THE NEPTUNE STRATEGY: A Todd Ingram Novel (The Todd Ingram Series Book 4)

by JOHN J. GOBBELL

  “Mrs. Peabody? Hello in there?”

  Damn! Todd Ingram. She’d forgotten to close the basement door.

  “Knock, knock.” Ingram called

  Quickly, she put the half empty bottle in the sink and headed for the stairs. “Right there.”

  She snapped off the light just as Todd Ingram’s head popped in the doorway.

  “Hi. Sorry to bother you. I need a favor.”

  She started up the stairs. After the fifth step, her head started to swim and she stopped for a moment, clutching the handrail. How much of that stuff have I had?

  “Ahh, is this where you brew your concoctions?”

  “Never mind,” she muttered.

  “You all right?” Todd stood at the top of the landing, a bundle in his arms.

  She did her best to stifle a belch. But some sneaked out anyway. “I’m fine.”

  “Had lunch, yet? Maybe I’d better...”

  She gained the landing and forced him into the kitchen. Turning and locking the door, she said, “Not yet. I was just down there checking my canned goods supplies.”

  “’Canned goods’?” Ingram’s eyes puckered in mirth.

  “’Canned goods’, I said. Say, I have tomato soup. Would you like some? And I have a little bit of ham for sandwiches.” Having caught her breath, she vowed never again to touch her beer in the daytime. It would become an activity reserved strictly for late evening.

  “Thanks, I can’t. I just got a phone call from Terminal Island saying my orders are in. So, could you watch Jerry for about an hour while I go and pick them up?”

  “Oh, yes, thank you.” She reached out and accepted the bundle. The face was covered with a corner of a blanket. “Oh, darling sweet Jerry.” Another belch leaked out as she rocked him.

  “Okay. He’s been fed. Here’s two extra diapers. And do you have Helen’s number at Fort MacArthur?” He headed for the door.

  “Of course.” Then she said, “Orders. Does that mean...”

  “...ummm.” He nodded.

  “By the way, tell Helen I have her scarf.”

  “You do? Which one?”

  “The orange one. I might as well send it back with you.” She walked in the dining room, then came back with a bright orange scarf. Handing it over, she said, “She left here that night that...well, she and Jerry were here for a barbecue. And then we got the telegram from Australia and...”

  “Australia? Bar-b-cue?” Ingram held the scarf to his face. It was a gift from Laura West, Helen wore it only when she was in a vampish mood. He sniffed, “Chanel number Five. That’s Helen all right.” He looked up. “She told me she and little Jerry and Fred were listening to the radio when the telegram came.”

  Another belch was on the way. Mrs. Peabody slapped a hand over her mouth and then said, “Well, I guess she forgot. I answered the phone. And what a marvelous surprise it was.”

  “Bar-b-cue?” Ingram carefully folded the scarf and put it in his pocket. “Well thanks for the...scarf.”

  She blurted, “They were just, you know, slow dancing. None of that boogie-woogie business.”

  “Dancing? Where was Jerry?”

  “At your house of course. I was--”

  “How long had they been doing that?”

  A look of horror swept over Emma Peabody. They’d all thought Todd Ingram was dead. Everybody was just trying to have a good time on a beautiful moonlit evening. They’d been drinking her beer, later dago red. “And then the telegram...”

  Ingram’s hands were on his hips, reading her mind. “Thanks,” he muttered. “Back in an hour.” He walked out.

  Helen felt the ice the minute she walked in the door. Todd’s greeting, a cheek brush, bordered somewhere between civility and bar-room brawl. And he was drinking a bottle of that cheap beer from Dominic’s. Two empties stood on the counter. She was ready to ask, ‘What’s wrong’ when she saw the flat manila envelope, lying on the little dining table. Her heart sank. “Orders?”

  “Yep,” he grabbed a bottle and took a long swig.

  “Damn this war,” She pitched her purse and valise on the counter and threw her arms around his neck. “They keep taking you from me.”

  His arms hung loosely around her. She drew back. His eyes were misty, all right, just the way she felt. But there was something else. “Hon?”

  He turned and walked away. “Not much warning. Day after tomorrow. I’m on a plane for the blue Pacific. But they promised me a first class cabin. Lots of hula girls, roast pig, and leis. You remember those big flowers over there? What did they call them? Did they ever smell?”

  Her eyes darted about the room as he rambled. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “Moonlight cruises on the blue Pacific. Dorothy Lamour undulating beneath a palm tree to the strains of The Moon Of Monokura.”

  On the table, next to the flat envelope was her orange scarf.

  “Where’d that come from?”

  A feint cry rose from the other room.

  Ingram drank again. “Kid’s hungry. Maybe you ought to feed him.” He walked into the living room and sat heavily in the arm chair.

  She followed, absently picking up the scarf. “What’s with this Moon Of Monokura stuff?”

  “You know, Jon Hall running around in a tight bathing suit and a captains hat. Dagger clenched between his teeth. Two grenades sizzling in each hand, ready to blow sharks out of the water if they come within ten feet of where he’s pearl diving...”

  The baby cried louder. Helen looked toward the bedroom asking, “When did he last eat?”

  Ingram raised a hand then dropped it on the arm. “Two o’clock. Mrs. Peabody gave him a bottle.”

  “Well, he’s overdue.”

  “Have at it.”

  “Todd!”

  “Try the fridge.” Ingram took a long swig, finished the bottle and plopped it on the coffee table.

  She stalked off for the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, she pulled out a bottle, poured water in a pan and began to heat it.

  The baby began screaming. “Todd!” she shouted.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Ingram got up and a moment later, walked in the kitchen, the baby up on his shoulder. “Dry diaper. Must really be hungry.” He bounced the baby and kissed him on the cheek. “So solly, cholly. Me no realize you so hungry. Mama fix you up, chop, chop.”

  “Just about ready,” Helen squeezed a bit of milk on her wrist. “Here.” She reached.

  “I got it,” said Ingram grabbing the bottle.

  “But--”

  “Go change.” He sat at the dining table and gave the bottle, the baby sucking loudly.

  Helen turned the scarf in her hands. “What’s wrong?”

  Ingram’s eyes riveted on the scarf.

  “This?” Then it hit her. The last time she’d worn in was that night. The barb-b-cue. The night of the telegram. They’d been dancing and Jerry Landa was getting frisky. They’d had wine and-- “My God. Mrs. Peabody.”

  “Loose lips sink ships.”

  “What’d she tell you?”

  “Seems you were having a moonlight serenade.”

  “Todd! For crying out loud. Nothing happened.”

  “Yeah.” He held the scarf to his face and took an exaggerated breath. “Ummm, I remember that. Chanel Number Five.” His eyes rested on her. “You told me you were listening to the radio when the telegram came.”

  “Well, she...”

  “Is Jerry a good dancer?”

  “Todd, stop it. Oh,” she ran her fingers through her hair. “This is all so stupid.”

  “You’re calling me stupid?”

  She leveled her gaze at him. “You and Jerry.”

  “I guess that’s right, now that I think of it. A stupid friend can hurt you more than a smart Jap.”

  “Stop this.”

  Ingram stood and yelled, “I repeat. Is Jerry a good dancer?”

  The baby spit out the nipple and started crying.

  “Oh, God. I’m sorry. Nothing happened. We were
just...”

  “--just what?”

  “We didn’t know. We thought you were dead,” she yelled back.

  The baby screeched.

  “It’s okay, little fella,” Ingram soothed. “I’m sorry.” He stroked the baby’s forehead and finally got him to take the nipple. The baby began sucking again, his little fists balled out into space. “Good boy.”

  He looked up to Helen. “Next time I’ll try harder to get killed.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

  6, September, 1944

  San Pedro, California

  “Sure you don’t want me to come?” Helen asked.

  Ingram tucked the blanket around the baby and wheeled the perambulator through the front door. “No thanks. Just us boys.” He walked out.

  “You won’t be long?”

  “Around the block.” Ingram called over his shoulder, as he disappeared into the mist.

  Damnit! He’s so distant. The phone rang and she picked it up.

  “How’s everything in sunny San Pedro this morning?” It was Kate Durand, Helen’s mother.

  “Hi, Mom. San Pedro is foggy and damp. And I have to work today.”

  “Todd’s leaving tomorrow?”

  “Uh, huh.”

  “They wouldn’t let you off?”

  “Flu epidemic. Seems like everybody’s down. But they’ve given me this afternoon and evening off. And...tomorrow when I have to drive Todd to the...”

  “Airport.”

  “...the airport.” Helen twirled the cord and sat. Fred jumped in her lap. She scratched his ears and he purred. “You sound good, Mom.”

  “That’s what mothers are for. Why don’t you bring little Jerry out here for a few days after Todd ships out?” Helen’s mother Kate and her father Frank had an avocado ranch near Ramona in northeast San Diego County. It was where she grew up.

  “I wish I could but I can’t do anything until this flu epidemic subsides. We’re understaffed and …”

  “There’s always something. How’s Todd taking it?”

  “He wants to go and he doesn’t want to go.”

  “What does he tell you?”

  “He clams up.”

  “Helen, what’s wrong?”

  “What do you mean?” A tear ran down her cheek. She looked about for a handkerchief.

  “Honey.”

  “Everything’s wrong, damnit,” she spat, wiping the tear with the back of her wrist. “There’s a war on and my husband’s been out there too long, and those bastards are taking him again, and he doesn’t know when to quit.” With that, Helen bawled for thirty seconds.

  When she eased off, Kate asked, “You okay?”

  “Never better.”

  “You sound like your husband. Tell me, what is it?”

  “We had a fight.”

  “What?”

  Helen told her mother about Mrs. Peabody spilling the beans about the night with Jerry Landa.

  “But nothing happened?”

  “Of course not. I must admit, Jerry was getting frisky. And now that I look back on it, I could well have been...well, I mean, aroused him romantically.”

  “Is that why you wore the orange scarf?”

  “I felt like having fun; being festive; enjoying an evening with friends. That’s why I wore the scarf.” She sniffed and the phone was silent. “Mom?”

  “I’m here.”

  “I mean, I was supposed to be a widow; no longer married; and a lot of things were there that night to put Jerry and I together. But you know, Mom. I just couldn’t. It’s like we’ve always been. Todd was supposed to be dead, and yet...do you know what I mean?”

  “That’s how we are. You felt in your heart he wasn’t dead.”

  “Something was there all right; I just couldn’t let go. And then that night, when Jerry was getting, well, you know, it just didn’t seem right. And then Emma Peabody saw us, and that didn’t help much.”

  “Maybe I should talk to her.”

  “God no, don’t do that. She’s a great lady. She just drinks too much beer.”

  “And where is the good Captain?”

  “Gone. He shipped out three weeks ago.”

  “Well, at least you’ve been without distractions from that sector.”

  “Well, that’s something else. I’m afraid Todd is going to hold this against Jerry when he goes back out there. And they’re supposed to be best friends.”

  “Helen, they’re grown men.”

  “That’s what worries me. I know them both, and I think it’ll be like two tomcats meeting for the first time.”

  “Don’t be silly. Give them a chance.”

  “I suppose so, but--” Helen looked up to see Ingram materialize out of the fog. “Here he comes, Mom. Gotta go.”

  “Helen.”

  Ingram fumbled at the screen door. “Yes?” she whispered.

  “Love your husband.”

  “I’m trying to, damnit.”

  “No, I mean love your husband. Goodbye, hon.” Kate Durand hung up.

  Ingram walked in. “Thought you were going to work.”

  “Yep.” Helen donned her coat and grabbed her purse and valise off the couch. “Half a day. I’ll be home at lunch time.” Then she walked up to Ingram, threw her arms around his neck and gave him a long, wet kiss. She took a half step back, tapped his nose with her forefinger, and winked.

  Ingram rubbed his chin, “What was that for?”

  “See you at lunch.” She leaned over, kissed the baby on the forehead and walked out the door.

  “Damn!” The odor of her hair and her freshly bathed scent lingered. He ran his hand over his mouth, bringing away a red smear of lipstick. He was aware of the Plymouth pulling out of the driveway; he wasn’t aware that a corner of his mouth had turned up.

  Helen stopped by her cubicle for a quick cup of coffee. Sunlight streamed in the dirty little window, telling her the fog had burned off. Wistfully, she looked outside to brilliant blue skies, a beautiful day. She checked her watch: 1030. An hour and a half to go. What worried her is that she had the whole afternoon off. The evening too, and then tomorrow morning she was due to deliver Todd to the Terminal Island Naval Air Station for his flight to San Diego.

  Leaning at the desk pensively, she folded her arms and stared out the window wondering what to do about her husband’s attitude, his gloomy indifference.

  Then the phone rang.

  The traffic on Sepulveda Boulevard was light, the drive to Dominic’s in Studio City taking two hours and fifteen minutes. It was a pleasant seventy-five degrees as they drove mostly in silence, deep in their thoughts; both reluctant to speak. The Plymouth huffed and puffed its way through the Santa Monica mountains in second gear, finally emerging into the San Fernando Valley via the Sepulveda Tunnel. Suddenly, they were greeted with another ten degrees of dry heat. Both cranked open their wind-wings, the blast of warm, dry air ruffling Helen’s hair as Ingram fought bumper-to-bumper traffic down Ventura Boulevard. The temperature was down to eighty-five when they drove past Dominic’s at ten past seven. Ingram found a parking space in front and, switching off the key, said, “Nothing better to do than drive into the devil’s caldron the night before I ship out. You think it’s air conditioned in there?” He opened the car door for her.

  “Let’s hope so.”

  “Still can’t figure out why we’re here.” Ingram reached in the back seat, struggled into his khaki blouse and donned his hat.

  “Laura promised.”

  “Promised what?”

  “A big surprise. Can you think of anything better to do?”

  “Nope.” They walked in the door were greeted by delicious, cool air along with the mixed odor of fine food, leather, and tobacco smoke. The lighting was low and accented with subtle tones of greens, reds and blues; starched white tablecloths covered each table, all having low wattage lamps fixed in the middle. Dominic’s was almost full, more than half the crowd in uniform.

  A tall, thin waiter caught them. “Commander
and Mrs. Ingram? Please, right this way.” He lead them to a booth off to the side with a fine view of the bandstand, dance floor, and dining area. Snapping on the table light, he said “Here you are.” He seated them and handed over menus. “Dinner is on us. Anything you see here. Ah, libations, too.” He walked off.

  Ingram stretched his arms and shot his cuffs. “Might have been a long drive, but the price is right.”

  “Not bad.” Helen picked up a menu.

  The waiter returned, two martini’s expertly balanced on a silver tray.

  “Who ordered those?” demanded Ingram.

  The waiter said, “Miss West, sir. Perhaps I can get you something else?”

  Ingram looked at Helen. Her eyes twinkled. “Seems like a good place to start,” he said. “Thanks.”

  “Of course. I’ll let Miss West know you are here.” The waiter walked off.

  They clinked glasses. Helen’s eyebrows went up.

  She knows what I’m thinking. “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “Why not?” Helen’s gaze was intense, thoroughly focused. But there was something else there, too.

  “I feel like a potato bug on an ice pick,” he said.

  “You can do better than that.”

  “Okay. Simply put, you’re beautiful.”

  She looked away quickly.

  “Hey, what was that?” He cupped a hand under her chin, seeing her eyes welling with tears. “Honey, what is it?”

  “What do you think it is, you damn fool? In case nobody told you, I’m about to become very lonely again.”

  He scooted close and wrapped an arm around her. “I wish there was something I could--”

  “--Hi everybody.” Wearing a red, sequined strapless cocktail dress with matching over-the-elbow gloves, Laura West pecked them both on the cheek and slid in the booth. “Why so solemn?” she asked, pulling off her gloves and laying them aside.

  Ingram raised his glass. “Laura, this is great. Thanks very much.”