Against the Tide

by Melody Carlson

  SEVEN

  “Where’d that shot come from?” Garret asked as they remained hunkered beneath the table.

  “A fishing boat,” she whispered, although she knew the shooter couldn’t possibly hear them. She glanced uneasily at the shrubbery beside the deck’s railing, the only thing shielding them from the river where the shot had originated.

  “Let’s get inside.” He reached for her hand, nudging her in ahead of him. “Careful of the glass. And stay low.”

  As they made their way through the shattered door, Megan heard the sound of a boat engine revving up behind them. “Do you think they’re leaving?” she asked in a shaky voice.

  “Sounds like it.” Garret already had his phone out and by the time they were in the living room, she could hear the 911 dispatcher on the other end. Garret quickly explained what had just transpired, assuring the dispatcher that no one had been shot. “Contact the coast guard,” he instructed, giving the location. “Let me see if I can find out.” He looked at Megan. “Did you see what kind of boat it was?”

  She nodded, and Garret put the phone on speaker.

  “It looked like a regular fishing boat,” she said, trying to remember details about the rather nondescript vessel. “I think it had a metal hull. Dark color, like black or navy. Maybe charcoal. And it was outfitted with poles, like they were heading out to fish. It was probably about twenty feet, with a covered cabin. I think a soft top. It wasn’t white, though. Kind of matched the boat.”

  “How many on the boat?” the dispatcher asked.

  “I’d guess at least two because someone had to be at the helm. Plus the guy in the back with the gun.”

  “And what happened exactly? Before the gunshot.”

  Megan tried to think. “Well, we were sitting outside. I’d been looking over the river and I noticed a boat moving along, heading west toward the ocean. But it was fairly close to the north shore, you know, where the marina is located. It just seemed like a regular fishing boat, except they were sort of meandering. Like they weren’t in a hurry to get on the ocean. Then I noticed the boat really slowed down right before the marina. I wondered if maybe they planned to stop for something. Then suddenly a guy in the back of the boat stood up with what looked like a long gun. I think it had a scope because it looked sort of bulky, you know? And then he pointed it right at us. That’s when I said get down.”

  “Do you know what kind of long gun? Automatic? Semiautomatic? Shotgun?”

  “I really don’t know. But like I said, it looked kind of bulky. Not like my dad’s hunting rifles, you know?”

  “Judging by the window,” Garret injected, “and the distance down to the river, I’d guess it was a high-powered rifle. Can’t say if it was automatic or not, since only one shot was fired. But I think I can see where the bullet went inside the house.” He pointed over to the dining room table. Megan looked over to see a spot that looked splintered.

  “Don’t touch anything,” the dispatcher said. “Wait for police to get there.”

  “Did you contact the coast guard yet?” he asked eagerly. “That boat’s probably crossing the bar by now.”

  “The coast guard is notified.”

  As Garret continued talking to the dispatcher, Megan stepped away. Her legs were still shaking and her stomach felt like it was tied in a knot as she sat down on the couch. Why was this happening? She was on the verge of tears again, but then Rocky came over, laying his head in her lap as if to comfort her. As she rubbed his silky ears, she began to relax a little. “I’m glad you didn’t get hurt,” she said softly.

  She could hear Garret assuring the dispatcher that they were in no immediate danger, but he sounded eager to get off the phone. Finally, as the sound of sirens grew nearer, he convinced the dispatcher that he needed to hang up.

  “I sure hope the coast guard picks them up,” he told Megan as he went to the front of the house, looking out the front window toward the marina. “I need to go let Wade in.”

  “Wade?”

  “He works for me.” Garret waved outside. “If you don’t mind being alone for a couple minutes, I’ll go tell him what’s up and let him into the store.”

  “I’ll be fine.” She patted Rocky’s back. “I’ve got my protector here.”

  Garret opened the door, cautiously looking to the right and left.

  “You be careful,” she called out.

  “You, too.”

  After Garret left, she could hear the sirens getting closer. Surely the police should be growing quite concerned by now. This was their third response since she’d arrived in Cape Perpetua yesterday. Maybe Michael would rethink his assumption that her dad had died of natural causes out on the ocean.

  Several minutes passed before Garret returned with a young man in plain clothes as well as a couple of uniformed officers. Rocky, true to form, began barking uncontrollably, using his bark and imposing stance to keep the policemen at the door.

  “Let me put him in the laundry room.” Garret hurried over to get Rocky, leading him out through the kitchen.

  “I’m Detective Greene.” A young man in plain clothes introduced himself to Megan, shaking her hand as he glanced around the room. He was just introducing her to the other two officers when Garret returned. And then Garret took them all over to see where the bullet had shattered the sliding door.

  Megan went over to the front window, sitting down on the couch where she could look outside. Another pair of policemen was strolling about the marina, looking around the docks and cabins and shop area. She felt relieved to have them around, but at the same time she felt rattled. She also questioned what good it did for these policemen to go poking around the marina when the shooter had clearly taken off toward the ocean. But hopefully the coast guard boys were out there chasing them down. She felt she’d gotten a pretty good description of the boat.

  After a few minutes of looking both inside and outside, the youthful detective came back to speak to Megan, sitting across from her on the arm of an overstuffed chair. “I heard about your encounter at the newspaper office last night,” he began. “Lieutenant Conrad shared his report. That must’ve been frightening for you.”

  “I’m just glad to know someone is investigating all this.” She studied him, trying to guess his age. He looked like he was barely out of high school.

  “I would’ve started on the case last night,” he explained. “But I was attending an out-of-town conference. Headed back as soon as I heard what was going on here. Mind if I ask you some questions?”

  “Not at all.”

  Garret came back into the living room, excusing himself to take care of some marina business outside. “Make yourselves at home,” he told everyone. “Just ring that brass ship’s bell on the front porch if you need me and I’ll come running.” He grinned at Megan. “My grandma trained me to answer to that bell.”

  “Thanks,” Detective Greene told him. “I’ll have more questions for you later.”

  “I have some questions for you, too.” Garret grabbed a ball cap as he opened the door.

  Despite her concern over the detective’s youth, Megan was more than eager to cooperate with him. But she soon found herself getting frustrated. Unless she was imagining things, this guy seemed much less concerned by the recent crime spree than she was. Of course, she told herself, he was probably just being reserved and professional. As a journalist, she’d witnessed law enforcement’s nonchalance before. And it wasn’t as if he wasn’t listening to her. He did appear to be taking careful notes on his iPad.

  “So...don’t you think these incidents must be related?” she finally asked him. “And in that case, doesn’t it seem unlikely that my dad’s death resulted from natural causes? Or was even accidental?”

  “I’m waiting for the coroner’s report.”

  “I respect that. But don’t you
think that time is of the essence?”

  “Time is always of the essence.” His tone sounded slightly defensive, which she found aggravating.

  “Aren’t you curious as to why someone would break into my dad’s office last night, the day after his death? And then someone breaks into his house, as well? Isn’t that more than just a coincidence?” she demanded.

  “That’s what I plan to find out.”

  “And his Jeep, too,” she added. “What are these people looking for, anyway?”

  “What’s this about his Jeep?” Detective Greene looked up from his iPad.

  “My dad’s Jeep was broken into, as well. Garret just discovered it early this morning. He called Lieutenant Conrad about it.” She explained about their predawn awakening. “Rocky heard someone out there. And when Garret went out to investigate, he felt certain the intruder had just been there.”

  “No one told me about that.”

  “From what I can see, that’s four crimes. Five counting my dad’s death. This is a big case, Detective. I hope you’re taking it seriously.”

  “Of course I’m taking it seriously.” He frowned. “Are you questioning me?”

  She tried not to take offense at what seemed a rude reaction. “Well, I have to admit you seem rather young to be a detective.”

  He sat up straighter. “I have a masters in forensic science from a highly reputable university. Graduated top of my class. Be assured, Miss McCallister, I know what I’m doing.”

  “Good,” she said nervously. “Glad to hear it. The truth is I’m feeling pretty scared right now. I grew up in Cape Perpetua. I’m not used to feeling unsafe in this town. I mean, it was never like this before.”

  “Well, things change. I’ve only been here a few months, but from what I hear, Cape Perpetua is evolving into a real tourist town. It’s not unusual for crime to follow growth.” He stood up. “And since this is Memorial Day weekend, the town is busier than usual. It’s not surprising that there are some rowdies acting up. We’ve already had twice as many calls this year than the previous Memorial Day weekend. And it’s only Saturday.”

  Megan felt indignant, wanting to point out that most of those calls had probably been related to her dad and herself. “Certainly, you’re not suggesting these recent incidents are the result of tourists behaving badly?”

  “I’m sorry to say that discharging firearms from fishing boats, although illegal, isn’t highly unusual on a holiday weekend in a small fishing town. Just ask the coast guard.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “If you’ll excuse me, Miss McCallister, I’d like to question Mr. Larsson now.”

  She nodded. “Don’t let me keep you.”

  As he left, she felt irritated. She didn’t know what she’d expected him to do—or how to react. But his casual attitude about this case was truly aggravating. As she stood up, she suspected that she’d offended him by questioning his age and inexperience. But she’d only wanted some reassurance—some encouragement that he was taking this thing seriously. Was that too much to ask?

  She went over to the front window, watching as Detective Greene waved to Garret. Several uniformed officers were still out there, but mostly they seemed to be standing around, admiring the boats. Why weren’t they looking for something? Or someone? Was no one taking this seriously?

  At the same time she knew that there probably wasn’t much to investigate out there. The shooting had occurred from the river. It wasn’t like that boat had left any kind of tracks. But what about the break-in of the mechanics shop? And Dad’s Jeep?

  “Looks like we’re done in here,” a policeman told her as they prepared to leave the house.

  “Did you find the bullet?” she asked.

  The shorter cop held up a plastic bag with some wood shards and a piece of metal that she assumed was a bullet.

  “Wow, that looks lethal,” she said.

  He just nodded.

  As they left, Megan felt even more uneasy. She knew enough about law enforcement to know that cops liked to keep their information to themselves. And, in their defense, it was procedural. Usually to protect an investigation. Being a journalist had taught her that much. She also knew that cops didn’t like being questioned. It was their job to question others. She just hoped she hadn’t burned her bridge with Detective Greene. Nevertheless she suspected he was fresh out of college, with little experience on the ground. It made sense that he’d taken a job in a small town like Cape Perpetua. Probably hoping to cut his teeth before moving on. Just the same, his cavalier attitude was unacceptable. Her dad deserved better!

  Seeing no reason to remain in Garret’s house, she decided to return to her cabin to pack her things. It had been generous of Garret to allow her to stay in what was clearly an unfinished space, but she didn’t want to wear out her welcome.

  Still, as she packed her bags, she was unsure as to where she would go next. The hotels were full until Monday. And her dad’s house—after last night—didn’t feel safe. Besides that, she wondered, as she zipped her bag closed, how was she going to get there with four flat tires?

  She got out her phone, calling AAA to see about getting her tires fixed. To her relief, they offered to take care of the car, but she would need to meet them there to hand off her keys. Remembering Dad’s Jeep, she wondered if he still kept a spare key in the little magnetic box on the left side of the engine. It was a practice he’d started long ago, after losing his keys while fishing.

  She set her bags next to the cabin door then proceeded over to the mechanic’s shop, sliding the big metal door open to let herself inside. As she walked over to her dad’s Jeep she wondered how Garret had gotten it into the shop. Maybe he knew about the key. Perhaps he had it now. But she opened the hood and there, sure enough, was the dusty old magnet box with the key still inside.

  She slid the big door open wide enough to back out and before long she was parked in front of the little cabin, loading her things into the small backseat.

  “What’re you doing?” Detective Greene demanded as she closed the passenger-side door.

  “What?” She peered curiously at him.

  “You’re tampering with evidence.”

  “But it’s my dad’s Jeep,” she told him.

  “We haven’t gathered prints yet.”

  “Oh.” She bit her lower lip, realizing she should’ve known better. Maybe he was doing his job, after all. “I’m sorry.” She reached inside and turned off the ignition and removed the key.

  “You do want us to do our job, don’t you?” He narrowed his eyes slightly.

  “Well, I figured you’d had plenty of time to go over the Jeep by now,” she shot back. “It’s been more than an hour.” She glanced to where a couple of cops were standing on the dock, admiring a sailboat that was for sale.

  “Well, we haven’t.” He waved to the officers, calling them over.

  Feeling the need to bite her tongue, Megan walked away from the Jeep. Standing off to the side of the cabin she crossed her arms in front of her, not bothering to hide her irritation.

  “Hey.” Garret joined her. “How’d you get the Jeep out of the shop?”

  She held up the key. “Dad’s backup key.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Wish I’d known about that before I pushed it into the shop yesterday.” He flexed a muscle. “Good workout, though.”

  She frowned over to where the cops were now converged all around her dad’s Jeep, acting like it contained all the clues to their case. “I just got chewed out for tampering with evidence,” she said quietly.

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. I figured they’d had enough time to look through it.” She shoved the key into her jeans pocket. “And I didn’t even confess that I’d already handled some of the paperwork when I put it back in the glove box.” She shrugged. “Guess I’ll s
ee if they can figure that one out.” She turned to Garret. “Do you think that detective knows what he’s doing? He seems awfully young to me.”

  “He is young.” Garret sighed. “And new to Cape Perpetua. First time we’ve had a real detective. But there had been some crimes recently—reason for the police department to make room in the budget for a detective.”

  “And Detective Greene was all they could afford,” she offered.

  He nodded. “Your dad didn’t have much confidence in him, either. Called him Detective Greenhorn.”

  She grimaced. “That sounds like Dad.”

  Garret reached for her arm, pulling her over to the space between the cabins as if to keep his next words confidential. “Rory had been working on a story, Megan,” he said with a quiet intensity. “He’d been doing some investigative journalism. And the young detective had not been very helpful.”

  “Do you think Greene was being intentionally difficult?” she asked in a hushed tone. “Trying to cover for someone?”

  “I doubt that. I think he’s just inexperienced and doesn’t like anyone knowing more than he does.”

  She nodded. “That’s kind of how I felt, too.”

  Garret’s brows arched. “Did you rub him wrong, too?”

  “Probably.” She gave him a sheepish smile. “And I’m not even sure I care.”

  Garret smiled. “You’re your father’s daughter.”

  “Thank you.” She told Garret a story about Dad getting in hot water with the police over his “investigative reporting” back when she was a teen. “I always felt proud of Dad for standing up to them, though. In my mind, he was the quintessential newspaper man. I wanted to grow up to be just like him.”

  Garret told her a tale of his own about Rory—a fishing story involving a shark and a half-eaten halibut—and it was so hilarious that they were both laughing so hard they actually got tears in their eyes. But it felt therapeutic to her. She knew that her dad’s life was something that should be celebrated. He wouldn’t want her to be upset and depressed. He’d always despised gloomy funerals, claiming that he wanted his friends to gather and remember him, not mourn him. She still needed to make arrangements for a memorial service. As well as a lot of other things.