My head was thick with a dull pain concentrated at the top of my spine. My mouth was dry and filled with a filthy taste. I ran an exploratory hand over myself. Outside of the pain in my head and the taste in my mouth, I seemed to be in fair shape. I was also stripped down again. I had been left only my shorts.
Someone, I thought, was trying to be funny. I decided I was wrong. Someone was trying to make sure I wasn’t in any condition to go anywhere.
I also decided that my captor was a man. Men are a good deal more modest than women. A man would assume that being down to a pair of shorts would prove too embarrassing for me to think of trying to run somewhere in public. A woman might not.
But I had been practically down to the buff so often lately that I had lost all sense of embarrassment. All I wanted was out of this hold. I didn’t care who or what was waiting to gawp at me after that.
I lifted my hands and ran them over the underside of the decking that barely brushed my stretched fingertips. I was feeling for the outline of the hatch cover. I found it after shifting my position only once. It was a shallow hold, I thought; the boat wasn’t a very big one.
I got to my knees, twisted myself awkwardly into a position where I could get some leverage with my hands, and pushed upward.
The hatch cover gave with no trouble at all. The force of my heave sent it clattering to one side of the deck. A bright burst of sunlight hit me across the eyes, sending my head ducking back down into dimness.
I preferred being blind to smelling ancient fish. I caught the edges of the hatch with my hands and pulled myself onto the deck. I rolled away from the stench and lay breathing in sharp, clean sea air.
No one bothered to come and find out what I might be up to. I could feel the throb of the diesel engine under me and hear its steady pounding, and I could hear the whoosh of water peeling away from the bow of the boat, but I couldn’t hear anyone moving about.
I raised my head. From the angle of the sun I judged it was a little past noon. In the haze-obscured distance I could see the blue-green bulk of the peninsula to port. Closer, on the starboard side, was the large, sprawled bulk of Whidbey Island. We were well up its west side and angling away from it. Ahead and beyond the range of my vision would be the Islands.
I didn’t need a marked chart to guess where we were going.
I stopped admiring the scenery and examined the boat. First, it was a fishboat. Second, it had had a cabin built aft of the pilot house, cutting the amount of open deck and also the storage hold, to about eight feet-by-eleven feet. Third, Ridley Trillian had a fishboat he had converted to a cruiser, and fourth, I was giving odds I’d find Ridley at the wheel.
The wind had begun to find me and it had a fall nip to it. I got to my feet, holding to the top of the cabin while I waited for a little strength to flow into my legs. About belt high and directly in front of me was a shiny brass latch. I lifted it.
I ducked down and went into the aft cabin. It wasn’t very big but it managed to contain a small galley, a built-in dinette table, and a built-in leather settee. Forward of the galley was an opening that gave me a view into the pilot house. I could see a man’s leg and hand. I went into the pilot house, moving quietly on my bare feet. The leg and hand belonged to Ridley Trillian.
He turned and looked at me and grinned. I wanted to step forward and knock him away from the wheel. But I knew what kind of shape I was in, and I knew how fast he was. I stopped about eight feet from him.
He said, “You’ve got company, baby.”
A head came up the companionway leading down into the forward cabin. The head belonged to Emily Calvin. Her hair was a tousled mess; she wore no make-up; her face was puffy from sleep, and her small eyes had a hazy look in them.
She looked like the bass note of the beat generation.
She came up a little higher. She had given up her loose sweater in exchange for a denim halter that was barely able to hold back her large breasts. In place of jeans she wore shorts so short that they were almost Bikini style. She had heavy thighs to match her ample hips.
She saw me and giggled. She stopped and giggled again. I said, “You wouldn’t have an extra suit of clothes around by any chance?”
She giggled a third time. “You smell like a fish,” she informed me. Her enunciation wasn’t very good. She looked too pleased with herself to be seasick. I figured out that she was drunk.
She backed down into the cabin. I moved toward it and watched her. The cabin contained a double bunk, wide at the top and narrowing at the bottom. Across the narrowest of aisles from it was a shallow built-in dresser. On top of the dresser was a can of beer. Emily took it and tilted the larger hole in the top to her mouth. She emptied the can before she set it down again.
She burped and giggled again. She bent down and brought a fresh can of beer from somewhere under the bunk. She located a beer can opener and punched two holes. She held the can out to me.
To get it I would have to go down into that cabin with Emily. Somehow I didn’t want to; I remembered the office elevator too clearly.
“Not yet, thanks,” I said.
I glanced at Ridley. I said, “I’m glad you left her alive.”
He turned his head in my direction. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Whatever you want it to,” I said. My head was still thick. I wasn’t at my best with the repartee.
He shrugged and ignored me. I sharpened another needle. “Did you bring your dulcimer? I like entertainment on a boat trip.”
Ridley’s nostrils flared out. He dropped a loop of rope over the wheel, securing it, and stood up. He walked with the pitch of the boat, gracefully.
“I’m getting tired of hearing that kind of crap,” he said. “From you I don’t take it.”
I tried to duck but he was as fast as I remembered him. His fist was as hard as a piece of anchor chain and about as knobbly. I bounced off the bulkhead and fell forward, lost the rest of my balance when a sudden choppy current caught us, and went headfirst down into the forward cabin.
Emily was on her way up to watch the fight. There was no place for her to go but backward when I came at her. She didn’t seem to think of that possibility; she just stood and waited for my weight to hit her.
We went down in the narrow aisle between the bunk and the dresser. I wound up facing the pilot house with Emily lying across my chest. I could see Ridley grinning down at us.
He said, “Have fun,” and moved back to the wheel, out of sight.
Emily moved and now she was on top of all of me. I could smell the heady odor of beer on her breath. From the condition of her speech and the look in her eyes, she was well loaded with the beer. I put my hands out to lift her off me. I got two palmsful of bare skin. I moved my hands and met more skin. She had a good deal of it.
I said, “If you’ll shift a little to starboard …”
Through the beer haze, I could see the soupy look coming into her eyes. She shifted all right, forward so she could mash her lips down on mine. That kiss was almost as hard to take as Ridley’s fist had been. In a way it was worse. The fist had hit me and gone; Emily’s lips remained.
One hand was pinned under me; the other was between my chest and hers. She had me where she seemed to want me.
Her breath was making me a little drunk. Besides, she didn’t have the least idea how to kiss a man, and I wasn’t in the mood to be her teacher. I tried pitching upward from the hips.
Emily weighed a little too much for me.
I turned my hand over, felt bare flesh between my fingers and pinched.
Emily lifted her lips from mine. She murmured, “Oh, lover!”
I gave a twist that threatened to tear every muscle loose. But she moved. Her weight shifted enough for me to get my hand out from between us. I reached behind her and got her halter strap and jerked. Emily went off me, sideways.
She sat up, one arm across her front. The halter was still in my hand. I thrust it at her. “Sorry.”
She gave me a d
irty look. I realized that I wasn’t supposed to be sorry; I was supposed to be struck by passion. She had been reading too many modern novels.
I realized, too, that if I went on like this, I was losing a potential ally. I swallowed part of the awful taste in my mouth and got to my knees and maneuvered around behind her.
I whispered, “Here, let me help you put it on.” And before she could say anything, I added, “I need a bath … first.”
She didn’t move. I located a fairly clean-looking spot beneath her right ear and bent forward, nibbling at it. Her breathing took on the quality of a steam engine.
She raised her arm. We fitted the halter into place. I tied it and then got to my feet. She looked dreamily up at me and held out her hands.
“Help me up, Petey.”
Petey!
I helped her up and eased her to the edge of the bunk. She reached out and almost got me by the back of the neck. I let my lips slide off hers and got away just in time.
“With Ridley so near?” I murmured.
She burped and her eyes closed. I lifted her legs and stretched her onto the bunk. She began to relax. A faint snore fluttered her lips apart. I tiptoed up into the pilot house.
Ridley gave me his flat-lipped grin. “Have fun?”
I said, “Let’s have a little talk.”
“What’s there to talk about?” he asked. He sounded surprised. “You’re here. You’re going someplace. Why worry until you get there?”
I said, “I’d kind of like to know where I’m going. I might even want to know how I got here, and why. And I’m wondering why you have your beak in this affair.”
“I like to eat,” he said. “Ever try eating poetry?”
“The college pays you,” I said. I wanted to add a comment about their foolishness in doing so but I held back. He was too fast for me right now and his fist was too hard.
He said, “I like to eat well.”
And that wound up the conversation. To the rest of my questions, I got shrugs for answers.
I wondered if Emily might not be persuaded to wake up and talk. But I was almost afraid to find out. She might wake up and not want to talk.
I went down the companionway into the cabin and looked at her. She stirred but her eyes stayed shut. I touched her shoulder. She rewarded me with a soft, burbled snore.
I pushed her to one side and joined her. The activity had done my head no good at all. I thought it was worth risking her proximity to get a little rest. I might need some strength when I got to wherever Ridley was taking me.
The boat continued on through the chop. It became a lulling motion as I grew used to it. The last thing that crossed my mind before I fell asleep was a thought of Jodi. I could taste Emily’s lips on my mouth. I wondered if I would ever taste Jodi’s again.
I thought of getting up and asking Ridley. But the effort was more than I could manage. I fell asleep.
XVIII
I WOKE UP EXPECTING TO FIND Emily sober after sleeping off the beer and so not interested in me any longer. But I was wrong. When I opened my eyes, she was leaning on one elbow and looking hungrily down into my face. She gave me a tremulous smile. I could feel damp spots on my cheek where she had been kissing me.
I said, “I’m hungry.”
She responded as I always thought a woman should. Instead of arguing or wasting time kissing me some more, she wriggled around me, slid off the bunk, and trotted away.
I rolled over and looked out the port by the bunk. The choppy motion had stopped; we were at anchor. I could see a curved strip of sand beach and behind it a thick stand of timber. We were in the east bay on Boundary Island.
I climbed to the deck. My head still hurt and the taste in my mouth was no better. And I had a loose tooth, thanks to Ridley. But there was life in my muscles again. Considering everything, I felt better than I had any right to feel.
I found the head and washed up. Then I let my nose lead me to the galley. Coffee was bubbling on the kerosene stove; it smelled wonderful. Emily was busily putting together some sandwiches. Ridley hadn’t been in the pilot house and he wasn’t here either.
I said, “Where’s our chum?”
She gave me what I think was meant to be a seductive smile. “Skin diving,” she said. “We don’t want him, do we?”
I agreed that right now we definitely did not want Ridley. I made the statement emphatic and punctuated it by making a pass at the back of her neck with my lips. The cow-eyed look she gave me in return made me feel like a three-dollar bill.
But this was no time for scruples, I told myself. And it was a fine time to have a little chat with Emily. I sat down and let her serve me. When the food was on the table, she joined me at the built-in table, choosing the same side I had. The bench was narrow and Emily wasn’t, but we managed.
I drank a cup of coffee before I felt strong enough to cope with her. Then I said, “Honey, how did you ever get yourself into this mess?”
Emily wasn’t drunk but she hadn’t lost all effects of the beer. Tears began to run out of her eyes and her mouth trembled. She said, “I loved him so much!”
“But you don’t love him now?”
As the Bible puts it, she smote me hip and thigh—but gently. I-retaliated by squeezing my fingers on her bare knee. Then I reached for more coffee.
“How could I … now?” she whispered.
I chose to misunderstand. “Because of the murder?”
She twisted around and stared into my face. “Tom is dead?”
“Not Tom,” I said, “Mike Fenney.”
All I got for that was a blank look. I said, “Do you think Ridley could have killed him?”
“Oh, he wouldn’t; he wouldn’t kill anybody.”
I doubted that but I let it ride. The time had come to get down to cases. I said, “Just how deeply are you involved? What else did you do besides spy at the office?”
“Nothing really,” she whispered. She looked stricken.
I said, “What about the reports Tom made? Didn’t you tell Ridley what was in them?”
She nodded. “I made an extra carbon when I typed them and I gave that to him.”
I said, “Damn it, then he must have given the copies to Ilona. So why would she chase me to try to get the report?”
“Oh, no!” Emily said. “Ridley wouldn’t give her anything. She’s the enemy.”
The hell she was! I said, “Next question: what happened to the wire recording you told the boss you messed up?”
She looked down at the table. “I stole it and gave it to Ridley,” she whispered.
“And who did Ridley give it to?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know.” She must have felt my scepticism because she added, “I really don’t, Peter,” as thought the most important thing in the world was my believing her.
And that was as far as I got. Ridley came in from the after deck. He was wearing an overall type rubber diving suit. He had a pair of diving goggles pushed up on his forehead. In his hand he held a spear with a nice, fat salmon impaled on it.
He said, “That’s enough of this collaboration.” I think he was trying to be funny. But when he added, “Get out on deck, Emily,” he didn’t sound at all funny.
She didn’t even look at me as she got out of the booth, walked past him and outside, and shut the door behind her. I started to follow, but Ridley wiggled the tip of his spear at me. “Go back and sit down, hero.” His voice had a sneer in it.
He went on deck. I could see him talking to Emily. He pointed toward the island. Then he helped her get the plastic dinghy from the top of the cabin and launch it. She got in and began to row the short distance to the shore.
Ridley came back inside. He had left his spear on deck and he was carrying the fish in his right hand. I took a step toward him. I said, “I want to talk to the lady some more.”
Ridley sneered. I swung for the sneer. He slapped the fish across my face with a movement of his right hand and then sunk his left into my middle. He w
as still faster than I.
He tossed the fish into the sink, turned, and went out on deck. He didn’t bother to lock the door. I wasn’t worth the effort.
I went to a porthole and watched Emily rowing ashore. When she reached the beach, she pulled the dinghy up onto the sand and walked away, westward into the timber. She acted as if she knew where she was going.
I wasn’t through talking to Emily. The more I thought about questioning her, the more urgent the need became. I went aft, opened the door, and stepped out on deck.
Ridley was gone and so was his spear. It was beginning to darken. The sun had finished its slide behind the peaks of Vancouver Island and the long, lovely purple shadows of evening were stretching out from the island toward the boat. The cool, crisp air tasted wonderful.
I decided Ridley was spear fishing again, and I waited for him. The darkness was growing heavy when he came up the jack ladder. He was still carrying his spear, empty this time. He pushed up his goggles, saw me, and grinned. “Nice time of night, isn’t it.”
I said, “What did you do with Jodi?”
“Jodi? Oh, you mean the cute little artist. I haven’t seen her since the night she tried to kick me into impotence.” If he was lying, he was doing a good job of it.
He went to work to strip off his rubber suit. I might not have been there for all the trouble he took to protect himself. He was either very sure that he could handle me or he assumed I wouldn’t attack him when he was in no position to defend himself.
But as far as Ridley was concerned, I’d parked my chivalry back in Puget City. I let him get the suit half off, so that his arms were tangled in it, and then I let him feel both fists on the side of his head.
He was bent over. He made one of those quick moves, stepping away from me, and jerked his arms free of the rubber suit. I didn’t wait for him to get his fist cocked. I charged, ramming my head into his middle. His grunt was a symphony in my ears.
He went backwards against the railing. He hung there, his arms flailing for balance. He made a beautiful target. I aimed for it.
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