A DANGEROUS HARBOR

by RP Dahlke

  Katy lit the stove and started the kettle. "Leila, honey, this isn't a good time."

  "Oh yeah? Looks like fun and games to me." She squinted at her sister and said, "You still got the hots for Gabe Alexander, after all, huh?"

  Gabe squinted up at the sisters. "Who's David?"

  "Shut up, Gabe. Leila, just… just sit on it for a few minutes, will you?" She handed out mugs of hot water and tea bags and three ibuprofen to Gabe. "Gabe, take the pills with the tea and tell me what happened."

  "I went to Antonio's." He blew at the steam on his mug and smiled shyly at Katy's sister. "Nice to see you again, Leila. You're looking beautiful as ever."

  Katy tapped him on his head. "Not the time, Gabe."

  "Ow. Okay, okay. I went there 'cause one of the trailer guys said a girl from Antonio's was looking for me." Gabe, unable to forgo a chance to embellish his adventures, turned his attention to Leila. "All of them are illegals, Leila. They come from all over the southern continent, even a Russian girl last week, though she's already gone. Someone comes in the night, picks them up and they disappear into some house of horrors in New York City. You can bet she won't be coming back this way again."

  "White slavers? Oh, my God! That's…."

  Katy growled, "Get to it, will you, Gabe?"

  "Don't nag," he said. He tossed back the three tablets with a swallow of the tea and continued. "If they try to form friendships the bosses break it up. See, two or more could work up the nerve where one may not be brave enough."

  "To escape?" Leila squeaked. "That's horrible! Can't anyone break it up?"

  "Bosses don't have to worry about that." Gabe straightened and then grimaced at the ribs. "The cops here all get a cut of the take."

  Leila scowled. "That's despicable. Ensenada's only a few hours from the border."

  He looked at her through bleary eyes. "They have stash houses full of girls just across the border in Tijuana. Bet your Vignaroli knows all about it."

  Leila turned on her sister. "Your Vignaroli? Who's… ?"

  "Later. I promise."

  She wasn't about to tell Leila about her romantic evening with Raul, at least not until they were alone. "What happened after you got to Antonio's?"

  "Bartender said my beer was on the house so I sat down and drank it. I wasn't drunk, I just couldn't seem to move."

  "Roofies."

  "Oh shit," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "You mean they had their way with me and I never knew it?"

  "Very funny. Anything else?"

  "Hazy. Damn. Why'd they have to hit me?" he asked, gingerly testing the lump on this head.

  "They were probably worried you'd come around and put up a fight."

  Leila was anxiously eyeing Gabe's pain-filled eyes. "What about his ribs, shouldn't he see a doctor, get them taped or something?"

  Katy inwardly groaned. She really had to explain Gabe to Leila, but not until they were alone. "They don't do that anymore. It inhibits the breathing and can bring on pneumonia. The ribs will heal as they are. I've had a few broken ones myself, and though it's no picnic, I can concur that the new method is for the best." She reached into the overhead cabinet and pulled out several extra pillows, a sheet and a blanket.

  "You'll breathe easier and sleep better if you use all the pillows. The settee is yours for the night, Gabe."

  "How's the kitten doing?"

  "She's fine," she said, motioning her sister up the steps. "Now go to sleep, Gabe. We'll sort this out in the morning."

  Gabe flopped over onto his side, grimaced, sighed and closed his eyes.

  Topside, Katy settled in to tell her sister everything, but Leila, always the first to jump into any argument, beat her to it.

  "What kind of a place is this? I came down here thinking we were going to sun ourselves on the veranda of the hotel, and you're here with Gabe Alexander? No, no, don't tell me. I'll get to him later. What's going on with the white slavery? And, who's Vignaroli? The way Gabe said the name makes me think it's a cop. Am I right? What's up with that?"

  Katy took another sip of her tea, hoping to find a place to start. "Please, let me start at the beginning. Then if you still have questions, I'll answer them."

  Twenty minutes later, all but two of Leila's questions were answered.

  "The producers at All My Tomorrows would kill for this story. You and Gabe. How he talked you into running with him then pushed you out of your own car and made off for Canada? Better than anything we've got for plot, that's for sure. They die in a horrible fire, tragic car accident, no body to recover, then come back two years later with a new face. Course it's a different actor, but the fans don't care. So, what's with you and this Vignaroli person? And if Spencer Bobbitt… that's a great last name, I don't suppose his wife's name is Lorena, is it?"

  Katy refused to add any more fodder to her sister's growing admiration of the circus she was living right now. "Never mind that. As for Raul, I haven't had the time to think it through yet."

  "Huh. That why I got my signals mixed. You had that satiated look of a woman who'd just been successfully bedded, but you were with Gabe. You're sleeping with him, aren't you?"

  "With Raul? It was a first, and I don't know where it's going yet. It isn't a good time for you to be here, either."

  "Are you trucking the boat home, or are you going to sail her on her little bottom?"

  "I'm moving the boat tomorrow to the downtown working marina and from there I'll make arrangements to have her trucked home. Raul is sure that whoever is behind the murders will consider me out of the game."

  "But are you? Off the case, I mean?"

  She sighed. "Yes, I think so. He's not going to hold Gabe, so there's no real reason for me to stay. Now, if you don't mind bunking with me, I really need to get some sleep."

  "Sure. This is way cooler than anything I imagined for a vacation."

  Katy woke to strings of light playing across the walls and floor and a cool breeze coming through the portholes. She wiggled her toes, stretched and momentarily digressed into a childhood game of 'where am I?' but instead of a ten-year-old's daydream of India and elephants, her nose smelled diesel, and there was the strange buzz-sawing coming from somewhere. Gabe. Rolling over, she came face to face with her sleeping sister, the kitten curled up on the end of her bunk, the striped tail covering most of her face, except where one eye was carefully watching her. Katy sat up, put out a hand and stroked the orange fur, and after a few soft strokes it purred a strange, if somewhat musical, accompaniment to Gabe's snoring.

  She quietly edged down to the bottom of the bunk, got dressed, and carrying her sandals, tiptoed past Gabe, his arm dangling off the settee. She picked up the wet package of soggy peas he'd used on his injured head and dumped it in the trash bin under the sink and put on the coffee. None of which seemed to bother Gabe or Leila.

  She took her coffee and went up the stairs to nestle into the cushions of her cockpit. If she were in San Francisco, she'd be following autumn leaves cartwheeling down Sacramento Street to her favorite coffee shop. In her fantasy, she still had her job and it was the weekend and her engagement to David was now only a shadowy memory, but she had someone special in her life, someone who meant the world to her, someone darkly handsome whose rumbling voice woke her in the mornings with….

  "You're up early." Gabe, blond hair looking like the barbed wire contraption had nested on his head and his eyes red and swollen and crusty from sleep and the drugs he'd tossed back with his beer last night. He held up his cup. "I'd join you if I knew where to find the coffee pot."

  "Small pot, blinking red light on the machine… or just follow your nose, Gabe." And as an afterthought, said, "Stay below. I'd rather keep you a secret for a few more hours. At least until I talk to Raul."

  He shrugged and disappeared. Having lost her connection to a happier early morning fantasy, she followed him below. He was slumped down on the settee, yawning into his mug of coffee. Shirtless, he still had on his khaki shorts from the night before.<
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  "How're the ribs?"

  "Not so bad," he said, gingerly pressing his sides.

  "Remember anything else?"

  "Not yet. With Spencer arrested for the girl's murder, you going home?"

  "Yes. I'm moving the boat to Baja Naval today and Raul will give you a plane or bus ticket to anywhere you want."

  He was ignoring the kitten cleaning herself as she sat next to him on the settee.

  "The very reason I don't have pets," she said. "You could douse yourself with kerosene and juggle flaming torches and that cat would go on licking her butt."

  "Oh, I don't know," he said. "Bet if I added a kitty toy to the juggling I'd get her attention. Listen, I've been thinking…."

  The cell phone in her pants pocket vibrated. She pulled it out and saw she had a text message.

  She paled and then said, "When Leila wakes, tell her to stay on the boat and I'll check in with her later."

  "You want me to help you move the boat to Baja Naval?"

  "Leila will do it, but stay put until I get back, okay?"

  "Your sister sails, too?"

  "Of course she does. Don't you remember? Pilgrim was Dad's boat. Leila and I both grew up sailing with him."

  "Then it's not yours?"

  "It's mine and Leila's, want to check the documentation? Now please, don't go topside and don't talk to anyone on the dock. Can you do that?"

  "Where're you going?"

  "I've been summoned to an interview by the great Spencer Bobbitt," she said, grabbing her sunglasses and handbag.

  As she walked by Consolation Prize, Ida Howard popped out of her boat, waved a dish rag at her and scrambled down the rickety wooden steps.

  "I understand they've arrested Spencer for the murder of that young woman."

  "That's what I hear. I'm leaving soon, but Myne could use a friend about now."

  "Would putting a stake through her heart help?" The older woman huffed out a laugh. "Oh, come off it, Katy, surely you know she's a blood-sucking little vampire, but I suppose if Spencer's going to prison she'll climb into some other man's wallet and that will be the last we see of her."

  "Do you think he did it, then? Murdered the girl?"

  "Of course he did. That the police were stymied by the absence of his gun has been resolved, hasn't it?"

  "A gun? I didn't think the police said anything about a gun."

  Ida tossed her gray bobbed hair and sniffed. "Gossip, I suppose, but you'd know, wouldn't you—working with the police chief on the investigation?"

  Katy decided to forgo the game playing. "Yes. It was his gun, found in the arroyo below the RV park."

  Ida swiveled around to stare at the rocky path cutting a line in the sandstone up and over the ditch. "Well, then… done and as it should be."

  Katy examined the other woman's response with interest. "And what do you know about the murder, Ida?"

  "I know that with Spencer in jail, Wallace and I might have a chance."

  "Want to explain?"

  "Let's not pretend you don't know about Spencer transporting stolen case-goods to Mexico. At first they offered a deal to Spencer, but now that he's in jail for murder, the FBI will choose Wallace instead."

  "That's great, but it's also a terrific motive for murder, Ida."

  Ida sucked in a breath. "I never! Yes, we wanted the FBI deal. If anyone deserves a break it's Wallace, not that devil. He's dragged us along with his nasty business deals until it was too late to get out, but neither Wallace nor I would ever… we'd never resort to murder!"

  "Then what about Booth? It appears you were the one who plied him with rum the night he either walked off the dock or was pushed."

  "Why would I do that? Granted, Booth was Spencer's evil little minion, always procuring girls for the man, but kill him… no. And as for plying him with drink, the man could put away a fifth a day and not stagger, no help was needed in that department."

  "But add that to the heroin he was consuming and it could have been a lethal combination."

  "Wallace has a lethal heart condition, but that doesn't stop him from drinking. Look around you—there's nothing else to do down here. Oh, wait, I forgot, they can eyeball Spencer's mistress, not that it will do them any good. She's not for the likes of anyone without cash. So, pardon me if I show no sympathy to Spencer's whore, but neither of us killed that girl or Booth. You want to look into Fred, he's the one with motive."

  "How's that?"

  "Fred was angry enough to frame him for the murder."

  "What's Fred's beef with Spencer?"

  "He's certain Spencer is holding his daughter prisoner. Idiot man. The silly girl doesn't want anything to do with a respectable father, and why should she, when all she has to do is lay on her back to get a paycheck."

  That explained a lot of things: The empty bottle of Scotch and Myne saying her earlier night time visitor wasn't able to do her any good. And he bribed Jeff with better wages to convince Myne that Jeff's interest was only where the money was, not her. Poor Myne. Then there was Wally begging Myne to come with him. Poor Ida.

  "Then Fred's not associated with Spencer, that is, other than trying to get his daughter away from him?"

  Ida shrugged. "I've never seen him before we got here. If my husband had kept to what he knows, instead of attempting to get one over on Spencer Bobbitt, we wouldn't be in the mess we are today. And no, I don't know anything else about Fred McGee, I've got my hands full with keeping my husband out of trouble."

  Katy turned to walk away.

  Ida called after her, "Then you'll tell that Mexican police chief that we're not to be pestered anymore, won't you? We'll be escorted back to the States soon."

  Another person asking for reassurance that was not hers to give. Katy shook her head. "I really have no influence here, Ida. The Mexican police do so as they see fit with or without my advice. Now, I have to go."

  Ida was clutching at straws. She knew, she had to know, that her husband wanted Myne instead of her. Was Ida the one who tried to tie up a sleeping Myne? Ida was a hefty woman and hadn't she dead-lifted that anchor? She could easily pick up Myne and toss her over her shoulder, then into the sea. Booth was small for a man, and except for his belly, he probably weighed only a few pounds more than Myne. But was Ida capable of shooting a young girl in cold blood to save a husband who didn't want her? It didn't add up.

  Moving down the dock, Katy could feel the woman's eyes boring a hole in her back.

  Chapter Twenty-one:

  The usual assortment of wives, mothers and relatives at the police station had been replaced with hard-eyed young men in military riot gear and helmets and automatic rifles across their laps. Phones rang, instructions were shouted across the room and police scurried in and out of offices.

  Katy waited by the door until she found a familiar face; Sergeant Moreno, his head down, shambled past without looking at her. Sweat stained the underarms of his shirt and the tight crease of his uniform pants had long since been destroyed. The sergeant blinked at her greeting, then gave her a weary smile.

  "Ah, Señorita Hunter! I did not see you."

  The feeling was mutual. She would never have recognized this rumpled, tired version from the Hollywood wanna-be of a week ago.

  In Spanish she asked, "Is the chief in?"

  "Oh, no, señorita. The jefe is away. Please, you must leave, we are muy busy." The sergeant must be very distressed to allow his near perfect American English to slide.

  "When will he be back?"

  He shrugged, already signaling to someone over her shoulder. "If you will excuse me, I must get back to my men."

  She followed his glance to what appeared to be a SWAT team filing through the entrance. "What's going on?"

  The sergeant chewed on the end of his black mustache while he considered. "There was an incident in El Sauzal."

  "El Sauzal?" They'd passed a sign for the small community where Raul's home perched on a hilltop. "What happened?"

  The sergeant pursed h
is lips and scratched wearily at his thick dark hair. "You are an American policewoman so you know that I cannot tell you much, but—the jefe's… someone set a bomb at his house. It is completely gone now."

  Katy felt as if the bottom of the floor had fallen out from under her feet. She grabbed onto the sergeant's arm. In the shock of the moment, her emotions spread across her face. "Is he… is the chief okay? Please, can you tell me?"

  "I cannot say, señorita. Please, you must leave now," he said, pulling her hand off his sleeve.

  He couldn't be dead! He was with her last night at the winery. A wonderful moonlit night filled with the kind of lovemaking she'd always dreamed about and he didn't bring her back to the marina until almost three a.m. where she found Gabe, beaten and dropped at her gate.

  But Gabe's beating wouldn't compare to Raul being murdered in his bed. No, this couldn't be happening, not now.

  Then she thought of Spencer Bobbitt and her heart sank. That devil! This was his doing, she just knew it. She pulled out her business card, the one with her police ID on it, and handed it to the sergeant. "Please call me the minute you can tell me more?"

  The sergeant pulled his eyes away from the army boys, took the card and slipped it into a breast pocket, then snagged a passing officer, but before he left, he patted the shirt pocket over his heart to show that he wouldn't forget and then handed her off to the jailer.

  Katy allowed herself a slight smile at the sergeant's kindness, even in the midst of a crisis like this one—oh God, please let him be alive—she followed behind the officer up the elevator to the prisoner's visiting room

  At the end of the hallway, a guard stood up and let her into a small side room with no windows. She sat down in one of two beat-up and filthy plastic chairs and stared at the bilious green and pockmarked walls.

  She spent the time waiting to calm and clear her agitated mind. It would do no good to appear weak or weepy in front of Spencer Bobbitt.

  Ten minutes later the door opened and Spencer sauntered through the door, his graying blond hair slicked back on his thin face.

  "I got your message," she said, trying to keep the edge out of her voice. "You wanted to talk?"