Terror Flower (River Sunday Romance Mysteries Book 5) (3 page)

“Where are we going first?” asked Tench, his voice raised over the rumble of the engine.

Smote said, “Don’t see much sense in going out into the Bay where they found him. He had been drifting anyway from somewhere else. Let us go to the Island. I know he get in trouble there, Jimmy.”

Tench felt cooler as they moved out into the breeze. The swells increased in height as they moved to the center of the harbor. To port they passed the famous slavery monument built in the harbor in the early years following the Civil War. It drew a great number of tourists, some of them from overseas, every year. Former slave owners built it from the stone walls of the slave market building once located in downtown River Sunday. That real estate had become covered with marinas and gift shops for tourists.

At the far end of the harbor the water mixed with the edge of the Chesapeake Bay and the waves begin to kick up with the current. A flying boat, an old one with World War Two military markings, prepared to take off. Its pilot revved its overhead engines and the roar cascaded across the water. The plane began its run, the waves splashing against its antique fuselage and spray shooting upward over the pilot’s compartment.

“She comes last night heading for that big antique airplane show across the Bay,” said Smote. “I see her land before dark.”

The seaplane gained altitude. Smote watched it, his hand shading his eyes. “We don’t want to be under that thing. The way it drips the runoff water from its hull as it takes off, we’d sure be wet,” he said. He steered the workboat away from the plane’s path. By now it had climbed three hundred feet into the sky.

In a few minutes, they had progressed around the point of land to the right of the town harbor. To get to the Island, Smote steered the Emmy north up the edge of the Chesapeake past the mouth of the Nanticoke River. Allingham Island, or the “Island” as it was known, started on the far shore of the Nanticoke.

The Emmy moved out into the Bay. A large ocean going yacht came from the west and turned north to run a course along the Island shoreline in front of them. She measured at least a hundred feet in length. Mariners would call her a passage maker design because of size and shape to handle all types of weather and long ocean crossings. Tench and Smote looked her over and reckoned she came over from Baltimore or Washington. The big yacht, white with orange and green trim on her flowing topsides, cruised about a mile ahead. The Emmy, much smaller and with a shallower draft, slapped the curls of the big boat’s wake, sending fine spray over Smote and Tench.

“We’re coming up on Strake’s property. His men might see us pretty soon,” said Smote. “Maybe keep us from looking around.”

“Steer far out from land, out of the prohibited area. We don’t want any trouble,” said Tench. Smote moved the steering wheel and headed slightly west. The workboat stood out from the shoreline, keeping the land about a half mile to starboard.

The yacht already headed off shore. Whether he knew about Strake’s cruising prohibitions or not, the yacht’s captain, Tench reasoned, had no interest in running aground. Tench noticed the big yacht’s wake crashing against the shore beach, the sunlit spray heading up into the air against the six foot hollowed out clay banks, well eroded from decades of tides and storms. Above the banks, fields of corn and rows of pines and small trees, bright from sunlight on their upper stalks and leaves, had dark shadows below. As Smote cut speed and engine noise, Tench heard the oak-a-lee call of a red winged blackbird.

To their west stretched the Chesapeake Bay itself, with its blue deep water, purple in the distance and covered with a thin line of heat haze. Two huge tankers passed each other, far out in the channel about four miles away. One came from Baltimore heading out empty and the other ran deep in the water with a supply of petroleum. To the north Tench could see the towers of the Chesapeake Bay Bridge with long suspension spans.

Strake’s waterfront came abreast of the Emmy’s starboard. Far back over an expanse of lawn stretching up from the shoreline Tench saw the Strake mansion and the barns, including the two story silver colored car barn where the millionaire stored his precious antique cars. Behind the barn Tench noticed a new structure with a corrugated steel roof, wider but not as tall as the museum. This building Tench had not seen before. The bottom below the boat shoaled fast in some places. This shallow area with its seaweed and muddy bottom hid the best local breeding ground for the blue crabs and the oysters.

The shoreline arced inward into small bays, returning each time to its long line along the surf. Tench spotted ragged patterns of crusted seaweed and the remains of fish cast up on the beach, left behind with the tides. The trees alongside the lawn area had been cut back making the expanse much wider. A bulldozer sat parked in the center. It appeared Strake had been preparing an expansive lawn on what had once been a long field of knee high grass and mud ruts. Tench noticed with a smile the tiny white garden structure at the edge of the lawn. He and Julie had their talks in this little building with its wooden railings and cake work roof. In those days they talked of designing great racing cars together. Her little ditty, often said to him, went through his mind, reminding him of those old days,

“I’ll design them and you build them,”

The yacht began to slow down and the Emmy came up on her port side, far west of her towards the deeper water of the Bay. Tench picked up the binoculars and scanned the deck of the yacht. He could see several black men, one at the wheel and the others working lines. He could also read the name on the stern. “Oilman” and the port of registry of Washington.

“With a name like that, she must belong to Strake or his company in Texas,” said Tench. “I’ve never seen her before.”

Smote nodded and moved the wheel. He had to steer out into the Bay to avoid the stern of the bigger craft. The bow of the workboat rose high on the crests of the former boat’s wake.

Tench said, “You know, I think he’s following the deep water channel that Strake dredged into his place.” They watched as the yacht turned toward the shoreline and began a direct plot to the pier where Strake had several small boats tied up.

Tench pointed to the yacht. “I guess Mister Strake‘s got visitors.”

Smote had his own binoculars up to his eyes and he raked the beach.

“You see anything?” asked Tench.

Smote shook his head. “I look at the land for a clue as to what my grandfather did here that morning.”

Tench began to look also, to search the water for anything that might resemble an anchor line.

“You think he would have anchored, I mean, lost that anchor, this far out?” asked Tench. They had moved past the pier area where the yacht was landing.

“I don’t know. We got another puzzle too.”

“What?” asked Tench?

“He must have gone in the water close to shore, someplace shallow, and then tried to wade ashore. I think that’s the way he lost one of his boots. They fit him tight, but getting in this mud might have pulled one off. Say he was running away and his feet got stuck, what do you think, Jimmy?”

For the next ten minutes, Smote continued well offshore. He reached a spot opposite the far end of the cleared beach, an area where fallen trees and brush obscured the shoreline.

“Where are we heading?” asked Tench.

“A hunch,” said Smote.

“See anything?” asked Tench, panning the water and the brush with his binoculars.

“Nothing yet,” said Smote as he turned the wheel to starboard to steer closer to shore. “The guards I think they do not see us up the beach this far.”

“Remember, the water is too shallow for your grandfather to have run the Emmy to the beach along here,” said Tench.

“Not too shallow for standing and seeing things from further out,” Smote answered.

After a few minutes, Tench managed to spot something white barely cresting in the water, and caught in some of the weed close to the beach. He pointed to the object.

Smote gunned the boat closer, Tench up on the bow, watching the depth as the prow moved through the weed. He could see the seaweed running below the bow. Then, with the basket of a crab net, Tench reached forward over the water and snagged the white thing. As he pulled it in he could see that it was the end of a white line, dirtied by the water but still white. Tench pulled it to him and then aboard. Smote grinned as he recognized the line.

“I told you we get somewhere. That’s the Captain’s anchor line.”

Tench pulled on the wet line that still went out in front of them. The line moved inward then stopped and pulled hard caught on something. Tench yanked and it broke free. As it came up from the mud bottom, Tench saw, attached to its end, a triangular shaped piece of steel with sharp prongs, fouled with weeds.

Smote nodded. “His anchor, Jimmy,” he said. When Tench had it aboard, Smote touched the metal tenderly with his fingers.

“You’re sure?” asked Tench.

“I have seen that damn thing so many times out with the Captain. I even remember when he bought it,” said Smote, studying the anchor. He looked at the beach, at the many old and gnarled fallen trees touching the water. “He must have put it overboard and waded ashore here.”

Tench examined the end of the line. He held the line up for Smote to examine.

“See the knife cuts in the end?” Tench said.

“Captain Bob would not cut his lines,” said Smote.

“What do you think?” Tench asked.

“That anchor cost a lot of money. Too much to leave here. If he did lose it, he would have gone back to find it,” said Smote.

Tench saw the bushes move at the top of the bank. Then he saw the barrel of a rifle pointing at him. He crouched down on the bow. The muzzle moved with him, not more than twenty feet away.

“I guess I was wrong. We have company,” said Smote, watching the weapon.

A deep voice drawled, “The land here is posted. You all might just push off.” Tench recognized the accent as one used by the Africans who guarded the compound, a kind of British tone.

Tench could not see the man talking to him. The rifle barrel was pointed directly at his chest.

“Yes sir, we’re going,” Tench said.

“I wouldn’t give them no pleasure,” said Smote, in a whisper.

“You don’t see that rifle pointed at you. I do. Let’s get out of here,” said Tench.

Smote shifted the boat into reverse. The mud and weed swirled by the sides of the boat as the engine backed them into deeper water. In a few moments, they stood well out from the shore, Smote turning gradually to head back down the Bay toward River Sunday. Crossing back in front of the mansion, Tench watched through his binoculars the shoreline and the yacht which was fully secured to Strake’s pier.

“You got to tell the Sheriff about that anchor,” said Smote above the noise of the engine.

“Soon as I get a chance.”

“People in town, they take their time, because they think this is an accident.” Smote added, “I just know we’re gonna have to do this ourselves. We’ll have to sneak into Strake’s farm, Jimmy, ‘cause I know he went in there looking for something. We got to find out what my grandfather saw,” he said, his eyes narrowed, watching the water ahead of the boat.

“The guards will be there,” said Tench.

“Yeah, but we beat them. We have to do this because the sheriff, he won’t help us,” said Smote. “You’ll see. We have to work alone.”

“Satter might be interested in us finding that anchor.”

“You tell him. I guess he will say, it have to be more than that before he’ll go up against Strake. You know that, Jimmy.”

Tench didn’t want to agree with his friend about the town authorities, not yet. He continued to watch the yacht. He could see a tall black woman, a stranger, stepping on to the pier from the yacht. She was dressed in draped bright clothes and colorful sandals. Two black men wearing dark suits stood beside her. He recognized them as two of Strake’s African mechanics, men who had come into the garage with Stagmatter in the past. Stagmatter had introduced them as workmen brought here to take care of his cars.

The woman waved toward the mansion. Tench recognized the bulky form of Stagmatter coming down the lawn. The man, even in the distance, could not be mistaken for anyone else.

Smote had been watching too. He asked, “You ever see that woman?”

Tench shook his head as he watched and said, “I know a couple of those African men. One of them seemed to be very interested in Cunningham’s picture. Listened while I told him and I remember he said to me, “We have these men in our country too.”

“What did he mean by that?” asked Smote. “He have a racing car?”

Tench said, “I guess he wanted to say something good about his homeland. I can understand that.”

“Pride,” said Smote. “I say things good about Ecuador when I first came to the States.”

Tench felt Stagmatter‘s eyes on him and Smote. For the first time, Abraham growled and stood from his perch, as if he wanted to swim to shore. Then, when Tench put his hand on the dog’s shoulder, Abraham quieted and patiently watched the shoreline as Smote powered the boat away.

Chapter Three

9AM Monday August 16

“You got to spend more time here, Jimmy,” Katy said, impatiently, before he left in the morning to help his aunt, the Mayor, at the library.

She continued, “I want to sit down with you and soon, Jimmy. You agreed when you bought into my Daddy’s place you’d listen to what I had to say.” He nodded agreement, knowing she was right. He heard in her voice he had to start looking after Katy’s business interests too. Like him, Katy owned minority shares in the shop. However, his aunt owned some of the shop too and she demanded a lot of his time.

At the small library, Miss Peck, dressed in her blue librarian suit with a white collar, welcomed her audience. She spoke in a far more excited tone than Tench ever remembered coming from her thin lips and white face. On a folding wooden chair, perched her long haired brown cat she had named Hemingway. The cat came into the building with the librarian every day. A black woman, too tall for her leather chair, sat on the other side of the podium. Her dark hair glared partly visible under a bright green cloth, while her figure remained hidden in a cloth also green but with orange stripes. Tench smiled as he noticed her long legs stretched out searching for room like his. Then he realized this same woman had been standing with Stagmatter at the Island yesterday.