Murder at Fire Bay

by Ron Hess

  “There, Dad,” she said, as she dabbed a piece of pancake from his chin. “Doesn’t that taste good?”

  He replied with a mutter. I put my coffee cup down and said, “It looks like it’s going to be a beautiful fall day out there. I understand the temp might get up to sixty degrees.”

  The old man made a noise, getting his chin dirty again. Mrs. Mordant shot me a smile of appreciation. I had a hunch the old man was not easy to please and, at times, no doubt resented what he took to be her forced cheerfulness. I checked my watch. Nine o’clock. Where had the time gone?

  I got up from my chair and stretched. “Well, good people, I have to go into town. Thanks for the meal, Mrs. Mordant. It was great.”

  She smiled and murmured her thanks. A minute later I was out the door and walking up to the bluff’s edge to view the beauty that lay below me. The bay was dead calm, almost millpond smooth. Well, that settled it. I knew exactly what I was going to do.

  Twenty minutes later I pulled up to the waterfront and sat for a minute. Thanks to my busy life, I had not yet been fishing. It might be late in the season, but fish or no fish; I was going out on the water and try it. Like they say, “A bad day at fishing is better than a good day at work.”

  I walked down to the float where the old man that managed the skiffs sat, and true to form, he was there, sucking on his pipe.

  He looked at my fishing gear and smiled. “Going fishing, eh?”

  I nodded and asked if I could rent one of his skiffs.

  “Sure, take that one; it’s the only one left.”

  I’m sure I froze in place, for I recognized that skiff. It was the one Gloria had used the day she died.

  The old man chuckled. “Don’t worry, it’s been checked out, stem to stern.”

  “Great,” I said, trying to sound cheerful.

  It was just too nice a day to pass up simply because it was the same boat she had died in. I walked to it and threw my gear in.

  The old man came along behind me. “Know how to run that thing?”

  I took a minute to look at the engine. It was the same kind I was used to on the river back at Howes Bluff. No sweat. I pulled out the choke and gave a pull on the starter cord. The engine roared to life on the first pull. Piece of cake. I nodded to the old man, who untied the line and cast me off.

  Soon I was out of the harbor and boring my way out into the bay. God-in-heaven but it was a beautiful fall day. The engine sang its sweet song and I began to forget about post office stuff. After an hour of going full tilt, about a half-mile out from the shore, I slowed and stopped, turning the engine off. Rather than put the anchor out, I decided to let the skiff drift with the tide and maybe drift into some old halibut hungry for some herring bait.

  I threw out my line, dug out my thermos of hot coffee, and leaned back. The boat rocked gently and I began to doze. This was high living and I reflected that a man ought to play this fishing game more often. After a while, getting a little bored with all the quiet, I took out my binoculars and scanned the shoreline. Nothing but brush and trees. Then I had the feeling I was being watched, and for something to do I scanned the bluff more carefully, noting the field of roses, their red petals now almost gone.

  Son of a gun! There was somebody watching. It was the old man at his place on the bluff, looking at me with his binoculars! I waved. And watched as he raised his arm. He saw me! Good for him! I noted Mrs. Mordant sat next to him on the bench, doing something with her hands, probably knitting. I put my binoculars down. I had sat here long enough. If Mr. Halibut wouldn’t bite here, maybe he would elsewhere. I turned around in my seat and gave a pull on the starter rope. Nothing but a few chugs. Hmm . . .probably needed the choke pulled out a little. The engine still refused to start. I couldn’t be out of gas. After another fifteen minutes of pulling on the starter cord, I gave up.

  Crap! Well, I might as well call in for a tow. I felt in my usual pocket for my cell phone. Damn! It wasn’t there; must have left it on the dresser. Now what?

  I gazed back up at the top of the bluff and pointed at my engine with the hopes the old man would get the message. I looked through the binoculars. Sure enough, he was trying to get Mrs. Mordant to understand. I swore I could see her roll her eyes at the old fellow, but finally she took the binoculars and looked out at me. Again, I motioned at the engine and shook my head, hoping she would get the idea. She nodded her head, and the last I saw of her, she was wheeling the old man back down the bluff. After they disappeared, it became very lonely. Nothing like being out on the sea with an engine that won’t start. It tends to make one think about his will. There was one thing in my favor; the tide was coming in. No need to throw out the anchor until the tide changed.

  While I waited for the fates to turn in my favor, an idea began to germinate in my brain. If the old man could see me, then maybe he was out the day Gloria was killed. The idea took hold, and I began to fidget. Was that what the old man was trying to say, that he saw the murder, or knew something about it? Just when did he have his stroke?

  Chapter 29

  Help, when it showed up a couple of hours later, came in the form of Chief Wattle in his twenty-eight foot cabin cruiser. He shook his head and yelled, “Bronski, what in hell are you doing out here?”

  I held up a twenty-pound halibut.

  “What does it look like?”

  He nodded. “Not bad for a chicken.”

  The cruiser and the skiff gently touched each other. I must have looked perplexed, because Wattle explained.

  “We call anything under thirty pounds a chicken. Some people say they’re the best eating. Put that thing down and take this line.”

  In no time at all we had the skiff tied to the cabin cruiser and me sitting in the cabin savoring a hot cup of coffee. I looked out the window to see the skiff bouncing merrily along in the cruiser’s wake. Although the bay’s surface had a little chop along with a few white caps, it was still a beautiful day.

  Carrying my empty coffee cup, I got up from the table and wandered over to the chief at the wheel. “You never know what’s going to happen in life, do you, Chief?”

  He turned to face me with the saddest eyes I have ever seen. “No, Bronski, I guess not.” He turned back to face the sea racing beneath his boat. There were a few minutes of silence.

  I decided to get brave and walk on the edge of life again. “Tell me, Chief, how did she get to you?”

  “She found out . . . . Say, Bronski, you could disappear out here real quick, you know.”

  He turned to look at me with his dark blue eyes. Eyes that looked desperate.

  I decided to push on. “What did she find out?” I asked quietly.

  “Never mind,” he snapped. “It was something that happened a long time ago in the lower-48.”

  “So she is blackmailing you.”

  He snorted. “Yeah, I guess you could call it that.”

  I kept at it. “Does law enforcement in the lower-48 know about your incident?”

  “Oh, yeah. I was exonerated, but the incident happened. Let’s just say it wouldn’t look good on a policeman’s resume. How she ever found out about it in Florida I’ll never know.”

  “So it happened in Florida?”

  He gave me a hard look. “Bronski, don’t you ever give up?”

  “Not on something like this. Have you actually helped her?”

  “No, not yet. I am supposed to be her ace-in-the-hole. Give her inside information if a raid is coming, or something like that.”

  We were silent for a few minutes, each gathering his thoughts.

  I cleared my throat. “You knew she was blackmailing me, too?”

  “Yeah. I knew at the party when you were sitting there with that silly grin that something was going on. She is one slick piece of work. It was in a corner at a party one night that she let me know what she had on me. She was running her hands all over me and then, straight out of nowhere, it was, “Tell me all about Florida, Chief.” That was the first week she was in town.
She had me and I don’t mean in bed either! Bronski! I need this job!”

  I took a deep breath.

  “All I know is, Chief, if we’re together in this, she’ll have a heck of a time bringing us both down. I don’t know your secret and I don’t want to know. And as far as I’m concerned nobody else will either. Are you with me?”

  His chest actually rose and fell. “God, Bronski, you don’t know how good this little conversation makes me feel. Anytime you need help, you just let me know.”

  By then we had slowed to a crawl. As we entered the harbor, I could see a few people had gathered. We drew closer, and I could see that most of the people were men who hung around the docks. Whether they were out-of-work fishermen or dockworkers I couldn’t say. But like all people who work, be it office or dock, people hunger for something out of the ordinary to happen. This time it was my turn to offer the entertainment. But there was one person dressed in what I call “Seattle Black.” I didn’t have to guess who that was.

  It was the old man who rented me the skiff who got to me first, taking the line from me and tying it to a cleat on the dock. He stood up, pipe clenched on one side of his mouth, smoke issuing forth like a steam engine.

  “What happened out there, son?”

  Well, there went the end of a perfect day. “Son,” he said.

  “I don’t know,” I answered. “The engine wouldn’t start.”

  He stared down into the skiff’s belly for a minute. Then with surprising quickness jumped down into the skiff and pushed on the gas line going into the portable gas tank. He looked back up at me with what could only be described with a look of pity.

  “Must’ve jarred loose,” he said, with a knowing look to the dock people.

  There were a few smirks. Anybody knows that is the first thing to check if the engine won’t start, even me. But for some reason I hadn’t and would never know why. I looked up, and I’m sure I had a perplexed look on my face, when a flash went off. It was the lady in Seattle Black.

  “Emily! For God’s sake, give me a break!”

  She gave me a toothy smile full of braces. “S . . .Sorry, Mr. Postmaster, but news is news and at this moment, you’re news.”

  I bowed my head. God, why me?

  After seeing the party was over, the dock people drifted off. Some of them were laughing out loud.

  “How did you find out about me being stranded?”

  “My boss told me. He listens to the harbor radio. People also called in.”

  Chief Wattle stood there with a bemused smile. “Can’t win them all, eh, Bronski?”

  He extended his hand and gave me another look in the eye. “Let me know if I can be of any help.”

  “Sure, Chief,” I said.

  With that, he was off.

  Emily turned to me, hand on my arm. “I’m missing something.”

  I looked around. There was nobody within hearing distance.

  “Young lady, how would you like to have a late lunch in the most expensive place in town?”

  She grinned. Those silver braces actually glittered in the sun. “Yes, after I phone my boss.”

  I threw my arms up. Was there no end to my humiliation?

  I met her at the same motel restaurant I had first eaten in when I came to Fire Bay.

  “I hope you are not going to try to bribe me,” she said with a smile.

  “Who me? Bribe a newspaper lady? Nope, not me.”

  She cocked her head in her quick bird-like way. “Bronski, I am on to you. It will do you no good. Umn . . .this steak is delicious. But no dessert, Bronski. I have to watch my weight.”

  It was my turn to smile. “Now why would a young sweet thing like you have to watch her weight? Hmm . . . let me guess.”

  Her face turned that wonderful bright red, and I knew right then that if she didn’t have a father to give her away at her wedding, well, I would be glad to stand in.

  I waved at the waitress. “One piece of pecan pie with two scoops of ice cream on the side.”

  Emily daintily dabbed at her mouth with a napkin and gave me a look that meant she was a reporter once more. “Okay, Leo, what do you have to tell me?”

  I waited to answer until the pecan pie was sat down in front of me. “I can give you some deep background, but you can’t print it.”

  Her eyes closed. “Leo,” she pleaded.

  I shook my head. “Sorry, kid, but that’s the way it has to be. Maybe you can use it someday, but I doubt it.”

  She gave a weary nod, as I knew she would. Reporters cannot help themselves. They want to know everything. I went on to tell her about the chief and what he had told me that morning. How Ashley was blackmailing him about an incident in Florida. On one hand I felt a little guilty for telling Emily about it. Hadn’t I just told the chief his secret was safe with me? But I had a strong feeling that this young reporter was honorable. If something happened to me, she could take up the charge, knowing all the ramifications of the case. She watched as I slowly consumed my pie.

  I grinned. “Sure you don’t want some pie?”

  She gave me a hard glittering look. “Bronski, don’t push it, or I might not tell you what I found out.”

  She began tapping her newly painted red fingernails on the table. Finished with my pie, I sat back and waited.

  “It’s about Ralph. I found out he came from Portland a few months ago,” she said.

  “Really? Why am I not surprised. Things are starting to come together, aren’t they?”

  We sat for a few minutes in comfortable silence. I took a sip of coffee and glanced around. Thank goodness, there was no one within earshot.

  Emily stood up. “Thanks, Bronski, for the meal, but I have to go. I have a story to file.”

  “What story?” I asked. Something was beginning to smell.

  “Oh . . . how a certain postmaster became stranded out in the bay.”

  “Emily!”

  “Sorry, Leo,” she said, studying her nails, as if it were a minor issue. “But a story is a story. Don’t worry, it will be good for community relations. It might even make the Anchorage paper.”

  That she said this with a Cheshire cat’s grin didn’t help much.

  “Bye, Leo,” she said, and she was off.

  “Waitress,” I bellowed, “you have another piece of that pecan pie?”

  Chapter 30

  I drove back to the High Bluff B & B in a reflective if not somnolent mood, made the more so by that second piece of pecan pie, which hadn’t tasted nearly as good as the first piece. That Emily was going to write up my stupid error out on the bay bothered me not at all, Anchorage paper or not. I had too many other more worrisome irons in the fire.

  No, I was thinking about how I was going to approach the old fella, a man I had developed a lot of respect for. As I turned into the half-mile lane that led to the B& B, I decided I would simply ask him if he had witnessed the murder that late summer day. It was my belief he knew something about it. His continued struggle to say a couple of words had to mean something important.

  I parked my car and, instead of going into the house, I walked the hundred feet or so up to the bluff’s edge and took another look out to sea. Arness must have seen something.

  A squeak and a footfall behind me interrupted my thoughts. Mrs. Mordant was pushing the old man up the hill.

  “Could you watch him for a while?” she asked. “I have to run an errand.”

  “Sure,” I answered. Thank the Lord for Divine Providence! Now I could ask questions without Mrs. Mordant hanging about and maybe letting slip to her friends that the postmaster was onto something about Gloria’s demise. I pushed him the rest of the way up to the bluff and locked his wheels before sitting down on the bench.

  “It’s a beautiful fall day, isn’t it, sir?”

  My hope was that I could let one subject flow into another, but the old guy beat me to the punch.

  “Blue . . .”

  “Yes, sir, the sky is blue, but that’s not what you’re try
ing to say, is it?”

  He turned slightly in his seat to face me. A tear followed a crevice down his face. He shook his head.

  I heaved a sigh of relief. So far, so good. “Okay, sir. I think you saw something happen out there on the bay the day of your stroke, something that had to do with Gloria Plinski’s death, right?”

  He smiled a big toothy grin and nodded. I could sense what he was thinking; at last, the kid finally got his brains put together!

  “Okay sir, I think we’re going to do fine. What goes with the word “blue?”

  “Co . . .oat,” he said, his eyes searching mine.

  “Coat.” Of course, the person must have worn a blue coat! But just to make sure, I asked him anyway. “Did the person who wore the blue coat hit Gloria?”

  He slumped in his seat.

  Oh, no, I thought, now what? I decided to follow another tact. “Let’s back up a little, sir. Did you see two skiffs that morning?”

  He nodded.

  Great, I thought, we’re back on track. “Gloria was in one skiff, and did you know the other person?”

  He hesitated a moment before shaking his head.

  “Okay, was it a man?”

  He shook his head.

  “Then it was a woman,” I said. I watched to make sure he nodded. “She wore a blue coat?”

  He nodded. All this time he had been trying to tell me something and I was too dumb to guess it concerned the murder.

  Another question came to mind. “Have you seen this other woman in town?”

  He nodded.

  Now we were getting somewhere. It was going to be tough, going down a list, but maybe I could at least break it down to what kind of place. “Was it at the supermarket?”

  He shook his head and then he pointed at me with his shaking hand.

  What did that mean? I sat back for a moment on the bench, giving the old man a rest. But then what was the second most used institution in town? The post office. Scores of people passed through every day, saying hello to friends and avoiding ex husbands and wives who were there at the same time.