by Mary Feliz
“So, as long as the propeller looked relatively normal and felt smooth, Jake might not have questioned what could actually have been a severely damaged rotor?”
“It’s worth checking, don’t you think?” Max asked.
I didn’t answer. I was distracted by lights flashing on the surface of the bay and what seemed to be an answering flash from a neighboring condo complex. I tried to describe them to Max, who went directly to the worst case scenario.
“A flash? Like a gun flash?”
“I don’t think so. Is it fishing season? Do they fish with lights?” I could hear Max clicking the keys on his computer as he tried to find out.
He read aloud from the Monterey Bay Aquarium website: “‘Why are those lighted boats on Monterey Bay at night in summer? Commercial squid fishers use bright electric lights to lure these cagey cephalopods to the surface. Large purse seiners quickly encircle the concentrated schools and haul them aboard.’”
He paused. “Apparently, the squid rise to the lights.”
“It sounds like cheating,” I said.
“Maybe so, but listen to this: ‘Stadium-bright lights that shine green in the night have replaced the baskets of fire used in the 1nineteenth Century.’ Were the lights you saw greenish?”
“I’m not sure. If so, that would explain the lights out near the horizon, but it doesn’t account for the flashes I saw closer to the beach.”
“Bioluminescence?”
“What’s that?” I heard Max’s fingers clicking on his keyboard in search of an answer backed up by research and experts. I forestalled another recitation. “I don’t need a treatise, hon. Just give me the gist.”
“‘Tiny oceanic microorganisms that light up at night—anywhere there’s movement on the water.’”
“Awesome. A natural light show. The boys and I will watch for it. But it doesn’t fit with what I saw. The flashes I spotted were man-made, I’m sure, and were coming from the beach or maybe even from higher up, in the condos.”
“A resident searching for something under their sofa with a flashlight? A security light? Can you call the gatehouse and ask?”
“They’ll think I’m nuts.”
“Who cares, there might also be something very wrong happening. Which end of the complex are we talking about? And more importantly, how far away from your building? Are you and the boys safe?”
“It was on the far north end, where the property adjoins the state beach.”
“Can you phone the ranger?”
“Is anyone on duty there at night?” I shivered, then gathered up my blanket and went back inside in search of safety and warmth.
“I saw one of their trucks patrolling around midnight when I was there.”
I agreed to check with both the park ranger and site security, and text Max with whatever I discovered. I left a message with the park, asking them to phone me the following day if no one was on duty right now. I called the gatehouse. Vik Peterson answered.
“Right, Maggie,” he said after I explained my concerns. “Some of the condos have security lights. The sensors sometimes get misaligned and animals set them off. I’ll check it out. We’ve got a water leak in Building C that I have to address, but right after that, I’ll head down to the north end.”
I spotted another quick flash on the beach as I ended the call, but wondered if it was a result of my too-active imagination. The lights on the water seemed closer. I closed and locked the sliding glass door to the balcony, then pulled on the handle to double check that it was really locked.
I was tempted to close the drapes and jump into bed, burying my head under the covers, but I knew I’d be unable to sleep. Belle padded out of the hallway leading to the boys’ rooms and tucked her ice-cold nose into my hand.
“What is it, girl?” I asked.
She tilted her head, whined softly, and wagged her tail. Then she padded toward the door and sniffed.
“Seriously? You need to go out?” I pulled my oversized sweatshirt protectively around my body. The last place I wanted to be right now was outside in the dark. Chances were, nothing was wrong. I tried to convince myself that there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for the flashing lights on the beach and they posed no threat to my family or the surrounding community. I tried. And failed.
Chapter 19
Consider off-peak times for beach visits and other excursions. Monterey Bay Aquarium can be packed like a sardine can during the height of the tourist season, but empty an hour before closing.
From the Notebook of Maggie McDonald
Simplicity Itself Organizing Services
Friday, June 21, Late night
I wrote a quick note to the boys, grabbed a flashlight and Belle’s leash, took a deep breath and opened the front door. Belle did the rest. For her, this was just an ordinary hygiene walk. She headed straight down the steps and I followed.
It was a chilly night, with a slight breeze and unexpectedly clear though the moon disappeared behind a few stray clouds as I waited for Belle to attend to her duty. A small animal screamed and an owl screeched, announcing its success in snagging its prey. I turned on the flashlight and moved it in an arc to illuminate the parking lot. The beam of light revealed nothing but left me feeling vulnerable. Anyone who was up to no good now knew that I was in the vicinity, and that I wasn’t just hopping in my car or taking out the trash.
My phone chirped a text, startling me. I curved my hands and body quickly round the too-bright screen, then sank to my knees to make myself a smaller target. Why I did that was beyond my ability to figure. Instinct, unreasonable fear, or a sixth sense?
The text was from Vik. Leak still gushing. I’ll get to you. I promise.
Belle sat next to me and leaned in, as though she was trying to read Vik’s text. She whined and then stood, moving her feet in the near dance step she used when she was very excited or unsettled. She tugged northward. My heart sank.
But I sucked up my courage and followed her, slowly, jumping at every scuttling leaf or small animal sound, and a myriad of other benign night noises.
My hesitancy was, in part, warranted. The parking lots and walkways were well-lit for safety and security, but dark spots abounded. With my flashlight off and my phone in my pocket, I couldn’t see the ground underfoot or sidestep the inevitable uneven boards or buckled pavement.
Maintenance worked hard to eliminate such hazards, but the humid coastal climate, changeable temperatures, sandy soil, and the perennial shifting of California’s tectonic plates meant that trying to erase all obstacles to unwary feet was a losing proposition.
My ears strained to hear any noises that would warn me of nefarious activities before I stumbled on them. What’s my objective here? I asked myself, stopping in my tracks as I realized I wasn’t quite sure.
Of all my foibles, flaws, and quirks, Max most often cursed what he called my nose for trouble. I could almost hear him urging me to turn back and leave the investigating to Vik, the ranger, or anyone else who was trained and paid to conduct security checks. Regardless, I pressed on. When I reached the central courtyard in the northernmost building, I followed the boardwalk that led toward the beach. I eased open the reinforced glass door that protected the interior expanse of the condo building from sand and wind. Belle pulled forward, checking over her shoulder frequently as if asking, “Are we really doing this? A walk on the beach at this time of night? This is so cool. Why don’t we do this every night?”
I ignored her enthusiasm, and nearly missed a step when a motion-sensitive security light clicked on at the top of the dune stairs. “Well, that’s probably it,” I said to Belle. “Mystery solved. What was I thinking? Not enough sleep and too much imagination about smugglers and pirates. Let’s head home.”
I was about to turn around when Belle growled, and I saw movement among the shadows at the water’s edge. Without thinking, I
dropped to my knees so I’d be concealed behind the tall beach grass. I tried to mentally turn down the volume on my breathing and Belle’s, and turn up the volume on noises from the beach, particularly any sounds that didn’t belong.
The security light clicked off, and I crept forward, craning my neck to see around the bank of dune grass while I remained in shadow. I put one arm around Belle to quiet her and make her feel more secure. Our posture had the added benefits of reassuring and warming me. It was hard to hear much over the sound of the waves, but I detected boat-like noises and voices. I squinted into the darkness, rewarded by flashes of cell phone lights and reflections on the water from the moon, which was working valiantly to emerge from behind a cloud.
Three men fussed with a small boat like a glorified kayak with a miniature motor, pulling it up on the beach out of reach of the incoming tide. One man secured a line around what appeared to be a metal post, which solved the mystery surrounding the stake that had tripped up Brian and then vanished.
But why would anyone land a boat here in the dark? There were better harbors all up and down the central coast. Could squid fishing be lucrative enough for individuals to take it up as a hobby or small business using kayaks instead of massive commercial boats with seine fishing gear? I doubted it. And there was something distinctly furtive about the movements of the men on the beach.
Why did I think they were men? The way they moved? Their size or shape? One of them called to the others, and I realized their voices, which were carried incredibly well across the sand by the wind, were deeper than those of most women. The words were unintelligible, but the meaning was clear. They were trying their best to do whatever they were doing quickly and secretly, before the ranger’s next security sweep of the beach in his truck.
I was about to sneak back to the condo and phone the ranger again. But just then, the full moon escaped the cloud. Its light reflected off white plastic packages the men pulled from the hull of the kayak and transferred to a large duffle bag on the sand.
I’m no expert on drugs or drug smuggling. Like most people, I know only what I’ve seen on television, and I’m smart enough to know that studios take many liberties with the truth in their quest for visually engaging programming. But the bread loaf-sized packages had the appearance and apparent weight of the parcels that television actors portraying drug agents pulled from tire wells and other secret hidey holes whenever they uncovered a drug-smuggling ring. I knew I’d seen them before. Recently. But where?
The moon illuminated the scene long enough for two of the men to disappear with duffle bags behind the dunes in the state park. The kayaker cast off and vanished in the distance.
Once they were out of earshot, I whispered to Belle. “What did we just see? We need to call the ranger. And the sheriff. And who else? The DEA? Nell?”
I shivered, chilled down to my bones, more by the potential danger of the situation than the temperature of the air. Belle and I flew over the bumps in the parking lot and up the stairs to our condo. Once inside, I leaned against the door, barring it against potential threats to my family. I struggled to organize my racing thoughts.
David emerged from the bathroom, squinting and rubbing his eyes. “What’s up, Mom,” he asked. “Everything okay?”
I paused before answering, but before David could formulate another question, my phone pinged with a text message. I glanced at the screen and sank into a nearby chair, willing the message to disappear or resolve into something more helpful and friendly. It didn’t. I passed the phone to David. He peered at it and read:
“Go home or else. Your kids are going to jail.”
He looked up. “Mom?”
I stared at my eldest son, mouth gaping, unsure what to say.
“Mom?”
Brian must have heard me come in, felt David stirring, or sensed a change in the atmosphere. He hopped out of his bedroom, using the walls for support instead of his crutches.
“What am I missing?” He mumbled, making his way to the counter stool that was becoming his favored perch. David passed him my phone. Brian’s eyes grew wide as he read.
“How did they get your cell number?” Brian asked.
I shivered, thinking back to the number of cards I’d handed out and to the card I’d slipped under the tabletop at Beach Street. Heck, I kept a stash in my car and in the pockets of all my jackets. I could have dropped some in the grocery-store parking lot, at Starbucks, the airport, or any one of a number of other places. And any random stranger with sharp eyesight might have been able to read the number through the car window.
Robot-like, I pulled mugs from the cupboard and heated water for tea. I popped bread in the toaster. I was stalling for time.
“Mom?”
I retook my seat at the table and was soon joined by David. Belle sat glued to Brian’s side, thumping her tail softly as if hoping she was reading the situation wrong and we’d soon assure her everything was okay.
“Should we go home?” I asked myself aloud, not expecting answers from the boys.
“No way,” said Brian.
“You said we could invite our friends,” David said. “We can’t leave now.”
“This text, if it’s not some stupid prank, says there’s something going on here that isn’t right,” I said. “Someone is trying to warn us off.”
David broke the tension with well-timed sarcasm. “Do you think they’re giving us just a little too much credit?”
Brian smiled, but he still looked worried. “We have to stay, Mom. It’s what we do. We can’t let the bad guys win.”
If we’d been home, I’d have agreed with him in a heartbeat. Max and I had always tried to do the right thing and to instill the same ethic in our sons. But that was easier said than done, and much easier to accomplish in the company of the trusted friends, neighbors, resources, and law enforcement experts we knew at home.
Here, I was fairly sure that Vik Peterson, Renée, and the sheriff were honest and conscientious, but I was basing that on first impressions, gut instincts, and the hope that we hadn’t already aligned ourselves with a den of thieves and cutthroats who would threaten children. How much did we really know about them?
“Mom?”
The water for tea boiled and the toast popped up. I buttered the slabs, plopped tea bags in the pot, and poured water over them, still sifting our options. I spoke slowly, formulating a plan on the fly.
“We need to call your father,” I said. “That’s the first thing. But that can wait until morning.
“I’m texting him now,” said David. “If he’s awake, he’ll call us.”
“Good idea. I think we also need to call the local authorities, along with Stephen. I’d like to ask what kinds of contacts he has in Santa Cruz County to help us out.” I glanced at the boys in an attempt to measure their level of anxiety. Both looked calmer than I’d expected. Had events in the past few years made them immune to threats?
All of our problems were bigger than I could solve tonight. In the end, we finished our tea and toast, left messages for Stephen and Max that would remain unanswered until the morning, and made a brief list of approaches to our problem that would be better left until after we’d had more sleep and a hearty breakfast.
I feared we’d all lie awake fretting, but I was wrong. I slept so soundly I didn’t stir when the boys and Belle came to join me on the king-sized bed—something they hadn’t done since they were small. I felt I’d only just fallen asleep when my phone vibrated with a text from Renée.
“Kids sick. All vomiting. Spending today holding babies and doing wash. Take the day off.”
I wondered if the children’s illness had made Renée lose sight of the fact that today was Saturday, or if she expected me to work seven days a week. I decided it didn’t matter at the moment, and we could clarify our work expectations later.
Do you need anything? I typed. Bana
nas? Rice, Applesauce? Toast?
We’re all set. Thanks. See you tomorrow. Or maybe the next day.
What can I work on here? I texted. My stomach felt a little queasy when I read her response.
That condo you were assigned when you first got here needs clearing out. You can tackle that…
Suddenly, I recalled where I’d seen bread loaf-sized bags encased in plastic. And everything I thought I knew about what was happening within and around the condominium complex changed.
Chapter 20
Allowing older children to participate in planning activities may result in less grumbling. Results may vary.
From the Notebook of Maggie McDonald
Simplicity Itself Organizing Services
Saturday, June 22, Morning
I hesitated to respond to Renée’s text suggesting that I clear out the revolting first-floor condo. My fingers hovered over a series of alarmed and disgusted emojis. But then I remembered the white, plastic-wrapped, packages I’d seen in that apartment—the ones I’d assumed were part of an abandoned craft project. I decided to at least poke my head in and verify that my recollection was accurate. If the rest of the dwelling was as dreadful as I remembered, I’d recommend a professional cleaning done by a crime-scene clean-up operation certified to properly handle and eliminate biohazards.
Did Renée know about the drugs? Was she or someone else at Heron Beach part of the smuggling operation? What had happened to the condo’s owner? Had he or she run afoul of a drug deal gone wrong?
Renée didn’t wait for a reply. …or not.
I settled on typing, I’ll let you know after I’ve had a chance to wake up and think about it. We had a rough night here ourselves.
Not sick I hope?
