked Shells off balance. The rifle flew over the railing and into the water. Shells caught herself and lunged forward, ramming a fist into Helen's face, clipping her jaw and nose. Pain rocked Helen. When she staggered back, Shells dove on top of her. Helen grabbed her wrists before she could deliver another blow.
"You might as well give up. You're as good as dead."
"I don't think so." Helen could feel a trail of blood dripping from her nose.
A huge swell caught them broadside. Shells toppled over. Helen turned loose of her arm and hammered a fist into Shells' face.
Shells screamed. Helen twisted Shells around and pulled her arm up sharp behind her back. Shells jabbed an elbow into Helen's ribs. Helen loosened her hold and Shells spun away. They were face-to-face now, Helen bent and ready for another attack. Shells, more determined than ever, had the look of a bull ready to charge. As she did, Helen dropped to the floor, then caught. Shells in the stomach with both feet, and
propelled her up and over the railing.
Shells' scream was silenced as she disappeared into the icy gray water. When she emerged, her anger turned to cries for help. Holding her stomach, Helen tossed Shells a life ring. When she was certain Shells had hold of it, she turned back to Mike.
"You're not going to leave me out here, are you?" Shells' tone was that of a child.
"It would serve you right."
"That's. . .that's murder."
"No kidding." Helen had no intention of letting her die. Not that she didn't deserve it. Helen would take much more satisfaction in seeing Shells pay for her crimes in prison.
Mike's wound didn't appear life threatening, but he'd lost a lot of blood. She ran to the cabin, secured a sheet and pillow, then returned topside.
"Help me! Please! Don't let me die. I'm freezing."
"In a minute." Helen tore a side strip off the sheet and created a makeshift pressure dressing by wrapping it around him several times. "Hang in there, Mike. You're going to be all right."
Before hauling Shells in, Helen found a rope. She sincerely doubted Shells would put up a fight, but she wasn't taking any chances. She hauled Shells up. Once she had Shells on deck, Helen quickly secured her wrists to the railing.
Helen then brought all the blankets she could find from the cabin and used one to cover Mike and the others to wrap around Shells. She was chattering now, tears spilling down her face. Helen felt like crying too. Her arms and legs were turning to rubber.
"You can't give up now," she told herself as she climbed up on the bridge. "You're almost there."
Helen radioed in and gave the Coast Guard a brief accounting of what had happened. But she was unable to give a location.
"Listen carefully, ma'am," the radio operator commanded. "You'll need to activate the EPIRB."
"The what?" Helen could hear the hysteria in her voice and gripped the wheel to calm herself.
"Emergency Position Initiating Radio Beacon. It's an orange cylinder about five inches in diameter and two feet long with an antenna. Should be one located outside the cabin. To activate it, pull it out of the bracket and turn it upside down, then set it back in. It'll automatically start transmitting a radio signal and we'll find you. I've already alerted the fleet. We'll find you within the hour. Just stand by."
Helen replaced the radio. Panic slithered through her like a dozen tiny snakes. She shivered and hauled in a deep breath. "You've been in rough spots before," she reminded herself. True, she argued against the voice of hope. But you've never been lost at sea. She found the EPIRB, handily right where the radio operator had said it would be. After turning it upside down, she returned it to the bracket.
Stand by.
Helen returned to Mike to check his vital signs. Stable.
The dense fog swirled around them. Ocean and sky melted together without so much as a line of separation. The calm seas Shells had mentioned earlier had grown rough with enormous swells. With every swell the boats rose and fell, like two brutal enemies in a tug of war they strained at the lines, groaning and screaming with each tug.
Stand by.
Helen felt certain the Coast Guard would find them, but an hour was a long time and she doubted very much the vessels could remain side by side without breaking up.
"God," she whispered, "I can't believe you've brought me this far just to let me die." Helen bit into her lip and took a deep breath. One wrong move and she could be crushed between the boats or thrown into the sea, but she saw no other option. If she didn't separate the crafts, the Klipspringer and its passengers along with the Merry Maid would end up another fatality in the Graveyard of the Pacific.
Chapter Twenty Seven
Helen stood at the window, gazing out past the North Head Lighthouse to the narrow line of white clouds on the horizon. From their second-floor bedroom she had a spectacular view of the water. The sky was a robin's egg blue. The ocean, with its rows of whitecaps, looked almost serene now. It was hard to imagine it as having been as miserably gray and menacing as it had been only two days earlier. That had been Friday. Today was Sunday.
Helen breathed in the warm homey scent of her Earl Grey tea and took a long sip. Her mouth still hurt from where Shells had delivered a strong right, but other than that and a few bruises on various body parts, she'd fared quite well. Mike was doing fine and had gone back to work already.
Dan and Adam were still in shock at discovering their lovely Shells was a cold-blooded killer and that she had used them and Scott as well as Kendall and the Carlson brothers to get her way.
And Shells. Helen sighed. She'd be all right physically, but mentally she hadn't fared as well. The ordeal had sent her into a psychotic break. Helen guessed she had some type of personality disorder. The psychiatrist wouldn't say. There would have to be some in-depth testing before they'd know for certain.
Helen heard J.B. get out of bed and walk toward her. She felt his presence behind her.
He placed his hands on her shoulders and nuzzled the back of her neck. "You're up early, luv." His jaw was still wired shut, but he was able to speak with much less pain now. Most things were clear enough to understand, but for longer sentences he still relied on his pad and pen.
"Couldn't sleep."
"Nightmares again?" He wrapped his arms around her.
She leaned back against him, thankful for his support. "Not this time." The night before, however, she'd awakened in a cold sweat. Reliving the terror of drowning at sea. She hadn't come close to drowning, of course. Helen had activated Mike's radio beacon and separated the boats, then piloted the Klipspringer just far enough away to put a safe distance between the two vessels. True to their word, the Coast Guard found them fifty minutes later.
It's over now, Helen reminded herself. While the dread of narrowly escaping death still lingered, what bothered Helen even more had been the surprised look in Shells' eyes when Dan arrested her.
"I keep thinking about Shells and wondering what happened in her life to cause her to turn to criminal activity. She seems to have no conscience. I have a hard time understanding how she could have been so charming on the one hand and so cold and calculating on the other."
"It's always hard to understand how people can be driven to do such abominable things."
"I'm sure her mental illness contributed to it. And the fact that she was abandoned as a child."
"Well, she's definitely psychotic."
That was true enough. Shells had tried to talk Adam into posting bail and leaving town with her. When he turned away in disgust, she'd tried to proposition Dan. "I'm amazed she went so long without anyone noticing."
J.B. moved away and came back with pad in hand.
Many of our most devious and ruthless killers are also among the most clever. Ted Bundy. Diane Downs.
Helen turned her gaze from J.B.'s pad to the view outside the window. "At least we have evidence to prosecute." The blood she and Dan had collected pointed directly to Shells. Helen's laptop and manuscript had been found in Shells' bedroom, as had Isabelle's files. Why Shells had taken them was still a puzzle. Helen suspected, Shells, in her paranoia, wanted to be certain they contained no clue as to her illegal activities.
Dan had gotten signed confessions from Hank and Bill saying Shells had contracted them to dump the barrels twenty to thirty miles off shore. She'd made a deal with a company upriver to dispose of the waste. What Shells hadn't done herself, she'd hired out.
"Want to stay here another day or two?" J.B. asked.
Helen smiled up at him. "No. I'm more than ready to go home."
"Good." J.B.'s loving gaze lingered on her bruised face. He trailed his forefinger along her jaw, then looked away to write another message. I'm glad we'll be going home together.
"Hmm. Me too." Not wanting J.B. to pilot the Hallie B down the coast alone, she'd made arrangements with Adam, Mike, and Dan to take her car to Bay Village. Adam would drive, and Mike and Dan would follow in Dan's car. The three would return home after a few d
ays R and R in Lincoln City. She glanced at her watch. "We'd better pack. I want to stop and see Emily before we leave."
"And Scott," J.B. reminded.
Helen nodded. Scott was free now, but devastated. Shells had set him up to take the blame for everything. J.B. had taken the young man under his wing and had promised to check in on him before going home.
The next morning, they picked up their two weeks’ worth of mail at the Bay Village post office and began sorting through it.
J. B. snatched up one of the letters and hurriedly tore it open. Whatever was in it must have been good news because he jumped to his feet, hauled her up into his arms, and said something akin to "It's been accepted."
"Jason Bradley!" Helen exclaimed when he calmed down and let her read it. "Why didn't you tell me what you were up to?"
"Wanted to surprise you." Then he wrote, I wasn't certain I could pull it off. Sent a proposal to an agent several weeks ago. I’ve been wondering what direction I should go. I guess now I have my answer.
J.B.'s answer had come in the form of a book contract offering a hefty advance for a novel based on a portion of his life story, called Spy Games.
Helen was thrilled. Her dream man finally had something to occupy his time. They spent the next few hours celebrating and making plans to build an addition onto the house for their two offices. They would both have their own space in which to write.
She glanced over at the mystery novel she'd been reading before the trip. How to Murder the Man of Your Dreams. Cute story, but not at all practical for her.
.
Acknowledgements:
A special thank-you to the U.S. Coast Guard at Cape Disappointment, Vancouver Police Department, Clark County Medical Examiner's office, and to Michael Curtis, Judy Frandsen, John and Deana Hughes, Jan Bono, Margo Power, and Birdie Etchison for their advice and expertise.
Red Sky In Mourning: A Helen Bradley Mystery (Helen Bradley Mysteries Book 3) Page 21
