Walt took some deep breaths, which seemed to slowly bring him back to life. He glanced over at me.
“So why do you two think Cecil might have done it?
“Cecil’s a strange man,” I said, “George thinks he might have made another cage for Margie. He did make those lobster traps you seemed to like so much.” I tried not to sound too mean –but it was hard with Walt. “You were the one who asked him about cages –remember? Plus he’s is a carpenter and has lots of files.”
“Huh?” Henry yelled, looking up from his postcard.
The two seagulls, startled by the noise, took off, banking down towards a patch of seaweed.
“The lock on Margie’s cage was cut with a file.” George said.
“Lots of people have files –not just carpenters,” Walt said.
“This file was really big –like the one’s in wood shop class.”
Walt looked over at the two seagulls now perched on the seaweed.
“Oh.” He said.
26.
The next week seemed to drag by. The tourist’s questions at work were all the same:
“What time is the next Glass Bottom Boat tour?”
“Where’s the cheapest hotel?”
“My son just chipped his tooth –Where’s the dentist’s office?”
The last one was easy because Dr. George Watson used the back bedroom at his home for his office now that work was a little slower. I thought a dentist would always do OK, but people don’t seem to worry about getting their teeth cleaned as often when there isn’t as much money to go around. I think I’d rather not eat than have my teeth all gunked up with tartar, besides it gives me a chance to get to know my future father-in-law better. I started daydreaming about Dr. and Mrs. Watson standing in the front pew of St. Catherine’s as the Father O’Malley said:
“And do you George Watson take this woman to be your lawfully wedded”----
“Sharon–will you go to the Post Office and pick up the mail—Sharon?”
“Oh sorry Mr. Crowell –I’ll go right now.”
I ran out the door, and up the street almost bumping into a fisherman pulling a red wagon filled with three fat tuna. Their tails bounced up and down as the rickety wagon clanked up the cobblestone road.
When I got to the Post Office, Henry Lido sat on the steps opening a large brown envelope.
“Hi Sharon – I just got this from a friend of Gus’ in Seattle.”
“More cards?”
“Yep. Opps –gotta go –I’ll be late for work –see ya later.”
I couldn’t believe how excited Henry was about that package. I know boys who like to collect stamps and coins, but I’ve never met anyone as interested in collecting as Henry was in his Packet Post.
When I got back to the office with the mail, George was waiting for me.
“Can you go to lunch now?” He asked.
I glanced over to Mr. Crowell.
“Sure – you kids take off – just be back about 1:15.”
We decided to split a cheeseburger and fries at the Happy Halibut and grabbed a front booth. It was nice ‘cause we could watch people as they walked on Oceanfront Walk.
George smiled as two tourist girls in bright red bathing suits laughed and pointed at a bald man rubbing suntan oil on his head. Elmer the Iceman waved as he walked by balancing a 50-pound block on his shoulder.
“I can’t believe we thought Elmer was a suspect,” I said dipping a French Fry in the ketchup.
George pointed out on the beach.
“What about Mr. Muscles?”
I watched Billy Thomas in his Sunshine Rentals T-shirt as he adjusted a ladies umbrella. I couldn’t help thinking she probably calls him over every time the sun moves.
“And here comes suspect number three,” I said, as Jeff Stonely walked past with his golf clubs.
“That only leaves Cecil.”
“Don’t forget Joe from Cleveland!”
We both laughed.
George and I didn’t talk at all about the case after that. We mostly talked about how much a starter would cost for the Model T and whether or not it would be easy to install.
“Maybe you could have Billy Thomas teach you how to lift weights –then we wouldn’t need a starter,” I said.
I could tell George didn’t think too much of that suggestion so I quickly changed the subject back to the case.
“Why do you think someone would steal “Margie” anyway –it just doesn’t make any sense?”
“I don’t know –Uh Oh – here he comes.”
“Who?”
“Suspect number four –or is it five?”
27.
Cecil carried a small suitcase and walked fast in the direction of the steamship terminal.
“He’s heading for the boat,” George said.
“Well he’d better hurry or he’ll never make it. I looked at the clock –12:55.”
“Let’s follow him and make sure he gets on.”
I looked across the table.
“Why?” Why do we care if he gets on, besides I only have 20 more minutes for my lunch break.
“That’s plenty of time –c’mon –I’ve got an idea.”
So George and I followed Cecil out to the terminal.
“Let’s stay behind enough so he wouldn’t notice,” George said.
Notice what? I thought –we’re just two kids walking along the beach who just happened to have a glass of water at his house one day. Sometimes my boyfriend almost makes me as crazy as Walter Jenkins.
“I want to search his place while he’s gone,” George said.
“What? Are you crazy? Besides don’t we need a search warrant or something – some member of law enforcement you are?”
“Shhhh – hurry up –he’s almost there.”
I looked up at the fully loaded Steamship – the crewmen started to cast off the ship’s lines.
George and I hid behind the lockers tourists use to store some of their stuff for the day.
“I see him,” George said as he looked around the locker.
“What’s he doing?”
“He’s heading down the ramp – Uh Oh”
“What –whataya mean?”
“No No –it’s Ok –they saw him – they’re waiting for him –he’s on now. The next boat back isn’t until tomorrow morning.”
The other boat –the evening boat –was still at the dock. Two boats came over in the morning. One went back at 1:00 PM and the other at 6:00PM.
“We’ll go out after work, but we’ll need to get Walt.”
“Why?”
“He has to start the car.”
I knew it wasn’t a good time to bring up the starter again, but I wanted to.
Well, I can’t remember when I’ve spent a longer afternoon at work. I kept looking at the clock wondering if four o’clock would ever come. A freckled faced boy about 12 years old ran up to my counter.
“Excuse me Ma’am, can I rent any fishing poles on this island?”
I couldn’t believe a boy just a couple of years younger than me called me “Ma’am.
“Just go talk to Walter Jenkins at the Boat Rental dock – tell him Sharon sent you.”
“Thanks.”
“Oh and please do me a favor young man.”
I just loved adding the “young man” part.
“Sure.”
“Would you mind asking him to please meet us at George’s garage by 4:30?”
“Will do!”
“Don’t forget.”
28.
“ I bet he forgot,” George said.
“It’s not 4:30 yet.” I looked at my watch. I was right –it was 4:27.
“You should have asked him yourself face to face.”
“Did you bring the lock to Margie’s cage?”
“Oh course --look –here he comes.”
“I told you.”
Walt Jenkins came strolling up the alley like he didn’t have a care in world. He picked up a rock and threw
it at a beat up trashcan with 398 hand painted on side.
“Hurry up will you -- for crying out loud.”
I’d already told George not to tell Walt where we were going. I didn’t want Walt to think we were completely nuts.
“Let’s just tell him we want to go for a drive.” I said.
After Walt got the car started he went around to hop in the back seat.
“Thanks Walt”, George said, “we’re just going for a ride around town – we’ll be back later.”
Walt looked sad. He glanced over to me. I held the cage lock in one hand and waved with the other.
“But I wanted to tell you guys something I noticed down at the pier today.”
“Later, we won’t be gone long,” George said
“Thanks for starting the car Walt – it was really nice of you.” I said.
I didn’t even look back as we headed out the alley, but I could see Walt from my side mirror walking down the street with his head down.
I scooted closer to my boyfriend as we headed out of town.
29.
The Model T made as much noise as ever as we drove out of town. Little kids waved and Mrs. Wrendt’s dog Rudy chased us all the way up to Skipjack road.
“This thing sure isn’t a very good detective vehicle –you can hear it coming for miles,” I said.
“At least in this case our suspect is 22 miles away by now.”
“Exactly what are you planning to do when we get there?”
“I’m not exactly sure.”
We rolled along towards Cecil’s place. A small rattlesnake slithered off the road in front of us, and in the distance I could see three rabbits heading for cover. The tall yellow grass rippled in the light breeze. As we rounded a bend in the road I could see the ocean, and a small speck of a boat headed towards the Island. It looked like it was moving fast.
“Do you think Margie might be at Cecil’s?”
“Maybe – we’ll just scout around the outside and look for clues,” George said, “ like snake tracks or skin.”
“We’ll also need to cover our tracks like they do in the movies.”
“What about our tire tracks?”
“We’ll park far enough away so he won’t notice.”
“Whatever you do –don’t turn the engine off.”
“Don’t worry –I’ll leave it running –we’ll be able to hear it.”
“That’s for sure.”
We decided to park at the top of the hill near Walt’s palm tree. Cecil’s bunker was about three blocks away.
“Don’t worry about our tracks going in,” George said, “I’ll use something to cover them on our way out.”
“Grab that small palm frond,” I said pointing to a dried out yellow one.
“Yeah –it’s perfect, even looks like a broom.”
“We need to work fast,” I said.
“Why?” He won’t be back ‘til tomorrow?”
“I know, but we don’t want to waste gas with the engine running all the time, besides what if someone drives out here and turns it off.”
George walked ahead holding the palm frond. I carried the lock and tried to put my feet in his footprints. That way there’d by less to cover up on our way back. I could hear the Model T idling away up on the hill.
When we got to Cecil’s front door, we decided to follow each other all the way around the bunker. That way it would be easier to be sure we cover all of our tracks.
The bunker was built into the side of a small round hill so we were basically just walking around the base of the hill. We could see up the sides.
“This won’t take too long,” George said, “ all we have to do is check around the hill. Why don’t you go first and I’ll sweep up our steps.”
So that’s what we did, I walked ahead, being careful to keep my eye out for Margie, just in case Cecil had her guarding his bunker. This is silly, I thought, we barely have anything at all to even suggest that Cecil was the one who took Margie, except he was a carpenter and probably owned a big file. He was one of only four people on the Island, who knew that Frieda kept Margie at the house. Suddenly it dawned on me.
“Anyone of ‘em could have told someone else about Margie,” I said.
“Maybe, but I don’t think so,” George said.
“Why?”
“Cause this is a small island –everybody knows everyone else’s business. If Walter, you and me didn’t know about Margie, especially from two guys who are in our class—then they didn’t tell anybody else.”
“Makes sense, but it’s “I” not “me.”
“I know –I was just testing you.”
He was right –it didn’t take long to go around that hill, and, except for some rusty tin cans, rabbit tracks and an old army boot –we didn’t find a single clue. I could tell George was disappointed. He’d done a good job of sweeping up our tracks, and, when we got to the front door, I could still hear the Model T. I was ready to get out of there.
George looked at the door.
“Let’s see if it’s open,” he said.
30.
“You’re kidding me right?”
“No, we’ll just check his toolbox for a file and then leave.”
“Even if we find one that matches the cut, that doesn’t mean he did it. You’re employed by the Hamilton Island Police and aren’t supposed to just go walking into someone’s house without a search warrant.”
George just looked so sad.
I knew I was right, that it wasn’t even legal to go into Cecil’s house even if we knew for sure that he was the one who took Margie, but I was disappointed too and we were so close to the toolbox.
“Well we won’t take anything,” I said, “ he probably locked the door anyway.”
George reached for the doorknob and pushed.
The rusty hinges creaked as the door opened.
“Some criminal he is,” I said, “doesn’t even lock his own door. We’re only going to the tool box right?”
“Right.”
I followed George in.
“This place is so messy he won’t even notice we were here,” I said.
“There it is.” George pointed to the large wood box with three shelves.
There was just enough light coming in from the open door to see it standing next to two lobster traps.
“Quick,” I said, my heart beating hard.
George turned to me. His eyes looked a little like the deer we saw on the road that night. He was breathing hard too –almost keeping time with the distant sound of the Model T.
The toolbox wasn’t locked either.
The first shelf held all different size of screwdrivers –both the straight kind and the other criss –cross kind.
The second shelf had several hammers.
When he opened the third shelf. I could hear George breathing even harder – faster now than the Model T.
The shelf was full of files.
“L-Let me see the lock,” George said.
I’d never seen his lips shake like that before and noticed my hands were shaking too.
He tried two of the files and then held up the third one, which I could tell was made by some company named JK, ‘cause I saw those initials on the bottom of the handle.
“L-look Tharon,” George whispered, holding the lock in one hand and the big file in another, “a p-perfect match.”
For a minute I thought George had his lisp back, and he was really scared.
“L-lets get out of here.” I said.
31.
“No George.”
“Just real quick –then we’ll go – I promise.”
Before I could stop him, George set the lock down on a nearby bench and pushed hard on the Ammo Room door. It opened.
“Cecil has rattraps in here.”
The Ammo Room, which was lit from above by a large vent pipe, was mostly empty except for a few boxes in one corner, rattraps hanging from hooks near the door, and what looked liked three gigantic bullets st
anding under the traps.
“Sixteen inch shells,” George said as he carefully examined them, “let’s take a look at those boxes over there.”
“Ah –let’s don’t and say we did.” I said, now wanting nothing more than to be back on Skipjack Road heading for home. The one thing I knew that didn’t live around that bunker was a rat. If Cecil wasn’t trapping them for Margie, what in the world was a carpenter doing with rattraps where there were nothing but rabbits, rattlesnakes, lizards and a few skinny deer.
I don’t exactly remember when I became aware of it, but suddenly I noticed something different. It was quieter – a lot quieter.
“George.” I whispered.
He stood by the boxes in the corner.
“Wait – I see something”
“GEORGE BAILEY.” I screamed.
He looked at me.
“Someone turned off the car!”
Then he looked down.
“Oh my God!”
“What?”
“It’s Margie!”
That’s when the Ammo Room door clanged shut.
32.
We were in Margie’s new cage! It was about twice as big as George’s garage.
George and I looked at each other. It took a minute for our eyes to adjust to the dim light from the roof vent.
“HEY --- LET US OUT!” He yelled.
We heard someone shuffling around in the other room. It took a second for the door to open just a sliver. A hand threw an object high in the air and then slammed the door shut. It made a loud metal sound.
“That must be how he feeds her.” I whispered.
“Well that sure wasn’t a rat.” George said.
George ran to the object being careful to stay away from Margie’s corner of the room. When he brought it back, we both stared at it.
Margie’s broken lock!
“He knows,” George said.
“But we saw him get on the boat –it’s only been five hours since he left.”
“More like six.”
“How did he get back so fast?”
“I don’t know.”
We yelled for ten minutes until we could hardly talk. No one answered. Our biggest problem, of course, was curled up in the corner 20 feet away, and it was getting darker.
Missing Mamba Page 6