Superior Storm (Lake Superior Mysteries)

by Tom Hilpert

  “Hey, Tony,” I said, trying to loosen him up, “we need to at least pretend to be having fun. How about a smile?”

  He looked quizzically at Jasmine, and then back at me.

  “I am smiling.”

  I gave up and turned the lens toward Phil. He seemed very tense, and his smile for the camera was patently forced.

  Suddenly, the engine note changed, as Leyla dropped into idle. The boat slowly lost way, and sat, heaving in the swell with the engine ticking over.

  “All right people,” said Leyla. “Let's do some sailing.”

  My plan, which I had talked over with Leyla, was to take the afternoon to relax and enjoy the sailing, and not start in on the group sessions until we anchored for the evening in some secluded bay. Phil came back to the cockpit, to get out of the way.

  Leyla reached over the port side of the deck and pulled on a rope. As far as I could see, it didn't do anything. She removed a kind of winch handle from a bracket in the cockpit and handed it to me, pointing at a big round pulley sort of thing that was fasted to the deck just outside the cockpit on the starboard side.

  “Stick that in the hole at the top of the winch,” she said.

  She then grabbed another rope and wrapped it around the pulley a couple times.

  “Now crank,” she ordered.”

  I began cranking. The line tightened, and as it did, the front sail began to unwind off the forward stay and open up toward the starboard side. The wind began tugging at it, and it made a loud flapping noise.

  “Faster,” she said, and I cranked faster. The sail slowly unfurled, and then the wind caught it full, and I could feel the pressure of it on the boat. The rope pulled tight. Leyla leaned around me and did something with it, and then leaped back to the wheel. The boat turned its shoulder, shifted a little, and then leaned over and began to push through the water. Leyla reached over and abruptly the noise of the engine ceased.

  “We're sailing!” cried Leyla exuberantly.

  The first thing I noticed was the absence of noise. Except when I was hiking or skiing, going from one place to another required an engine and, therefore, noise. But here we were, sliding through the clear waters of Superior, and there was no sound but the gurgle and slap of the waves on the hull, and breeze in our ears. Over the past year I had sailed several times with Leyla, but it still delighted me to realize that we were moving, powered by nothing more than the wind.

  Jasmine made her way to the bow, glancing down at the skylight that opened into the bow cabin. She sat at the very front, looking out at the waves and the shore.

  Stone sat in the cockpit looking around. It seemed like he was enjoying himself, but with him, it was hard to tell. Phil Kruger sat opposite him, on the starboard side, which happened to be the low side at the moment. He looked around and fidgeted, drumming his fingers on the gunwale, shifting his weight. He seemed keyed up.

  Finally, he stood up. “I'm gonna check on Angie,” he said.

  I resisted the urge to say “Angela,” and settled for nodding. He went below. Tony Stone looked up, suddenly alert. He glanced at the bow where Jasmine sat, facing into the oncoming waves. Then he looked at me like he was about to say something. I waited expectantly. It wasn't unusual for reticent people to want to talk about marital issues in privacy. He drew a breath, and then Phil Kruger came back up into the cockpit and the moment passed. Stone looked away like he never had intended to say anything.

  “How's Angela?” I asked Phil.

  “Okay, I guess,” he said. “Probably more tired than anything.” He stretched. “So how deep are we here, anyway?

  I glanced at the depth finder next to Leyla. “Around two-hundred feet, looks like.”

  “About a mile along here, and it will be three hundred and fifty feet.” said Leyla, gazing off into the distance. “Past Outer Island it stays around six or seven hundred feet. The deepest part is more than thirteen hundred feet.”

  “Deep enough to drown in,” said Phil.

  We sailed in silence for a few more minutes. There was a muffled sound from forward. The skylight over the bow cabin rose slightly and stayed there.

  A minute later, Angela came up the companionway.

  “How are you feeling?” asked Leyla.

  “I'm fine now, thanks,” said Angela. She finished wrapping her hair into a ponytail. “I opened up the skylight to let in air. I hope that's okay.”

  “It is in this weather,” said Leyla. “If the weather gets bad, we may have to close it.”

  “We listened to weather on the way here. It sounds good.”

  Leyla shrugged. “It does.” She jerked her head over her shoulder. “But if that catches up with us, we'll have to run for shelter.”

  I looked astern. We were out of the shadow of the blue hills near Bayfield. In the distance far to the west was a dark smudge the covered the bottom quarter of the sky. It seemed to be coming from the northwest.

  “Should we be concerned?”

  Leyla shrugged again. “Angela's right. I checked the weather on the on-board radio when we first got the boat. Sounds like they aren't expecting anything. The trouble is, sometimes things happen that they don't expect.” She looked directly at Angela again. “So, you are feeling okay?”

  Angela nodded. “Fine. It was probably just nerves or something.”

  I was surprised Angela would be that nervous. Maybe she was afraid of the water. Maybe she felt there was a lot riding on this trip.

  “Well, if you all agree, I'd like to hoist the mainsail too, and show you what real sailing is all about.”

  We all agreed, and Leyla swung the bow into the wind. She reached over and snapped a rope loose from its clamp. The jib in front spilled all of its air, and flapped idly while we heaved in the waves. Leyla began to direct us to pull some lines and loosen others

  Stone cranked on the pulley I had used earlier, while I worked the line that pulled the sail slowly up the mast. Leyla made some adjustments, and slowly the big white sail began to tighten and catch the wind from the northwest. Next we worked the jib, and within about five minutes both sails were full. The Tiny Dancer drove her starboard shoulder into the water and leaped forward.

  Before, we had been sliding sedately through the water. Now we began to move much faster. The wake boiled behind us, and we swooped gently from one wave to the next. It felt almost like flying. One of the stays began to vibrate, making a low humming sound. As our speed picked up, the bow began to kick up spray as it plowed into the waves ahead. Jasmine had already returned to her place there, and she whooped as the icy water caught her. She stood at the very front, one hand on the front stay and the other flung out wide. Her dark hair streamed unfettered in the wind.

  Leyla and I glanced at each other. We both knew, without saying it, what Jasmine felt. The fresh wildness of Superior at her best is almost like a drug. I glanced at Tony to see what he thought. I almost did a double take as I saw him grinning and wiping spray from his face.

  Phil was nodding to himself like he was pleased. But it was more like he was pleased that we were making progress, rather than that he was enjoying the ride. Angela still seemed a little tense.

  “Is that Madeline Island?” asked Phil, pointing to our starboard.

  “That's right,” said Leyla. “We're almost clear of it. The first one we passed to our port was Basswood, and we are almost clear of Hermit over there.”

  “And that one is Stockton?” asked Phil, pointing to a low line of trees rising some distance almost straight ahead.

  “That's right,” said Leyla. “I was thinking we might anchor in Julian Bay on Stockton. With this northwest wind, that should be a perfect spot.”

  “I was hoping to see the lighthouse on Outer Island,” said Angela.

  “You guys have done your homework,” said Leyla. “We'll have to see how the wind holds up. It's a good fifteen miles more – maybe two or three hours at this speed. If it stays like this, we won't have to tack, and we'll probably have enough time befor
e sunset. But no promises out here.”

  “I'd really love to try,” said Angela.

  “Okay, then,” said Leyla. She reached for a rope and used it to pull the mainsail boom closer to the center of the boat. We heeled over even further to starboard and the increase in speed was perceptible. She had me crank the jib sheet also, and again we could feel the change in the boat.

  Like true Minnesotans, we all stayed out, enjoying the sunshine and what passed for balmy warmth on Superior. No one in the North wastes a nice day, any time of year. From time to time, Leyla made little adjustments in our direction, and with the tightness of the sails. After a while, Jasmine had to use the bathroom, which, on board the boat, was called the “head.” Angela abruptly got up and went with her. I have often observed that females feel the need to go to the bathroom in groups of two or three, but there was simply no way they would both fit into the tiny facility together. I guess some habits die hard. They both returned a few minutes later. As they stepped up into the cockpit, Stone raised an eyebrow at his wife. She just shrugged slightly and gave a barely perceptible shake of her head.

  At last, I reluctantly concluded that we should probably eat soon.

  “I'm going to go get a snack together, and then make lunch,” I said.

  “Need any help?” asked Jasmine.

  I shook my head. “Stay out here and enjoy it.”

  I went below into the tiny, neatly kept galley area. I took two avocados out of the cupboard where I had stored them earlier and glanced around for a small knife. Not finding one, I began to open the drawers in the galley. The first one held a big roll of gray duct-tape, two pens and some other odds and ends. The second one held eating utensils. I found a knife and peeled the avocados, slicing them into medallions. I sprinkled them with lemon juice and garlic salt, and arranged them on a plate with crackers and slices of cheese.

  “What is this?” asked Stone suspiciously when I ascended to the cockpit and offered him the plate.

  “Why does everyone say that?” I asked. “Haven't you ever had an avocado?”

  “I've had guacamole.”

  “Think of this like sophisticated guacamole.” I handed him the plate to pass around.

  He reluctantly took a piece of avocado, put it on a cracker with cheese, and took a bite. He chewed, and then nodded. “That's actually OK.” From Stone, that amounted to a rave review. I went back down into the cabin to get drinks and napkins.

  As I reached the bottom of the companionway, the boat lurched violently to starboard. I caught myself on the galley counter. She straightened fairly quickly, and I heard whoops and laughter from the cockpit. I assumed some kind of rogue wave had hit us. As I regained my footing, I noticed that one of the port forward cupboards was open, and my duffel bag was hanging partway out. I went over to it, and put my hand under it to shove it back in. I felt something solid and almost metallic through the fabric. Puzzled, I lifted the bag down to the floor. I couldn’t think what I had packed that might feel that way. I opened the zipper. Some of my things were missing and at one end of the bag was a heavy metal box that I had not placed there. My heart began to pound. I carefully lifted the cover an inch or so and peered inside. When I did, I went cold all over.

  I was looking at a bomb.

  CHAPTER 3 1

  It’s true, I had never seen a bomb in real life before. But I have seen enough movies to know that either this was a real bomb, or someone had gone to impressive lengths to scare me. Either way, the implications were staggering.

  I carefully replaced it and secured my bag gently on the lowest shelf of the cupboard. I took a few deep breaths, shook my head and went up the companionway.

  The others looked at me curiously.

  “Couldn’t find the napkins?” asked Jasmine.

  My heart dropped in sudden fear, but I replied smoothly, “Just wanted to check on everyone after that lurch.”

  “Rogue wave,” said Leyla.

  “We’re all fine,” said Jasmine.

  I went over to Leyla where she stood at the wheel. I put my arms around her from the side and whispered in her ear.

  “Don’t act surprised, just be normal. I want you to keep everyone on deck for a while. Get them involved in a sailing lesson, or tell them it’s a nautical tradition to stay above board or something.”

  She looked quickly at me, and then back straight ahead. She smiled and nodded. I paused. “I love you, Leyla,” I whispered.

  She turned back and looked at me longer. Her eyes were soft and troubled. She touched my face and said softly. “And I love you, Jonah.”

  I went below, promising drinks and napkins soon. I turned to the radio. There were two of them. One was clearly a normal stereo of the type you might find in a car. It was mounted flush in the wall underneath one of the storage cupboards, above the desk. Above the stereo was the marine radio. It was maybe ten inches long, and about four inches high. In the middle there was a small dark LCD screen, with some buttons underneath it, apparently for navigating through an electronic menu. On the left was a clearly marked power button, underneath a small speaker. The hand-held microphone plugged in next to the power button and hung on a hook on the wall next to the unit. To the top right of the LCD was a volume knob. Underneath that, in the middle, was a red button behind a switch guard marked “DSTRS”, and below that was a channel selector knob.

  I found the volume and turned it all the way down. Next, I pushed the power button. The LCD turned green and the number three showed on the screen. I assumed that this was the channel number, like a CB radio. Slowly, I turned the volume knob until I could just hear the weather report that was apparently broadcast continually.

  I knew there was a channel that was used to broadcast emergencies, but I didn’t know which number it was. I turned the channel selector and felt a series of subtle clicks. The number on the screen didn’t change. The weather report continued quietly. I turned the channel knob again. The LCD still read “three,” and the same report droned on.

  I took the microphone and held down the talk button. “SOS, SOS, SOS” I said clearly, but quietly. “Vessel in trouble near Outer Island.” Maybe I was supposed to say “mayday.” I had the idea that was for airplanes, but just in case, I repeated that three times also. When I held the talk button down, the weather report continued uninterrupted. I had a vague idea that this was wrong, that my talking was supposed to silence the other broadcast, at least on my end.

  I tried switching channels again, but nothing changed. The number steadfastly remained on three, and the mechanical weatherman droned relentlessly on. Time was passing. I didn’t know how long it might be before someone wanted to come below. I didn’t know how long Leyla could keep them distracted.

  I flipped up the switch guard, and pressed the DSTRS button, which Leyla had told us was for emergencies. As far as I could tell, nothing happened. I tried talking into the microphone again, but the weatherman still didn’t stop. I paused. Something about the weather broadcast wasn’t right. I knew that they used recordings until something changed, but this sounded like exactly the same report I had heard in the marina when we first came on board, several hours ago. I noticed that nothing identified the date, and it cut off and repeated before it gave any information for tomorrow. That didn’t seem right somehow.

  Madly, I began pushing buttons, trying to call up the radio menu, anything except the weather report. Nothing worked. I shut off the power and put it on again. Still just the same old generic weather. I pushed the distress button again, and then turned down the volume. In desperation, I turned on the stereo below it. It was tuned to an AM station in Ashland, still receiving, though with a lot of static. In vain, I tried the microphone, but I knew it wasn’t hooked up to the AM/FM radio.

  I began to feel desperate. Someone had planted the bomb, or the fake bomb, and I had to find out who and why before they got suspicious and came below. I went to the cupboard, and found my cell phone. I turned it on, but it couldn’t find a signal. It sho
wed I had a text message. Reflexively, I checked it. It was from Dan Jensen. It read, “Finally got a lead on Charles Holland. Has a sister, Angela, and one other brother, unidentified still, suspected of being part of the gang. Gang struck again this AM in Ashland WI. We’ll get them soon.”

  I went cold. Angela. Surely it wasn’t this Angela. But if it wasn’t, who had brought the bomb on board? Ashland was not far from Bayfield. They could have robbed the bank there and easily made it up to the Marina to take off with us.

  I tried again to use the phone, but it was out of range. I had brought Leyla into the middle of Lake Superior with a gang of murderous criminals. It was time for plan B.

  CHAPTER 3 2

  I went back to the cupboard that held my duffel and removed the bag. The AM radio began relaying the news. The bank robbery was the top headline, of course. I paused for a moment. The bow-cabin was closest. I went forward and pulled one of the Kruger’s bags out from under the v-shaped bunk. It held Angela’s clothes, including undergarments, and I was embarrassed, but not enough to stop. I grabbed a second bag and unzipped it. I stopped and sat back on my haunches.

  Several hundred thousand dollars in cash will do that to you.

  The Krugers had another bag of cash as well, and some handgun ammunition. I quickly thrust questions of how’s and why’s into the future and went to work. I was dimly aware of the boat heaving and swooping on the waves; maybe the swell was getting bigger. The news report started talking about the murder of a professor at the University of Minnesota, Duluth. The man in question was a professor of counseling and women’s studies. He was shot to death the night before in his home.

  When I had everything shipshape up front, I made my way back to the Stones’ cabin, flipping off the radio when I reached the base of the companionway. Jensen’s message hadn’t said anything about the Stones, but obviously Phil and Angela and had partners. My heart was in my stomach. At that moment, Jasmine came down the companionway, followed by Angela.

  “Do you need some help?” asked Jasmine.