Adele saw the books and then saw the name of the author on the spine—Professor Delroy Hicks.
“It’s our Delroy section. I haven’t taken one of those books down since he died, but I’m almost positive you’ll find what you’re looking for. It’s the one with the black-and-white photo of that healer fella on the cover, guru what’s-his-name who was all over the news that one summer. I was no more than ten or eleven at the time, but I remember my mother complaining about him. It was all anyone around here was talking about for a while. The Anacortes newspaper called it the war of the crystals or the crystal wars. Well, it was crystal-something anyways.”
Adele spotted the book and took it down. It was a large paperback titled The Mystery of the Lekwiltok Crystal. A photograph of an older, stern-faced man stared back at her. He had shoulder-length white hair, a wide brow, and especially prominent cheekbones that jutted out like a pair of sharp glaciers that threatened to break through the skin of his face. A large crystal hung around his neck. Adele tapped the book cover.
“This is guru what’s-his-name?”
“That’s him,” Suze answered with a nod. “Scary looking, isn’t he?”
“I’d say more serious than scary. Was he Native American?”
“Not sure. Might be. I haven’t actually read that one. Rumor is the use of the past tense doesn’t yet apply to him though.”
Adele looked up. “People think he’s still alive?” She opened the book. “This was published in 1981. That’s nearly forty years ago.”
“I know,” Suze said. “That’s the last word I heard on him. Granted, it’s been, oh, five or six years since he’s come up, but there are still people around here who remain convinced he’s still alive.”
Adele put her coffee down on another shelf, held the book in both hands, and stared at the cover again. “He appears to be at least 60 years old in this photo, perhaps even 70.”
Suze smiled. “Indeed.”
“That would make him a very old man. Likely one of the oldest human beings on the planet.”
“Definitely.”
“Impossible.”
Suze clicked her tongue. “When did you become such a pessimist? Not probable? Yes. Impossible? No. These are the San Juans. Live here long enough and you’ll come to learn almost anything is possible.”
Adele turned the book over and found a photo of Delroy wearing his fedora and smiling into the camera. He looked so young, so confident, a man who appeared to have the whole world eating from his hand. The resemblance between him and Fin was striking. She read the book’s back cover description.
In 1905, former Seattle mayor and wealthy shipbuilding magnate, Robert Moran, his health in precipitous decline, was given a death sentence via his personal physician. He had but one year to live.
Moran moved to Orcas Island in 1906 hoping to get a few more years but also fully expecting and prepared to die.
Death did come to Mr. Moran—in 1943 at the age of 86. He had outlived his wife, most of his friends and family, and the doctor who had declared him not long for this world some four decades earlier.
Rumors long swirled around Moran’s miraculous recovery and subsequent long life, most of which was spent in unusually robust health. Some claimed it to be by God’s grace. Others whispered he obtained this seeming miracle through darker means.
Enter the remarkable figure of Karl Bloodbone, said to be a direct descendent of the fierce Lekwiltok tribe of British Columbia that centuries earlier regularly raided the San Juan lands occupied by their gentler southern Salish Indian cousins. Bloodbone is a self-described shaman, healer, mystic, and warrior. His many detractors call him a fraud whose only interest is emptying the pockets of those desperate enough to seek his help.
Bloodbone also claims he was the one who healed Robert Moran in 1906, an event which would have taken place 73 years before this writing. He explains his own impossible longevity as being the result of metaphysical transmutation whereby his physical form is periodically reborn while his spiritual form remains constant.
Eternal life.
The Mystery of the Lekwiltok Crystal is the result of six months of study in and around the equally fascinating and incriminating human riddle that is Karl Bloodbone. It may not be the story he wishes to be told, but it is the one that I am now required to share with the world because, quite simply, it is the truth.
-Delroy Hicks: Professor of Anthropology
“Wow,” Adele said. “This is incredible.”
Suze appeared disappointed. “Gosh darn it. I should have taken the time to read it myself. Is it really that good?”
“It could be. Delroy sure knew how to sell a story. Now I’m more excited than ever to be making the trip to Orcas tomorrow. Still, this is an old accounting of stuff that took place there years ago. I’m not sure where I should start or who might still be around who knew this Karl Bloodbone personally.”
Suze rubbed her chin. “I think I might have an idea.”
“Really? Who?”
“You met her last summer—Mother Mary Ophelia.”
“The nun on Shaw Island?”
“That’s the one.”
“And you think Mother Mary knew Karl Bloodbone?”
Suze nodded. “I do. My mother said so. Apparently, there was some kind of protest years ago involving Bloodbone and his followers and Mother Mary was part of it.”
“Bloodbone had followers?”
“The word most people around here used was cult. The community leaders on Orcas, including the local pastor, wanted him gone. I believe Mother Mary represented the Catholic Church’s support of the pastor and his fight against Bloodbone. It was quite a happening. I’m guessing at least some of Delroy’s book is about that conflict. It went on for two or three years. Got so bad even the governor issued a press release telling everyone to knock it off.”
Adele held Delroy’s book against her chest. “This has the makings of quite a story for the newspaper. Jose has been worried the online readership is showing some weakness in recent months. This might be exactly what we need to rejuvenate people’s interest.”
Suze smiled. “I was thinking the exact same thing.”
“How much for the book?”
“No charge. I’m glad I was able to help. Just don’t lose it. I intend to read it when you’re done. You can do me one favor though.”
“Name it.”
“Bring Fin Kearns by when you have chance. I’d love to meet him.”
Adele gave Suze a quick hug. “Deal. Maybe next week?”
“I’ll be here. Until then you be safe out there.”
Adele waved as she headed out the door. “Will do. Thanks again, Suze.”
Only a few clouds remained in the sky. Adele breathed in the cool, dry, late-afternoon air. She looked down at the book cover and found herself locking eyes with Karl Bloodbone. A chill ran through her body. She went to reach for her car door, heard a scratching noise, looked up, and then gasped.
A giant raven sat perched atop the Mini’s roof. Adele saw her own face reflected within the great bird’s glistening black eyes. She stepped back from the car and raised the book over her head.
“Go away. Shoo. Get out of here.”
The raven leaned forward, adjusted its wings, and let out an angry croak. Not knowing what else to do, Adele hissed at it like a cat. The sound made the raven hop backwards, flap its wings, and then take off toward a nearby tree line.
That was creepy.
A departing ferry’s horn bellowed across the streets of Friday Harbor. Adele ran her hand along the Mini’s roof feeling for scratches that the bird might have left. Finding none, she opened the door and got behind the wheel. As soon as she turned the ignition a pair of midnight wings nearly covered the entire windshield. The raven landed on the hood and then began pecking at the glass with enough force Adele worried it might crack. She turned on the wipers. The raven jumped back but kept its eyes on Adele. When she leaned to the side, the raven’s head followed.
Adele backed the car up slowly onto the street while the raven remained perched on the hood. She worried that if she took off too fast the bird could be injured. Part of her was okay with that. Another part of her didn’t wish to see any animal suffer even if it was one that appeared intent on trying out for a remake of Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds. She turned off the wipers and sped up. The raven partially spread its wings to keep its balance as it hopped forward and resumed pecking at the windshield.
“Get off my car,” Adele yelled while continuing to accelerate. As she neared a stop sign, she waited until the very last moment to hit the brakes. The tires chirped as the Mini came to a sudden stop. The raven croaked loudly as it rolled backwards down the hood. Adele heard a soft thump from the front of the car.
She waited.
Oh no, she thought, fearing the bird was injured or dead but also too afraid to open the door to check. Instead, she backed up a few feet. Seeing nothing, she backed up a few more feet and then a few more feet.
The raven was gone.
I would have seen it fly away. Where is it?
Instinct made Adele glance to her left. The raven was flying straight for the driver side window. She mashed the accelerator, forgetting the car was still in reverse. Her body lurched forward until the seatbelt tightened and held her in place. She could hear the raven’s wings slicing through the air as it passed over the car’s hood right before it circled back for a second bombing mission.
Not this time.
Adele threw the shifter into first and accelerated. The car lunged forward. She turned right and hit second gear. The Mini’s turbo growl filled the interior. Stop signs were ignored in favor of more speed. Adele didn’t slow down until she was three miles outside of Friday Harbor. She looked in the rearview mirror and then up through the sunroof. The sky was clear. No mad raven followed.
In the passenger seat Karl Bloodbone glowered back at her. Adele grabbed the book and flipped it over so that it was young Delroy’s smiling face she saw.
“That’s better,” she whispered as the Mini raced down San Juan Island’s interior roads. Driving at night had never bothered Adele before but this time she wanted to be back to Roche before dark.
The sun had nearly set. Shadowy fingers appeared to be reaching out and choking the paved path ahead. Adele’s eyes narrowed as she gripped the steering wheel more tightly and drove on.
She’d make it.
But just barely.
13.
A dele was disappointed.
No matter how fast she pushed the little Chris Craft Lancer, even when she nearly buried the bow into an oncoming wave and sea spray washed over the windshield, Fin’s relaxed smile never left him as he sat in the passenger seat enjoying the ride.
“You sure you haven’t spent more time on the water?” she yelled over the wind.
“Not even a little,” Fin replied. “A few times as a kid but this is the first time I’ve been on a boat like this in years. It handles wonderfully by the way and you clearly know what you’re doing behind the wheel.”
Adele lowered the speed to improve the smoothness of the ride. The Lancer’s sharp bow sliced through the early morning chop of Wasp Passage. She pointed to the right. “That’s Shaw Island there.” Then she pointed to the left. “And that’s Crane Island. We’ll follow Shaw’s shoreline until we reach the ferry terminal on the northeast side. Shouldn’t be more than another 10 or 15 minutes.”
Fin’s smile grew wider. “It’s so beautiful.” He zipped his jacket up to nearly the bottom of his chin. “Despite the cold.”
“It’ll warm up soon.”
“Look at that.” Fin pointed to a pair of Canadian geese flying just a few feet over the water. One of them honked at the Chris Craft as it sped by them. “How marvelous.” He turned in his seat and faced Adele. “This nun you plan to speak with before we continue on to Orcas, she’s the same one I read of in your newspaper?”
“That’s right—Mother Mary Ophelia.”
“And you believe she knows something about the rumored magnetic field on Orcas Island?”
“She might. She’s been a part of these islands for a long time.”
Fin nodded. “Sounds good.” He stuck his arm out over the side so the tips of his fingers skimmed over the water.
Adele leaned back in her seat and looked up into the clear sky. The combination of the droning rumble of the Chris Craft’s diesel engine and the hiss of the water as it parted along both sides of the hull was among the most pleasant sounds she had ever known.
The boat traffic was minimal. They passed a few sailboats and then a fisherman on a small aluminum skiff who had hooked into a winter blackmouth salmon. As the fish was being brought aboard Fin stood up and applauded. “Well done, mate!” he shouted. The fisherman gave him a quick wave and then proceeded to club the salmon in the head. “Ah, that was rather brutal,” Fin said, scowling.
“That’s fishing,” Adele replied. “He’ll be eating well tonight.”
“You fish much yourself?”
“A little. I love ling cod.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“That,” Adele said, “is one of the ugliest but most delicious things in these waters. You like fish and chips?”
Fin’s expression became very serious. “My dear girl, I’m Irish. Fish, chips, and a pint . . . it’s the earthly equivalent of the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost.”
“Then you’ll definitely enjoy some deep-fried ling. Maybe someday I can take you out fishing some time.”
“I’m not big on making plans. God’s laughter has taught me more than a few lessons on that, but I’ll keep the invite in mind. Especially if there’s a bit of garlic mayo to dip it all in.”
Adele casually turned the wheel to avoid a floating log. “You mean tartar sauce?”
“No, where I come from garlic mayo rules the day. We do have tartar of course, but it isn’t nearly so popular as a bit of vinegar and some garlic mayo.”
“Huh,” Adele said. She was a dedicated foody always on the lookout for new ways to enjoy old favorites. “Garlic mayo. I’ll have to give it a try.”
Fin smiled. “You’ll love it. I promise.”
Adele pointed straight ahead. “There’s the ferry terminal.”
The terminal and the small dock adjacent to it were both empty. Adele pulled alongside the dock, tied up, and shut the motor off. Fin hopped out, stretched, and then looked back at her. “What now?”
Adele grabbed her backpack and headed toward the dock ramp that connected to the narrow road that disappeared into the tree-lined hillside. “Now we walk.”
Soon they were deep in the woods. Fin kept looking up. “So many trees,” he said. “I’ve never seen so many big trees in all my life.”
After twenty more minutes of walking Adele stopped next to a dilapidated wood fence that ran alongside the road. “We’re almost there. I just remembered something though.” She took off her backpack, unzipped it, and reached inside. “I picked this up in Friday Harbor yesterday. Your father wrote it. I spent about four hours last night reading through nearly all of it.”
Fin took the book, looked at the cover, and then turned it over and stared at Delroy’s photo. “He’s not much older there than I am now.”
“You two look a lot alike. You’re taller but the face, especially the eyes, they’re almost exactly the same.”
“Who’s the scary looking fella on the cover?”
“That is, or was, Karl Bloodbone. He’s the one I’m here to inquire about.”
“With the nun?”
“That’s right. Apparently, she knew him.”
“You said he is or was Karl Bloodbone. Obviously, he’s dead by now. This book was written a long time ago.”
“Well, there’s a bit of uncertainty about that.”
Fin looked at the book cover again. “He’s already an old man in this photo. He can’t possibly still be alive.”
“I agree it’s not likely.
I was told this Bloodbone has become something of a whispered legend around here.”
“Can I read it when you’re done?”
Adele took the book and returned it into her backpack. “Of course. C’mon, let’s go.”
They went no more than a hundred yards further when a familiar voice called out to Adele. “Ah, is that my young newspaper friend coming this way? And such perfect timing. I’m enjoying a walk on this beautiful island morning.”
Mother Mary Ophelia looked exactly as Adele remembered her. Old and bent, yet strong like the gnarled branches of an ancient tree. She even wore the same knee-high rubber boots as when she and Adele had first met.
“Hello again, Ophelia. You’re looking well.”
“Ha!” Ophelia barked. “I’m looking old and don’t you try to deny it.” Her eyes narrowed as she noted Fin. “And who is this?”
“This is my new friend, Fin Kearns. He’s the son of Delroy Hicks and has come here all the way from Ireland.”
“Delroy’s son you say?”
“That’s right.”
Ophelia stood directly in front of Fin and peered up at him. “Yes, I see the resemblance. I knew Mr. Hicks. There was a time I knew him well. An interesting man. What some might call a free spirit. Tell me, Mr. Kearns, do you share your father’s views on God?”
Fin arched a brow and cocked his head. “I’m afraid I can’t answer that.”
Ophelia scowled. “And why is that?”
“Because I don’t know what my father’s views on God were. We never met. He didn’t even know I existed.”
Ophelia’s eyes softened almost immediately. She reached out and held one of Fin’s hands. “I apologize for my rudeness.”
“It’s quite all right,” Fin said. “There’s no way you could have known. It is what it is.”
When Ophelia smiled, the lines around her eyes deepened and spread across her cheeks. “What we think and what truly is are often two very different things, Mr. Kearns. I know the pain of that disconnect all too well. I know it but I don’t suppose I’ll ever truly understand. Not entirely anyways.”
Roche Harbor Rogue Page 9