“You should have seen her!” Steven said. “He had that gun on her and he demanded I take them into the vault to get the necklace, and she just grabbed that vase and clobbered him with it!”
“And down he went!” a woman clerk behind him echoed.
“I didn't do it to keep him from taking the necklace,” Abby protested, remembering those moments just before she’d swung. A necklace wasn't worth that kind of action. She’d done it only to keep him from hurting anyone.
Steven planted his hands on his hips. “Who is he?”
Abby squirmed around on the floor so she could get a better look at the unconscious man. Gamino? He didn't match Bobby's description of the bicyclist at the door. That man was dark-haired, unshaven or bearded, Bobby had said. This man had a narrow, clean-shaven face, short brown hair and a ragged scar near his ear.
Henry knelt beside the unconscious man and checked his pulse and respiration. Abby wanted to go to him too. After all, she was the one who’d put him in this unconscious condition, and she’d never done that to anyone before. She started to get up, but Henry came over and gently put a hand on her shoulder to restrain her.
“You just take it easy for a few minutes,” he said. He stood up again. “Anyone know him?” he asked.
There were shakes of heads and negative murmurs. Abby watched Steven pick up pieces of the vase and set them on the counter. The clerk started gathering up spilled flowers, and a man came with a mop and started sloshing up the spilled water. One vaseful of water, Abby realized, turned into an impressive lake when spread across a floor.
Deputy Niven stepped forward. He put the man's hands together and snapped handcuffs around his wrists. Only after that precaution did he start patting pockets looking for identification.
He pulled keys and some change from a pants pocket, a wrinkled handkerchief from another. “That's it,” he said. “No wallet, no ID.”
“We’d better get him over to the clinic,” Henry said. “We’ll have to figure out who he is later. You did quite a job on him, Abby.”
Abby wasn't proud of resorting to violent physical action, but she was glad the Lord had given her the strength to prevent worse violence to others from this man.
She started to stand up, then realized her knees were showing an alarming tendency toward behaving like seaweed. Henry started to offer her a helping hand, then stopped.
“Abby, your arm!”
Abby looked at her left arm. An ache was starting deep inside, but at the moment the feeling was more numbness than pain. But should an arm look like that, a little off-kilter just above the wrist? Her mind still felt a little fuzzy, but she didn't think so.
“You’re going to Dr. Randolph too,” Henry said. “That arm's broken.”
“My car's out in the parking lot. But I’m not sure I can drive . . .”
“Of course you can't drive. Deputy Niven will take this guy in the cruiser. I’ll drive you in your—”
“What's going on here?” a big voice boomed.
Hugo! Abby had never been more glad to see anyone. “What are you doing here?” she asked. Even as she spoke the words she realized what an absurdly mundane question it was for an extraordinary situation.
“I stopped in to deposit a check on my way to the post office—” The answer was also mundane until Hugo broke off sharply. “What am I doing here? What are you doing here? On the floor? “
Hugo turned to look at the man now making some twitchy movements that suggested he might be regaining consciousness. “Who is this guy?” Hugo looked bewildered, but then his tone turned ominous when he peered at Abby again. “Did he hurt you?”
“Other way around,” Henry said. “Our slugger took a bad fall, but she pulled a first-round knockout punch on him. Though I don't think he's badly hurt, more like a boxer knocked out briefly.”
“What about the necklace?” Abby asked, remembering how this had all started. “We were going to take it to the jewelry store.”
“The necklace,” Henry said firmly, “will have to wait. I’ll let Gordon Siebert know we won't be bringing it over today. Right now we need to get both of you over to the clinic.”
“I’ll take Abby,” Hugo said instantly. “Unless she needs an ambulance?”
“No ambulance,” Abby said. She was still a little shaky, but she was upright now, her mind and vision clear.
But before she could say anything else, Hugo had scooped her up in his arms and was carrying her toward the door.
“Hugo, put me down right this minute!” Abby said, aghast. “I don't need to be carried around like—”
A flashbulb popped in her face stopping the rest of her words. And there was William Jansen, ace editor/reporter for The Birdcall, snapping photos in all directions. How did he find out about this? Abby knew it was all too likely this ridiculous photo of her and Hugo was going to show up on the front page of The Birdcall.
Hugo paid the editor no attention as he shoved past the man. He didn't put Abby down until she was installed in the front seat of his car and safely buckled in.
Abby spent the next two hours at the clinic, Hugo at her side whenever possible. Dr. Randolph examined the bump on her head, where she’d collided with the floor, and found it tender but not a serious injury. No concussion, no treatment necessary.
The arm was a different story. Definitely broken. After X-rays, Dr. Randolph gently straightened the arm and gave her a pain pill when the pain began overriding the numbness. The arm had started to swell, but Dr. Randolph assured her it was a simple break and should heal nicely. She did, however, say she’d have to wait a couple of days until the swelling went down before putting on a cast. Abby left the clinic with her arm immobilized with a brace and protected with a sling, plus a stern warning that she must be as careful with it as if it were made of porcelain.
She could be thankful for one thing, she realized as they walked out to Hugo's car, his hand gently supporting her. It was her left arm that was broken, not her right. Her activities might be limited, but she could certainly do more than if it were the other way around.
Abby thought she could drive now, but Hugo wouldn't hear of that. He was driving her home, he said in a no-arguments-allowed tone as they walked out to his car. He’d arrange to bring her car out to the house later. He wanted to take her straight home, but Abby had done some thinking in the past two hours.
“Let's go down to the marina,” she said.
“The marina?” Hugo sounded astonished. “This is no time for a boat ride.”
Abby managed a chuckle in spite of the events of the past few hours. “I’m thinking that this guy with the gun must have had a plan of some kind. He couldn't have thought, with or without me as a hostage, that he could just saunter down to the ferry for a getaway. So he must have come by boat, with a plan to leave the same way.”
“Good thinking,” Hugo admitted.
Abby knew the manager at the marina slightly because her father kept his fishing boat in a slip there. They stopped at the office to talk to him. He said there had been no new slip rentals recently, and, at this time of year, there weren't even many boats docking at the temporary sites reserved for visitors.
“One came in last night, though,” he said. He motioned toward the visiting-boat area, and through the big window Abby could see a nice-looking cabin cruiser tied up at the dock. “Actually, it's been here a couple of times in the last few days.”
“You don't know the owner?”
“No. He's never come in to ask about renting a regular boat slip, so I suppose he's just passing through. I don't think I’ve seen him today.”
“It's just one person, not a couple or family?”
“That's all I’ve ever seen. Tall guy, kind of lanky, not very friendly.”
A description that fit exactly, Abby thought.
“Let's go take a look,” Hugo said.
Abby thanked the manager, then walked down on the dock. The cabin cruiser was larger than her father's boat, probably twenty-eig
ht or thirty feet.
“Nice looking boat,” Hugo commented. “Probably not more than a couple of years old. And not a cheap one.”
Very nice indeed, Abby agreed. Spotless white paint and polished brass. Jaunty red curtains at the cabin windows, crisp flag flying, deck scrubbed and clean, ropes neatly coiled. The thought struck Abby that she wouldn't have expected the man at the bank to have such a clean, well-kept, even luxurious looking boat. Or perhaps, she had to admit, she had a certain prejudice toward the sort of person who’d hold a gun to her ribs.
“Looks as if it's registered in Washington,” Hugo said.
He pointed to the number beginning with a WA on the side of the boat. All boats had to carry an easily readable registration number for identification purposes. The name on the boat read Island Toy.
“So, I wonder where the owner is?” Hugo asked.
“I suppose he could be asleep inside the cabin.” The curtains were closed. “Or running errands in Green Harbor.”
“Or,” Hugo suggested wryly, “he could be at the clinic recovering from a blow from our local ornithologist. Or on his way to a holding cell at the substation.”
HUGO DROPPED ABBY AT THE HOUSE but he drove back out in Abby's car that afternoon. He arrived right behind Henry, apparently having arranged to ride back to town with Henry in the cruiser.
Abby was lying on the sofa in the living room when the two men came inside. Another pill was keeping the pain at bay, so she wasn't uncomfortable, but neither did she feel up to anything more strenuous than lying there. Blossom was snuggled up beside her and Mary was fussing over her. Was she warm enough? Did she need another blanket? Another pillow? How about some juice? A magazine?
“So, how's the slugger?” Henry asked as he looked down at her. He was still in uniform, still wearing his gun.
Abby had enough energy to retort, “About to slug you, Sergeant Cobb, if you try to pin that nickname on me.”
She deliberately used his formal name and title to make her displeasure with the nickname stronger, but she doubted it worked.
He was smiling when he said, “Everyone is very proud of you, you know.”
Abby groaned. What would her friends at Cornell think if this got back to them? Slugger. Maybe if she just didn't respond to the new nickname, it would go away.
Hugo pulled up a chair and sat close beside her as the conversation continued.
“Is the man in custody saying anything yet about who he is?” Mary asked.
“Silent as a clam. But I took his fingerprints, so if he has a record, we’ll know who he is before long.”
“I don't see his point in trying to conceal his identity,” Abby said. “It doesn't seem very smart. He must know you’ll find out sooner or later.”
“Anyone who tries to pull what he did has to be long on greed but short on smart,” Hugo observed.
Henry nodded. “Right. I suspect his refusal to give his name is because there's some outstanding charge against him, and he's hoping we won't run across it. But we will, of course, and, whoever he is, he's in one big mess of trouble.”
“What happens to him now?” Abby asked.
“We’ll hold him overnight here. Deputy Niven will stay on guard. Then we’ll transfer him to Friday Harbor where they have the facilities for holding prisoners for a longer period of time.”
“I told Henry about the cabin cruiser down at the marina,” Hugo said. “We drove over there, but the owner still wasn't around.”
“Do you think there's a connection between the boat and the man in custody?” Abby asked Henry.
“It's certainly a possibility. A boat seems like the only way he could have planned to get himself and the necklace off the island after he’d been seen in the bank. It's a fair distance from the bank to the marina, but he probably figured with you as hostage, he could do it.” As Abby had thought earlier, he added, “He couldn't plan on using the ferry. In any case, I’ll run the boat registration numbers through the Washington State Marine Board tomorrow and see what turns up. It's too late to do it today.”
“And you don't worry about coming in to work,” Hugo added sternly to Abby. “You take off all the time you need.”
“It's just a broken arm, and a left one at that,” Abby protested. She waved her good right arm vigorously. “And there's work I need to do on the new exhibit.”
“Don't worry about that. You just take care of that arm. Orders from the boss.”
JUST BEFORE BEDTIME, Mary brought a cup of hot chocolate to Abby on the sofa.
Abby smiled. “You’re spoiling me. With special treatment like this, I may decide to become a lady of leisure and just lie here,” she teased.
“I’m sorry you got hurt. But it feels good to do something for you, after all you’ve done for me.” Mary reached over and gave the blanket over Abby's legs a fractional tug to smooth a nonexistent wrinkle. “Have I ever told you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me? And that I love you very much? When I think of that terrible man, holding a gun on you, and what might have happened . . .”
Mary shook her head, and Abby saw a glint of tears in her sister's eyes. Abby felt a fullness in her own. They’d never been the kind of sisters who talked much about loving each other, but shortly after Abby returned to the island, they’d settled the differences that had caused tensions between them for many years. Right now her heart overflowed with sisterly love for Mary.
Mary blinked, as if she were a little embarrassed at letting her flood of feelings show so openly. With a deliberate attempt at tartness, she added, “So you’d better enjoy it while you can, you know. Because I’m sure I have a limited capacity for this maid stuff.”
“I intend to take advantage of it every minute I can as long as it lasts,” Abby assured her. “So, with that in mind, how about a few marshmallows to add to this hot chocolate?”
Mary made a little face at her, then smiled. “Whatever you wish, ma’am.”
Then, as Mary headed her wheelchair for the kitchen, Abby called after her, “And you know what? I love you too.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ABBY WENT BACK TO Dr. Randolph two days later. She had protested to Mary that she could certainly drive her own car now, but Mary had insisted on taking her in the van. The swelling in her arm had gone down, and the doctor took more X-rays and put on a cast. She recommended Abby also keep on using the sling because of the weight of the cast.
Mary took her home and made Abby lie down on the couch and rest for a while. “Trust me. It takes time for bones to recuperate. I know.”
“I’m fine,” Abby argued. To prove it, she sat up on the sofa rather than lying down. Her injury was so minimal compared to what Mary had gone through with her accident and the loss of the use of her legs. Abby felt fairly normal now, but she had to admit that she did tire much more easily than usual. Healing a bone fracture, even a simple one, apparently took more bodily energy than she would have guessed.
Mary dropped the mail they’d collected from their mailbox onto the coffee table in front of the couch. “If you feel you have to be doing something useful, you can go through the mail while I’m fixing lunch.”
“Nothing more energetic than opening envelopes is allowed?”
“Exactly.”
There wasn't much of interest in the mail. A couple of bills, magazines and catalogs. Then Abby spotted a large envelope with her name written in a rounded, feminine handwriting. She ripped it open eagerly.
“Something interesting?” Mary called as she was setting the kitchen table with place mats and cloth napkins. Mary always took time for those little niceties.
“It's the pamphlets and things Liberty Washington said were in the guest room where Nelson Van Horn had been staying when he visited them.”
She quickly scanned through the items. The receipts were inconsequential, just printed store receipts without Van Horn's name on them. Two pamphlets about expensive brands of boats, two more about the San Juan Islands, and a hang glidin
g magazine. Nothing about expensive necklaces.
“Okay, lunch is on the table,” Mary called. “Anything helpful in what the woman sent you?” she asked when Abby sat down at the table.
“Not that I can see. I knew it was probably too much to hope that there would be, but I’d hoped anyway.”
Just then the phone rang and it was Henry with news regarding the registration of the boat moored in the marina.
“Turns out it's registered to a man named Gregory Wakefield, with an address in Anacortes. Not surprisingly, the fingerprint report on our man in custody also matches to Gregory Wakefield. He has some fairly serious traffic violations, but I think the reason he wouldn't give us his name is because there was a warrant out for his arrest on a burglary charge.”
Abby was happy to have some information on her assailant, at last.
“Thanks, Henry. I appreciate all the work you’re doing,” Abby said.
After Abby and Mary digested this new development, as well as their lunch, Mary decided to drive back into town for some bookkeeping work at Island Blooms.
“You’ll be okay?” she asked anxiously before she left.
“I’ll be fine,” Abby assured her. “I’ll probably nap.”
Abby did nap and woke feeling considerably refreshed. She went through the items that Liberty had sent again, carefully shaking out the pages of the pamphlets in case anything had been tucked inside. One of the boat pamphlets had the word Washington scribbled on it. Her first thought was that the notation simply had something to do with the state of Washington, but then she realized it might be connected with Norbert and Liberty Washington's last name. Could Van Horn have been comparing the boat the Washingtons had for sale with new models of the same brand? It was a long shot, but Abby dialed the phone number of the dealer stamped on the back.
To her disappointment, the call went nowhere. The man she talked to asked several others, but no one knew anything about someone named Van Horn.
The Blue Moon Page 17