Trawling for Trouble: A Celebration Bay Mystery Novella

by Shelley Freydont

  “Yes, I know, you love pizza,” Liv said, “But cheese is bad for you. Besides we have to drive Chaz home.”

  Ida and Edna saw them to the back door and smiled at them until they’d reached the driveway. Then the door closed.

  “You know they only closed the door so they could run to the window to get a better view of what we’re doing.”

  Liv cracked a yawn. “I know.”

  “And they’ll be disappointed, but you need to get your beauty rest.”

  “Thanks, I plan to sleep to noon tomorrow.”

  “Set your alarm for two o’clock.”

  “That would be PM?”

  Chaz shook his head. “That would be right after midnight.”

  “AM?” she asked, wondering if lack of sleep was making her hear things.

  “AM.”

  Liv groaned. “What on earth for?”

  “Because you and I are going to do a little trawling.”

  “Trawling? That’s a fishing term, right?” Liv said on another yawn.

  “Yep.”

  “Thanks, but I think I’ve had enough of fishing for one lifetime.”

  “Suit yourself. I thought you’d want to be in on the action.”

  “Wait—you’re not talking about fish, are you?”

  “Only as a cover.”

  That woke her up for a second. “And you’re including me?”

  “You always nag me to get involved. Are you wussing out on me?”

  “Of course not. I just don’t know why we can’t wait until tomorrow after coffee. The poor man’s dead. It’s not like he’s going anywhere.”

  “But his killers might be.”

  “Seamus and Gus?”

  “Maybe, but if not them, whoever did kill the guy will show up sooner or later.”

  “To kill Seamus and Gus? Do you think they witnessed the shooting?”

  “I don’t know. We don’t even know who he or she or they are. But I know who might have his ear to the ground, and I intend to find out.”

  “In the middle of the night?”

  “It’s the best time to find the bottom feeders out and about. I’ll pick you up at two fifteen. Don’t bother with makeup and stuff. It’ll be dark.”

  Liv called for Whiskey, who came out of the shrubbery, then she unlocked the carriage house door and he trotted inside. She looked back to Chaz, who had taken out his cell phone.

  “Wear dark clothes and running shoes, and bring a jacket.” He started to turn away, but stopped. “And bring your passport—just in case.”

  “Passport?”

  “You do have one?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then bring it.”

  “Do you want me to give you a ride home?”

  “Thanks, I’ll walk. Go inside.” He lifted his chin to the open door, shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and waited.

  She did, but she watched from the window as he walked down the driveway and turned out of sight.

  Then she let the drape fall and just stood there, wondering why he’d left so suddenly, and why they were going out to the lake in the middle of the night. It was obvious Chaz had something specific in mind.

  But a passport? And then it dawned on her. If they were going into Canadian waters to “fish” and were stopped by the border patrol, they’d need their passports to get into—or out of—the country.

  If the two vets were involved in something dangerous, it might find its way back to the fish camp and Seamus and Gus, or to Chaz, whose boat was moored there. That made a kind of sense, but what she couldn’t figure out was how going “fishing” in the middle of the night would stop whoever might be after them.

  Chapter 7

  True to his word, Chaz drove up at exactly two fifteen. Liv was already waiting on the sidewalk, only half expecting him to actually wake up in time.

  He was always surprising her. Slovenly and bored and lazy most of the time, he transformed into a single-minded newshound when on an investigation.

  Liv just wished he’d be like that all the time.

  Yeah, and if wishes were horses, she told herself and got into the Jeep.

  They didn’t speak, just drank the convenience store coffee Chaz had brought.

  There were cars out, but most of those people were headed home. Liv and Chaz were just starting their night. She assumed he was taking them to the fish camp, so she was surprised when he drove south. When they were past town, Chaz turned toward the lake and looped back onto Lakeside Road to the fish camp.

  His explanation was succinct: “Avoiding that awful Ruth Benedict and her binoculars.”

  Just before he pulled into the drive of the fish camp, Chaz shut off the headlights. They were immediately plunged into darkness. There wasn’t much of a moon out, and what light it gave had to fight its way through a bank of clouds.

  Liv just hoped it didn’t decide to rain while they were out on the water.

  Chaz drove past the camp office and came to a stop in the trees.

  “This is awfully cloak-and-dagger, isn’t it?” Liv said, only half kidding.

  “Not yet.” Chaz shoved his coffee at her and began pulling bags out of the Jeep’s back storage area. He held out a paper bag. “Sandwiches. Peanut butter. It’s all I had.”

  Liv cradled one coffee cup between her elbow and stomach and took the bag. She guessed he was expecting a long night. Liv’s eyes still felt gritty from lack of sleep, but her body was too revved up to want to return to that state. Liv shoved the bag of sandwiches in her Windbreaker pocket, reclaimed the second coffee cup, and followed Chaz and the metal cases down to the pier.

  He placed the cases on the pier and slipped down to the Truth or Consequences deck, slid the boxes onto the deck, and reached back to help Liv. He noticed she was holding two coffee cups and lifted her down by the waist.

  Normally a gesture like this would be followed by some flirtatious remark, but he just put her on her feet and cast off.

  While Liv was getting her sea legs, Chaz climbed to the captain’s deck. Liv had no choice but to ditch one of the coffees before she could climb up after him. She had no idea what was going on, but she didn’t plan to let Chaz out of her sight. She was getting an icky feeling about where they were going.

  Chaz was already seated, and he turned on the boat’s headlight and backed the boat out of the berth. Liv fell into the passenger seat.

  “Why did you coast into camp in the dark and now turn on a light?” she asked over the put-put of the engine.

  “Because I didn’t want to give Ruth ammunition. You may not think it, but I do care about your reputation.”

  Liv spurted coffee out of her nose. “Really?”

  “No. But it’s none of her business, unless you want it spread all over town that she saw us up here in the dead of night.”

  “Oh, the camp’s ‘other’ uses.”

  “Now she’ll just think I’ve taken a party out fishing.” He cut her a look. “Besides, I would never bring a woman here.”

  “Well, that’s good to know, I guess. Because of Ruth?”

  “No. Because I have better taste.”

  Liv wasn’t at all sure about that statement, but she forgot about it when she realized they were headed straight out to the center of the lake.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Vermont, to see some people I know. So when we get there, if we find them, please, for once, don’t talk. Just keep a low profile.”

  He took the Truth into a sharp turn and pushed the throttle, and the motor roared to life. The nose lifted and Liv flailed to keep her balance.

  Chaz snatched the coffee cup from her hand and took a sip.

  “Are these guys crooks?” she yelled. Her hair slashed at her face. She reached up and quickly plaited it into a low braid.
r />   Chaz made a face and pushed the coffee toward her. “What did you do with my coffee?”

  “I had to leave something on deck. I couldn’t climb and carry everything. You didn’t answer me. Are these guys crooks?”

  “Pretty much. Don’t say anything, don’t ask any questions. Just stand there looking hot.”

  “As in . . . ?”

  “As in sexy, not stolen. Maybe you can distract them enough for me to get some info out of them.”

  Liv swiveled the seat around. “Is that why you’re taking me? To be a sex object?”

  Chaz gave her a quick grin. “Pretty much.”

  Liv leaned back and drank her coffee, which, between the bouncing of the boat and the wind in her face, was not an easy feat.

  They appeared to be going north, though Liv didn’t bother to ask questions. She wouldn’t be able to hear the answer even if he deigned to say anything.

  Chaz finally pulled in closer to the Vermont shore. Liv peered out to see if anyone was waiting for them, but it just looked like dark, empty shore.

  They waited, idling for a while. Then Chaz put the boat back in gear and they were heading back west . . . maybe.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Sightseeing.”

  “It’s pitch-black.”

  They rode around for a while longer, slowing as they neared another section of coastline. Chaz went through the same motions as before. Started up the engine and took off again.

  “Do you even know where we’re going?”

  “Not yet.”

  Great. Liv was beginning to think this whole trip was a wild goose chase. That, or he was being given instructions like those blackmail drop-offs on television—or being given the run around.

  Chaz seemed to forget she was there, so she closed her eyes. And must have slept, because the next thing she knew the engine cut back. Then cut out completely. The sudden stillness brought her fully to consciousness—and total darkness.

  “Where—”

  Chaz put his fingers to his lips. Liv could barely see him. He’d not only cut the engine but also the lights.

  The rectangle of his cell phone was the only illumination in the darkness. He seemed to be consulting it. Liv slid off her seat and went to look over his shoulder.

  “GPS?”

  He nodded. “I suggest you sit down.”

  The tone of his voice had her rushing back to her seat.

  Chaz keyed in something to the cell phone. Watched it, returned it to his pocket.

  She wanted to ask what he was doing. How he knew what to do, and who he was looking for. And how did he know these people? And about a thousand other things that flew right out of her head.

  His phone pinged. He turned to her. “Get below.”

  She did—without question, for once.

  They were close to land; she could see the trees and bushes that came almost to the shoreline. The boat seemed to be drifting toward shallow water, but Chaz just stood looking out into the night.

  Then Liv heard it, the soft sound of an engine immediately cut; then she saw a shadow emerge out of the night, coming stealthily toward them . . . and she bet they were no longer in the state of New York.

  A boat appeared out of the mists. At first Liv was afraid it was going to hit them, but Chaz suddenly took the mooring line and tossed overboard. It was caught by someone on the other boat, and he pulled the line taut until the boat stopped beside the Truth.

  Liv took a breath, steadying herself as the poem “A Smuggler’s Song” ran through her mind.

  “Them that asks no questions isn’t told a lie.

  Watch the wall, my darling, as the Gentlemen go by!”

  Liv would be perfectly willing to throw her face against a wall if there were one—which there wasn’t—because three of the scruffiest-looking hoods she’d ever seen boarded the Truth and stood in a semicircle around Chaz.

  One of them smiled. “That your woman?”

  Liv opened her mouth, shut it.

  “These days.”

  “You always did have good taste in women.” The hood chuckled.

  Okay, now Liv was getting creeped out. This wasn’t a Disney movie and these were no “Gentlemen.” And really, since when did Chaz have good taste in women? Besides her, of course. Not that he ever acted on any feelings he might have.

  “Come on out here, sugar.”

  Liv stepped on deck.

  The man moved closer, grinned at her. He wasn’t bad-looking, if you looked past the dirt, the beard, and the attitude.

  “They call me Mouse,” he said, moving even closer. “As in ‘quiet as a’ . . . In every other respect I’m a colossus. If you ever wanna get rid of Chaz here, he has my number.”

  Liv stared straight ahead, trying not to offend him while trying to make herself invisible.

  Mouse swaggered back to Chaz. They were acting like old friends. But for all of Chaz’s questionable qualities, he didn’t strike Liv as someone who hung with criminals.

  “So whatcha doing over here, Chaz? Not running?”

  “No, looking for information about a stiff.”

  “Whatcha got for us?”

  “Besides goodwill?”

  Mouse reared back in a silent laugh.

  Chaz reached into his Windbreaker.

  The two companions stood ready to grab him, but he merely pulled out a wad of bills.

  Mouse took the bills, nodded, and pocketed them.

  “None around here, that we’ve heard of.” He flicked his head toward his companions.

  They both shook their heads.

  “Further north?” Chaz asked.

  Mouse whistled. “Hell, man, what are you into?”

  “Not me. The cops have a couple of old geezers I know in custody for murder.”

  Which was not the whole truth, but she’d never seen Chaz in undercover mode before, and Liv had to hand it to him. He fit right in.

  “Old Seamus?”

  Chaz nodded.

  “Damn. What a stupid ass. What was he doing up there in the first place? I didn’t think he was running for any of the big guys. Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

  Liv’s stomach clenched. Mouse’s reaction couldn’t bode well for Seamus and Gus, or for any of them.

  “If Seamus was up that ways, I think your corpse is probably a bagman named Jimmy the Snail. Runs things back and forth from the city to the border.” He snorted out a half laugh. “Heard some talk. Like maybe he skipped out on a delivery with some of the goods. Which either puts Seamus in with some serious movers, or with two-timing Jimmy the Snail. Either way it comes up the same. They’ll come looking for him. The poor schmuck is in some deep shit.”

  “You don’t know what the cargo was?”

  Mouse shook his head. “I stay as far away from that shit as I can. I’m a poor honest carter. I just move stuff from one place to the other and get paid for it. I don’t need that kind of aggravation. Now I think you and your lady here should get the hell out. If they’re after you, I don’t want them finding me. And even if they aren’t, if I were you, I’d turn this boat around and just keep going ’til you run out of water.” He looked over at the two metal cases. “Those for me?”

  Chaz nodded.

  He turned to leave. “You’re not working with the law?”

  Chaz gave him a look.

  “Didn’t think so. Keep your nose clean, and hell to pay, don’t follow us and don’t go heading toward Canada. They’re nasty. You know that.”

  “I do.”

  “I don’t have to make sure of you, do I?”

  “Nope. We’re solid.”

  “Still and all. Sit here for an hour, before you leave.”

  Chaz nodded.

  His two companions picked up the cases and crossed back to their bo
at. Mouse clapped Chaz’s hand. “Good to see you, man.”

  “You, too.”

  Mouse leapt from the Truth onto his boat. He was as silent as a mouse, Liv thought as they pushed off.

  Chaz just stood there for a minute, then turned to Liv. “Hungry? We might as well eat while we wait.”

  “What? Are we really going to sit here an hour to let them get away? And what was in those cases?”

  “Yes. Unless you feel like getting your head shot off. Me, I’d rather just eat. I’ll even break down and make some more coffee.”

  Momentarily distracted, Liv said. “You can do that?”

  “Yes, as you would have known if you had caught fish the other day instead of a mafia bagman. Come on, I’ll show you.”

  “But what about the cases?”

  “None of your business. But it was just some of Mouse’s stuff he was storing at his mother’s house.”

  “Sounds ominous, if not illegal.”

  Chaz shrugged. “I didn’t ask. So you want coffee or not?”

  “Yes.”

  He led her into the cabin, flipped up a counter to reveal a coffeepot, an apartment-size stove, a fridge, and other assorted cookware. On the other side of the counter a storage bin converted into a small table.

  “Wow,” Liv said. “This is impressive.”

  “My home away from home. The nose sleeps four if you don’t need to roll over.”

  He poured bottled water into a kettle.

  “What was your friend Mouse talking about? Who is Jimmy the Snail? Do you think that’s who we found?”

  “Correction. You. Who you found. And my guess is there’s a good chance that it is.”

  “So shouldn’t we radio to Bill or something and tell him to be on the lookout for other mafia guys?”

  “We will, but I’m giving Harvey his hour.”

  “Mouse’s real name is Harvey?”

  Chapter 8

  Chaz extricated the peanut butter sandwiches from Liv’s pocket and grimaced. “Sandwiches pressé. My fave.” He handed one to Liv.

  It might be smushed, but it looked pretty good to Liv. The slice of pizza she’d eaten at the Zimmerman’s was nothing but a dim memory.