Sea Red, Sea Blue

by Jean James

  “I want my own money, and I need my car. I’m tired of driving that rattletrap,” Johnny complained.

  “Give it a couple more months to make sure nothing comes up about your other deal. Now help me pull this out from the wall. I need you to get this stuff over to the cabin. They shouldn’t have brought it here, but I guess they had no choice at the time. Whatever you do, make sure no one sees you.”

  The shooting pain in her legs grew unbearable. Katherine bit her lip and pressed her head tight against her knees. A scraping sound, accompanied by a tremble in the floor, convinced her they had moved the refrigerator. Silence followed—a deathly kind of silence that she could feel all through her being. She tried to plan for any new emergency. The thought came to her that the vacuum still sat out in the main office. If only they wouldn’t notice it.

  The silence became torture. She grew more light-headed, but fought it with all her will. The surest way to die would be to faint. If they didn’t leave quickly, she would have to jump out. But could she? She wasn’t sure she had strength enough to jump anywhere—and she had no weapon but a purse.

  Oh God, she prayed, make them leave now, make them leave now!

  It seemed like an eternity before she heard the sliding sound again, followed by Buzzy’s voice.

  “Keep an eye on the girl, but don’t sneak round. Act friendly with her. If she says anything about the bank problem, let me know. But she won’t. I’m sure she’s lost interest in the whole matter now that she’s down here, and they’re repairing her friend’s house.”

  Katherine wanted to scream. Her lungs dug deeper and deeper for the illusive oxygen, but could find none. She felt herself drifting off…drifting …drifting… an ethereal buzz brought her back. It seemed a lifetime’s wait for the second buzz. When it finally came, it sounded distant—like in a dream.

  She couldn’t wait another second to ascertain they had both gone. With no strength left to climb out or to push the lid off, she thrust her body against the inside of the barrel to upset it, and as she and the container toppled to the floor, she pushed off the lid with her head. She gasped for the fresh air that had been so close, yet so far.

  Circulation returned painfully as she tried to stand. Wobbly and bent, she stumbled to the window in time to see the two cars leave the parking lot. It had grown lighter outside, but the world still looked asleep.

  She had to get out quickly. The vacuum would have to stay where it sat. Hopefully, whoever found it would think she had forgotten to put it away. Nothing should look different from how it looked right then. She knew she would never clean that office again, but could she even risk working for Buzzy after what she had just overheard? An ominous thought came—could she risk quitting?

  Prickles went up her spine as she slid through the back door and ran for home. She couldn’t help furtively looking over her shoulder for possible pursuers. She crossed the street beside the office, plunged into a tree-lined alley, and nearly collided with a green Jeep parked off the roadside. Bewildered, she looked up, and there in the drivers seat sat the man from the beach.

  7

  Although the sudden sight gave Katherine a terrible scare, he looked unruffled at her bursting upon him unannounced. Instantly the thought came that he might be a cohort of the Amanos. Had he been watching her? Had he seen her come from the office? The expression on his face baffled her—such a scornful, withering look.

  Why? She hurried around the Jeep and ran the rest of the way to her house. She half expected him to give chase, but no one followed her. She rushed inside, locked the door, and sank to the floor. Whom could she trust? What could she do? From their own lips, she learned the worst about Buzzy and Johnny, but how did the Jeep man fit into all of this?

  Maybe he sat there in his Jeep for some other reason, and wondered why I ran like some thief or guilty person. Maybe he saw me come out of the office right after the Amano cars left. He would have had a clear view of the office from where he parked. Her face burnt at the thought of how suspicious she would have looked to an innocent bystander.

  Katherine reviewed the conversation she had overheard. Both Amanos had made incriminating statements, but they gave only vague details of their crimes—crimes of murder and money. It sounded like a big operation whose tainted claws reached all the way to Chicago, but she had no concrete evidence or information she could give to the police. The police might believe her, but they couldn’t arrest anyone on her nebulous statements, and she would end up in worse danger.

  For a while she considered giving up everything—her boat, her plans, her Florida. She had stepped into the middle of something terrible. If the Jeep man worked with the Amanos, that put her life in immediate and grave danger. She wanted to believe he didn’t. Surely this unknown Chicago person, who gave orders to the Amanos regarding criminal affairs, wouldn’t tell both this man and Johnny to watch her.

  She would have to investigate the Jeep man further to see how he fit into all of this. In the meantime, her life depended on how well she could appear natural around Buzzy and Johnny. She mustn’t arouse their suspicions. They mustn’t see any change in her, and she must definitely avoid any mention of Chicago or the bank scheme.

  “It was a scheme,” she said aloud, “Johnny’s personal scheme.” She knew then that she would have to live with this dreadful shadow hanging over her life until she could learn more.

  Lord, I need your help more desperately than I have ever needed it before. I believe you want me to stay here, enjoy the wonderful friends and gifts you have set before me, and wait for your help and guidance. I know I shouldn’t turn my back to this terrible situation or run away and allow these crimes to continue, so I will boldly travel the path in front of me until you send me in another direction.

  A deep calmness steadied Katherine as she changed to her boating clothes for her final lesson on the Miss Iris. She hadn’t done anything to the Miss Iris yet except to pump its bilge dry once. It still seemed like it belonged to Captain Dale. This trip would officially mark the transfer of ownership to her mind’s satisfaction.

  The captain met her at the boat and seemed to realize exactly what she most needed to learn. He explained about the engine’s care and the equipment.

  “Now take her in and out of the slip a few times,” he directed, and took a seat beside her.

  After some decidedly sloppy docking attempts, he told Katherine to head out into the main channel towards Gordon Pass and the Gulf of Mexico. All along the way, when opportunity arose, he let her try the depth finder and other instruments while he instructed her about shallow areas, sandbars, and inclement weather. Upon reaching the Gulf, they trolled near the shoreline while he explained marine traffic rules to her. Before she had quite assimilated that information, he went on to the subjects of night boating, horn blasts, lights, and charts.

  Her head began to swim in spite of all the notes she took. He kept her too busy to even think about her early morning fright, though fleeting visions of the garbage barrel sent chills through her at times.

  “Let’s fish.” he called from one of the fishing chairs. “I’m your first party. Now show me some good places to find them.”

  All the rest of the day, she operated the boat while he fished. They caught enough to make the day a success.

  “You’ll want to study navigation somewhere before you get your guide boat captain’s license,” he said after she had docked the boat. “There’s more to learn than I’ve taught you. Sometime, we’ll take her out at night so you can see what I meant about the lights—how the color you’re seein’ will tell you about the boat you can’t see. Night navigation’s a whole different story…now grab your half of the fish.”

  “I can’t use but one. You take all of them this time.”

  “I’ll run them down to the fish house then—if you’re sure.”

  She helped him load the catch into his vehicle, and after he left, she hosed down the Miss Iris and looked over its possibilities with the eyes of a new owner
. With some hastily formed plans for improvement, she headed home, stopping at Captain Dale’s house on the way to return a thermos he had left aboard the boat.

  Iris worked in the yard. “Miss Katherine, ya just missed Dale.”

  “I came to return his thermos and to thank you for the jelly. I love it—I’ve never had that kind before. Also, I came to see if you’d like to go to the Sunday morning service with me.”

  “Oh, I don’t know as I could go tomorrow,” Iris hesitated, and then asked, “Would ya like to come in for some tea, though?”

  “I’d love to.”

  Iris scurried around the kitchen as if excited to have a guest. Before joining Katherine at the table, she removed her apron and secured a stray ringlet of silver-gray hair that had escaped the tight braid encircling her head. Though somewhat out of date in her long, shapeless dresses, she always looked tidy. The old-fashioned house looked neat and clean too, with knickknacks covering the walls and every available surface.

  “You have such beautiful shells. I never see any of these on the beach.”

  “You won’t find a whole lotta shells around anymore. Most all of these come from Marco.”

  “Marco Island? I wouldn’t think you could find any shells there. I thought condominiums had taken over the island.”

  “Not back when I was a kid. Marco was just a tiny fishin’ village. My daddy fished, and most of the boys took to fishin’ when they grew up.”

  “Did you have a big family?”

  “Seven of us kids, and nary a one of us had ever seen a condominium—but there was tons of shells on the beach in them days. Here, I’ll show ya some of them.” Iris brought out a large box containing bags of shells. “I haven’t been into them for a spell.”

  “Did you gather all of these when you were a child?”

  “I’ve collected all my life. I found some here on the Naples beach, and Dale used to bring home shells when he found a nice or unusual one.”

  By the time they had gone through the fourth bag of shells, Iris looked up thoughtfully.

  “Ya know, I might can go with ya just to the mornin’ church service.”

  “Wonderful,” responded Katherine. “Everyone’s friendly there, but I still feel uncomfortable going alone.”

  “Yes’m, they was always a right friendly bunch. I went there a long time ago.” Iris seemed closemouthed about many things, so rather than ask questions, Katherine respected her privacy.

  Later, as Katherine drove home, she began to relive that morning’s terrifying incident. All day she had been around people and had put it out of her mind, but now she was alone. She realized she would be even more alone when she reached her little house that sat much too close to the real estate office. Real panic assailed her when she parked her car and entered the dark interior.

  A quick study of its rooms convinced her no one had been there during her absence, but before going to bed, she locked the doors and closed all the windows. Sleep remained elusive as her wide-awake imagination read peril into every shadow and sound. At length, sunlight heralded a new day and a chance to stay in more populated places.

  She parked at Iris’s house, and they walked the short distance to church.

  Many people in the church knew Iris. The woman responded warmly to the numerous welcomes and hugs she received. Although she said little, her face and eyes shone.

  They finally found seats near the back.

  Katherine looked around and discovered the Jeep man standing at the back of the church talking with two older men. He wore a gray suit, and something about him jogged distant memories of a place where Jeeps and beaches didn’t belong. The feeling vanished, but she continued to observe him until she ascertained he was a regular parishioner of this church. He wasn’t here to spy, and her inner alarm powered down. After the service, she searched the room, but couldn’t see him anywhere. Relieved, she turned back to Iris.

  “That was right nice. I reckon I’d like to go again next Sunday.” Iris glowed with happiness.

  “I’m glad you liked it. I think I have next weekend off, but sometimes I have to work Sunday afternoon. If they called me in, I’d have to leave the service early.”

  “Leave whenever ya have to. I may just hang around a spell to catch up on news. I haven’t been out much, lately.”

  They said goodbye at Iris’s house, and Katherine drove to her boat. She had packed a lunch that morning so she could stay for a while. She preferred a public place where no one could catch her alone again, and the boat docks stayed busy on a weekend. After she had settled onto a fishing chair and eaten her lunch, she realized she still looked forward to fixing up the boat, even after her earthshaking experience. The sea air seemed to blow away fears and troubles. She decided to begin the job on Monday after work.

  Examining the boat for ideas, she came upon a couple of rods and some tackle that Captain Dale had left with the boat. Choosing one of the lighter rods, she stood on the boat’s bow and practiced casts for a while.

  I’m much better. I’ll try it on the beach Monday and dare Mr. Green Jeep to make fun of me—if he comes, that is.

  After she tired of that pursuit, she settled back into one of the boat chairs and read until early evening. When she got into her car to leave, she spotted Johnny’s blue sedan. Her terror returned with frightful intensity, and she heard Buzzy’s words again—no more killing, Johnny. While he slowly circled the parking lot, she sat petrified, her hands frozen to her steering wheel. She had tried to forget it actually happened, but Johnny’s presence served as an ominous reminder, and now he knew her boat’s location.

  He’s watching me. This probably isn’t his first time to drive by.

  It was inevitable he’d find out about the boat. Aware that she must barricade her feelings behind a casual, unsuspecting attitude, she forced a smile and wave as he drove past.

  He slacked his speed as if he intended to stop, evidently thought better of it, and leaned out his window to wave as he drove on.

  “Whew! So far so good,” she said out loud in breathless relief, but she still waited a half an hour before she left for home.

  The sun already tinged golden highlights across the water when she pulled into an empty parking spot beside the green Jeep the next morning.

  Perfect.

  Katherine grabbed rod and tackle, and marched the way any accomplished boat captain should. With red shorts, a red-and-white striped sun top, and new casting experience, she prepared to flaunt all her skills. “Good morning,” she said pleasantly as she passed him and proceeded down the beach.

  When she found a satisfactory spot, she waded in and began to cast her lure into the surf. She didn’t accomplish much distance, but no backlashes or rogue fishhooks marred her performance. The saltwater stung the slowly healing wound on her thigh, but she gritted her teeth and continued her little show.

  For about fifteen minutes, all went well as she showed off for anyone who might bother to watch. If only some large fish would strike, that would be perfect. With her concentration completely settled on the job at hand, the terrifically painful stab that penetrated the arch of her right foot took her totally by surprise. She looked down, but could see nothing in the stirred up surf and sand around her feet.

  Pain grew move severe by the second. She hobbled to shore and upon examination found a dark hole in her flesh. She scooped up her fishing gear and limped back towards the car. Halfway there, she noticed that Green Jeep had turned his full attention towards her pathetic exit. With effort, she straightened her body and tried to walk normal—but too late.

  He came towards her. “What this time?” he demanded in mock annoyance. “Another fishhook?” In spite of his impertinent question, she saw genuine concern in his eyes.

  “I think I’ve been stabbed by something.” She tried to reply cheerfully, but levity deserted when she heard the tremble of pain in her voice.

  The concern in his eyes quickly turned to sympathy.

  She stared into those hazel
eyes and decided they looked warm, a warm hazel…

  “Show me the place.”

  Jerked from her thoughts, she sat down on the wet sand and showed him the dark hole in her foot. “How can such a tiny wound hurt so terribly?”

  “Because of the poison. A school of stingrays just passed me. One of them must have barbed you. Looks like a good sized hole, probably deep.” He examined the puncture.

  “Ouch,” she exclaimed. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually such a baby about pain, but I do sometimes have extreme reactions to poisons—wasps, bees, things like that.”

  “A doctor once told me that the pain from a stingray stab compared to the pain of a heart attack in intensity. This looks like a bad one.”

  Her leg had turned a mottled red-and-white all the way up to her knee. She dug fingers tightly into palms to fight the pain now throbbing up her entire leg.

  “May I drive you to a doctor? Do you have a doctor?”

  “Not yet. I haven’t lived here for long,” she said as he helped her to her feet.

  She avoided his further help, took her rod and tackle, and limped up the beach to her car. By the time she reached it, the ache had heightened unbearably. She stood by her car door and held her keys helplessly, waiting for the pain to ease.

  “May I drive you?” he offered again, gently. “I’m Lee Thorpe. I have a business here. People know me.” He took the keys from her hand, locked her fishing gear in her car, and handed her the purse he found on the front seat.

  For a second, she thought about his presence in the alley on that terrible morning, but then she had also seen him at church. Pain was crowding out everything else, and in desperation she welcomed his aid into the Jeep.

  At a doctor’s office, he helped her to a waiting room chair. She gripped the wooden armrests fiercely. Her entire leg had turned a dull red.

  Lee tried to make conversation, but soon realized pain had taken her beyond that.