If he didn’t want to, he wasn’t going to give up any hints as to what he knew, how much he’d been told, what he’d agree to, or what he’d surmised on his own. This man was a closed book.
“Michael says that’s what the crow’s nest is for. To watch for whales. You ever been up there?”
Bjørn grinned. The first I’d seen. “When I was a boy. It was my job.”
“Really?” Maybe I could get him talking after all. “Was your father a whaler then?”
“My father. My grandfather. My great-grandfather before him.”
“And you were the spotter? How young were you?”
“Oh, I started at six or seven. When I was old enough to see over the rail.”
“I bet it was exciting.” Not to mention horrific.
“It was work. Not much else.” He looked at me. His eyes soft. “Why you asking so many questions?”
I shrugged. “Bored, I guess.” I chewed on my fingernail. Time for some pointless questions. “How do you live out here, anyway, day after day? Nothing but blue on blue.”
He chuckled. “I suppose you’d see it that way.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a way of life. It’s part of who I am.” He looked out at the dark sea and I sensed a weariness in his manner. “It’s what it means to live in the north.”
“Fishing and whaling, you mean?”
“Blue on blue, as you say.”
I waited a few minutes, to not seem too eager, before I asked, “Do you have any children?”
“A son,” he said, the thought taking him far away.
“Is he a whaler, too?”
He retreated into his cup of coffee for a time, then said, “No money in it.” He sighed. “My boy works on an oil rig in the south.”
“That because the whales are going extinct?”
He smirked. “It’s the whalers that are going extinct.”
“Oh?” I had to tread carefully. “What do you mean?”
“Politics.” He adjusted something on the plotter, then turned to me. “Easy for some rich kid from the continent, sitting in a Starbucks, sipping on a chocolate latte, or whatever dey call dose over-priced coffee drinks, plunking at keys on a computer all day, buying and selling electronics or oil or vatever he can make money at, vearing some fancy suit.” He picked up his coffee mug again but kept talking, his accent really pronounced. “His vife buys ‘is dinner some time between nine and five at a store with fluorescent lights, a slab of someting shrink-wrapped to a sheet of styrofoam.” He gave me a sharp look. “Don’t look at me like dat, like I’m some raving lunatic. I ain’t saying it’s right. I’m saying that fool ain’t got de right to judge me is all.” He shook his finger. “Dat ain’t tofu he’s eating. Ask a man who lives hand to mouth, trying to feed a hungry family, living in a land like dis. Ask him what he thinks of killing a whale.”
I wasn’t sure if I was in more awe of the content of his rant or the fact that he’d said so many words at once. But I was sure that, somewhere in there, he’d said it wasn’t right.
He drained the last of his coffee. “I don’t know what I’m going on about. It don’t matter no how.”
“What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?”
“I mean, the cost of hunting whales is high, returns are low. Supply and demand. Nobody eats whale meat anymore.” He smirked. “They’re living on chocolate lattes.”
“Well, I know one thing.”
“What’s that, little lady?”
“Now I’m craving chocolate.”
He grinned.
We sat together for a while. It was comfortable. I liked Bjørn. He seemed kind and gentle. Not the evil whaler of the tabloids. This man knew what it meant to live by one’s means, to work hard. He had convictions. They might not match mine, but they were there just the same. I suspected he wasn’t fond of Ray Goldman.
Ray came into the wheelhouse and told Bjørn he wanted him to anchor for the night. And I saw it. Subtle. Bjørn’s eyes gave him away. I was right. He didn’t like Ray much. He didn’t like him much at all.
Michael stepped into the room, took me by the hand, and led me out. “We’re anchoring so we might as well turn in,” he said. “Big day tomorrow.”
“Oh?” I said.
“We think we’ve found fish.”
On the other side of the door, Bjørn and Ray were hashing something out. Their tone revealed an argument, but I couldn’t make out the words.
“I think I’ll stay up for a bit longer,” I said.
“Aren’t you tired?”
“Nah,” I said. “Besides, Bjørn and I were having an interesting conversation.” And I have a camera to stash.
Michael looked through the window toward Bjørn with an expression of confused suspicion. “That old man?”
I shrugged. “What can I say? I like his fish tales.”
Ray flung open the door and pushed past us without a word.
Michael lingered for a moment as though pondering what might come of me staying with Bjørn before he shrugged and followed.
“I won’t be long,” I said. I breathed in deeply. This was my chance.
Bjørn gave no hint of his disagreement with Ray and a half hour later, I’d been lulled into a sleepy daze by the chug-chug-chug of the engine and the warmth of too many electronics, when Bjørn brought the boat to a halt, the hook was dropped, and the engine went quiet.
“Look at that,” Bjørn said and pointed at the sky through the window.
I ducked to see. “Is that—”
“Go out on deck.”
I raced to the bow. The night sky shimmered with strands of green. The aurora borealis. Light pulsed in vertical ribbons, like a giant drape of chiffon moving in a gentle breeze. Green shafts with tips of red against a black velvety sky pocked with millions of sparkling stars. No wonder primitive peoples stood in awe of the mystery. Like dancing spirits, moving through the heavens, casting a green glow across the snow-capped mountain peaks. I’d never seen anything like it.
Bjørn, standing beside me, his voice low, said, “Some say it is the spirits of old maids, dancing in the sky. Others say it is the Valkyries, the immortal, female warriors of legend. Ravens by the light of day; by night, they carry spears and armor that glow in the dark sky.” His voice changed to a low, reverent tone. “In battle, they are the ones who decide who lives and who dies.”
“Are you saying it’s some kind of omen?”
“I’m saying some things are better left to the gods.”
I stared at the awe-inspiring light show before me. Is that how life should be? Leave everything to the gods? Should I let them decide the fate of the whales? Nope. I would decide. “They didn’t make capricious decisions, though, right?” I said. “I always thought they were the goddesses of vengeance and retribution.”
He smirked. “You’re all right, you know that?”
I nodded. This was my chance. My chance to get up to the crow’s nest and mount the camera. But how could I do it without him watching? Would he tell Ray I’d been up there?
I let my eyes travel to the top. It wasn’t going to be a quick and easy climb. The danger lay in the time it would take to get up there and back down again. If Ray or Michael happened back on deck and caught me, their suspicions would launch into the stratosphere.
If I got caught up there, and they found the camera, it’d be the end.
“I bet the view is spectacular from up in that crow’s nest. Mind if I give it a try?”
His tired eyes rose about halfway up the post. “That is where a raven would go,” he mumbled and went back into the wheelhouse.
Hand over hand, I climbed the pole toward the crow’s nest. The steel rungs were ice cold, but I moved quickly, afraid my clammy hands might stick. I flipped myself up and over the edge of the bucket and inside. I popped up and scanned the deck for Ray or Michael. It was too dark to see a damn thing. One of them could be standing there watching me right now and I wouldn’t know it. Well. Thi
s was my only chance. It was now or never.
The bucket had a rim all around, but nothing onto which I could attach the camera. It would have to go under the bucket, on the bracket there.
As fast as I could, I climbed back out of the perch, scrambled down a few rungs, and, as I held on with one hand, took the camera from my pocket with the other. I scanned the deck again, from one side to the other for movement. Still couldn’t see anything. If anyone was watching, there would be no doubt what I was up to. What I wouldn’t give for a pair of night-vision goggles right now. I took a deep breath and tried to stop my hand from shaking.
I clipped the remote cam to the bracket, checked again to make sure I wasn’t being watched, pointless as it was, then reached back up and angled it toward the aft deck. I couldn’t check the view without my laptop, so I had to get it right the first time. There was no way I was going to get a chance to climb up here again. My best guess on the angle would have to do.
I backed down the pole, then went down the stairs and circled the deck to be sure no one had seen me. With a sigh of relief, I said a silent prayer to the Valkyries that no one would look up and see it, then climbed the stairs and slipped back into the wheelhouse. “Whew, too cold for that,” I said. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
He gave me an amused nod.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Bjørn turned in for bed. I went into the galley and rifled through the cupboards for chocolate. You’d think they’d at least have an Oreo cookie or something on board.
I sat down at the table empty-handed and confessed to myself. I was scared. Scared shitless, actually. All they had to do was look up and they’d see it and then…
If I got lucky, and they kept their eyes from the pole, I’d get what I came for. But video footage was one thing. I had to do more. Scared or not, I needed to figure out a way to keep Ray from getting a killer whale on board at all. If he got one in a net, that was enough to convict, but if he got one on board, it would be life threatening for the whale. Dr. Parker had said its chances weren’t good, especially if Ray didn’t know what he was doing.
A harness would be attached to the winch arm to haul the orca on board. That was the key. That’s what I had to take out of the equation. The harness. But where was it?
Dalton had said to do nothing else, to keep my head down. But how could I stand by and do nothing?
I checked my phone. There was actually one bar of service out here. I shot off a text to Dalton.
Poppy: You there?
I waited. Nothing. Maybe he didn’t have service where he was anchored. I leaned back and tried to picture the layout of the deck. The harness must be made of canvas, or plastic maybe.
My phone buzzed.
Dalton: Yep. You ok?
Poppy: Fine. Camera’s in place.
Dalton: Good. Sit tight.
Poppy: You’re pushing my cover. You need to stay back.
But not too far.
Dalton: What happened?
Poppy: Just don’t push it.
Dalton: Poppy, what’s going on?
Poppy: Nothing. Everything is fine.
I can handle it.
Dalton: Just stick to your cover story and hold tight.
I can’t. I’ve got to stop him.
Poppy: Yep.
Dalton: Everything ok with Michael?
Poppy: Fine.
Dalton: Are you sure? I can still get you off that boat. Say the word.
Poppy: Just trust me already.
Nothing.
Poppy: Gotta go.
I clicked off and deleted all the texts in case Ray checked my phone. I took a deep breath. I had work to do.
The boat gently rose and fell on the waves, the fishing gear creaking and clanking with the rocking. Hopefully, any noise I might make would blend in with the ruckus and no one would notice.
My guess was that the lazarettes with the padlocks were the ones with the harness and other whale-hauling gear, but I had to check anyway. I started on the side of the boat opposite where I’d already checked back in the harbor.
Again, on this side as well, the first one was padlocked. I stepped lightly, moving to the next one. No padlock. I lifted the lid a few inches and peeked inside. This was it. The harness. I was sure of it. What luck! I eased the lid back and clipped it to the rail to keep it open.
Clank-clank-clank came footsteps down the stairs. Crap. A dose of adrenaline shot into my bloodstream. I clicked off my flashlight and ducked beside the bin. Bjørn must have been going to the head. The door to the galley swung open and the light clicked on. I waited, unable to hear anything over the lapping of the waves against the hull and my heart thumping in my chest.
A few minutes passed and he didn’t come back out. If he woke anyone down below and they noticed I wasn’t in my bunk, I’d be screwed. I needed to come up with a good reason for being on deck, and quick.
More time passed and he still didn’t emerge. What was he doing in there? I crept from my hiding spot to peek in the window. Bjørn was at the stove setting a teakettle to boil. Damn. My crappy luck. He was probably a world-record-setting insomniac. What if he sat at the table doing crosswords or writing letters to his wife back home for half the night? All I could do was wait him out. I couldn’t head to bed now, having to pass through to below decks without an explanation.
Back to my hiding spot I went to wait. I had no coat and the night was freezing cold. Bad planning, McVie. I considered crawling under the nets to get warm, but that made me think of Dalton and his body snuggled up against me. And how I’d smell like rotten fish.
Finally, my lips blue and my hands too cold to work properly, I heard the clank-clank-clank of footsteps on the iron stairs as Bjørn headed back up to the pilothouse.
As soon as the door banged shut, I slipped from behind the lazarrette and shined my flashlight inside. The harness had two poles with a canvas sling attached, a basic home-made contraption. If I could cut the sling where it attached to the poles, I could weaken it. When the orca was being lifted from the water, the canvas would rip.
I started to unroll it when I realized that wouldn’t work. What if they had the whale high in the air, or worse yet, over the deck, and it came slamming down? I needed to render it completely unusable.
With my pocket knife, I could saw at the roping, cut the canvas to bits. That would do it. But then, when Ray saw it, he’d know it had been purposefully sabotaged. Too risky.
The best option was to tangle its cords, rip the canvas in a way that looked like it had happened when it was put in the bin. I lifted one end of the harness and started to rewrap the cords when the hinge of the galley door creaked. I froze. Someone was out on deck. I shoved the harness back in the lazarette.
“Poppy?” It was Michael.
I threw down the flashlight, sending it rolling across the deck to distract him and eased the lid down. “You startled me,” I said, my heart going zippity-zap.
He picked up the flashlight. “What are you doing out here?” he said, his tone accusatory.
“I couldn’t sleep.” Crap. “I was feeling kinda cooped up, you know. Needed to walk.” Did he see me close the lid?
“What did I tell you about being out on the deck alone?” I couldn’t read his expression in the dark, but his arms were crossed and his stance was threatening.
“Well, I figured since we were anchored—”
“Oh, you figured, did you?” He put his arm around me, pulling me toward him with a powerful grip. “Well, darlin’, it’s going to be a long journey if you can’t get a handle on this cabin fever.”
“I’ll be all right,” I said, hoping he couldn’t feel my pulse racing into oblivion. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“C’mon back to bed and try it again,” he said, his tone softened. “After this cold air, you’ll get toasty warm and fall right to sleep. I promise.”
I nodded. I was plenty warm now, what with my nerves set on fire. Maybe I should have had D
alton pick me up. No. The job isn’t finished. I could handle this. But I couldn’t think of any excuse Michael’d accept for me to stay out here alone now. And if he caught me sneaking up here again, that’d be the end. Dammit!
Reluctantly, I followed Michael back down to the bunks. I’d have to think of something else. Before they found the whales.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The engines roared to life and I sat up so fast I knocked my head on the bunk above me. My watch read 7:30. Ray’s bunk was empty.
Then the clank-clank-clank of the anchor being raised echoed through the hull. Had Ray got word that whales were nearby?
I got dressed, clipped the camera remote inside my jacket pocket, and went topside.
Ray and Michael were in the pilothouse. Making coffee had gotten me in there yesterday. Let’s see if it will work again.
I brewed a pot, poured mugs, and knocked at the door.
Ray’s scowl burned through the window. I smiled wide, acting like I didn’t notice. “Coffee?”
Michael ambled over to the door and took the mugs from me. “Thanks.”
Ray gripped the edge of the door. “We’re busy,” he grumbled and pushed it shut in my face.
Damn. Must be I was right. Orcas are close.
I shot off a quick text to Dalton.
Poppy: You up? We’re on the move.
I waited. No answer. I checked again. The one reception bar flickered and went out.
I paced around in the galley dining room, glancing out the window every eight seconds. The sky to the east was a light blue. We were moving through the water at what I assumed was full throttle for this vessel. Pans and plates rattled in the cupboards. The plastic parrot swung back and forth on the ring. I pressed against the window, searching the dark sea for a glimpse of an orca, the other direction for Dalton. Nothing either way.
Might as well make something to eat. I found eggs, milk, and flour, whipped them together, poured the batter into a high-sided pan, slid it into the oven, then paced some more.
About twenty minutes later, Dylan stumbled in, one eye open. “Dat coffee oi peggy dell?”
Poppy McVie Mysteries: Books 1-3 (The Poppy McVie Box Set Series) Page 33