“Quitman.”
“You always gotta spoil it.”
“I’m guessing B for Blair and J for Janacek, too.”
“August Janacek, Mr. Smarty Pants.”
“I’ve met these people. My gut tells me nothing sinister is going on, but information is power if I need it. Most likely they want to be in a good place to franchise Elements if the business is a hit.”
“I get it.”
“How’s Denver coming?”
“No new hits. Still searching.”
“What about the other things?”
“Iffy. I don’t want you acting on hearsay I can’t confirm because you find yourself in an either/or situation. Soon as I clear it up, you’ll be the first to know. And if that’s not enough, the black hats hacked into several state vital records servers over the weekend. I’m waiting on a couple of those. They’re starting to come back up, one by one.”
“Make it happen.”
Even with Kelly on the job, fact-finding took time. No wonder his dad had come up empty all those years.
Taylor and Dan got back to work. He started at the rear of the shop making a list of top items on a yellow legal pad. She worked at the front carrying a laundry basket and tossing in loops of steering cable. The mess irritated her. The least she could do was put like items together. Her phone rang, and a couple of loops flipped out of the basket when she set it on the floor.
“Hi. I’m returning your call about the fishing tournament.” The male voice was the same as on the voicemail greeting.
“Thanks for calling. Hang on a second.” She walked over to Dan. “I’m going to step outside and take this.”
“I’ll be right here.” He shooed her out with the pad.
As she closed the door, she put the phone to her ear. “Thanks for holding, and for returning my call so quickly.” She headed down the driveway again, toward the boatyard.
“How can I help you?”
“I have a question about the tournament five years ago.”
“Okay. I’ll make some notes.”
“You still have the records?” She crossed her fingers.
“Since day one.”
“Wonderful. I hoped you would.”
“We retain everything. I volunteered to keep them because I have what my wife calls a man cave out back. We have two file cabinets filled with older records. More recent tournament information is scanned and stored online.”
A string of brown pelicans flew along the shore toward the marina, and she paused to watch. The birds fascinated her. Always had.
“Ma’am? Hello?”
“Oh, sorry. Distracted. Would it be possible for me to look at the records?”
“Umm . . .”
She wouldn’t let him blow her off. “You can stay to make sure I don’t destroy or take anything. I don’t know exactly what I need. I’m trying to solve a family puzzle. I might start with looking for one thing but end by asking for something different after I have the information I wanted originally. You know how that goes.”
“Sounds like my day job. Well . . . I guess I can do that.”
“What time?” Her implication was for today so this wouldn’t drag out longer than necessary.
“After five-thirty. I work in Corpus and get off at four-thirty. Never can tell about traffic.”
“How about seven?” That would give enough time for Trinh and her cousin to poke through the shop. Trinh could lock up if they stayed longer.
“Works for me.”
The directions he gave her were easy to understand—he lived only a block off Church Street. Walking back to the shop, she looked around. The stuffed trash bin would go tomorrow. The place was in fair shape and would hold until she returned next summer. She’d hire a handyman to tackle her growing list of fix-its. Dan, Zia, and Will would help her compile a list of reputable people. Plus she had some remodeling ideas to discuss. A weekend trip or two shouldn’t be a problem, if necessary.
“Wait up!” Will’s footsteps pounded behind her. “Trinh just told me you’ll deal on Rankin’s inventory.”
“Below-market price for you on marine parts. No charge for anything else.”
“Fair enough. I’ll get an overview and come back in the morning for a more thorough look. I’d do it now, but I’m up to the top of my noggin in headaches.”
They went inside. “Go ahead. I’ll sit up here and rest for a bit.”
Will looked around, stopped at items here and there. Near the back, he stopped and talked to Dan, borrowed Dan’s pen, and wrote on his hand. A minute later, he joined her near the door.
“I jotted down a few items.” He flashed his palm at her. “I’ll get back to you with what I think is a fair price. We can start there.”
“Sounds good.”
The door opened before Will could leave, and Glen entered. After half a minute of small talk, Will left and Glen turned to her. “I got your message.”
“Thanks for coming by. I got a message yesterday afternoon at the hotel.”
“Another call?”
“No. A note.” She relayed the message and what the clerk told her about a delivery.
“You have it?”
“It’s safe.” Locked in the bag that held her worthless piece-of-crap laptop.
“Good. I doubt the sender left prints, but I’ll pick it up from you later. I’ll also have a chat with the desk clerk about the messenger.” Glen took a peppermint from a tin and popped it in his mouth. “Want one?”
“No thanks.”
He returned the tin to his pocket. “I have some news for you, too. Or non-news. The report on your uncle has been sent to the state archives. It will be a week or more before I receive it. But the wheels are in motion.”
Taylor sighed. “We’ll be at sea by the time it gets here. You have my cell number and email. You can let me know.” She pushed aside her disappointment. Government time never got in a hurry.
“I will.”
She wouldn’t let Randy’s murder—and she was now as convinced as Jake that Randy was murdered—go uninvestigated. If Glen wasn’t able to get the case reopened, she would explore alternatives. When she got back to Charleston, she’d call someone at District Legal to find out what those alternatives were. She had a plan. She turned her thoughts back to Glen.
“The other reason I called you is Dan and I are done in here. I thought you might like a better look. If you find anything you want, take it. The rest will go to an as-is buyer, so a few items won’t make any difference.”
Glen reached for the fishing shirt. If he took it, half her display would disappear. His fingers touched the placket, turned it a few different ways, and checked the collar before putting it back. “Too small. I need an extra large. I remember that tournament.”
“You do?” The words escaped before she could stop them.
“It was only five years ago.”
“You fish all the time. How do you remember one tournament?”
“Nate Brady won. I still think he cheated.”
Nate Brady. Every lead kept coming back to that pig-eyed, egotistical wannabe sailor. If Glen hadn’t been standing in front of her, she would’ve pumped her fist and shouted Yes! She had to tell Jake.
Glen gathered a few items, including two boat fenders. As soon as he left, Taylor called Jake, excited to tell him the news about Nate Brady. He picked up on the first ring.
“I know who won the grand prize in the fishing tournament.”
“Who?”
“Nate Brady.”
“How did you find out?” His voice sounded tight.
“Glen stopped in to look around. He told me.”
“I told you I’d call.”
“Did you?” She could accuse as easily as he did.
“I’ve been busy.”
She huffed and threw up her free hand. “So have I. Don’t get ticked at me because I gave you a name. See what else you can find out. I have to go.” She hung up before he said anything else.
Dan interrupted her search for gears and pulleys. “That’s it, Taylor. Stop sorting. Potential buyers won’t care. We can stick a fork in it—we’re done.”
She surveyed the massive space. Where Randy had artfully crafted confusion and chaos, now most items could be partially seen and pathways defined the area. Randy had wanted her to do this. “Thank you again.”
Dan waved off her thanks. “You’ll net more for what’s here than you would have for everything, including the items I’m taking, if you’d tried to sell in the original condition with all the trash and debris.”
“I’m glad we don’t have to take inventory. Can you imagine?”
He chose random items and listed them on an imaginary slate. “Two white pottery coffee mugs. One kayak paddle, however many inches. Five stainless cleats.”
Taylor laughed. “We’d be here a month.”
“For not much more money. I compiled a general category listing. Bulk buyers like a bullet list of what they’re buying.”
Paraphernalia of all kinds still stuffed the space, but Rankin’s Marine Salvage was nothing like the junk heap it had been.
“Tonight I’ll figure out a price for what I’m taking. I’ve been keeping a running total, but I want to recalculate.”
She touched his arm. “Don’t worry. I’m serious. Your help was priceless. I’m giving things to others for free, and to you, too. You helped above and beyond the call of duty.”
“No, I can’t—”
“You helped me and will continue to help me by finding a buyer for the rest. Consider your treasures a gift from me and from Randy. Believe me, you earned whatever they’re worth. I don’t care if you picked an antique worth a million dollars.”
“Absolutely not.” He pursed his lips and shook his head.
Her phone rang. “We’ll finish talking about this in a bit.”
“I’ll start loading the pieces that will fit in my car. Tomorrow I’ll bring A.J.’s truck for the rest.” He picked up a box filled with old metal toys as she answered.
“Taylor Campbell.”
“Boy, I’m glad I caught you. I have to work overtime, and I won’t be able to meet you today to go through those tournament records.”
Her spirits fell. She was sure the answer hinged on the shirt. Nate Brady won the tournament, but other names might provide additional clues or elevate Nate Brady’s importance. His name might or might not be the one she needed.
“My replacement had an appointment and is running late. I keep saying I’m going to find a job outside of refinery work, but the money’s too good.”
“Not your fault. How about tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow works. Do you have any idea what you need? I might know the answer without looking at the file.”
“I’m looking for names, but I don’t know which ones. Someone who would’ve had a patch from that tournament. Or a shirt with the logo on the back.”
“That could be anyone who paid the entry fee. In both cases.”
“Or names of the winners. Or a booby prize winner. Something distinctive.”
“I’ll work in that direction when I get home. My wife will be home in a bit. I’ll call and leave her a message.”
Dan came back in.
“Thanks. I appreciate your help.” She hung up.
Dan leaned against the door and smiled. “I understand you mean well, and you want to repay me for helping you. But, really, I love wallowing in chintz.”
She laughed.
“And I loved getting to know you. Our time together was good therapy. If you hadn’t let me help, I would’ve been hurt.”
“I would’ve thrown everything into about ten Bixby bins. You realize that.”
“What a shame that would’ve been.” He his sad eyes brightened. “Ooh, an idea!”
“What?”
“I’ll pay you a fair price for my items. That means about a third of what they’re worth on the market. A little better than you’d get from a pawn shop on things they’d take.”
She shook her head.
“Hear me out.” He held up his hands. “In return you can pay me a finder’s fee for locating someone to buy the rest of these treasures.”
“Fifteen percent.”
He laughed. “Five.”
“Ten.” She glared at him with her hands on her hips.
But he didn’t give in. “Five.”
She lifted her hand with her pointer finger raised. “And a beer. Or two.” She raised the next finger to join the first.
“Deal.”
Five minutes later, they walked into an energy-filled Lulu’s.
Glen sat at the bar with a man she didn’t recognize. She waved as she followed Dan to the back near the patio. Two servers worked the booths and tables. Lulu stayed behind the bar.
They slid into a booth and Taylor ordered beers and chips and salsa for both of them. “I finally feel myself relaxing. We accomplished a lot.” She stretched.
“You deserve an award for being willing to tackle the mess. Most people I know would’ve run away. Speaking of which . . . you’re leaving Thursday?”
“Right. If I hit a delay, it gives me enough time to check in on Friday. I need the weekend to catch up with what’s happened on the Susquehanna while I’ve been here. Monday we get underway for Savannah to stand guard at the Tall Ships Festival, then on to patrol.”
“How long do you stay at sea?”
“Patrols are various lengths, but usually in the neighborhood of thirty days.” Often patrols were extended for one reason or another, but rarely cut short. “We’re scheduled to be back in port the first week of August.”
Dan’s phone rang. Taylor patted her phone pocket out of habit. Empty. She checked both pockets. Then looked in her chair, on the floor, and in her bag.
“Okay. Thanks for letting me know. Bye.” Dan turned to Taylor. “Julie. My youngest niece sprained her ankle. Uncle Dan will take her a feel-better gift on the way home. Our custom.”
“That’s sweet. I can’t find my phone. Either it slipped out of my pocket in the car or back at the shop. I have to track it down—don’t let anyone steal my beer.”
Jake pulled into Lulu’s lot. Searching for a place to park, he spied Taylor’s car sitting among the pickups and SUVs and smiled. She’d been so feisty this afternoon, and he wanted to discover where all that energy led. Damn! He hadn’t found out about the shirt. He’d spent the day looking for Nate Brady and come up empty. But he had a list of places to keep looking, and he’d make another pass or two before calling it a day. A pickup backed out ahead of him and he didn’t let the spot get cold.
His phone rang before he put the car in park, so he fished it out and kept his foot on the brake. Taylor hurried out of Lulu’s a few cars away from him and darted toward her car.
“Hang on, Kel.” He put the car in park, unbuckled the seatbelt, and swiveled around to keep an eye on Taylor.
She moved her hands over the driver’s seat, next to the console, and looked on the floor both front and back before climbing in and speeding out of the lot. He and fifty million others had made the same moves. She’d lost something—probably her phone—and would be heading back to the shop. He’d follow as soon as he talked to Kelly, in case he needed to write.
“Okay. Whatcha got?”
Taylor opened the shop door less than two minutes after she left Lulu’s and went straight to where she and Dan had been standing. After ending the call about the fishing tournament, she had slipped the phone into her pocket. Her pocket didn’t have a hole, so she must have missed and dropped the phone on the floor. Taylor got on all fours to search.
Ah! There—under a small grill stashed beneath a table. What a klutz. As she stood, she pressed the flashing voicemail button. The
computer voice said she had one new message.
The door opened. She looked up. Zia stood backlit by the bright outdoor light. “On the phone. Come on in. I’ll just be a minute.”
Taylor missed the beginning of the message and pressed the button to start over, turning toward the wall as she did.
The message started again. “Hello, Ms. Campbell. I have the basic information you asked for. Turns out my wife was already home, and she looked up the names you asked for.”
As she listened to the man ramble on and on, Taylor watched Zia saunter to the far end of the shop, looking at some things, ignoring others. Still searching for a treasure to reach out and hug her, Taylor guessed.
“I don’t know why I didn’t remember this before when we talked, but as soon as my wife read the winners off, that tournament came back crystal clear.”
Zia turned and started toward her. She wore a necklace with six chunks of lapis lazuli held in place by narrow bands of silver. Holy Mother of God. The lapis matched the quality of the stones on Taylor’s watchband and in Jake’s belt buckle—free of calcite, and touched with streaks of gold pyrite—but smaller. The nuggets had been cut, like the pieces on the watchband.
Taylor tried to smile, but it wouldn’t come. Instead, she covered her other ear with her hand, as if to hear the message better.
“The grand prize winner was Nate Brady. Besides Brady, the winners for other species were Adam Ballinger, Jeff Malek, and Cesar Vargas.”
Zia twisted the silver strands of her necklace around her finger, her vacant eyes staring straight ahead.
Taylor’s quaking insides could measure nine-point-five on the Richter scale. What should she do? Listen to the message until she thought of something?
“The big news that year was the blowup between Nate Brady and ol’ Ross Markham’s baby brother, Hunter.”
Markham and Brady?
“They got into a fistfight at the scale.”
Sweat popped out on Taylor’s palms. As it was, they shook so much the phone bounced against her ear. Her breath caught in her throat.
“Hunter Markham accused Nate Brady of stuffing sinkers in the fish, but turned out the win was clean. Brady’s fish won by one ounce and half an inch. So I’d think the name you’re looking for would be either Markham or Brady.”
Solomon's Compass Page 28