Don't Turn Your Back on the Ocean

by Janet Dawson

  “So if Peter came back early, on Friday,” I said, “he must have gone straight from the airport to the Rocky Point Restaurant. But why? Unless the bartender who identified him from the snapshot is mistaken. But I don’t think so.”

  “I also managed to talk with Mrs. Costello, the Logans’ housekeeper.” Minna shook her head. “She was no help, I’m afraid. She didn’t see either Sylvie or Peter until she went to work Monday morning.”

  The phone rang and Errol went to answer it. A moment later he appeared at the French doors leading to the kitchen. “Jeri, it’s for you. It’s your cousin Donna.”

  I got up and walked into the house, taking the phone extension Errol held out for me.

  “I’ve been calling around, trying to find you,” Donna said, her voice revving with excitement. “Bobby’s out of jail. The DA declined to press charges.”

  Thirty

  “WHAT HAPPENED?”

  Bobby and I walked along the sidewalk between Fisherman’s Wharf and Commercial Wharf Two. To our left, boats bobbed gently in the marina. We’d just left Ravella’s and a tearful reunion between parents and son. Now Bobby wanted to check on the Nicky II.

  “My AA group,” Bobby said simply. “I thought they only knew me by my first name. But a couple of people from the group contacted the DA or the sheriff’s office and said I was at the AA meeting two weeks ago. I guess Magruder was hot under the collar when they cut me loose. When Dad picked me up, he said he’d heard the sergeant had a partial plate number on the T-bird the waitress saw at Rocky Point. But it wasn’t my car. Couldn’t have been. That AA meeting is every Friday at seven. I got there before it started and I stayed till it broke up at nine.”

  “Maybe it was your car.”

  “How could that be?” Bobby shook his head as we passed the harbormaster’s office and started up Wharf Two. “You’re thinking somebody stole the T-bird. No way. I locked the car. Besides, it was sitting in the same spot when I left the meeting.”

  “Right before Magruder arrested you yesterday I asked if anyone besides you has a set of keys to your car.”

  “Only Dad.” Bobby stopped and frowned. “But... back when I was drinking, I wasn’t too careful about those keys. Or who borrowed the car.”

  Easy enough, I thought, for the borrower to stop at the nearest hardware store to have an extra set made. “Who’s borrowed the T-bird over the past year?”

  “Any one of the guys who work for me on the boat.” He gestured toward the area between the wharf and the Coast Guard jetty where the Nicky II rode at anchor.

  “Including Frank Alviso?”

  Bobby looked at me, troubled. “Yeah, Frank borrowed the car a couple of times.”

  “Why did you fire Frank?” I asked.

  “He’s a fuckup,” Bobby said. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his blue jeans and slowed his pace on the planked surface of the wharf. “He didn’t pull his share of the load. He was always late. He was always messing up. He always had lots of excuses, and the more he talked, the lamer they sounded. Finally I had enough. So I canned him.”

  “Was he a friend?”

  “I thought so.” Bobby stared out at the boats. Beyond them, the sun inched its way toward the horizon. “Frank and I used to be drinking buddies. I put up with his crap for a long time, until I got sober. That’s when the fog lifted. When I fired him, Frank told me I was more fun when I was drinking.”

  Bobby sighed. “My AA sponsor says this happens a lot. Sometimes your friends aren’t your friends anymore. Because all you had in common was the booze.”

  We walked along in silence. When we reached the end of Wharf Two I stopped and leaned on the railing, watching a sleek sea lion swim from under the pilings. “Is Frank the kind of guy who would hold a grudge?”

  “Yeah,” Bobby admitted. “Big time. But it’s one thing to hold a grudge and another to kill someone. I can’t see Frank as a killer.”

  I could, I thought, recalling the shifty-eyed Alviso from our encounter at Beckman Boat Works. If he’d been involved in the pelican mutilations several years back, he was a killer, a very cruel one.

  “Several years ago when those pelicans were being mutilated, Alviso and another guy named McCall were on the list of suspects. Did Frank ever do or say anything that could tie him to that?”

  “He doesn’t like cats,” Bobby said. “He used to joke about running them down on the road. I guess if he’d mistreat one animal he’d mistreat another. But that’s sort of an impulse thing. To cut off the pelican’s bill you got to catch the bird first. Frank’s not that organized. Hell, I don’t know, Jeri. Maybe he’s doing the birds. The guy’s a jerk. He has been for years. I just couldn’t see it until I sobered up.”

  “About sobering up,” I said, turning to him. “When I was in San Luis Obispo earlier this week I talked to Ariel’s roommate, Maggie. Tell me what happened last April, after Ariel gave you that ultimatum about your drinking.”

  He gave me a sideways glance and sighed. “I was pissed at Ariel. Me? I didn’t have a problem with booze. I just got tanked every weekend. So I stomped out of Ariel’s apartment and went steaming up 101 like a bat out of hell.”

  He shook his head, rubbing his chin wearily. “I stopped in Paso Robles, bought a six-pack, and guzzled beer all the way to King City. That’s where I got pulled over. Not quite shit-faced, but almost, with an open container on the seat next to me. Failed the sobriety test. Next thing I knew I was being booked into the King City jail. I already had two DWIs on my record. I figured I was looking at serious jail time.”

  “You called Karl Beckman,” I guessed.

  Bobby nodded. “Yeah. Karl saved my ass, Jeri. He drove down to King City to get me. I don’t know how he did it, but he got me out of that jam. They even deep-sixed the arrest report.”

  “So that’s why you owe him. He kept you out of jail.”

  “It was more than that, Jeri. He kicked my butt when it needed kicking. After Karl got me out of jail he took me outside and backed me up against the T-bird. He said, ‘This is between you and me. No one else needs to know. But it’s the last time I’ll help you. Next time you screw up, you’re on your own.’ “

  Bobby stopped and sighed. “That was the second time in twelve hours someone I care about told me I’d better clean up my act. It got my attention.”

  “So you stopped drinking.”

  “Yeah. Quit cold turkey. Thank God I wasn’t to the point I needed detox. But it was rough. The AA meetings are a lifesaver.” He looked sideways at me and flashed a pale imitation of his usual wicked grin. “But you know, cuz, I’ve got such a bad reputation, I’m like the boy that cried wolf. Nobody believes anything good about me. Ariel’s parents think I killed her, and so does that stony-faced sergeant.”

  “Karl must have called in some serious markers to keep you out of jail. Does he have that kind of clout in King City?”

  “I don’t know.” Bobby shrugged. “Karl didn’t say and I didn’t ask.”

  “You just figured you owed him a big one.”

  “I do.”

  “I think I’ve guessed why you and Ariel were arguing, Bobby. Something’s going on at Beckman Boat Works.”

  By now the sun had slipped to the horizon. Lights glowed in the windows of the restaurants on Fisherman’s Wharf and streetlights went on all over the marina area. I looked at Bobby’s face in the overhead light, trying to read it. He looked stubborn and he didn’t respond to the question implied in my statement.

  “Ariel loved the ocean and she was active in the environmental movement on the central coast. Sometime this summer, she got the idea that Beckman Boat Works is polluting the bay. She wanted to report it to someone. But you wanted to talk to Karl Beckman first. You asked her to give you twenty-four hours to have that conversation.”

  I paused and stared into my cousin’s dark eyes. “Come on, Bobby. Level with me. I can’t help you if you don’t. Is Karl Beckman dumping toxic chemicals into Monterey Bay?”

  “
Karl wouldn’t do something like that,” Bobby said flatly, shaking his head for emphasis. “Any more than I would. He makes his living from the sea just like I do. We’re all part of the same food chain.”

  “But you don’t know for sure.”

  “Neither did Ariel.” He clenched his fist and brought it down hard on the railing. “She didn’t have any proof. Hell, there’s always gonna be runoff from a boatyard. It’s on the shore. Maybe one of the workers spills a little solvent and it gets washed into the bay. Just like every now and then I spill a little diesel fuel. Accidents happen.”

  “But Ariel wasn’t talking about accidents, was she? She was afraid it was something larger, something deliberate.”

  “She didn’t have any proof,” Bobby repeated stubbornly. “All she had was this wild idea. I told her she couldn’t put a guy out of business on suspicions.”

  “Where did she get those suspicions?”

  “I took her out on the boat,” Bobby said. “Last August. It was the night before she saw those sea lions. We saw a cabin cruiser. The Marvella B. It was off Point Pinos. I was busy in the wheelhouse but Ariel said she saw Lacy Beckman on the cruiser. I didn’t think anything about it, but later, when Maggie was here for the weekend, Karl showed us around the yard. Lacy was there, and Ariel asked her about the Marvella B. Lacy said the yard just finished some woodworking on the interior and the night Ariel saw her she was taking it back to the owner in Santa Cruz. I didn’t think anything about it. Then Ariel started asking Karl all sorts of questions about paint, solvents, and chemicals.”

  “Somehow Ariel connected that boat with what happened to the sea lions,” I said. “And since the boat was at the yard...”

  “I don’t see the connection,” Bobby said.

  “She must have had more specific evidence. What was it?”

  “She wouldn’t say. Like she didn’t trust me not to go spill my guts to Karl.”

  “You and Karl are pretty tight, despite the difference in your ages. And you’re dead set against anything bad about him. Maybe that’s why she was reluctant to give you the details. But she agreed to let you give him a heads up.”

  Now Bobby nodded. “Twenty-four hours, that’s all I wanted, to confront him. I told her after that she could call anybody she wanted and report whatever evidence she had. I just wanted to talk to him, to watch his face to see if it was true. I owe him that much.”

  “But you never found him that weekend.” I heard a splash nearby and caught a glimpse of two eyes reflected in the overhead light as a sea lion slipped by. “Did you ever discuss Ariel’s accusations with Karl?”

  “Yes. Monday. The day Ariel was reported missing. He said it was crazy, nonsense. I didn’t pursue it any further. Ariel was missing. I couldn’t think of anything else.” Bobby sighed and leaned over the railing, staring down at the dark water.

  I didn’t say anything. Instead, I recalled my conversation with Karl Beckman on Sunday afternoon at Café Marie, before we’d been interrupted by the stink bomb. Not only had the boatyard owner refused to tell me where he was the weekend Ariel Logan disappeared, he also denied knowing why Bobby wanted to talk with him. Beckman was lying to me. I wanted to know why.

  Thirty-one

  I DETOURED PAST BECKMAN BOAT WORKS, CLOSED for the night, though I saw a light on in the upstairs office. A small light-colored pickup truck with a logo on the driver’s-side door was parked near the door. As I watched from my vantage point at the curb, the upstairs light went off. A moment later Lacy Beckman came through the door, locked it behind her, and got into the truck.

  Catching up on paperwork? That’s what Lacy told me she was doing that Friday afternoon when Bobby came looking for Karl. That seemed to give her an alibi for the time Ariel was seen near a Beckman truck. But had anyone seen Lacy up in the office?

  I followed her as she drove down Foam Street and entered the parking lot of a grocery store. After twenty minutes inside, she returned to the truck, carrying a brown paper sack, which she deposited in the bed of the pickup. I kept several car lengths behind her as she took David Avenue up the New Monterey hill that overlooked the bay, turning left onto Pine Street. Midway along the block she parked on the curb in front of a house with an overgrown garden and no lights. As I passed her, she was still behind the wheel of the pickup and I couldn’t tell whether she knew someone had been following her. I circled the block, but by the time I returned, Lacy was nowhere in sight. There were still no lights on in the house but I saw now that it had a small cottage in the back, light streaming through a front window.

  I headed for downtown to Café Marie, intending to give Mother an update on Bobby’s release from jail. It was seven-thirty on a Friday night in Monterey and the restaurant should have been packed with diners and people waiting at the bar for a table, buzzing with conversation, and with the clink of tableware against plates. Instead it was half-empty and too quiet. I felt as though I’d walked into a chapel.

  I spotted Rachel Donahoe escorting two people through too many empty tables, seating them near the window, at the table where the Beckmans and the Gradys had been last Saturday night. I walked up to the bar, where Evan looked glum and not busy enough. He perked up when he saw me, a potential customer. “You want something to drink?”

  I shook my head, leaning my elbows on the bar. “Not right now. I’m looking for Mother.” I peered past him at the kitchen, where Julian reigned in his white coat and toque, barking orders at one of the cooks. “Business is way down.”

  “Is this pathetic or what?” Evan swept the dining room with a glance. “Friday night we should be hopping, with locals and people in town for the weekend. We’d better get some customers in here or we’re in deep trouble.”

  I glanced at Rachel’s reservation book and saw a lot of gaps. Then I poked my head into the office but Mother wasn’t there, so I walked back to the kitchen. I stopped at the counter where the servers picked up their orders, watching Julian work. He must have sensed my eyes on him. He looked up, saw me, and frowned.

  “Where’s Mother?” I asked him.

  “She had a splitting headache. I told her to go home, take some drugs, and lie down. It isn’t as though we’re overwhelmed with customers.”

  That must have been some headache for Mother to leave the restaurant on a Friday. I jerked my head in the direction of the semideserted dining room. “Has it been like this ever since you reopened?”

  Julian’s mouth thinned into a hard line and he gave me a curt nod. I stepped back as one of the cooks placed two entrées on the counter and the server came to collect them.

  My mother’s Honda was parked in the driveway of her house. Behind it was a small pickup. I left my Toyota along the curb and walked up to the truck. A Chevy, light blue, with the now familiar logo of a sailboat and lettering in dark blue.

  So much for following Julian’s advice, I thought as I went up the steps and opened the door. In the living room, Mother and Karl Beckman sat close together at one end of the sofa. His left arm was draped around her shoulders, his hand toying with a strand of her hair. His right hand held hers. I tried to keep my face blank but something of what I felt at seeing them in this intimate pose must have been abundantly clear. Mother dropped Karl’s hand and he straightened, although he didn’t remove his arm from her shoulders. He gave me a big smile instead.

  “Bobby’s out of jail,” Mother said, reaching for the mug of peppermint tea on the coffee table. “The district attorney decided not to charge him.”

  “I know. I’ve been down at the wharf, talking with him.” I paced restlessly in the small living room. “I went by the restaurant. Julian said you’d gone home.”

  Mother nodded over the rim of her mug. “I had a terrible headache. But it’s better now.” She set her tea back on the coffee table and pressed her hands against her temples. “I’ve been so worried. Business has been slow, since what happened Sunday was on the front page of the Herald Monday morning.”

  “Don’t fret about t
hat, Marie,” Karl said, taking her hand again. “Once all the hoopla dies down, things will be back to normal.”

  So far I hadn’t acknowledged Karl Beckman’s presence, but that was about to change. As long as he was here, I intended to get some answers, to the questions he’d avoided on Sunday, as well as some new ones.

  I fixed him with an unwavering gaze. “Mr. Beckman, on Sunday afternoon I asked you whether you knew why Bobby wanted to talk to you about the weekend Ariel Logan was killed. You said you didn’t. But you do know why. You and Bobby talked about it Monday, the same day Ariel Logan was reported missing.”

  “What are you saying?” The thick blond eyebrows above Karl Beckman’s hazel eyes came down as he frowned. I watched his face and detected a slight flush.

  “I’m saying you lied to me. Why?”

  “Jeri!” My mother’s voice cut across the tension that linked me and Karl but did nothing to dissipate it.

  “I thought there was no point in mentioning it.” His voice was even. “It was so ludicrous I didn’t give it much credence.”

  “Ludicrous,” I repeated. “Those are some serious allegations. Bobby said you denied it.”

  “Denied what?” Mother demanded. Now she sat on the edge of the sofa as she looked from Karl Beckman to me, dismay and concern vying for primacy on her face.

  “Toxic chemicals in Monterey Bay,” I said, “and how they got there.”

  Karl’s face reddened and his jaw tightened. He removed his arm from Mother’s shoulders and leaned forward, staring right at me. “Absolutely absurd. And unfounded. My operation is in full compliance with environmental regulations. I wondered why Ariel was asking so many questions about the boatyard. At the time I just thought she was curious, interested. When Bobby told me she claimed to have some kind of evidence, I was flabbergasted. Where on earth could she get such an idea?”