Rising Storm: A Jesse McDermitt Novel (Caribbean Adventure Series Book 11)

by Wayne Stinnett

  As we retraced our steps, I fished my phone out of my pocket, and pulled up Lawrence Lovett’s phone number. He was an old friend who owned his own taxi and had helped me out with good information in the past.

  He answered immediately. “Cap’n Jesse! How yuh been, mon?”

  We talked for a moment, as Charity and I walked toward the building. “I’m here on the Rock,” I said. “At the airport. Can you come and pick me up?”

  “Better dan dat,” he replied. “I’m already here. Just come to di taxi stand out front. I wait for you.”

  I ended the call and we hurried through the terminal. There were two taxis ahead of Lawrence’s big Crown Victoria, and each driver in turn asked if we needed a ride.

  Lawrence saw us approaching and, seeing that I wasn’t alone, he hurried around to the passenger side to open the back door.

  “Blue Heaven,” I told him. “And take the scenic route.”

  “Yes, suh,” the old Androsian replied.

  He drove out of the airport and turned left, in the opposite direction from the restaurant. Within minutes, he’d turned left and right so many times through residential areas that I wasn’t even sure where we were. Charity kept glancing back through the back window.

  We finally turned onto Thomas Street and pulled over to the curb, just past Petronia Street. I handed Lawrence a twenty over the seat and asked him to pick us up in thirty minutes.

  Instead of going inside, I led Charity to the left, through the gate and into the backyard. As predicted, there was just a single couple occupying a table. Well, the couple did have company, in the form of several chickens pecking at the ground all around the yard, but that’s normal in Key Weird.

  We took a table in the corner and both sat with our backs to the wooden fence.

  “This is where Tina worked, isn’t it?” Charity asked, after memorizing the faces of the young tourist couple.

  I’d dated Tina LaMons briefly a few years ago. She and Charity were friends, going back to when both women had been on the Olympic swim team.

  “Yeah,” I replied. And changing the subject, I added, “Another friend used to be the chef here. She’s moved on, but the food’s still good.”

  A waitress came and took our orders. When she’d left, Charity said, “What is it you’re working on? The emerald, I mean.”

  “I’m not sure if I want anyone to know yet. A friend of a friend had something stolen—or, to be exact, her late husband had something stolen. I said I’d look into it, but until I’m sure that the late husband didn’t steal it in the first place, I don’t want to involve anyone else.”

  “Jesse, you’re talking about ethics with someone who has been a government assassin for over a year.”

  “Keyword: government,” I replied, looking her straight in the eye. “Would you help a thief get back something another thief stole?”

  “Depends on who I’m doing it for,” she said without hesitation.

  “Okay, I see your point. And from my side, it’s a very valid point. The widow is pregnant and nearly broke, her late husband was a soldier. If it turns out that the dead soldier was also a thief, I may still get back what was stolen for her. If what Reilly said is to be believed, there’d be no way to return it to its proper owner.”

  “So, you think there was more than just the one emerald? The whole chest?”

  “I think so,” I replied.

  Charity looked across the yard, at the people walking past on the sidewalk. “A lot of places I’ve been the last few years, the ethical and moral lines become very blurred.”

  “Not from where I stand,” I replied. “Right is right and wrong is wrong. I stay on this side of where I know the line is. But if staying on this side means innocent people might get hurt, I have no trouble crossing that line and taking the fight to the wrong-doers on their own terms.”

  “So, this lady’s pregnant and needs help. I’m guessing the police are out.” She studied my face a moment. The two of us had shared some dark secrets in the past and knew things about one another that nobody else knew. I nodded and she continued. “You know you’re going to help her, right or wrong. so just get on with it. You helped me more than you will ever know. I owe my life to you and the things I learned from you. Let me help.”

  “Stockwell wants to debrief you.”

  “Let him wait,” she said, as the waitress came with our meal.

  “Jesse?” a familiar voice called out from the gate. “I thought I saw you come in here.”

  I turned and saw Devon and another detective walking toward us with the hostess. I didn’t recognize the man; he was coatless, wearing a short-sleeve white shirt and dark blue tie. His detective shield was prominently displayed on his belt, just in front of the pistol on his hip.

  Mistrall’s Boat Works looked like dozens of other boatyards up and down Florida’s Intracoastal Waterway: a flat-roofed steel building, with tinted windows across the entire front. The glass was emblazoned with the names of boat, outboard, and parts manufacturers, as well as poster-sized pictures of girls in bikinis and families enjoying time on the water. There were a handful of smaller used and abused boats parked in a gravel area to one side of the parking lot. Over the rooftop, the masts of a number of sailboats could be seen behind the store, and further back, the roof of a tall boat storage building.

  A black Suburban with dark tinted windows pulled into the asphalt parking lot, and the driver parked next to a curb at the far end of the lot. It was a longer walk to the entrance, and there were several empty spots closer. But the driver knew that curbside spots limit the number of other cars that might ding you with a door, and the many empty spots closer to the store lessened the chance that anyone would park next to the big Suburban.

  Inside the store, a man sitting on a stool behind the parts counter watched the brand-new land yacht pull in and park. He went to the front window as a wiry-looking black man got out of the Suburban and started straight for the door, ignoring the boats for sale in the yard. He noted the black man’s arms and immediately assumed he was a sailor.

  The bell over the door rang as the black man stepped inside, removing dark sunglasses.

  “Help you,” the parts man asked.

  “Could be,” the black man replied, extending a hand. “Name’s Tony Jacobs. Are you the owner?”

  “Ned Mistrall, at your service.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mister Mistrall. I’m looking to have my boat hauled out. She needs bottom paint, zincs, and a couple of minor repairs taken care of.”

  “I don’t have much room to put another boat on the hard,” Mistrall said, scratching his temple. “We’re pretty backed up.”

  “But I bet you know one or two guys you could hire for a fast turnaround,” Tony said, not a bit deterred.

  The older man chuckled. “There’s three ways to work on a boat, Mister Jacobs. Fast, good, and cheap. Fortunately, I can do any of those, but a customer only gets to choose two.”

  “I’ve heard you’re one of the best in Miami,” Tony said with a grin. “I want the best there is. So that kinda limits me to either fast or cheap.”

  The corners of the older man’s lips curled up. “I don’t do business that don’t make me smile, Mister Jacobs.” Mistrall turned toward the back of the store. “Come on out to the yard, and I’ll show you around. What kinda boat you got?”

  Tony followed Mistrall back through the store. “She’s a Whitby,” he said to the man’s retreating form. “A forty-two-foot, cutter-rigged ketch.”

  “Solid boat,” Mistrall said, pushing open a large steel door to an indoor shop. “Good single-hander, too. I’ll be honest with ya: I just took on a fast job and pretty much did like ya said, hired three temporary shipwrights to do most of the work. The boat’s supposed to arrive today.”

  “Is it a lot of work?” Tony asked, looking around the busy shop. “Maybe you can get me in after, or during some of your workers’ downtime.”

  “Won’t be any downtime on this job,�
� the shop owner said. “It’s an old salvage vessel that some guy wants to turn into a cruiser, all wood. Removing the salvage gear and making her ship-shape will take at least three days, with all three of them working.”

  “Hmm,” Tony said, looking out at the paved area behind the building. Sailboats, trawlers, and a couple of express cruisers filled the yard, some with tarps over them. There was only one empty spot. “Arriving today and staying for a week? What if he’s a no-show?”

  Mistrall looked toward the empty spot. “I already hired the sub-contractors and they’ll be here tomorrow, on the clock. The owner is paying cash for the refurbish—fifty grand. But if Carmichael ain’t here by morning, I’ll let you have the spot, if you can get it here quick.”

  “You sure that’s okay?” Tony asked. “I don’t want to put anybody out or step on any toes.”

  “He didn’t give me a deposit, and if he don’t show I can’t pay three top-notch shipwrights to sit around twiddling their thumbs. Besides, the guy seemed a little sketchy, if you know what I mean.”

  “I can have it here first thing in the morning, if he doesn’t show up. What time do you open? I’ll call you.”

  Mistrall produced a business card from his shirt pocket and handed it over. “Call me in the morning, before sunrise. If he ain’t here by then, you get that spot. An extra day or two on his work won’t matter much.”

  “You haven’t even given me a price.”

  “And you ain’t asked for one,” Mistrall replied with a grin. “But with three guys on it and me watching over them, I can guarantee it will be done both good and fast.”

  Tony laughed. “So, it won’t be cheap. I get it. I like a guy who’s honest while he digs into the bottom of my wallet. You get it done right and within a week, and I’ll pay your price. Don’t you worry about that.”

  The two shook hands and Tony walked back out through the front of the store. Fishing his cellphone out of his pocket, he walked casually toward the Suburban, aware that the man was watching. He pulled up Jesse’s number from the contact list and pushed the Call button as he got in the SUV.

  Though the SUV had only been sitting for ten minutes, and it wasn’t all that hot outside, super-heated air assaulted Tony. Closing the door and holding the phone to his ear, he felt his bald head immediately bead up with sweat. Starting the engine, he turned the A/C up full blast.

  Jesse answered on the third ring.

  “Hey, Jesse, it’s me, Tony.”

  “Hey, Tony, find out anything?”

  “Carmichael isn’t here yet, but he’s due to arrive just about any time.”

  “You’re sure it’s Carmichael?”

  “Yeah,” Tony replied. “Mistrall said he had an old salvage boat coming up for a refit. He even mentioned the man’s name. If he doesn’t show up, I’m supposed to bring Deuce’s boat there for some work.”

  “You used Deuce’s boat as part of your cover?”

  “Only yacht I’m familiar with,” Tony said, backing out of the parking spot, and turning toward the road.

  “Can you hang out there and see where Carmichael goes after he drops off the boat?”

  “Did you know Deuce bought a brand-new Suburban?” Tony asked.

  “Um, no.”

  “That’s what he gave me to drive up here in,” Tony said. “A black Suburban.”

  “Hot and a little conspicuous for surveillance, huh?”

  Tony glanced at the dash, where a digital display showed an interior temperature of a hundred-and-twenty degrees. He laughed. “We’ve both been in hotter places.”

  “Try to find a shady spot. Somewhere you can see the channel and the front of the store. Let me know when you know something.”

  “Shade in Miami?” Tony said with a chuckle. “What’s this all about, Jesse?”

  “Carmichael might have stolen something from a friend of a friend, only she doesn’t know what it was and can’t go to the police, because of the unknown circumstances surrounding how her late husband came to have it.”

  “This is gonna be one of those pro bono cases, like you talked about last month?”

  “The woman’s pregnant and her husband was a soldier.”

  “Nuff said,” Tony quipped, turning onto the street.

  “It’s looking like the husband stashed a small fortune in Aztec emeralds in the house that he and the wife were building. Carmichael arrived shortly after his death, saying he’d served with the husband and offering to help finish the house. It appears that he found what the husband hid.”

  “Aztec?” Tony whistled softly. “The husband tell her that’s what they were?”

  “It doesn’t look like she even knew it was there. There’s evidence that he hid a small chest in a concrete post at the bottom of the back steps. Carmichael found it and disappeared.”

  Stopping at the corner, Tony waited for traffic to clear, then turned left. “What makes her think it was a chest of ancient jewels?”

  “The thief left one behind. I’m in Key West right now and just had an expert look at it. He says it was mined about seven hundred years ago, in Ecuador.”

  “Dayum!” Tony exclaimed.

  “I’d like to help her if I can. Carmichael left Ramrod yesterday morning. Should be there before dark. Let me know when he arrives.”

  Ending the call, Tony circled the block looking for a shady spot with a view. After a few minutes, he found the closest thing to shade available: a half-dead willow tree in the parking lot of a strip mall next door to the boat shop. At least a nice breeze was blowing off the water behind the strip mall. He parked with as much of the big SUV under what little shade the tree provided and buzzed all the windows down.

  Opening the storage compartment in the console, Tony took out a pair of powerful binoculars and began scanning the water behind the shop. He had a clear view of the channel well out into Biscayne Bay, and the southern approach to the channel, for at least a mile. No salvage boat in sight.

  Laying the field glasses aside, he reached into the console again and pulled out the crossword book and pencil he’d brought, assuming it could turn into a long day.

  “Sorry,” I said to Charity, after returning to the table. “I had to take that. It was Tony.”

  “You didn’t mention I was here, did you?”

  “No,” I replied. “I wouldn’t unless you said so.”

  “That was kind of awkward.”

  “What?” I asked. “He’s on a stakeout, working for Deuce now.”

  “I meant your girlfriend,” Charity replied. “You’re a really terrible liar, and I don’t think she bought your lame story about me being one of your charter clients.”

  “She’s a cop,” I said, looking through the slats of the fence and seeing Lawrence’s cab pull up. “I couldn’t very well tell her you’re a covert CIA asset, could I?”

  I left enough on the table to cover the meal and a generous tip, and we started toward the gate.

  “She’s going to ask you a whole lot of questions before this day is over,” Charity said. “Are you two serious?”

  I thought about that as I held the gate open. Lawrence was already at the side of the car, holding the door. At the gate, Charity scanned up and down the street, then quickly stepped across the sidewalk and into the back seat.

  “Back to di airport, Cap’n?”

  “Yeah,” I replied, sliding in beside Charity. “And—”

  “Take di scenic route?”

  “If you don’t mind,” Charity said, smiling.

  “No problem at all,” Lawrence said, smiling back at her. He closed the door and moved around to the driver’s side.

  Before he got in, I turned toward Charity. “I may need to go up-island real sudden. I’ll be flying the Hopper to my island from here, in case I do. I’d like it if you’d stay on the island. I don’t like leaving with nobody there.”

  “Will you help me move Victor’s boat?”

  “Didn’t you sail it here from the Virgin Islands by yourself?” />
  She smiled as Lawrence got in the front seat. “Local waters, local knowledge.”

  “If we hurry, we can probably get it tied up before dark. I don’t anticipate being called away before then.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Charity said. “About you and Detective Evans.”

  I gave it another moment’s thought. Devon and I hadn’t really discussed any relationship status. What little time she had off, we spent together, so I didn’t think she was seeing anyone else. When we were together, it was good. When we were apart, we both had other things to occupy our minds.

  “Good question,” I replied. “We like each other’s company and we’re comfortable together. But we’ve only been seeing one another for about a month, and haven’t really discussed it.”

  “A month? She’s serious. Just meeting her, she struck me as the kind of woman who doesn’t waste time.”

  When we got back to the Hopper, I noticed that Buck Reilly’s plane was gone. Walking around the plane, I found five of the holes, three in the fuselage and two near the starboard wingtip, three entries and two exits. Either a bullet was somewhere in the plane, or it had exited somewhere I couldn’t see. Neither made the Hopper unsafe.

  I got the old bird started, received taxi instructions, and a few minutes later we were back in the air, banking out over the back-country to the northeast.

  I flew a straight-line course toward my island. We did a low and slow flyover to check for anything floating in the water. Not seeing anything, I lined up on Harbor Light and brought the Hopper down in the skinny water north of the island where Charity’s dinghy was hidden. I idled toward the north shore where I knew it was a little deeper, up close to the little island.

  “Bring your dinghy over to the north dock,” I said, as Charity unbuckled and opened her door.

  She nodded, hung her headset on the hook, and stepped out onto the pontoon, the wash from the prop snapping at her clothes. When I reached the shallows close to the island, Charity stepped off and I waited a couple of seconds before pushing the left pedal to move out to deeper water. Though it was only three-quarters of a mile to my dock, idling on the surface was out of the question. I’d have the wind at my tail, where a gust could lift it and dive a pontoon. Quick way to sink your aircraft.