Murder at Redwood Cove (8 page)

I
barely recognized the Professor's voice.

“Navajo Code Talkers,” he spluttered.

“Who?”

“Bob was a WWII buff.” He enunciated clearly this time. Some of the Professor's calm demeanor was returning. “The Navajos used their unwritten language to transmit information. Many believe they hastened the end to the war, and the marines probably wouldn't have taken Iwo Jima without them.”

“Bob was using the Navajo code in his notes?”

“Correct.”

“But if it's unwritten . . .”

“The military made a dictionary. It was declassified in '68.”

“What did you learn?”

“Bob discovered an abalone poaching gang. It's a huge operation. Can we use the conference room to meet with a Fish and Game warden?”

“I'll check availability and get back to you.” My excitement was building. Navajo code? Abalone poaching? It sounded like a scene from a movie. I went to the computer. A couple of clicks later I determined the room was available. I typed in
Silver Sentinels
and blocked the space.

I grabbed my phone and punched in his number. “Professor, the room's yours.”

“I'll let Fran Cartwright with Fish and Game know. Hopefully, she can meet with us. We'll be there in an hour or less.”

“Professor, my congratulations to the Sentinels for breaking the code.”

“Thanks. Maybe this is connected to Bob's murder.”

There was that word again,
murder
. But now, after all that had happened, I was ready to believe it. Still, what was the motive? Did abalone poaching net enough money to kill for? And who? Was it one of the poachers or someone else? I didn't think it was random. Maybe in a big city. Small town, unlikely.

I went to the work area and started to pull water glasses from the top shelf of the cupboard. My bruised muscles protested as I struggled to reach them.

Daniel came in with a log carrier full of wood. “Hi.” He put the canvas sack down. “Is there something I can help you with?” The fresh air of the outdoors clung to him.

“Thanks for the offer. I need four more glasses.”

“No problem.”

“The Silver Sentinels are coming over. I want to put out water and some snacks.” I opened the refrigerator and examined the possibilities. Gouda, a dark cheddar, and some local goat cheese were on the top shelf. I reached in and pulled out the cheddar.

“What are they up to this time?” Daniel asked.

I hesitated. The group had no proof, and I didn't want to stir people up. However, I'd already told Helen and Suzie about the Sentinels' suspicions. It would get to Daniel eventually, if it hadn't already. “They think Bob was murdered and are trying to figure out why.” No reason to mention the envelope of papers.

Daniel frowned, took down a couple of glasses, and put them on a nearby tray. “Remember when we were at the accident site and you asked if there was anything else?”

“Yes.” I chose English water crackers and organic wheat thins from the supply of boxes on the work counter and then slid a platter out of the rack next to the stove.

“The Sentinels had talked to me. I didn't feel comfortable saying anything about their thoughts at the time. It seemed like such a stretch.” He took down two more glasses and paused. “If a man could exist with no enemies, it was Bob.”

“So you don't think he was murdered?”

Daniel came over and stood next to me. I never think of myself as short until someone tall stands beside me, and Daniel was tall.

“I just can't imagine it. But . . . strange things happen in life.” He looked at me. “They're a good group and bright. In the Indian culture, age is wisdom. Unfortunately, less so in the White world. I'd listen to them.”

I studied the high cheekbones and straight black hair. “Do you have a Native American background?”

“I'm part Lacoda. They originally populated this area. Now there are about two hundred left. They live on the Lacoda Indian Reservation near here.”

“Do you have relatives there?”

He laughed quietly. “No. Gone many years ago.” Daniel placed napkins next to the glasses. “I want Allie to understand our heritage. She's learning the language from one of the elders and participating in some of the ceremonies.”

“That's wonderful.” I arranged cheese slices on the dish and put the remainder of the brick of cheddar next to them. I washed my hands and wiped them on a dish towel. “What a great experience for her.”

“She's enjoying it. That's what counts.”

“Thanks for your help and for the information about the Sentinels.”

He grinned. “And thanks for
your
help.”

“What do you mean?”

“I heard about the altercation with Allie, Tommy, and the young thugs, as Allie refers to them.” He shook his head. “Allie has a past to overcome.”

“What kind of past?”

“There was a time not long ago when she got into lots of fights.” Daniel turned away and filled a pitcher with water. “The school district has her red-flagged. Any more trouble, and she could be kicked out.”

“I'm glad I was there. I taught for a while and hated the teasing and the bullies.” I thought about the emotional pain I'd witnessed and the hurt students who'd shared their stories in subdued voices, tears running down their cheeks.

“Kids can be cruel.” Daniel leaned down and pulled out another tray, his long ponytail swinging over his shoulder.

“What I've seen so far of Allie is she's a sweet and loyal kid.” I hesitated. I didn't know Daniel well. Asking questions about his personal life felt awkward, but maybe I could help. “What was up with the fighting?”

Daniel didn't look at me. He put the cheese platter on the second tray. “My wife left us. Didn't say a word to Allie. Just wasn't there one morning.”

I stopped arranging crackers. “How could a mother do that to her child?”

“She was never a mother, other than in the biological sense. Wanted as little to do with Allie as possible.” Daniel glanced at me. Pain filled his eyes. “Allie could never understand why Pam didn't treat her like the other moms she knew.”

“Good thing she has you.” Tears threatened to well up. “You obviously love her deeply.”

“I do.” Daniel picked a knife from the holder and put it next to the cheese. “We make a good team. It hurt when Pam left, but I believe it was for the best.”

We finished putting together the trays in companionable silence and carried them to the conference room.

“If there's anything else you need, let me know.” Daniel gave me a wave good-bye.

Attractive man and devoted father. What would make a woman leave someone like that? My ex only cared for himself and his immediate needs.

I shook off the past and surveyed the room, feeling ready for the silver-haired crime busters.

The Sentinels knew how to organize themselves, so I headed to the lounge area to check on the guests.

In the parlor, Andy was writing at a desk tucked in the corner. “Hey, Kelly, how's it going?”

“Fine, thanks.” Now was my chance to question him about where he was this afternoon when I was attacked. “How did your visit go with the cheese makers?”

“Lots of luscious tastes. I'm making notes while they're still imprinted on my taste buds.”

“Phil mentioned they changed the time on you to one and the two of you had to cancel your lunch date. Too bad.” Would he corroborate the information?

“Yeah. They had to juggle some appointments.” He put his pen down and stretched. “It's okay. Phil and I will catch each other another time.”

“Good luck with your notes.” I left for the conference room.

Check him off as a shoving suspect for now. If I needed to, I could figure out a way to confirm his meeting.

The Sentinels were filling their plates when I returned. A stout woman in a drab olive uniform sat with her back to the door. A C
ALIFORNIA
D
EPARTMENT OF
F
ISH AND
G
AME
patch was emblazoned on one sleeve. She turned as I entered, pushed her chair back and stood, holding out a hand in introduction. Her calloused palm scraped against mine as we shook.

“Fran Cartwright. Pleased to meet you.”

“Kelly Jackson, executive administrator with Resorts International.”

“Thanks for arranging the room on such short notice,” the Professor said and smiled.

“And thank you for the treats,” said Mary in her soft voice.

“You're welcome.”

Mary had a plastic container next to her. What confection was yet to come?

The Professor said, “Fran, we really appreciate your prompt response.”

“No problem.” She sat back down and withdrew a small notebook and pen from her pocket. “I hear you have some exciting news.”

I pulled out a chair and sat next to the warden.

The Professor's pen spun in his fingers at an alarming rate. A helicopter ready for liftoff.

“We crack code.” Ivan's chest appeared to expand a couple of inches.

Fran shifted in her chair, leather belt creaking. “Professor, you said you had evidence of a good-sized abalone poaching ring.”

He reached for the envelope labeled J
ERRY AND
J
OEY
on the table and pulled out the papers I'd given him. “It's a list of dates, times, and some notes. They're written in the code the Navajos used in World War II.
TSA
-ZHIN means ‘reef' and
GAH-GHIL-KEID
stands for ‘ridge.' We've never used the Navajo language in our investigations. However, we decided to use abbreviations and as few words as possible during our last case, to expedite our reports. We made a list we all used. ‘Reef' and ‘ridge' refer to Agate Beach and Crystal Bay. Once we got the key words, the dates and times fell into place.” He set the papers on the table.

“Bob usually kept me in the loop, but I didn't know about this.” Fran reached for the notes.

Rudy stood and leaned over the table. He stabbed at a place on the page with his finger.

I craned my neck to see what he was pointing at and saw
4LS
above his jagged fingernail.

“Means four large sacks,” he beamed, “of abalone.”

“A phrase on one of the pages translated to ‘regulate schedule.' The words are not an exact match, but we think it meant regular schedule,” said the Professor. “That makes this an ongoing operation.”

“These are clipboard notes,” Gertie piped up. “There are creases along the top edge. Bob carried them on the front seat of the pickup, along with his schedule for the day.”

“The clipboard.” Mary's brown eyes stared out from her Pillsbury Doughboy face. A white, fluffy coconut bar halted on its path to its demise as Mary's hand stopped. “Where's Bob's clipboard?”

“B
ob brought the clipboard in with him when he was done for the day,” Rudy volunteered.

“I'll go search for it while you fill Warden Cartwright in on the details,” I said.

“Fran will do. We're casual in Redwood Cove,” the officer said.

“Got it. Same applies to me. Please call me Kelly.” I frowned. “Professor, you said this might be why Bob was killed. Going from stealing mollusks to murder seems like a big leap.”

“I can help with that,” Fran said. “Our last bust netted one hundred sixty-six abalone. On the black market that's about sixteen thousand dollars. We caught them as they were getting ready to harvest more.”

“Wow!” I exclaimed. “That's a lot of money. I had no idea they could be worth so much.”

“Most end up in San Francisco. Some to be eaten as a delicacy, others to be dried and shipped to China and put on a shelf as a magic cure.” She gave a snort of derision and leaned back, running thick fingers through cropped salt-and-pepper hair. “We seized two vehicles and six thousand in cash, as well.”

The Professor handed Fran several typed pages of information. “We're not done yet, but we felt we had enough to get in touch with you.”

“We've heard rumors of a large, organized ring operating in the area.” Fran flipped through the papers. “I see the top page is from a few days ago and the bottom one is almost twelve weeks ago.”

“We deciphered the top two pages and the bottom two first,” Gertie said. “We thought it might give us a time span.”

“Clever.” Fran gazed at the intent faces. “It was the community's lucky day when you created the Silver Sentinels.”

Broad smiles greeted the compliment.

I got up to search for the clipboard.

“Honey,” Mary said to me, “before you go, take one of these.” She pushed a Tupperware container across the table.

I noticed some white coconutty things. “Thanks, Mary. I'll grab one when I get back. They look tasty.”
Sweet
described Mary in more ways than one.

I left them in deep discussion. A quick check of the work area next to the kitchen revealed nothing. The clipboard hadn't been in the office when I went through everything. Taking the key to the company pickup from its peg near the door and a navy blue loaner fleece sporting the company logo in artful gold lettering, I stepped outside. A cold ocean breeze slapped my face, causing my eyes to water and a shiver to run through me. I quickly put on the jacket, zipping it against the wind.

My boots crunched against the gravel as I walked to the small, red Toyota pickup parked against a fence behind the inn. Peering in the driver's window, I didn't see the clipboard. I unlocked the door and searched under and behind the driver's seat. I sat behind the wheel and reached down between the seats. Nothing.

A metal clip protruding from under the passenger's seat caught my eye. I leaned down and grabbed the edge of what turned out to be the missing item. On top was the sought-after day's schedule and a to-do list. It was followed by the previous two days. Three pages of coded notes were on the bottom of the stack.

Great. These papers would tell us what Bob was doing the day he died. I studied the top page. Suzie's name appeared at eleven. Redwood Ranch was at twelve thirty, and Javier at two completed the day. Helen might know what the last two were about.

I grabbed the door handle and paused for a moment as the fragrance of Old Spice filled my mind with memories. Grandpa wore it, and I pictured him in his rocker. His straw cowboy hat jammed on his head, the brim tightly curled with a sweat-stained hatband. The one Mom had thrown out over and over only to have him dig it out each time.

“It's a dude ranch and a working ranch,” he'd protested. “This is my working hat.”

Grandpa. When Jezebel, my scheming pony, figured a way to ditch me, he was always right there. If I fell off, he picked me up and put me right back in the saddle. If Jez wouldn't let me catch her, he showed me how. Always teaching. Always guiding. Always a great listener when times were tough. I missed him. And the rest of the family. I leaned my forehead on the steering wheel. Why couldn't I be content working at home? Had I done the right thing taking this job? And now, here I was helping investigate a possible murder. Where was that going to lead?

I sat up in the seat and spied a cup half-full of a dark liquid in the coffee holder. A scum had formed on top. The faces of two young boys in a magnetic frame attached to the dashboard grinned at me. Jerry and Joey? The grandkids? For a moment, I felt Bob was next to me, smiling back at his grandchildren, savoring a cup of freshly ground coffee. Then he vanished as the memory of his death four days earlier hit me.

I leaned back, inhaling the musky cologne, looking at the pictures. Those kids would grow up without their grandfather. Robbed of a special relationship. Why? Because of someone's greed? Fear? Anger? Emotion swept through me, and I smacked the steering wheel with my palm. Whoever killed this man, I wanted the person caught.

A tentative knock sounded on the pickup's window. Wide-eyed, Tommy stared at me, deep lines creasing his forehead. I opened the door.

“Miss Kelly, are you okay?”

“I'm fine, Tommy.” I managed a smile. “Thanks for asking.”

The frown fled from his face. “Oh good.”

“How was school today?”

“Fun. We did a neat science experiment.”

I regarded the ever-present basset hound. “Tommy, what on earth is that equipment you have on Fred?”

The dog was wearing an intricate harness of cotton webbing held together with Velcro strips. Tommy held long loops of lightweight cord in his hand. Pink flags sprouted out of his pockets.

“Allie and I are training him to track. She's putting scent out in the field. Gotta go.” He was off.

I grabbed the clipboard and returned to the Sentinels. They were like puppies waiting for a cookie. The Professor's fingers twitched in anticipation when he saw what I was carrying.

“I don't understand the need for a code.” I pulled the schedules off and handed Bob's notes to the Professor.

“He didn't want anyone to know what he was doing.” The Professor scanned the new find.

“Bob seemed worried for weeks.” Mary sighed.

“When we asked if anything was wrong,” the Professor said, “he replied it, whatever it was, would soon be over.”

“We pressed him to tell us,” Gertie added, “but he wouldn't.”

“He apologized for having said anything and asked us to forget it.” Rudy stared at the table. “We reluctantly respected his wishes.”

“We want to help, but no.” Ivan's large scarred hands gripped the table.

Fran frowned. “Why didn't he want to involve you? You've worked together before.”

“He clucked after us like a mother hen when we were on a case,” Gertie said. “Maybe he felt this one was too dangerous.”

“If these notes are accurate, this group is making a ton of money. They make the bust I told you about look like peanuts.” Fran paused. “It's enough to murder for. I can see why Bob might've been worried.”

“Or maybe someone we know,” Ivan added, his volume like a speaker with the control stuck on loud.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

The Professor's face appeared to age as he talked. “The only two reasons we could think of that would cause Bob to keep what was happening a secret were either a high level of danger or that it involved someone we knew.”

“But I still don't understand. People didn't have access to the clipboard, so why the code?” I questioned.

“Those were his working papers,” the Professor said. “They were with him constantly, and he consulted them during his appointments. People he visited might have had an opportunity to see something.”

Mary wiped a white curl of coconut off her lip. “He left them in the workroom or his office when he was in during the day.”

I thought for a moment. “So Bob could've found out who the poacher was and didn't want the person to discover what he knew.” I paused.

The Sentinels nodded, no bright eyes or smiles among them.

A cold jet of realization hit me. “It could even be someone at the inn.”