A Time to Swill

by Sherry Harris

  I also had to follow up on what Oscar had told me, just in case that was tied in with what was going on now. Fortunately, I was smart enough to know I shouldn’t do any of this on my own. I realized I was holding the coffeepot in my hand, so I put it back on the coffee maker and took Ann her cup.

  “I need to tell you something.”

  Ann put down her book and picked up the coffee. “Shoot.”

  I flinched a bit at the word. I hoped there wouldn’t be any shooting in my near future, or any future for that matter. After glancing around to make sure no one could overhear me, I explained what Oscar had told me.

  “Oscar,” Ann repeated. I nodded. “He told you all that?”

  “Yes.” I brought my brows together for a moment in a concerned look.

  “I talked to that old geezer about this a few weeks ago. He swore he didn’t know a thing.”

  “Maybe he didn’t then,” I said.

  “I told him to let me know if he heard anything.”

  “You aren’t always easy to find,” I said.

  Ann shrugged.

  “I’m heading out there tonight and I wouldn’t mind some company.” It was my Midwestern passive-aggressive way of asking for help. I’d worked on being more direct, but when I was intimidated—and Ann definitely intimidated me—I defaulted back to my roots.

  “How do you plan to get out to the bayou?” Ann asked.

  “Boone’s boat.”

  Ann almost rolled her eyes. “Boone’s boat will stick out like a beacon from a lighthouse and be noisy.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “I’ll pick you up at your place at ten. Dress in black.”

  Ann picked her book back up. I wasn’t sure whether she wanted to help me or if she wanted to save me from myself.

  Antsy with the anticipation of tonight’s events, I decided I’d better keep busy. Since neither Vivi nor Joaquín were here I moved the sea glass, sand dollars, and starfish off the shelf and put a selection of books on it. I added a small sign that read, “Take one, return one.” I put the jar of sea glass on one side to help keep the books upright. Most of the books were mysteries, thrillers, and romances. Novels that made for good beach reads. Then I added a couple of books about the history of the area that I’d bought before I headed down here.

  When I finished that I made the rounds and cleaned. Ten p.m. couldn’t come fast enough.

  * * *

  At ten sharp Ann pulled into my drive in a nondescript, slightly weather-beaten Jeep. Not what I pictured her driving, although maybe she had a warehouse full of different cars for different occasions. At least it wasn’t the motorcycle. It was a new moon, I noted as I walked to the Jeep. Perfect for clandestine activity.

  CHAPTER 33

  “I wasn’t sure you’d pick me up,” I said as I climbed into the Jeep. All the windows had been removed. I was glad I’d worn black leggings with old, black running shoes and a black, long-sleeved T-shirt. It was cool enough without the car moving.

  “I wasn’t sure either, but I decided you provided the intel, so I might as well let you come along. Just follow my instructions.”

  My, aren’t we bossy? Probably the only reason she’d brought me was so if I found something out in the future, I’d share the information with her again. Or she didn’t want me bumbling about on my own. We took a left out of the driveway, drove over to 30A, and a short time later took a left on 98 heading toward Destin. We crossed Choctawhatchee on the Mid-Bay Bridge, paid our toll with cash, and took the first exit to the right.

  “Did you tell your Secret Service contact?”

  “I didn’t. No point in telling him anything yet. Not until we have some facts. Plus, I’m not sure who to trust.”

  Boy, did I understand that feeling. Ann took a left onto a small, paved road. It became a dirt road that wound around until I wasn’t sure which direction we were headed. We drove through tall pines, occasionally passing a house. But soon there weren’t any more houses. Ann turned into the woods on a trail that could barely be called that. We came to a gate locked with chain link and a padlock. A sign on the gate read, “Private, No Trespassing,” with a skull and bones under it. Great. But it was better than being out here by myself. Ann, if anything, exuded a calm confidence.

  “Stay here,” Ann ordered.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I muttered as she got out of the Jeep. I noted no lights came on when she opened the Jeep door.

  She jogged to the gate and had it open in minutes. I couldn’t see if she had a key or if she picked the lock. I hoped it was the former and that this land was her lair. A few night insects made their low sounds. Something small skittered in the pine straw to my right. I couldn’t see it when I looked.

  Ann climbed back into the Jeep and drove through the gate.

  “Want me to close it?” I asked.

  “We’re good.”

  I wondered if she wanted it open in case we needed a fast escape. We drove another fifty yards or so until we came to a small, flat area on a smaller bayou or creek. Ann turned the Jeep around so it pointed toward the trail we’d just traversed. She shut off the Jeep and the lights. I couldn’t see a thing. We sat for a couple of minutes and my eyes adjusted enough to see outlines of things.

  “What’s the plan?” I asked, my voice low. This definitely wasn’t Rocky Bayou, which was wide and lined with houses.

  “I figured no one would be doing anything illegal on the actual bayou. Too many people. But there’s all kinds of creeks and bayous off it. I took an educated guess as to where to come. What I’d do if I was smuggling something.” Ann got out of the car, so I did too. “We may be on a wild-goose chase courtesy of Oscar. He might think it was payback time for you because you got him in trouble in the first place.”

  Ann was the one who’d actually ratted him out, but now wasn’t the time to point that out. “I hope not.”

  “There’s a spot upstream from here with an old hunting camp. It adjoins a piece of land that has an abandoned grass airstrip. They used to use it for takeoff and landing for the planes that fly over the beach with advertising banners. Anyone could add a banner to a plane and no one would take notice about what you were really up to.”

  Those planes flew up and down the beach all day, advertising different restaurants, bars, and amusements.

  Ann walked over to a pile of logs and brush and started tossing things aside. “Are you going to help?”

  A few minutes later we unearthed a small bass boat. It was painted a dark green or black—every inch of it, inside and out. It would be hard to see this time of night. I decided not to question Ann about whose boat it was or whose land we were on. She probably wouldn’t answer anyway.

  We dragged the boat to the creek. I pointed at the motor. “Isn’t that going to be too noisy?”

  Ann pulled an oar out of the boat and tossed it at me. I managed to catch it before it thunked me between my eyes.

  “We paddle. Carry your weight or I’ll toss you overboard.”

  Shades of her pirate ancestry past. Ann would probably make me walk the plank if one was available. “No problem.”

  “Get in,” she ordered.

  I got into the front, and she shoved us off and clambered in. Well, Ann actually slid silently in. I was more the clamberer of the two of us. We paddled silently for about fifteen minutes against the slow current. The banks were lined with trees and scrub brush reaching out over the water. I hoped there weren’t any snakes dangling from the branches. Occasionally, Spanish moss would brush my face making me shiver.

  “Paddle to the shore,” Ann said, her voice low and urgent.

  I heard the whine of an engine heading toward us.

  We paddled to a spot that had trees hanging over the edge of the bank. Ann tossed a rope around a stump so we wouldn’t move.

  “Put some mud on your face. It’s too white.”

  I thought about arguing, but then thought about being left out here. I scooped some mud from the bank and smeared
it over my face and hands. It stank of decay and rot. Maybe it was some unknown miracle wrinkle cure, not that I had many at my age. We got as low as we could in the boat and waited. Ann pulled out some kind of binoculars.

  The sound of the engine got louder. My heart thrummed in time with the engine. I forced myself to slow my breathing. Stay calm. A slightly bigger bass boat came around the corner. Boxes were stacked in the middle. A man sat to the front and another in the back. They were only ten feet from us. If they turned, they’d see us. They pulled up even with us and I held my breath. Ann handed me the binoculars. I held them up, waiting until they adjusted to my vision. I didn’t recognize the man in the front of the boat. But I choked back a gasp when I saw the man in the back.

  CHAPTER 34

  Jed Farwell. He was so close I could almost reach out and touch him. I wanted to drag him out of that boat and shake answers out of him. They puttered on by and disappeared around a bend. Neither Ann nor I said anything until the sound of the motor was barely louder than a cricket, and even then I spoke in a quiet voice.

  “Should we go to the police?” I asked. “Or your Secret Service contact?”

  Ann didn’t answer right away. She was staring up the bayou in the direction the boat had just taken. “The man in the front of the boat? That is my Secret Service contact.”

  I let that sink in for a second. “What now?” I asked.

  “We follow them. The old hunting camp is around the next bend. There’s a cabin that was more lean-to than house last time I was out here. It could be where they are.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. We don’t have any evidence to take to the police. Two men in a boat with boxes don’t add up to anything. I can leave you here and go on by myself. This is more than I thought it would be.”

  I clasped my paddle. “I’m going with you.” I’d like to say it was because I was brave, but sitting out here on my own was scarier than continuing on. Alligators and snakes and bears, oh my. “Do you think the Secret Service agent is undercover?”

  “I hope so,” Ann said. “But I have a feeling he’s not.”

  I nodded, even though it wasn’t what I’d hoped to hear. We used our paddles to shove away from the bank and fell into a rhythmic pattern of paddling. Ten minutes later I was sweating and wondering just how far it was to the next bend. The mud on my face was drying and itched like crazy. I heard the whine of a mosquito by my ear, but none of it made me stop paddling. The sooner we found them, the sooner we could get out of here.

  “When we get to the camp if no one is out, we’ll paddle beyond it and find a spot near the shore to stop.” Ann kept her voice low.

  I didn’t want to think about what would happen if someone was out and spotted us.

  “I’ll go up to the house,” Ann said, “take a look around, and see if I can find out anything. If something goes wrong. Don’t go back the way we came, keep heading up the bayou. It narrows and becomes shallower, so it will be hard for anyone to follow you. In the morning you can find a deer trail. One of them should lead you back to a road.”

  I was going to protest, but her plan made sense. Ann had skills that I was woefully lacking. I couldn’t believe I’d thrust us into a situation that was so dangerous. That wasn’t my intent. And maybe all along I’d just thought that Oscar was messing with me.

  “As we go around the bend, you’ll be able to see before I will. If it’s safe to continue on, keep paddling. If it’s not, hold up your oar.”

  “Then we watch?” I asked, surprised at how uncertain my voice sounded.

  “No. Then we tie the boat off and I’ll approach through the woods.”

  The next ten minutes were like a thousand hours: stroke, stroke, stroke. We turned the bend. Jed’s boat was tied to a brand-new dock that looked out of place here. No one was on it and I didn’t see anyone outside, although lights glowed through the windows of the cabin. It too must have been rebuilt because it wasn’t at all like Ann had described.

  “Pull up beside their boat,” Ann said in a voice just above a whisper.

  I did as I was told. Ann grabbed the other boat, so I did the same. She pulled out two oars and slid them into the water. I watched them head downstream. Ann opened the outboard motor, pulled something out, and tossed it on the floor of our boat. She motioned for me to get going.

  We paddled beyond the dock and found a place where our boat wouldn’t easily be seen and tied it to another stump. Ann scrambled up the bank and disappeared from sight. The quiet unnerved me along with not knowing what was happening. I climbed out of the boat and clawed my way to the top of the bank. I peeked over the top, lying on the sloped bank.

  I settled in to watch through the night-vision binoculars she’d left me, making sure to keep as little of my face as possible from showing over the edge of the bank. It looked like the windows of the cabin were open. Light spilled out. Ann moved like the fog that was beginning to form. Of course that would happen.

  I kept scanning the grounds as Ann peered in a window of the house. I spotted a shadowy shape slinking toward Ann. If Ann moved like fog, he moved like smoke blowing in her direction. I couldn’t cry out because it would bring others. I snatched up a limb and tried to pull myself up. I lost my footing and started sliding toward the water. I pitched the limb up and over the embankment. My hands clawed out. My feet searched for something to stop the slide. Small bits of rock and dirt splashed into the water.

  I latched onto a tree root just before my feet hit the water. My breath was heavy, my heart accelerated. Using the root, I pulled myself up and over the lip of the embankment. Ann still peered in the window. The man stood looking toward the creek before turning back toward Ann. I snatched up the limb and tried to move as quietly as Ann had. Every stick I stepped on sounded like dynamite exploding, but neither of them heard as I approached.

  As the shadow reached for Ann, I drew back the limb like a baseball bat and hit as hard as I could. The blow cracked like someone knocked over a stack of hardback books onto a wood floor. The man crumpled to the ground with an oof. Ann swirled in surprise. I grasped her hand and jerked her toward the boat. We ran. As we slid down the embankment, Ann scooped up a softball-size rock. Once we were in the boat she heaved it downstream like it was a shot put. It made a huge splash. We started paddling upstream like Ann had told me to do. Shouts followed and lights flared all over the property. But we were gone. Two ghosts in the night.

  CHAPTER 35

  When we came to the end of the bayou we hauled the boat out of the water and hid it close to shore in some underbrush. We collected pine straw from under the trees and spread it on the ground to hide the drag marks.

  “It’s not perfect, but it will do for now,” Ann said. “Hold on to the back of my shirt.”

  Ann put on the night-vision binoculars and I clung like I was a kid and her shirt was my blankie. She might think this was a deer path, but I thought a machete would have come in handy.

  “What did you see in the cabin?” I asked after we’d walked for a while and I hadn’t heard any sounds of us being followed.

  “Tables full of guns, cash, and unmarked bottles that were probably liquor, the way one of the men was swigging from a bottle. A duffel bag was on the table.”

  Duffel bag? “The people on the Fair Winds had a duffel bag with them.” Of course the world was full of duffel bags. At least Rip had said that was what it looked like. Would he tell me that if he was involved in this? Was he afraid I’d seen it too, so he had to say something? “The duffel bag could connect whatever was going on with the Fair Winds to this operation.”

  “It could,” Ann agreed. “I also saw lots of turtles.”

  “Turtles?” That was the last thing I’d been expecting. Turtles instead of drugs. This night just kept getting stranger.

  “It’s illegal to sell natural-born turtles. This area is full of them.”

  “What kind?” I asked.

  “Different breeds. Box turtles can go for three hundred
a piece. Other species up to ten thousand dollars in parts of the world.”

  “Ten thousand? That’s more than gold is an ounce.” How could that be?

  “Turtles represent long life and are considered lucky by some people. A box turtle can live for up to eighty years. There are people who collect turtles like other people collect books or art.”

  “That’s awful,” I said.

  “They’re also food for a lot of people.”

  I’d seen turtle soup on the menu of restaurants. “How many people were in the cabin?”

  “Five. Four men and one woman. I only recognized Jed and the Secret Service agent.”

  “Jed will probably move his operation because he knows someone was out there.”

  “I agree. But I’ll have someone watch the place.”

  I shook my head. Not that Ann could see me. I was out in the middle of nowhere with someone who had people who could watch a place. We walked silently for about thirty minutes. Ann made a brief call. Ten minutes later we came to a blacktop road. We stopped under a pine tree and waited for another ten minutes until a battered pickup truck came down the road.

  It pulled over and we climbed in. The man who’d been sitting at Ann’s table at Two Bobs was driving.

  “Drop Chloe off first,” Ann told the driver.

  She didn’t give him the address, but he drove straight to my house.

  * * *

  Wednesday morning my arms and shoulders ached from paddling, or maybe from being tense. However, my face looked great, luminous even. Maybe I should spread bayou mud on it more often. For once I didn’t bother to get up and run. Ann had instructed me not to tell anyone what we’d been up to. As if I didn’t know better than that.

  It didn’t mean I wouldn’t look into the connection between the disappearance of the Fair Winds, its reappearance, the red boat, and Jed Farwell. It all had to be connected somehow. Since I couldn’t do anything about that right now I’d focus on what I could do. I still had to figure out a way to have a look at Steve’s computer. It wasn’t as if I had any hacking skills, or even knew anyone who did. So on my agenda for this morning was to find out where Steve was staying and come up with next steps.