Stealing the Countess (16 page)

Get out of your head,
my inner voice said, a task more easily said than done.

There was a white, thirty-inch round ring buoy and safety rope hanging from the wall of the lounge with the name
NICHEVO II
painted in red block letters.

I caught the attention of one of the college kids dressed in blue.

“What does
Nichevo
mean?” I asked.

He shrugged.

“You don't know?” I said.

“No, that's what it means.” He shrugged again. “
Nichevo
is a difficult word to translate into English. Basically, it means okay, pretty well, not too bad. How was your dinner?” He shrugged again. “Meh.
Nichevo.
”

“That's the worst name for a boat I've ever heard.”

“It's Russian,” he said, as if that explained everything.

At nine twenty, the
Nichevo II
docked on Madeline Island. Mine was the fifth car off the ferry. I switched on my headlights and followed the driveway onto Colonel Woods Avenue, hung a left at Ninth Street, and turned right again on Old Fort Road. The road took me past Captain Bob's Marina, Madeline Island Yacht Club, the golf course, and the Ojibwe National Prayer Pole and Memorial Park. There were very few lights to be seen beyond.

Less than five minutes later, I found the spur off Casper Road that Shanklin had written about. I was alarmed by how quickly the trip went; I thought I would have more time to prepare.

The spur was flanked by trees and shrubs made ominous by the lack of illumination, and I thought, That's where I would be if I were planning an ambush. I followed the spur, yet was forced to stop after only fifty feet. My headlights scanned the sand beach beyond. It was empty.

I prepared the Mustang before turning it off. The windows were down, and I could hear night sounds—crickets, gentle waves lapping the shoreline. Finally, I opened the door. I pulled the suitcase out with my right hand while fondling the key fob in my left. I closed the car door with my hip.

I walked to the center of the beach. Lake Superior was a black void punctuated by tiny lights; they could have been stars except some of them were moving.

“That's far enough.”

I recognized Shanklin's voice and turned toward it. He stepped away from the shadow of the trees onto the beach. The moon wasn't yet high in the sky, nor were the stars as bright as they soon would be, yet I could make him out clearly. He was carrying a gun.

“Did you bring the money?” he asked.

“Did you bring the violin?”

“I must have forgotten it.”

“Why am I here, then, I wonder?”

“You're here to give me $250,000.”

Shanklin raised his gun and pointed it at me. At the same time, his two accomplices stepped out of the woods, one on each side of the Mustang. I couldn't see if they were armed or not.

“Give it to me,” Shanklin said.

I heaved the suitcase toward him. It landed with a muffled thud on the sand near his feet. Shanklin's friends were so appreciative of the gesture that they moved forward until they were standing in front of the Mustang.

Shanklin lowered his gun and bent toward the suitcase, yet stopped before his hands reached the handle. He slowly straightened up.

“It's empty, isn't it?” he said.

“Not at all. There's some really fine literature in that suitcase.
Moby-Dick. Pride and Prejudice.
”

He raised his gun.

I pressed the button on my key fob.

A piercing wail was emitted from the Mustang; its lights began flashing.

Shanklin and his friends were clearly visible now; all three pivoted toward the car.

I reached behind my back and pulled the SIG Sauer out from beneath my sports coat.

I went into a Weaver stance, the gun sighted on Shanklin's core.

He turned toward me; his piece was pointed at the sand.

If he raised it I would kill him.

I was about to tell him so when three shots rang out; volcanoes of sand erupted in front of Shanklin's two accomplices.

“Don't anyone move,” Heavenly said.

She also walked out of the shadow of the woods. She was wearing a bikini beneath a filmy cover-up that hung open and a floppy hat. Her hands were gripping what looked to me like a small Colt.

“Drop your gun,” I told Shanklin.

“Caroline?” he said.

“Drop the damn gun.”

Shanklin let it slip from his fingers into the sand.

“Caroline, is that you?” he asked.

Heavenly stepped into the light. She was aiming her Colt more or less at the two accomplices. Neither of them was armed, which seemed inexplicable to me. My SIG was trained on Shanklin. We were standing only feet apart.

“Do you mind?” she said. “The noise.”

“Oh, yeah.”

I used the key fob to turn off the Mustang's alarm system. The silence that followed seemed almost louder than the siren had been.

“I like your outfit,” I said.

“It's my disguise.”

“Yeah, nobody will notice you dressed like that.”

“I was pretending to be a girl walking on the beach.”

“Caroline,” Shanklin said. “What are you doing here?”

“Watching you go bad, apparently.”

“But…”

“But what? You're a junior high school teacher, for God's sake. What were you thinking?”

“On your knees, all three of you,” I said. “Hands behind your heads.”

All three did exactly what I told them without argument.

“Now what?” Heavenly asked.

“Where's the violin?” I asked.

No one answered.

“Shanklin, where the fuck is the violin?”

“I don't know.”

“Don't you have it?”

“No, no—I don't.”

“Told you,” Heavenly said.

“Who stole it?” I asked.

“I don't know, I don't know, I don't know.”

“Then why did you bring me out here?”

“I thought … we thought…”

“What did you think?”

“We thought it would be easy money. Ellis told us who you were and what you were doing, and we thought—”

“Who's Ellis?” Heavenly asked.

“Waitress at Lakeside Tavern,” I said. “Was she in on it? Shanklin. Was she involved?”

“No, no, she just told us, and we thought—”

“It would be easy money—and fun, too, I bet.”

“Do you know how much a teacher makes in California?”

“Probably as much as a cop.”

“Should we shoot them?” Heavenly asked.

“No, please, please, Caroline.”

This time it was one of the accomplices speaking. I didn't know his name and I didn't care to learn it.

“Well?” Heavenly said.

“I'm thinking.”

“Please, don't kill us,” Shanklin said.

“Why not? That's clearly what you intended to do to me.”

“Caroline. Please. Tell him.”

“Not my job,” Heavenly said.

She spun toward the lake, whipped off her hat, and waved it back and forth. The lights of a boat flicked on, and I heard the low moan of its engine coming to life. Almost immediately, the lights began moving forward across the lake. Soon I discerned the shape of the boat. It drifted gently toward the beach until its bow scraped the sand a few yards out.

“My ride,” Heavenly said.

“You kids all right?” Jack Westlund asked.

“Just great, Mr. Westlund,” I said. “Thank you.”

“Need any help?”

“Stay where you are.”

“Are you ready?” Heavenly asked.

“Cover me.”

I moved cautiously toward Shanklin. He crawled away from me on his knees as I approached, his heads still behind his head. I picked up his gun and heaved it into Lake Superior. I bent down and retrieved my suitcase. I decided the books were just too damn good to leave behind. Afterward, I carefully maneuvered around the trio until I was behind them and standing next to the Mustang.

“Okay,” I said.

Heavenly lowered her Colt and crossed the sand. She was splashing through the water when Shanklin called to her.

“Caroline?”

“Shut up, Curtis.”

Westlund lowered a ladder, and Heavenly climbed aboard.

“I'll be buying the drinks later,” I said.

“Got that right you will,” Westlund said.

He put his engines in reverse, and the boat slid off the sand. A few moments later, it was crossing Lake Superior at high speed toward the lights of Bayfield.

The trio turned on their knees in the sand to face me.

“I have no idea what to say to you guys,” I said. “Except, if I see you again, I'll blow your brains out.”

Probably that wasn't true, I told myself. They didn't know that, though.

I climbed into the Mustang, backed down the spur, caught Old Fort Road again, and drove back to the landing.

 

NINE

I had to wait nearly a half hour for the
Nichevo II
to return to Madeline Island and another twenty minutes for it to make the crossing to Bayfield. Westlund and Heavenly were waiting for me when I arrived. Heavenly had changed into boots, jeans, and a soft blue V-neck sweater.

“I begged her not to do it,” Westlund said.

I would have liked to see more of the bikini myself, but Heavenly had tucked it and the filmy cover-up into a large wicker bag. After I drove off the ferry's iron ramp, she tossed the bag and the floppy hat into the backseat of my Mustang and climbed in after it. Westlund sat next to me.

“Where to?” I asked.

“Not that many places open late night in Bayfield,” Westlund said. “Lakeside?”

“Why not?”

It took me three minutes to reach the Lakeside Tavern and another to park. Stepping inside, we were greeted by a loud saxophone. Alas, its owner wasn't playing jazz. He was part of a rock and roll cover band trying to play “Urgent” note for note. I was sure that both Foreigner and Junior Walker would have been appalled, although the many people dancing in front of the stage didn't seem to mind a bit.

You're a music snob,
my inner voice told me.

Which was probably true.

We found a table. Ellis arrived to serve us. I was tempted to tell her what had happened on Madeline Island, except I was afraid that she would blame herself and decided to let it slide. I ordered bourbon, Heavenly had vodka, and Westlund settled for a Leinie's after first making the girl recite the tavern's entire beer menu.

Heavenly scrunched her nose at the band.

“I wonder if these guys even know who Paul Duclos is?” she asked.

Okay, now who's the snob?

I didn't answer Heavenly or my inner voice. I was too busy searching the bar for the man in the sports coat and not finding him

After the drinks were served, Westlund slapped his hands and rubbed them together.

“That was fun,” he said. “I wasn't close enough to see their faces, but I bet them boys were real surprised when Heavenly stepped outta them woods with her gun.”

“I think it was the bikini, not the gun, that caught their attention,” I said.

“I was a little worried about dropping her on the beach all alone like that, gun or no. Lookin' the way she looks and those roughnecks waitin'.”

“She is a beauty.”

“You know I'm sitting right here,” Heavenly said.

“You are a beauty,” Westlund said. “Damn if you ain't.”

“You're very kind.”

“So, how long have you kids been together?”

I damn near choked on my bourbon. Heavenly patted my back.

“You all right, baby?” she asked.

“Fine.”

“Want me to kiss it and make it better?”

“Stop it.”

Heavenly thought that was funny.

“No, Jack, we're not together,” she said. “We've known each other for over three years—”

“Closer to four,” I said.

“McKenzie is involved with a woman who's”—I was expecting an insult. Instead, I heard—“very smart, and very kind, and twice as pretty as I am.”

“Hard to believe,” Westlund said. “That last part, anyway.”

“I, on the other hand…” Heavenly wrapped her arm around Westlund's arm. “I'm looking for someone with a little more maturity.”

“Well, then, you've come to the wrong place, doll. I've got three ex-wives who'll tell ya I have all the maturity of a frat boy on spring break.”

“Sometimes that's exactly what a girl's looking for.”

“McKenzie.”

The voice came from behind me. All three of us turned to look.

“McKenzie, you're here.”

Maryanne Altavilla stood several feet away, balancing a double Bailey's Irish Cream on the rocks and not doing a very good job of it. She was wearing the same clothes as when she accosted me at the Queen Anne, the large black bag slung over her shoulder.

“You said you'd be here, only I was beginning to think that was a … prevarication.”

Prevarication?

“Ms. Altavilla.” I stood, although that was less out of courtesy and more because I wanted to be able to catch her should she keel over. “Join us.”

I guided her to an empty chair and helped her sit. She spilled some Bailey's on her fingers while setting the bag on the floor.

“Oops,” she said and licked it off.

Heavenly gave me a look I've seen before—the one that asked, “What the hell?” Westlund, on the other hand, seemed enthralled.

“Aren't you pretty?” he said. “You don't mind an old man saying that, do you?”

“You don't look so old to me.”

“I'm Jack.” He offered his hand and Altavilla shook it.

“Maryanne,” she said.

“Ms. Altavilla is an investigator for Midwest Farmers Insurance Group,” I said.

“Chief investigator. I just got promoted.”