Deep Harbor

by Fern Michaels

  “And who might I be? Obviously not Carol Anne Jansen, or CJ, witness to Leonard Franklin, aka El Stinko.”

  Napoli guffawed, thinking about the notes from CJ’s file. Mr. Crappy Cologne, Pepé Le Pew, French Whorehouse.

  “Yeah, tell me about that. Mr. Crappy Cologne?”

  “He’s the reason I’m here. Leonard Franklin. Wears the most revolting cologne and way too much of it. That’s how I made his acquaintance, so to speak. I sniffed him out. No pun intended. But for real.” The wine was having a calming effect on CJ as she continued. “I got a whiff of him one night in my boss’s office, then in the hallway at the Rayburn House Office Building when he was in with another congressman. By then I was able to pick him out of a lineup—without even being able to smell him.” They both laughed and proceeded to finish the Cabernet.

  “Okay. Time to hit the sheets. Early start in the morning. Sleep tight.” Napoli switched off the light and made her way into her own room.

  CJ was exhausted and fell into a coma-like sleep, so when Donna Napoli rapped on the adjoining door the next morning and entered the room, CJ flew out of bed like a projectile.

  “Easy girl.” Donna had a cup of French roast coffee that she was about to hand CJ but pulled it out of the path of her flailing arms.

  “Oh my gosh! You scared the crap out of me!” CJ was part startled, somewhat annoyed, and thoroughly delighted by the aroma of the coffee. “I hope that’s for me!”

  “Indeed it is. I figured you were a dark roast, light cream kind of girl.” Donna handed her the cup.

  “Wow. You really did your homework on me.”

  “Nah. It was the way you polished off that Cabernet. Dark. Deep.”

  “Excuse me, but I had a little help there, Marshal Napoli.” CJ was feeling easy with her new companion and guardian.

  “Breakfast? Or are you one of those who waits an hour?”

  “Usually a protein shake, but I don’t suppose that’s on the menu.”

  “Good thinking. That would be a ‘no,’ but we’ll pick up supplies when we get to our destination, so you can have some sense of normalcy.” Napoli put a five-dollar bill on the night table with a note that said “housekeeping,” and handed CJ her new clothes for the day. “You should be getting your own stuff in about a week. So we’ll pick up some extra things for you when we get there. Move your ass, girl. We have a lot of dirt to cover, and we need to do some shopping.”

  “Do I have to wear that ratty thing on my head again?” CJ looked dismayed.

  “Just until we get on the road a bit. I don’t want anyone seeing a person coming out of the hotel with me who didn’t go in.”

  “Gotcha . . . But . . . ick.” CJ put on the plaid shirt, stepped into her jeans, and squeamishly affixed the black-haired wig, then covered it with the John Deere cap.

  “Lovely. Let’s go.” Napoli shoved whatever items had been scattered into her duffel . . . including the empty bottle of wine and the glasses and the contents of the trash. “The less we leave behind, the better.”

  The nine-hour drive alternated between lovely countrysides, various dilapidated farms, and a few deserted, ramshackle barns. CJ was struck by the contrasts of American life. Washington, DC, seemed like an alien planet when compared to the places where the population of all but the biggest cities lived. No wonder people were disillusioned. The political elite really were clueless about the lives of Americans outside the big cities and, when you got right down to it, even the lives of most of those who lived in those big cities.

  The two women made the usual pit stops for food, bathroom breaks, and gas, and each stop reminded CJ what people do to survive and, if they’re lucky, thrive.

  It was near dinnertime when they finally approached the main area of Boothbay Harbor. CJ tried to keep her anxiety under control as she viewed the surrounding waters. The name of the town could not have been more descriptive.

  Sensing her trepidation, Donna reached over and patted her on the knee. “Not to worry. We have a triplex with no view of the water. You will have to look at it at some point . . . hard to get away from it entirely . . . but you won’t have to go into it or out on it. There aren’t even any bridges to cross.”

  CJ took in a sigh of relief. “Yeah. This is a bit overwhelming. But lovely. If you like water. Still gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

  “I’ll keep a good watch over you. For your safety and sanity. Deal?”

  “If you say so.” CJ was craning her neck at the estuaries, which seemed to go on forever.

  As they pulled onto Oak Street, CJ was thankful that the triplex wasn’t directly on the water. “Is this the place? My new temporary home?”

  “It is. Nice couple run it. Retired military. I’ll introduce you, then we’ll go pick up some supplies and a few clothes. The nice thing about this place is that most of the activities are within walking distance unless you want to venture to the outer perimeter.”

  “Uh, doubtful.” CJ was sure she would not be exploring the surrounding waterways.

  “You never know. We’ll arrange for a vehicle for you just in case you change your mind. It should be here tomorrow morning. C’mon.” Napoli gestured with her arm.

  Still scratching her head from having to put on the rat’s-nest wig, CJ followed as Napoli rang the bell.

  A neatly dressed man in his late sixties with a big smile on his face answered the door. “Donna! Good to see you.”

  “Ced, this is Carolyn Johnson.” Donna gave CJ an elbow tap as if to say, “Remember your alias” when CJ blinked back in confusion, then realization.

  “Carolyn. Very nice to meet you. Come in. Betty? We have a new guest.” Ced was calling out to his wife, a short, white-haired woman with a high forehead, brown eyes, bulbous nose, and a slash of a mouth, who was wearing an apron that clearly showed the results of her baking activity.

  “Hello, dear. So sorry about the batter. I’m still trying to learn how to use an electric mixer. Never was one for making cookies, but someone signed me up to do so for the festival!” Betty wiped her hands on a damp towel hanging from the belt of the apron.

  “Hi. I’m . . . Carolyn. Carolyn Johnson.” CJ was trying her new name on for the first time. At least it was close to her real name, something Donna had explained on the way. It made it easier for the person to remember.

  “Ced, show Carolyn her apartment, and I’ll catch up with Donna.”

  “Right this way.” Cedric, a powerful-looking man who walked with a slight limp, the result of a moped accident a few years ago, motioned toward the door.

  They walked around to the side of the building, and he unlocked the door to a spacious one-bedroom apartment. It had an open floor plan, which pleased CJ. She’d had no idea what to expect, and claustrophobia was one of her concerns. It was hard enough being in a strange place, but a cramped one would have driven her up the walls.

  “This is lovely.” CJ walked along the perimeter of the eight-hundred-square-foot space, taking in the living, dining, and kitchen area. Then she peeked into the bedroom, noticing that the only windows faced the woods. As Donna had promised, there was no view of the water. Thank goodness.

  Ced showed her where the thermostat was for the air-conditioning. “Even as far north as we are, we do get some humid weather here.” He moved on to the kitchen, pointing out the range, refrigerator “with an ice machine,” garbage disposal, and dishwasher. “You got pretty much everything you need. We also have an outdoor grill you’re welcome to use. Just let me know, and I’ll fire it up for you.”

  “Thank you so much. I think I’ll be very comfortable here.” And she meant what she said. Her inner self was telling her that this was probably the best place for her to be at this time. Away from everything. Her distant past, her recent past, and everything in between.

  A few minutes later CJ could hear footsteps and Donna’s big laugh. “So? Whaddya think? Can you live here for a while?”

  “Maybe forever. Except for the water part!” CJ was half laugh
ing.

  “Okay, let’s go do some shopping. Ced? Did you fill the fridge?”

  “Not completely, but I got some cheese, yogurt, fruit, coffee, and cream. You’re on your own for the rest. I’ll leave you two to get busy.” He handed CJ a card with his phone numbers on it. “You need anything, just give a buzz.”

  “Thanks so much. I appreciate all of it.”

  The two women walked back to the car. “We’ll drive around today, so you can get the lay of the land and pick up what you’ll need until your stuff arrives. Work for you?”

  “Do I have a choice?” CJ gave Donna a little tap on the arm. She knew she could trust this woman. With her life. Shopping should be a breeze.

  As they drove through town, CJ got a big laugh at the Tugboat Inn. It had a real tugboat sitting in the front. The names of some of the places gave her a chuckle as well: Two Salty Dogs Pet Outfitters, and Schooner Lazy Jack Cruises. There was McSeagull’s Restaurant, the Topside Inn, and the Wharfside Gallery. “They sure take their nautical theme to the max!” But she also noticed how beautiful and breathtaking Boothbay Harbor was. It was on the water, so she wanted to hate it. She believed that if she could like something or someplace with this much water, she was somehow betraying her brother. Crazy. Bittersweet.

  Donna explained that Boothbay Harbor had long been considered by mariners to be the finest deepwater port north of Boston, with many calling it the “Boating Capital of New England.” “So, yes it is a harbor, dear.”

  They pulled in front of Gimbel and Sons Country Store and went inside. “Kind of a throwback.” Donna said hello to the clerk and introduced CJ. “Henry, this is Carolyn. She’s going to be staying for the summer.”

  “Nice to meet you, Carolyn,” the bespectacled teenager responded. “If you don’t see what you need, just let me know, and we’ll order it for you. Usually takes one or two days to get here.”

  “Thanks, Henry. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  CJ picked out a few pairs of shorts and T-shirts and another pair of jeans. As she was looking for her wallet, Donna immediately pulled out a credit card and handed it to the clerk. She gave CJ a look that said, “Don’t say a word.”

  Once they left the store, CJ blurted, “I do have money, you know.”

  “Yes, but you still have your original ID, and I don’t want anyone to see it. When we get back you’ll lock your personal items in the safe, and I’ll give you your new insurance ID and driver’s license.”

  Through all the chaos, it hadn’t occurred to CJ that she would have to take on the new identity so completely, including a complete set of documents. “Ah. Yes, Carolyn Johnson. Do I get a credit card, too?”

  “A debit card. Everything should be at the house when we get back.”

  “So how long do you babysit me?”

  “I’ll be here for a few days, until you get settled, then I’ll be back about once a week.”

  “But what if I need you?” CJ was trying not to panic.

  “Ced and Betty know how to reach me. I spent almost all of my summers here when I was growing up. They’ll find me if anything happens. But don’t worry. Nothing will. You’re not the first person in Witness Protection that has spent time in Boothbay Harbor.”

  “So what am I allegedly doing here? Vacationing? Do I have a job?”

  “Do you want a job?”

  “I need to be doing something, or I’ll go nuts. Considering that most of everything here has to do with water, there don’t seem to be a lot of options.”

  “I figured you weren’t the type to sit around watching game shows and eating bonbons and thought I could hook you up at the Wharfside Gallery. You know about art, right?”

  “Yeah, but not nautical art.”

  “It’s not just nautical art. They have stuff from over thirty local artists. They need someone to catalog everything. I think you can handle that.”

  “Brilliant!” CJ was impressed at Donna’s ability to think ahead, or even at a moment’s notice. “But how will you convince them to hire me?”

  “I already have. I know the owners.” Donna gave her a wink. “My brother shows some of his work there.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes. As I said, I spent almost every summer here. When you get up the nerve, I suggest you visit the Coastal Maine Botanical Gardens. It is awe-inspiring.”

  “Yeah. Uh. No. I get a visceral reaction to anything with the word ‘coastal.’ ”

  “Like hives?” Donna was poking fun at her.

  “Something like that.”

  “Okay, kiddo. We’re going to have to get you past your phobia.”

  “I hate to disillusion you, but even four years of therapy didn’t help.”

  “Ah, what do those shrinks know anyway?” Donna opened the hatch and tossed the packages inside. “Hey, it’s almost seven o’clock. Dinner?”

  “Sure. Wine?”

  “Would I bring you anywhere else?”

  They headed to the Boathouse Bistro Tapas Bar and Restaurant. “Okay, I’m warning you,” Donna said. “This place is on the water, but you won’t have to go near the railings. We can stay as far inside as you want.”

  “Give me a martini, and I think I’ll be okay.” CJ gave her a big smile.

  “Attagirl. You’re going to be fine.”

  After the hostess had seated them at an inside table, Donna whispered, “We’ll get you out on that deck at some point!”

  “Don’t bet on it,” CJ whispered loudly in return.

  Chapter 19

  CJ had been surprised at how relaxed she was at dinner the night before. Maybe it was the wine. The air. Or maybe just the fact that the past two days of whirlwind activity were finally at an end, and she finally had some clue as to where she would be—at least for the next three or more months. The disturbing events of the past two months—from the alleged suicide, the discovery of the secret condo, the trip to Sun Valley Institute, literally bumping into Leonard Franklin, the accident after her brakes had been tampered with, the attempt by a crazy person on a motorcycle to kill her, and finding that someone was watching her at Colin and Kick’s cabin—were enough to send shivers down her spine. Or to have a nervous breakdown. Throw in having had sixty days to finish up Snapper’s congressional business after the rest of the staff had vamoosed, clear out her office, and make memorial arrangements for Snapper. And after all that, she had to start thinking about how to dispose of Snapper’s condo. Anyone would have flipped out by now. And then there was the secret condo. She still had no idea what to do about that, and Colin insisted she sit on any real-estate transactions until the trial was over. The trial at which she would identify Leonard Franklin as the person who assaulted Snapper in Snapper’s office, and who was a frequent visitor to Congressman Dillard. Yep. It was quite a lot to process.

  Her body and mind were in the process of taking a needed break from all of that. There wasn’t anything she had to do now but wait.

  The prior evening, when they had returned to the triplex, Donna and CJ, aka Carolyn, reviewed her cover story. She was Carolyn Johnson from New York. She was working on her master’s degree in regional Americana art. CJ would work at the gallery four hours a day three days a week. Her limited exposure to other people would be enough to keep her busy but not enough to raise too many questions. It was the peak of the summer season and many resident and visiting artists used the time to exhibit their work. The gallery was busy with paintings coming in and going out the door in large volumes, and they all needed to be cataloged. The job would keep her in the back room most of the time. Another plus for her.

  Her only problem was what to do with the rest of her time. Nothing related to water was in the cards. Ever. Maybe she’d finally catch up on some reading. It had been a while since she’d curled up with a good book.

  After a quick breakfast, Donna rapped on CJ’s door. “Ready?”

  “As much as I ever will be!” It was less than a five-minute drive, but Donna needed her car for the afternoon,
and CJ could easily walk back.

  “Cute place,” she noted, as they entered the small gallery. “Wow. And lots of . . . whales.”

  “It is called Boothbay Harbor. You’re gonna see a few whales. And sharks and sailboats. You okay with that? Inanimate versions?”

  “Yeah. Yeah. Shut up.” CJ poked Donna lightly with her elbow.

  “Maggie!” Donna called out to an artist who was delivering a new oil painting of a three-masted schooner. “Very nice!”

  “Hey, Donna. Yeah, it was commissioned by a yacht club in Sag Harbor. Need to pack and send.”

  “Maggie, meet Carolyn Johnson. She’s going to be working here part-time for a couple of months. Doing something with a master’s degree.”

  CJ extended her hand, then realized Maggie was balancing the large painting. “Here, let me help you with that. I suppose I’m the one who’s going to be packing it for you anyway!”

  “Really? That would be great. I have to go pick up the kids from swimming lessons.” Maggie pulled out a sealed envelope with the invoice, a packing slip, and a sheet of paper with the address on it and handed them to CJ. “Thanks and welcome! I’ll catch you later. Good to see you, Donna!” Maggie left CJ holding the painting and the papers and bolted out the door.

  “Wow. My first assignment.” CJ looked confused. “What the heck am I supposed to do with this?”

  “Set it down, and we’ll go find Steve. He’ll get you started.”

  Steve was sitting outside in his usual place—a small bistro table—drinking a cup of what looked like a cappuccino.

  “Got some for the whole class?” Donna teased the manager.

  “For you? Absolutely!” Steve was a portly guy in his early fifties with a bit of a gnarly, seafaring look to him. His black hair was long, his eyes green, and his chin jutted out. He stood and thrust his chubby, callused hand at CJ. “You must be my new clerk!”

  “I am indeed. Nice to meet you. And thank you for this opportunity. I just met Maggie, and she has a project for me already.”

  “Yeah, be careful of that one.” Steve showed a mischievous grin. “She’ll have you doing all sorts of things. Good girl but a little scatterbrained, and a talker. Artists! You know how they can be.”