They spoke a few minutes more and after telling Jennie to give the boys a hug from her, she rang off.
Guilt over J.B.'s sadness sank its tentacles deep in her heart. Was she being selfish? Should she be spending more time with J.B.? Maybe she should have been more sensitive to his needs. On the other hand, he'd known she was a writer before they married. It wasn't as though he hadn't had any idea what to expect. And what about him? Knowing J.B., he probably decided to come out of retirement and was on some plane to the Middle East again.
Helen tossed off her frustration and headed upstairs. She ran bath water and soaked in the tub until the water cooled and the bubbles disappeared, then slipped into her cotton pajamas and crawled into bed.
She slept without dreaming and awoke to the distant sound of a jangling telephone. A three-quarter moon shone over the water, creating a silver path to her bed. Helen stretched lazily, then winced. She'd pulled some muscles in her shoulders and lower back helping to bring Mandrel and Trenton on board that morning.
The phone was still ringing—five, maybe six times now. Why hadn't Emily gotten it? Helen swung her legs over the side of the bed. The neon green numbers on the clock read eight o'clock. The phone stopped ringing, but she didn't hear Emily's familiar voice. Then Helen remembered the dinner engagement. Emily must have gone on without her.
Fully awake now and stomach grumbling from lack of attention, Helen put on her robe and made her way down the stairs. Except for the light in the entry and the moonlight coming through the large bay windows, the house was dark. A movement on the back wall startled her. She yelped and jumped back, then clasped her robe more tightly around her.
"Silly goose," she muttered when she realized it was only the shadow caused by tree limbs waving in the wind. Not normally given to fears and fantasies, Helen chided herself for being so jumpy. She ran a hand through her hair and rubbed the back of her neck. Determined not to scare herself with wild imaginings, Helen crossed through the dining room to the kitchen. She fumbled for the light switch, encountering only a bare wall. Wishing she'd paid more attention earlier, she stepped farther into the darkness toward the kitchen door. Surely she'd find a switch there. A faint thump sent her heart into overdrive. Something crashed to the floor.
Chapter Eleven
Who's there?" Helen clutched the lapels of her robe.
"Meow." Ginger tore past her.
Relieved to know it was just the cat, Helen hurried to the back door. This time she found the switch, two of them, and flipped them on. Light flooded the kitchen. Helen moaned. Ginger had knocked over a glass canister. Flour and glass shards covered half the floor.
"You stinker," Helen called after the errant cat. "Look at this mess."
From the utility closet Helen retrieved a broom and dustpan and methodically worked her way around the perimeters of the spill, sweeping inward and trying to keep from stepping in the broken glass. When she'd finished she filled the teakettle and set it on the stove.
Emily would undoubtedly want tea, and Helen needed food.
Someone pulled into the driveway, not Emily and not a car. The vehicle sounded more like a motorcycle. Perhaps Emily had a guest. Helen wandered back to the entry and reached for the knob at the same time the doorbell rang. Helen peered through the curtains. Not knowing whether to be happy or annoyed, she swung open the door. J.B. gave her an odd grin. "Evening, luv. Aren't you going to invite me in?"
Helen backed up and made room for him to enter, then closed the door. "I didn't expect to see you until the weekend." He looked different, more handsome if that were possible, but distant as well. Part of that might have been the clothes. He was wearing a black leather jacket and jeans, and a black biker T-shirt with a colorful Harley emblem. Definitely not his usual style. And part may have been the smell. His clothes reeked of stale cigarette smoke and liquor.
"Yes. I'm truly sorry to bother you. I know how much you were wanting to be away to write. I tried to call. Emily said you'd gone fishing."
A swatch of apprehension sliced through her as wide and deep as the chasm that kept her from hauling him into her arms and kissing him. "I meant to call back around four, but fell asleep."
"You wouldn't have caught me. When I heard about the explosion and I didn't hear from you, I imagined the worst."
In all their years together as friends, and in their past few months as husband and wife, Helen had never felt so far away from him. It disarmed her. Was he moving on? His clothing seemed to indicate he was up to something. "But that's not the only reason you came."
"No, I've come to a decision. Since it involves both of us, I thought it best to talk it over with you."
"I see." She lowered herself onto the arm of a sofa and watched him settle into a big chair. "Could this have anything to do with your meeting with Jason and Kate?"
"So you know about that? Good. As I told them, I know how much you wanted this to work out," J.B. continued. "But the truth is, Helen, I was never cut out for this sort of life."
Helen hadn't known quite what to expect, but it wasn't this. Jennie had said he seemed sad. She was beginning to understand why. He was leaving her. Helen's heart sank into whatever murky depths hearts sink into when they've been broken. "And you want out." It was all she could do to maintain a steady voice. But she was not given to outbursts and fits of crying and had no intention of starting now.
"I know you're disappointed, but I suppose I do. I never should have made the commitment in the first place."
Helen swallowed back the baseball-sized lump in her throat.
"I suppose part of that is my fault. I expected more than you were willing to give."
"I knew you'd understand, luv." His blue eyes connected with hers. "It won't be so bad. I'll no longer be underfoot. We'll go back to the way things used to be."
Oh, J.B., I want you underfoot. I never meant that you should leave for good. She thought the words but couldn't say them. "I'm not sure we can go back. So much has happened."
His lovely smile faded. "I'm afraid I don't follow."
Helen didn't know what to say. The look in his eyes and the words they'd just spoken didn't seem to match. "I'm not sure I do either. But if you divorce me I don't think....
"Divorce?" The blank look on his face might have made her laugh if the subject hadn't been so serious. "What on earth are you talking about?"
"J.B., you said you wanted out. That you shouldn't have married me. . . ." Helen got up and walked over to the window.
"I said nothing of the sort." J.B. came up behind her, his large hands cupping her shoulders. "You thought I was talking about us?"
"Weren't you?"
"No! I was trying to tell you that I'll not be retiring after all. I've been working on some prospects of things to do to keep busy, but so far nothing seems to be clicking for me. I came down here in hopes of persuading you to go along with me on it."
Helen turned and looked up at him. "That's it? All this stuff about not making a commitment to me just to say you don't want to quit working?"
"Of course. Do you really think I could leave you?"
"Oh, J.B., I thought... You seem so different. Your clothes and that guilty look on your face make you look like a man on the run."
"Ah." A broad smile spread across his face and into his eyes. "Yes, well... This is part of what I've been trying to tell you. I hope you won't be too upset about the change in plans. Adam Jorgenson called while I was in the office. Wants us to take over the case. Says the lines are blurred as to who has jurisdiction, and since we've been concerned about the drug issue, and now with the bombing...."
"And you're going to work on the investigation?"
"Undercover. Only people who'll know are Adam and you and perhaps the local sheriff. It's the best way to find out what's going on. I hit a few local pubs and made some initial contacts to feel out the territory."
Helen nodded, not quite knowing what to make of this man of hers and not knowing what to make of the conflicting f
eelings jumbling about inside her. Along with the rush of relief in knowing their marriage was intact, the old concerns for his safety crept in.
"I hope you're not too angry with me, luv." He stroked her cheek, his tender blue gaze searching her face for approval.
Helen closed her eyes, melting under his touch. She still didn't like the idea of J.B. taking risky assignments but understood full well his need to go on working at what he did best.
"I do love you." She brushed her lips against his. "I want you to do what's right for you."
J.B. hauled her to him and kissed her soundly.
Several minutes later gravel crunched in the driveway. J.B. dragged in a ragged breath. "Someone's coming. I'd best go."
"You're not staying the night?'' Helen asked, somewhat winded herself.
J.B. groaned. "Don't tempt me, luv. I'd best not. The fewer people who know about us, the better."
"What will I tell Emily?"
"That I lost my way and came in to ask for directions."
Helen chuckled. "At least I won't be lying."
He cast her a look of pure longing. "I'll be going back to Portland in the morning to pick up the Hallie B. Thought I'd dock her down here and live on board. It'll be a good cover for me."
"Since when do bikers ride around in fancy boats?"
He glanced down at his leathers. "Since businessmen and yuppies decided it was cool. I won't be in this getup for long. Decided it might be best to hang around the docks for a few
days. See what's coming in and going out."
The front door opened. "Oh my!" Emily stared at J.B., looking him up and down as though he might have been last night's burglar.
"Emily, I'm glad you're here. This gentleman needs to know how to get into Long Beach. I'm afraid my directions aren't up to speed yet."
Emily shrugged out of her jacket, still eyeing him suspiciously. "Just go out to the main road and make a left. Look for Cranberry Road—turn right. When you get to Highway 103, go left and you'll soon be in Long Beach."
"Thank you." He turned back to Helen. "And thank you. I'm terribly sorry to bother you two this late."
"No problem, Mr.?" Helen followed J.B. to the door.
"Logan." He paused in the doorway and glanced back at Emily. "Very nice place you have here. Don't happen to have a room available, do you?"
Helen suppressed a grin.
"I might," Emily said. "There's a room upstairs with a queen-sized bed with only one other person in it if you don't count the cat. 'Spect that's where you'll want to stay."
Helen gasped. "Emily!"
"I may be old, dear heart, but I'm not stupid." She turned to J.B. "I take it you're the husband?"
J.B. opened his mouth, then closed it again.
"It's all right, you don't need to explain. People get their kicks doing all kinds of crazy things these days."
Helen looped her arm through J.B.'s when he started to object. "The jig is up, darling. You may as well stay."
"How did you know?" J.B. stepped back in and closed the door.
"Are you kidding? With you two mooning over each other like love-starved teenagers, I'd have to be blind not to know something was going on. Besides, I recognized your accent."
"It's all right, darling. I'm certain we can trust Emily to be discreet."
"I can," Emily said. "If need be."
The teakettle whistled. Helen offered to fix a tea tray while J.B. explained to Emily his presence on the Peninsula, as well as his disguise. Several minutes later, tray in hand, Helen entered the parlor.
"I understand your cousin may have been killed by the same person who murdered Frazier," J.B. said.
"That's my suspicion. Chuck and Isabelle might have been on the same trail."
J.B. frowned. "That's one of the reasons I volunteered actually. I suspected my dear wife would feel compelled to lend a hand."
Helen bristled. "Jason Bradley. You came down here to keep an eye on me, didn't you?"
"Not exactly, luv." J.B. hesitated, leaned back in his chair, and accepted the cup Helen handed him. "I'm here for the very reason I said. But Adam did mention you'd been asking questions about Isabelle. I told him I wasn't the least bit surprised."
Helen served Emily and, after taking her own cup, perched on the arm of the sofa. "Let me guess. You're both going to gang up on me and tell me to stay out of it."
"No. Not at all. Adam asked about having you drop your writing project for a time and concentrate on helping with the investigation. He thought since you were already here and interested you'd be ideal. But I took the liberty of telling him no."
"You what?"
J.B. raised his hand in mock surrender. "Before you lose that temper of yours, let me finish."
"It better be good." Helen couldn't believe he'd do something so underhanded. In all the years they'd worked together, he'd never made decisions for her. Now that they were married perhaps he felt justified. She set her teacup down on the tray and glanced at Emily, who seemed quite enthralled by it all.
"I tried to call you," J.B. went on. "When you didn't call back and, well, knowin' how much you wanted to work on the book, I volunteered to take on the job myself." His blue gaze settled on her face. "I know you, luv. You're not the type to let something like this rest. I only wanted to set your mind at ease so you wouldn't feel compelled to take up your gun instead of your pen."
"I didn't bring my gun."
"But you did bring your pen."
Helen tilted her head and examined his face. Was he handing her a line? Maybe. She supposed she should give him the benefit of the doubt. He did seem sincere. And J.B. had been one of the few men she'd worked with who treated her with the same respect with which he treated male agents. Still, old resentments bubbled to the surface from years past, when she'd worked as a police officer.
"Helen, me luv," J.B. crooned in that irresistible Irish accent of his, well, part Irish. He was actually part Scot and part English, a mixed breed. "I'm not moving in on your territory. In fact, if you'd rather, I'll go back to Portland and put you on as a special agent and you can work the case with Adam. Ye'll answer to me, as we've always done."
Helen shook her head, a smile breaking across her face. "No. As much as I hate to admit it, you're right. I do want to write the book. And I have been wanting to get involved in the investigation. Having you here is perfect."
And it would be even more perfect, Helen decided, once she got J.B. up to her room, out of those silly clothes, and into her bed. J.B.'s tender smile suggested he was thinking along similar lines.
"I hope you'll excuse us, Emily, but it's time we turned in." Helen set her cup aside.
"You'll do no such thing. You haven't had dinner." Emily turned to J.B. "Have you eaten?"
J.B. nodded.
"You needn't go to any trouble," Helen said. "I can fix myself something quick."
"No trouble. Already got a meal ready, I just have to heat up the rice and panfry the oysters. Besides," Emily said, walking toward the kitchen, "I got some news you're both going to want to hear."
Helen and J.B. followed her and settled onto the wooden chairs at the table.
"All right." Helen slipped her hand in J.B.'s. "What did you want to tell us?"
"Well, it looks like you two have been arguing over nothing. If you'd have let me get a word in edgewise, I could have told you that."
"What do you mean?" Helen and J.B. asked together.
"Ran into Dan at the restaurant tonight. He made one arrest in the bombing case and is ready to make another.
Helen gasped. "Really? Who?"
"One of the men on the Merry Maid this morning confessed. Fellow named Steve Kendall. Says Scott Mandrel hired him to blow up Chuck's boat."
Chapter Twelve
I'll be leaving now, luv." Leaning over the bed, J.B. nuzzled the back of Helen's neck. She'd asked him to wake her before he left. Even with the pending arrest, there would still be an investigation. Apparently Kendall's confessi
on included naming Scott Mandrel as a drug kingpin.
"So soon?" She turned onto her back and draped her arms around his neck.
"I'll call you the moment I dock in Ilwaco." He kissed her again and drew away, taking her clasped hands from his neck and brushing his lips against them.
"Be careful." She watched him go, then snuggled back under the covers. Feeling warm and soft and feminine, Helen stretched lazily and closed her eyes. Oh, how she loved that husband of hers. She wondered how she'd managed alone all those years after Ian's death.
Helen showered, dressed, indulged in tea and her morning devotions, then went to work. She typed her notes into the computer and began outlining the guidebook. It was sketchy at best, but that would be remedied over the next few days. She set up a schedule that allowed her to write in the mornings and leave afternoons free to sight-see, gather information, and conduct interviews. Today, however, would be mostly devoted to discovery.
When Emily called her for breakfast at eight-thirty, Helen was more than ready for food and a break. She set her work aside and hurried downstairs.
"I still don't understand why J.B. is going ahead with all this undercover stuff." Emily set a plate of English muffins on the table. "The Kendall fellow confessed so what more do they need?"
"Even with a confession he has a lot of work to do," Helen explained. J.B. had talked with Adam the night before and would be meeting with him and the sheriff before heading back to Portland. "They need to make certain they have sufficient evidence to take to trial." With drugs involved, they'd also want to infiltrate the operation to get names of suppliers and buyers and find out how far-reaching it was. She didn't tell Emily about that part. Nor did she reveal what she'd told J.B. about Chuck's insistence that drugs were not an issue.
Fortified with juice, baked oatmeal, half a grapefruit, and a muffin, Helen headed out at nine-thirty with her notebook, camera, and a picnic lunch. Not even the partly overcast day and the threat of rain hampered her spirits. Helen couldn't help smiling as she drove south on Sandridge Road. She planned to drive as far as the Astoria-Megler Bridge, then backtrack, hitting points of interest. With luck, she'd make it back to the docks and Shells' Place about the time the boats came in. Helen wanted photos of people bringing in their catch. Maybe she'd do a nostalgic piece about fishing in the past when salmon were in abundance and one could always be assured the thrill of catching at least one.
Red Sky In Mourning: A Helen Bradley Mystery (Helen Bradley Mysteries Book 3) Page 9