by John Blaine
“Is that hair real or has he got a wig on?” Scotty asked.
“It’s real,” Rick returned. His forehead creased. The dock had never been considered private property-at least not since the hotel was abandoned. He waited to see what the redhead wanted.
The boy ran down the loose wooden surface toward them, his face red and angry. “Get that boat out of here!”
Rick looked into a pair of furious eyes the color of seaweed, set above a wide nose and thin mouth.
“Why?” he asked.
“This is private property. Cast off.”
“Where’s your sign?” Scotty asked.
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The boy grinned unpleasantly. “Don’t need a sign.* He patted the stock of his rifle. “Got this.”
“Plan to use it?” Scotty asked calmly.
“If I have to.Now cast off those lines and get out.”
Rick’s temper began to fray a little. “You’re using the wrong tone of voice,” he said gently. “You should say Tm terribly sorry, fellows, but this is private property. Do you mind tying up somewhere else?’ Ask us nicely like that and we’ll do it.”
The redhead half lifted the rifle. “Wise guy, huh? I warned you. Now cast off those lines and get out.”
He dropped his hand to the lever of the rifle as though to pump a cartridge into place.
Scotty tensed. He said softly, “Get gay with that rifle and I’ll climb up there and feed it to you breech first.”
Rick saw the color rise to the boy’s face and the muscles in his throat tighten. “Easy, Scotty,” he said warningly. He knew, as Scotty did, that no normal person would wave a rifle at anyone for mere daytime accidental trespassing, but he had a hunch the young carrot-top would not react normally.
“Jimmy!”
The three of them looked to the hotel as the hail came. A big man with red hair several shades darker than the boy’s was waving from the side door of the Creek House. He walked toward them rapidly.
“Okay,Pop ,” Carrottop called. “I told ‘em to get out.”
As the man approached, Rick saw that there was a strong resemblance between the man and the boy.
Evidently they were father and son. The man had the same thin lips, the same seaweed-green eyes. His face was almost square. It was a tough face, Rick thought.
The newcomer looked at his son and jerked his thumb toward the hotel. “Okay, Jimmy, get into the house.”
The boy turned and walked off without a word.
The man surveyed Rick and Scotty briefly. “Don’t mind Jimmy. He was probably rude, and I’m sorry for it. But this is private property and I can’t allow you to tie up here.” He motioned to the high board fence along the front of the hotel. The fence ran down to the edge of the creek. “Anywhere this side of the fence is private.”
Rick nodded. “It didn’t use to be. That’s why we tied up here. I’m sorry, Mr. . “
“Kelso.I rented the place a few weeks ago.Haven’t had time to get signs up yet.”
“We’ll shove off right away, Mr. Kelso. Sorry we intruded.”
“Okay.”
Rick started the engine, threw the launch into reverse, and backed out.
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Scotty sat down beside him.“How about that?”
“Funny,” Rick said. “Didn’t Cap’n Mike say a family named Kelso had taken the hotel because their little boy was sick and needed fresh air?”
“That’s what he said,” Scotty affirmed. “Do you suppose that was the sick little boy?”
“If he’s sick,” Rick said grimly, “it’strigger fever. I think he’d like to take a shot at someone.”
“It would sure be an effective way of discouraging trespassers. Why do you suppose they crave privacy so much?”
“Beats me,” Rick said. “We’ll have to ask Cap’n Mike.”
The launch passed the edge of the Creek House fence and came to a strip of sandy beach. The road ended a few feet from the beach. A number of cars were parked in the area, and along Smugglers’ Reef were the occupants, most of them standing around the wreck.
“Illrun the launch in as far as I can,” Rick directed, “then you jump ashore with the anchor.”
“Okay.” Scotty went forward and took the small anchor from its lashings, making sure he had plenty of line. As Rick pushed the bow of the launch into shallow water until it grated on the sand, Scotty jumped across the six feet of open water to the beach.
Rick took the keys from the ignition and joined him. Together they pulled the launch in a foot or two more,then dug the anchor into the sand It would hold until the tide changed.
“Let’s go look at the wreck,” Scotty said.
Rick nodded. “Afterward, I think we’d better go look up Cap’n Mike. I have some questions I want to ask him.”
“About what?”
“Something he said last night.And about the Kelsos.”
They reached the old light tower and paused to examine it. Salt air had etched the steel of the frame badly. The tower was almost forty feet high, about twice as tall as the present light. At its top had been a wooden platform where the lightkeeper had once stood to care for the light. A rusty metal ladder led up one side of the tower to where the platform had been.
Rick wondered why the authorities had abandoned the tower in favor of the smaller light at the very tip of the reef and decided it probably was because having the warning signal at the very point was more practical. That way, a ship needed only to clear the light without worrying about how far away from the light it had to pass.
“Let’s go,” Scotty said.“Nothing interesting about this relic.”
They joined the group of men at the wreck of the Sea Belle and saw that the wreck was being inspected, probably by the insurance people. A question to one of the watchers affirmed the guess. Rick asked, “What do they expect to find?”
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“Search me.”
Scotty nudged Rick. “We won’t have to look far for Cap’n Mike. There he is.”
The old man was seated on a rock, whittling at a twig. Seemingly, he paid no attention to anything going on. Now and then he looked out to sea, but mostly he paid attention to his whittling.
Rick walked over, Scotty behind him. “Good morning, Cap’n Mike.”
“ ‘Morning, boys.”
“Remember us?”
“Sure do. Where’s the reporter?”
“He’s not with us. We came down to do a little fishing.”
Bright eyes twinkled at them. “Fishing, eh? What land?”
“We thought we might get some blackfish at the end of the reef,” Scotty replied.
“You might at that,” Cap’n Mike said. “You mightgets crabs off the end of the Creek House pier, too, if Red Kelso would let you try. Did you ask him?”
Rick grinned. Cap’n Mike might not seem to be paying attention, but evidently he didn’t miss much.
“We didn’t ask him,” he said. “Maybe we didn’t even see him.” He knew Cap’n Mike could have seen the boat vanish upcreek and return, but he wouldn’t have been able to see past the fence.
“Maybe you didn’t,” the old captain conceded. “But you sure saw somebody, and it had to be Kelso or that boy of his.”
“Why do they want so much privacy?” Scotty demanded.
Cap’n Mike ignored the question. “You really got any fishing gear in that launch?”
“Hand lines,” Rick said.
“That’s good as anything. Now, I always say a man can’t think proper in a mob like this.Too distracting.
So let’s go fishing and do some thinking. What say?”
Rick’s glance met Scotty’s. Cap’n Mike had his own way of doing things. They had nothing to lose by humoring him.
“Let’s go,” Scotty said.
As they passed the wreck, Rick stopped for a moment to look at it again. The air was even heavier than the night before with the reek of dead fish. They were scattered along the reef in shoals ten feet wide
. By daylight he could see that the trawler was finished. She had broken her back and torn out a good part of her bottom. She must have been really making knots to hit like that.
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“Cap’n, exactly what was the weather like when Tom Tyler hit?” Rick asked.
“Not bad. Visibility might have been less than real perfect, but it wouldn’t have interfered with him seeing the light.”
“Would it have interfered with him seeing the reef if the light had been out?”
“I reckon it would.Until he was right on it, anyway.”
Rick turned the information over in his mind. “Were any other trawlers out last night?”
“Plenty.The Sea Belle was first in, but the rest were right behind. The light was burning, all right. I thought of that, too, son.”
“My name is Rick Brant. This is Don Scott. We call him Scotty.”
“Knew you both,” Cap’n Mike said. “I subscribe to the paper your friend writes for.Seen your pictures couple of times. Didn’t you just get back from somewhere?”
“The South Pacific,” Scotty said.
“Used to sail those waters.Reckon things have changed some.”
“The war changed the islands,” Scotty told him. “Especially . . .” he stopped suddenly and took Rick’s arm. “Look.”
The elder Kelso was standing in front of the launch.
“What do you suppose he’s after?” Rick asked.
Before Scotty or Cap’n Mike could think up an answer, Kelso turned and walked back along the beach. There was a foot or two of space between the water of the creek and the hotel fence. The redheaded man slipped through it and vanished from sight.
“I’ll bet he came out just to look the boat over,” Scotty guessed, “and there’s only one reason I can think of why he’d do that. He wanted to see if he could find out more about us.”
“Unless he admired the launch and wanted a closer look at it,” Rick added.
Cap’n Mike snorted. “Red Kelso’s got no eye for beauty, in boats, anyway.”
“Then my guess must have been right,” Scotty said.
“Right or wrong,” Cap’n Mike retorted, “I can’t say’s I like it. I wish you boys had talked to me before you decided to invade Salt Creek!’
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CHAPTER IV
A Warning
Cap’n Mike tested his line, then gave a sharp tug. He hauled rapidly and lifted a three-pound blackfish into the boat.
“Practically a minnow,” he said.
“Did we come out here to fish or to talk?” Rick asked. They were anchored a few hundred yards off the reef tip and had been for almost an hour. In that time Cap’n Mike had made a good haul of four blacks, one flounder and a porgy. Rick and Scotty had caught two blacks apiece.
There was a definite twinkle in Cap’n Mike’s eyes. “Came to talk,” he said. “But the fish are biting too good . Better fish while the fishing’s good.Time enough to talk later.”
“Time enough for fishing later, you mean,” Rick retorted. “Hauling in blackfish isn’t going to find out why the Sea Belle was wrecked.”
“Got the answer to that already,” Cap’n Mike said.
Rick and Scotty stared. “You have?” Rick asked incredulously.
“Stands to reason.Didn’t you tell me you knew Mrs. Tyler was scared?”
“Yes, but what . . .”
“Well, Tom is scared, too. He wasn’t, until the Sea Belle was wrecked, but he sure is now. That’s why he’s sticking to that story of his instead of telling the truth.”
“What is the truth?” Scotty demanded.
“Don’t know that.Yet. Reckon I’ll find out, though. Only I’ll need some help.”
Keen eyes surveyed the two boys.
Rick worked his hand line absently. “You mean you want us to help?”
“Seems I’ve read about you boys solving a mystery or two, haven’t I?”
“We’ve had a couple of lucky breaks,” Scotty said. “We’re not real detectives.”
Cap’n Mike tried his line and muttered, “Feels like a cunner is stealing my bait. Well, boys, I wouldn’t be surprised none if a little lucklike yours is what we need. Can’t pretend, though, that you might not be walking right into something you wouldn’t like. Anything that scares Tom Tyler is something anyone with sense would be afraid of.”
Rick hauled in his line and saw that his bait was gone. He rebaited , his mind on what he already knew of Page 19
the case. “I’vebeen wanting to ask you,” he said. “That answer you gave to Jerry when he asked where Tom Tyler was. You said ‘Inside.Surrounded by fools.’ What did you mean?”
Cap’n Mike sniffed.“Just what I said. If the constable and the rest hadn’t been fools they would have known that Tom Tyler was afraid to talk. Just like plenty of others are afraid.”
Rick picked up his ears.“Others? Cap’n, I think you know a few things you haven’t told us.”
The old seaman hauled in his line and grunted when he saw that his bait had been stolen. “Reckon we got too many bait stealers down below now.Either of you boys hungry?”
“I am,” Scotty said promptly.
“I could eat,” Rick admitted. He looked at his watch. It was almostnoon .
“Then let’s haul anchor and get out of here.”
In a moment the hand lines were wound on driers and the anchor stowed. At Cap’n Mike’s direction, Rick pointed the launch to the south, toward the town. The old man took out his pocketknife, whetted it briefly on the sole of his shoe, and commenced to clean and fillet the fish they had caught. Scotty slipped into the seat beside Rick.
“What do you think about trying to solve this one?”
Rick shrugged. There was nothing he enjoyed as much as a mystery, but he wanted more information from Captain Michael O’Shannon before he agreed to anything. He had suspected that the old seaman knew more than he was saying. “We’ll wait and see what develops,” he said. “Okay with you?”
“Suits me,” Scotty agreed.
The launch sped past Million Dollar Row, leaving behind a string of fishy waste as Cap’n Mike went on with his cleaning. By the time they were even with the town he had a handsome stack of white boneless fillets all ready for the pan. He brought them forward and took a seat next to Scotty. “Guess these’ll taste mighty good.Got a little fresh bread and plenty of butter to go with ‘em.”
Rick pointed to a large barnlike structure on the biggest pier in front of the town. “What’s that?”
“Fish market.That’s where most of the trawlers load and unload. It’s quiet now, because the fleet is out, but after dark when they come in, and early in the morning before they leave-that’s the busiest place in these parts. I’ll take you down there one of these times. Might be we’ll find a couple of answers there.”
He pointed to an old windmill on the shore just below the town. “Steer for that.”
“Do you live there?” Scotty asked.
“I live in a shack behind it. But there’s a place to tie up. You’ll see it in a minute.”
As the captain had said, there was a small dock in front of the windmill. Rick headed the launch for it and in a short time they were tied up. Behind the mill, which was an old ruin that had been used a hah0
century before for grinding meal, was the road leading south fromSeaford . Across the road was a weather-beaten fisherman’s shack.
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Cap’n Mike pushed the door open. “It ain’t no palace,” he said, “butit’s home and I’m proud to welcome you. Come on in.”
Inside, Rick stared around him with appreciative surprise. The little shanty was as neat and efficient as a ship’s cabin. On one side was a tiny galley with everything neatly stowed. On the other was a built-in bunk. The walls had been papered with old charts, and he saw that most of them were of the New York-New Jersey area. A ship’s lantern, wired for electricity, hung so low that it almost brushed Scotty’s head. Ship models lined the mantel.
&nb
sp; Cap’n Mike was already at work in the galley. With no waste motion he produced a coffeepot, filled it with water, dumped in a handful of coffee and put it on the stove. He whisked a match across the seat of his pants and lit the kerosene. Then he produced a paper bag, shook in flour, salt and pepper, dumped in the fish and closed the bag, shaking it violently a few times with one hand while he produced a frying pan with the other. In a moment the pan was full of frying fish. A breadbox yielded a loaf of homemade bread.
Before Rick and Scotty quite realized that lunch was ready, he had them seated at a table that folded down from the wall, with a smoking platter of fillets in front of them.
“Eat,” he commanded.
Rick was no fish fancier, but he had to admit that this was delicious. And the coffee, in spite of the apparent carelessness with which it had been made, was the best ever.
When the last drop had been consumed, Cap’n Mike pushed back his chair. “Let’s get down to brass tacks,” he said. “Do you go along with me or not?”
Rick dropped into the idiom of the sea. “I like to know the course before I haul anchor.”
Cap’n Mike chuckled.“Didn’t expect caution or wisdom from you.”
Scotty grinned. “Don’t worry. He’s neither cautious nor wise. He can’t wait to get started and neither can I.
But Rick’s right. We have to know the whole story.”
“Right.Well, there isn’t much. Something’s been going on inSeaford . Don’t ask me what, because I don’t know. I thing Tom Tyler does, and I think his finding out is what led to the wreck of the Sea Belle.” He held up his hand as Rick’s lips framed a question. “You’re going to ask me how I know that.
Well, I don’t know it. I just suspect it. I was a mite too positive when I said I knew. All I know is Tom Tyler told me one day that he had an idea that something strange was going on at the Creek House, and that he intended to find out what it was. Now! He must have had a good idea that whatever was going on was crooked, because Tom isn’t the kind of man to pry into folks’ business without a good purpose.”
“Do you think he found out?” Rick asked.