by Gina Cresse
I walked back toward Clancy’s. I didn’t dare call the police to report my Jeep stolen. I didn’t know what to do. I used the time it took to make the long trek back to the port to think.
I stopped at another pay phone and made one more attempt to get a hold of Jason. Still no answer. I dropped in more change and dialed a different number. This time, I got a response.
“Federal Bureau of Investigations. How may I direct your call?” came the voice, sounding very flat and uninterested.
“Dan Cooper, please.”
“He’s not in. Can I connect you to his voice mail?”
Voice mail—the electronic answer to call screening. Was I irritated? Yes, very. “When will he be back?”
“He’s on vacation. He’s due back on the fifteenth.”
Oh, great. “Fifteenth? As in, two weeks from—“
“Yes. Two weeks from tomorrow. Would you like his voice mail?”
“No, thanks.”
I decided against buying a lottery ticket. Didn’t seem like my lucky day.
For some reason, intuition maybe, I walked up to the front door of Clancy’s office. I peered into the bucket reserved for Tex’s tennis ball. It was empty. I figured someone wandered by and took it for their own pet’s enjoyment. Something about the door seemed strange. It wasn’t closed tightly. I gave it a little shove and it swung open.
“Clancy?” I called. No response. “Olive? Tex? Anyone here?” I cautiously stepped over the threshold and peered inside. It was dark, but there was enough light coming through the window to allow me to see. I tiptoed over to Olive’s desk. It didn’t seem to look any different than usual. But something was missing—Tex’s dog blanket. I remembered it was always piled next to her desk. It was gone.
Why would someone take a dog blanket? I couldn’t think of any explanation, unless Clancy and Olive came by. I noticed the coffee pot had been turned off and unplugged. They must have left in a hurry. The doorknob was locked, but the wooden door, swollen from the dampness, hadn’t been forced tightly closed.
“What are you doing here?” someone said from behind me.
The voice startled me and I swung around, knocking a cup of pencils on the floor.
The light behind the tall man made him a silhouette and I couldn’t see his face.
“Wh…What?” I stammered.
“What are you doing here?” he repeated.
I recognized the voice. “Morgan?”
“How’d you get in here? I thought you said Clancy and Olive were gone.” He reached over and switched on the lights.
“The door wasn’t closed tight. I think Clancy and Olive must have been here recently. Some of Tex’s things are missing, and someone turned off the coffee pot. What are you doing here?”
“I got worried about them. After you came by and told me they’ve disappeared, I thought I ought to check it out,” Morgan explained.
“They must be hiding out somewhere. You know of any place Clancy might hole up?” I asked.
“Oh, sure. There must be a hundred spots he’s found while out scouting in his boat. Hidden coves on little islands. He’s probably camped out right now, waiting for the dust to settle.”
Dust to settle? I’ve heard that phrase too many times. I was getting fed up with being kept in the dark. “When’s the dust going to settle? Tell me what’s going on,” I insisted.
“The dust will settle when the Bates Corporation people recover everything they want from the Gigabyte. I’m sure Clancy got a little too pushy about getting the salvage contract. Probably made someone mad. You know how he can be.”
I knew Morgan was doing his best to pacify me, but I wasn’t about to be pacified. Not this time. “What’s the big deal about that boat? Why can’t you tell anyone it was purposely sunk? Seems a lot of people would be interested in that kind of information.”
Morgan pulled a chair up to Olive’s desk and sat down. He seemed very tired and worn out. “A lot of people are interested, and they don’t want it made public. If you’re smart, you’ll stay out of this. I don’t know why the Gigabyte was sunk, but I know the people behind it can make sure anyone who gets in their way won’t be a problem for long.”
I took the seat across from Morgan. “How is it you know so much?”
“Two hours after I reported finding the wreck to the Coast Guard, a couple of strong-arm types paid me a visit at home.” He gingerly rubbed the back of his head and winced. “Made it perfectly clear I was mistaken about the boat not having any structural damage. They also made it clear that if I didn’t support their story, I’d have some structural damage of my own to deal with.”
“They threatened you?” Now I was getting somewhere.
“That’s putting it mildly. Only reason they didn’t kill me was because I told them I wasn’t the only one who knew about the yacht. I assured them if anything happened to me, a half-dozen others would sing like birds about the Gigabyte. I promised to keep the whole thing under wraps until the divers recovered everything they needed.”
Am I the only one who sees the illogic here? “Then what? You know someone’s eventually going to dive the wreck and expose the fact that it didn’t break apart.”
“I don’t know. I get the feeling they hadn’t thought it that far through. They were mostly concerned about the immediate recovery of whatever’s on the yacht.”
I remembered the photos from the Gigabyte. I dug them out of my purse. “Does it have anything to do with these containers stored in the hold? Look at these.”
I handed Morgan the pictures of the containers. He flipped through them. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
He handed the photos back to me. “You might think about locking these up in a safe place. The goons who came knocking on my door would love to get their hands on them. You suppose anyone knows they exist?”
Visions of the shambles I found on the Plan C raced through my head. I recalled how I bravely paraded through the salon, wielding my trusty baseball bat as though I could fight off any attacker. Who do I think I am? Wonder Woman? It must be the same instinct that causes a Chihuahua to challenge a Rottweiler. “I think someone probably does know about them—the goons who broke into my boat. Remember? This could be what they were after.”
“Ordinarily, I’d say you should go to the police, but in—“
“I can’t go to the police. Whoever these guys are, they’ve made sure of that.”
“Well, I think you’re probably right about Clancy. I think he’s in hiding somewhere. What about you? What are you going to do?” he asked.
I didn’t have a clue. The temperature felt as though it had gained ten degrees. I wiped my damp forehead with my clammy hands and dug down deep for that confident demeanor again. “I have some friends helping me. I’ll be okay.”
“If you need anything, you know where to reach me. Here’s my card with my office and my home numbers.”
Morgan handed me a business card. I took it and slipped it in my pocket.
“Thanks.”
Morgan followed me out and closed the door tightly behind us. He walked back to his car, turned, and waved as he opened the door and got inside. I waved back and waited for him to drive away before I walked down the dock to the Little Maria. He seemed trustworthy enough, but I still didn’t want anyone to know where I was spending my nights.
Chapter Sixteen
I groaned as I rolled over in my sleeping bag that was spread out on the floor of the Little Maria. Long gone were the days of youth when I could sleep all night on the hard floor at a girlfriend’s slumber party and wake up without a stiff back or a painful shoulder. I would have given anything for an air mattress or even a pillow. I rolled up in a ball on my knees and moaned some more as I crawled out of the warm bag, shivering in the cold air.
My stomach growled and I thought about where my next meal would come from. I still had some of the money Spencer lent me, so I decided to treat myself and walk down to the little restaurant on the corner. They’ve got a ve
ggie omelet that’s to die for.
As I laced up my shoes, I thought I heard a strange noise outside. I stopped and listened. Nothing. I continued with the other shoe. There it was again. An intermittent squawk, like a radio. I stood up straight and cocked my head to get a better listen. There was definitely something going on outside.
I climbed up the steps and peeked over the railing toward Clancy’s office. Five police cars were parked around the little shack, blocking any passage in or out. Uniformed policemen milled around, obviously looking for something. Two men worked on getting the front door opened while others snooped around, peering in the windows and looking under tarps and canvas sails piled on the porch.
There was one other boat tied up next to the Little Maria. It was a smaller fishing boat, but it could have easily given the larger boat a run for her money. I quietly climbed over the railing onto the dock, checking over my shoulder to make sure no one was paying any attention to my activities. I stepped onto the other boat and hurried into the main cabin. The keys were dangling from the ignition. What is it with these fishermen? They’ve never heard of boat thieves? I pulled the keys from the ignition and tossed them out into the water as I made my way back to the Little Maria.
I released the line holding the stern to the dock, then snuck to the bow of the Little Maria and untied the other line. I grabbed an old oar lying on the deck and shoved the boat away from the dock. The boat drifted a little, then sat motionless, just a few feet from solid ground. I tiptoed back to the pilot seat and started the engine.
The sound of the diesel caught the attention of several police officers wandering around Clancy’s office.
“Hey! There’s someone on that boat!” one of them yelled, pointing in my direction.
I shoved the lever full throttle ahead and the Little Maria lunged forward. I turned the wheel sharply and away we went. On the run, again. I looked back to see the small army of policemen racing down the dock. As I expected, they immediately jumped onto the other boat. I glanced back to see their frustration at not finding the keys. They waved their arms, stamped their feet, and watched helplessly as my wake grew longer—increasing the distance between us.
I motored past the mouth of the harbor and headed southwest along the coastline, keeping fairly close to the shore. The morning fog was light and already lifting. I eased back on the throttle and watched the shore as I tried to remember the boat landings I’d seen along this section of coastline.
I decided to just hang off the shoreline for a while—to think. I didn’t know what my next move should be. What were those policemen looking for? Me?
The sun burned off what remained of the fog and its warmth felt good on my back. I forgot how cold I had been this morning, but I couldn’t forget how hungry I was. I remembered I had a couple of apples and a banana stashed in a bag down below deck. I reached for the throttle to stop the boat when I noticed an annoying sound heading my direction. I spun around and scanned the horizon.
A helicopter.
For the first time ever, I cursed the sunshine for chasing the fog away. It wasn’t far off and there’d be no outrunning it. Still, I shoved the throttle forward and turned toward the coast. I was about a mile from shore. The chopper gained on the Little Maria quickly. The next sound I heard made me feel sick to my stomach—the diesel engine sputtered and coughed as it swallowed its last ounce of fuel before it quit.
“No,” I said, staring at the fuel gauge. “Please, don’t be out of fuel,” I begged. I turned the key and listened to the engine crank. “Please, please, please,” I pleaded.
I jumped out of the pilot seat and hurried below deck. The helicopter couldn’t land on the boat. They could only keep me in sight and radio my position to another boat. I was sure that’s what they were doing.
I found a plastic zip-lock bag with the crumbs of some potato chips still inside. I dumped the contents of my purse on the floor, dropped to my knees and picked out what I determined to be most important. I put all my cash, the photos of the Gigabyte, the keys from the trunk, and the gum I was forced to purchase in order to get change—not because it was important but because I was hungry and it was the closest thing to food I had—in the baggie and zipped it up tight, then slipped the small package into the waistband of my pants and rushed to the tank racks.
I checked the gauges on the remaining scuba tanks. I picked the fullest one and hoisted it on my back, then grabbed a mask and flippers and struggled to get back up to the deck. Adrenaline gave me the strength I needed to haul my body, plus all that equipment, up the steps. Once on deck, I removed my shoes, tied the laces together, then attached them to one of my belt-loops. I slipped the mask on my face, dropped the fins over the side, and jumped in.
Nearly a mile off shore, I’d be swimming for a long time. I only surfaced as often as necessary to verify my position. I decided on a direct route to the shore for the shortest swim. That’s probably exactly what my pursuers expected, but I wasn’t too keen on becoming shark food, either.
As I got closer to the beach, I headed for a pier that looked promising for giving me some cover. When I finally reached it, I clung to a barnacle-covered support and rested for a few minutes. After liberating myself from the scuba equipment, I let the ocean have it. Staying under the pier as I made my way to the beach, I was careful not to get tangled in any fishing lines.
I crawled through the wet sand, then out from under the shade of the huge wooden structure into the sunshine. I lay there for a while and let the sun dry my soaked clothes.
A day like this would normally bring droves of people to the beach if it had been a weekend. Since it was midweek, the crowds were thin. I didn’t see any policemen roaming around, but I thought I’d better not make like a sitting duck and find some dark inconspicuous place to hide out.
First, I had to try to contact the cavalry. I jogged up the steps of the pier and went straight for the first restaurant I came to. I brushed the sand off and walked inside.
I sat down on a bench near the front door and waited for the payphone to become available. Someone had left today’s paper on the bench. I picked it up and leafed through it.
The headlines were the same ones I’d been reading for the last several months: Iraq ousted more U.N. weapons inspectors. Threats were being made. Troops were being deployed. Planes were being put in the air. Missiles were being aimed.
I flipped the pages to the horoscope section. “It may seem as though the world is against you right now. You may be right, but be patient. This, too, shall pass.”
What? I read it again. Whatever happened to those happy little horoscopes I remember reading as a kid? The ones that hinted at the promise of new love, or the rekindling of an old love? Or the possibility of wealth and good fortune? Who wants to be hit in the face with the reality of a forecast that borderlines on depressing?
I slapped the paper down on the seat next to me.
Finally, the phone was available, so I grabbed it an dialed. “Please be there,” I whispered as I counted the rings echoing in my ear.
“Hello?”
“Jason? You’re home!” Hallelujah. I couldn’t believe my ears.
“Dev?”
“Oh, Jason. Am I glad to hear your voice.”
“What’s the matter?”
“ I need you to come and get me. My Jeep was stolen. The police are catching up to me, and the Little Maria conked out a mile from shore.”
“Little what? What are you talking about?”
“I’ll fill you in when you get here. I’m in Huntington Beach, at a pier. I don’t know the name, but—“ I turned to see a pair of uniforms standing in the doorway. I estimated the length of the phone cord and pulled it with me as I slipped around the corner. It just barely reached. “Wait a minute,” I whispered. I peeked around the corner. The two policemen were being escorted through some doors, I presumed to the kitchen, to conduct a search. I sat the phone down then quickly snatched up the newspaper from the bench and hurried back. I o
pened it up to the movie section. “Here it is.” I put the phone back to my ear. “Get here as fast as you can. I’ll meet you at the Pierside Cinemas in Huntington Beach. It’s right on the Pacific Coast Highway.”
“Cinema? What are we going to see?”
“The Killing of Devonie Lace if you don’t get here right away.”
“Okay. Okay. I get the picture. How will I find you?”
“Cinderella is playing. I’ll be in the back row.”
“Okay. I’ll get there as fast as I can. Be careful.”
“Thanks, Jason. You, too.”
I stepped around the corner to hang up the phone. The two cops pushed through the swinging doors and headed in my direction. I did an about-face and marched back down the hall to the restrooms. The obvious choice would be the door with the figure wearing a skirt. That’s probably exactly the room they’d search, so I pushed through the other door. A man, washing his hands at the sink, glanced up at me, surprised. He looked around the otherwise empty lavatory, ready to correct my mistake.
I took the upper hand. “Uh, oh. You’re in the wrong one,” I said, smiling.
His face turned red. “I am? I could’ve sworn—“
“It’s okay. I won’t tell,” I promised.
He quickly dried his hands and rushed out. I watched as he inspected the sign on the door. He turned and looked at me. “You’re in the wrong one,” he said.
“Oops.”
A high window leading outside looked promising. I dragged the large trash can to the wall under it and climbed up. It would only open a few inches. Scrap that idea. I could hide in one of the two stalls, but if they came in searching, I’d literally be a sitting duck. I moved the trash can back to its original position. It was big enough, and it was nearly empty. It would have to do. I lifted the swinging lid off and climbed inside, lowering the lid back in place over my head. I listened as the squeaky door swung open.
“Yeah. She was right in here, officers. Tried to tell me I was in the wrong one.” Little weasel. I should’ve known he’d squeal.
