H.J. Gaudreau - Jim Crenshaw 02 - The Collingwood Legacy

by H. J. Gaudreau

  “You mean Citizen Kane and William Randolph Hearst?” Gerry asked.

  “Yeah, yeah yeah! That’s it. How’d you know that? Anyway, in those days a Chris-Craft boat was considered a must have if you were rich. A boat like this one was what all the rich people were after. If you restore this she’ll be the talk of the town that’s for sure.”

  Cole was now laying across the top of the engine, dangling between the rear of the boat and the transmission. “If you ask me these are the prettiest wooden power boats ever manufactured. So, that’s about it. The company lasted into the sixties; then somebody bought them out. It’s always the same story ya know. A classic American icon, the kids take over and sell out. It’s a damn shame. Somebody makes boats now and they call ‘em Chris-Craft but…I don’t know, not quite the same.” A small lament showed itself in Cole’s voice.

  He pulled himself up from behind the engine with a series of grunts. “Let’s take a look forward. Ya know, I really love these boats.”

  They climbed down the ladder and walked to the bow. The two men spent several minutes examining the damage. The boat rested some two feet off the floor. Cole lay on his back and slid under the keel. “She’s hogging a little but that’s because this cradle isn’t quite right, might come out once she’s set up right or in the water. And, even if it doesn’t it’s not a lot. Actually, it’s pretty small considering her age,” he said as he crawled from under the boat.

  “Hogging?” Gerry asked.

  “Yeah, she’s got a little sway back goin’, but don’t worry, not much.”

  Cole stood and walked right past Gerry, his running commentary not missing a beat. Gerry found the whole experience odd. Anyone watching would get the sense that Cole was talking only to himself. He had left himself; his troubles were far behind, totally forgotten. Cole was doing the only thing that really, honestly made him happy. He was playing with a Chris-Craft.

  Reaching the battered front of the hull Cole grabbed a piece of splintered planking, broke it off and peaked inside the hull.

  “I’m going to pull some of these damaged planks off so I can get to the frame. If the frame sections are cracked that’s a big deal. If they’re not, and they’re not dry-rotted, then it’s a lot better deal.” Cole pulled a crow bar and hand saw from his toolbox. “You got any power out here for a work light?”

  “No, sorry.”

  Working quickly Cole pulled several pieces of splintered wood from the front of the craft. Eventually he had removed most of the damaged wood and had made a large hole in the side of the boat. Setting the tools on the floor he said, “That should do it, I’ll be right back.” Cole jogged out to his truck. In a moment he had returned with a large battery powered spotlight. “Well, let’s take a look.”

  He began to squeeze his right arm and head inside the hole. Carefully Cole inspected the framework of the boat. He noted with satisfaction the absence of water or obvious rotten wood. Then he began a careful examination of each individual rib. Apart from the hole in the exterior planking he didn’t see any obvious damage from the grounding years ago.

  Rolling to his right the jagged edge dug into his ribs. Cole ignored the pain and inspected the ribs near the cabin. They were intact, but the false bottom to the bilge made Cole’s work difficult. Despite his discomfort Cole smiled, these smugglers were clever. From where he was Cole could see at least one other false compartment. He ran his flashlight along the false bilge. It extended several feet to the rear.

  The light swept along the frame then passed a strange wad of dark gray material. At first, Cole thought the object to be a mouse nest but a small green protrusion piqued his curiosity. Cole began to wiggle forward in an attempt to gain a better view. The effort bought him only a few more inches. He grunted as the wood dug deeper into his side.

  “Find something?” Gerry called.

  After a bit more wiggling and pushing Cole had gained another four or five inches. He refocused the light on the mouse nest. A face stared back at him; the face of Benjamin Franklin. Cole’s eyes widened. Surprised, he snapped his head up, hitting the overhanging wooden frame. “Ouch, damn!” he cursed.

  “You all right? What happened? What are you seeing?” Gerry was trying unsuccessfully to look past Cole into the body of the boat.

  Cole lay there for a moment, his head and shoulders buried deep inside the boat. A hundred dollar bill was right there! Recovering from his surprise Cole yelled back, “Just trying to see this frame a bit better. I think it’s okay, but I’ll have to get some tools.” He tried to put the light down and stretched toward the mouse nest. It was out of reach by at least two feet.

  Cole began to wiggle back out of the boat. Once free he turned to Gerry and said, “Everything looks good. No dry rot. The framing doesn’t look cracked or rotten. There’s a false bottom to the bilge that’s sort of blocking my view. I’ll need to grab some more tools. I’ll be right back.”

  Cole was excited as he walked to his truck. It would be nice to pocket an extra hundred bucks on this job. He could certainly use the cash. He popped open the truck’s toolbox and began pulling out various tools. Reaching the bottom of the box he found what he was looking for, a tool-grabber.

  The tool was a long tube with a pistol grip at one end and a three-pronged claw at the other. Squeezing the handle of the grip opened the claw. Releasing pressure on the handle closed the claw. Cole used the tool for picking up small objects like nuts and bolts dropped in engine wells, bilges and other areas with limited access.

  Gerry watched Cole walk back from the truck. “So what do you think? Should we restore this or not?” Before Cole could answer Gerry noticed the tool-grabber. “What do you need that for?”

  Cole was caught off guard but thought quickly, “I’m trying to get a wood sample from the lower frame. This might work.”

  Returning to the boat Cole wedged himself back in the hole. There he propped the flashlight against a cross member so its light would shine on the wad. Squeezing the grabber he opened the claw and extended his arm. The claw just brushed the hundred-dollar bill. Cole did his best to push his body forward. Finally, he was able to get the claw on the bill. Smiling Cole pulled the tool back, the bill resisted, the wad moved toward him just an inch and then the bill slid out. He put the tool grabber down on the inside of the hull, picked up the bill and stuffed it into his shirt. “Any luck?” Gerry yelled.

  “Oh yeah, we’re good. Got all I need,” Cole shouted back with a grin.

  Chapter 30

  The two men stood in the doorway. The day was still, cicadas buzzed in the trees. The sun washed into the barn and up to the boat’s stern. Cole was explaining what damage he had found when Gerry’s cell phone began to chime. Glancing at the faceplate he recognized the number of his mortgage broker.

  “I’ve got to take this call,” he said and then walked toward his pickup truck. Cole leaned against the boat and removed the bill from inside his shirt. He examined it briefly, grinned broadly then folded the cash and shoved it back in his pocket. Glancing around the corner of the building he saw Gerry sitting on the lowered tailgate of his truck, phone held to his ear.

  Gradually Cole began to wonder if there were any more bills in the boat. Grabbing the heavy-duty flashlight he walked back into the barn and again wedged himself in the boat. Shining his light around the interior he finally rested the beam on the mouse nest. Now, his attention focused on what made up the wad. He thought he saw some sort of fabric and what looked like newspaper. As he studied the object he began to realize that it was larger than he’d initially thought. “Hell, this looks like something rolled up,” Cole thought.

  Outside he could hear Gerry laugh and begin saying his good-byes to whomever was on the other end of the line. Gerry snapped his phone shut and turned to reenter the barn when a distant buzz could be heard. He paused and looked in the direction of the noise to see a blue ATV approaching.

  Eve stopped the vehicle next to Gerry and got off. She said something while she remo
ved her helmet. “Fine so far.” Cole heard Gerry reply.

  Cole didn’t waste any more time. He finished his review of the craft and began packing his tools. After a short while Eve restarted the ATV and disappeared back in the direction of the house. Gerry walked back into the barn. “All done?” Gerry asked as he reentered the barn.

  Cole wasn’t. He wanted to get a good idea of the material he’d spotted earlier. Maybe there was more cash there. Unfortunately, he couldn’t think of any good reason to delay.

  “That should do it,” Cole said. His mind was racing, trying to find an excuse to return to the bowels of this Chris-Craft. Unable to do so he loaded the last of his tools in his truck and followed Gerry back to the orchard’s office.

  Jim was standing in the office doorway as Cole took a seat on one of the office chairs. Gerry took his seat behind the desk.

  “Gerry, she’s in pretty good shape for her age. She’s probably worth a hundred, maybe two hundred but to be honest, I don’t know, I could be way off. She’s a rare boat, but pretty well banged up. The smuggler’s holes might give it some extra value, you know, collector’s item or something like that. I’ll have to do some research and look some things up.”

  Jim felt his shoulders sag, “Two hundred bucks? I thought sure it would be ten or eleven thousand.”

  “What’s two hundred bucks? Cole asked.

  “The boat, you just said it was worth one or two hundred bucks.”

  Cole began to laugh. “No, oh no, I wish, geeez, I’d have a dozen. No, this boat is worth one or two hundred thousand dollars.”

  Gerry couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. Jim felt his pulse quicken. “You’re kidding,” Jim gasped.

  “Oh no, these models just aren’t that common anyway. Could be they’re only worth one hundred, could be well north of that. I’ll just have to spend some time in the books. I’ll have a report to you by, let’s say next Friday? Is that okay?

  Gerry agreed and began to stand.

  “Ah Gerry, one more thing. I’ll need to get my fee today. I’ll be going by my accountant’s office in Traverse City on the way back home, and it would save me a hassle.”

  “Sure…sure thing.” Gerry was a little surprised, expecting the bill at the end of the month. Cole pulled a tinted pad from his backpack and began to scribble. A moment later he then handed Gerry a blue form with a carbon copy. Gerry looked over the document, gulped and wrote the check.

  “Sherrie and Eve are never going to believe this,” Jim said as they watched Cole’s truck leaving the orchard.

  Gerry grinned and turned to Jim, “Looks like this land is paying off already.”

  The drive back to Charlevoix and the office took Cole east through Traverse City then north along the shore line of east bay. Cole made the drive frequently and often detoured to the topless bar just outside city limits near the intersection of state route 72. Not today.

  Today the money in his pocket was all that occupied his mind. Gerry and that woman had sort of rushed him out of the barn. If they had just left him alone. He needed more time to search that boat. He was dealing with a smuggler’s boat. That was obvious. He’d seen something deep in the hull of the thing. Maybe it was more cash, maybe not, but he was damn well going to find out.

  Cole drove past the garish “Cherry Top Bar – All the cherries, none of the clothes” without a thought of the girls inside.

  Chapter 31

  The decision to repair the boat was really not a decision at all. After hearing the estimate of the boat’s worth it was simply assumed the Chris-Craft would be brought back to its original condition. Jim was the most skilled woodworker and was happily planning his repairs before Eve could say, “Wait a minute.”

  A few minutes discussion later and the decision to move the boat to Jim and Eve’s barn had been made. A decision which took some getting used to as Eve had visions of another horse stall in the exact same location Jim was intending to put the boat.

  Moving the boat was not going to be an easy task. It sat on a wooden cradle inside a long narrow building. A crane could not be used to lift the boat without removing the building’s roof.

  The fit looked so tight that Sherrie and Eve were certain the building had been built around the boat. They loaded a ladder in the back of the truck and soon were measuring and drawing diagrams of the barn and its doors.

  Sure enough, the building’s doors were just high enough to allow the boat to slide in and out. The bigger question remained. How were they going to move the boat, in its cradle, out of the barn and then into Jim’s barn?

  Jim had moved a large combine from Michigan’s Thumb area to his farm the past year. He had used a firm located in the city of Saginaw that presented itself as the best in moving out sized and odd shaped items. It was to this firm that Jim now turned.

  Harris Trucking had been in the business of moving odd, large and delicate cargo for fifteen years. Don Harris stood over six feet tall and weighed over two hundred fifty pounds; he was a big man in a big man’s industry. He’d built his company on an astonishing skill at loading, hauling and delivering cargo that others would not or could not move.

  The Harris Trucking terminal building was located in the apex of the curve of State Street as the five lane road exited the manufacturing city. Jim parked his pickup in the front, climbed the five concrete steps and entered a functional outer office that no one would ever call plush. Two orange vinyl and chrome chairs and a matching couch surrounded a small, badly scarred wooden coffee table.

  Trucking industry magazines, along with a smattering of old hunting magazines and a Bible lay on the table. A heavy, middle aged woman sat behind a sliding glass window.

  “Can I help you?” she asked as she lifted a large file from a box and sat it squarely in the middle of her desktop.

  “I’m looking for Don Harris. I’ve worked with him before. My name is Jim Crenshaw.”

  The woman smiled, asked Jim to take a seat, offered him coffee and then went to find Don Harris. In a moment the big man entered the foyer.

  “Mr. Crenshaw, it’s good to see you. Come on back to my office, how are you?” Harris was a genuinely nice man and Jim had liked him from the first time they’d met. They reached Don’s office and took seats on each side of a small Formica table. Harris asked about Jim’s farm and his new combine, which proved to Jim that Harris really did remember him and this wasn’t just show.

  Several minutes later Jim began to describe the boat, the building and the need to move the vessel into his barn. Don listened intently, examined Jim’s drawing and made several sketches of his own. Then he began asking detailed questions about both barns, the soil and access to the sites. Jim provided all the information he could but felt he wasn’t doing an adequate job.

  Finally Jim said, “Don, I know I sound rather thick here. I didn’t even think of a soil compaction test or the slope of the ground around the barn.”

  “That’s alright, nobody ever does. But, when you think about it I’m sure it will make sense. I’ve got to be sure my equipment can get in and out, the ground has to support the weight of the truck, the crane, the boat, the cradle, the boat when we put it on wheels and anything else we use to move the thing. I can’t get stuck in mud or, more worrisome there in Leelanau County, the sand. And, I’ve got to have a good look at the route in and out. Can’t get hung up on wires, can’t have the trailer sliding on any hills. People always forget about a tree or a big bush. I’ll need to measure the tractor doors at your barn and Gerry’s barn, gotta have enough room there. And by the way, just getting that boat out of the barn is going to be a challenge.”

  Don paused, looked at Jim and said. “Ahh…Jim, you know this isn’t going to be cheap.”

  “Yeah, we figured that. But we’ve decided to restore it to showroom quality. I figure it will take me a year or so and I can’t work on it there. Besides my sister needs that barn for their orchard.”

  “Sure thing Jim, I’m just preparing you. How about if
I drive up there next week, take some measurements and look over the ground.”

  “Sounds good Don. I’ll meet you there and show you the building.”

  Chapter 32

  Elaine’s car, a two year old Cadillac CTS, cornered well. The complicated, challenging road running south past Long Lake, along the East Bay shoreline and into Traverse City was one of her favorite drives. Normally she pushed the car through the curving waterfront road at top speed. Today she didn’t. Today her driving was methodical, reflecting her mood.

  In Elaine’s purse were two checks for seven thousand dollars. She had written one to the Traverse Savings and Investment Bank. She even had Cole sign it and pass the envelope through the postage meter. She had not mailed the envelope. Instead, Elaine had debited the account and transferred the money to her own checking account. Now, she was putting that same seven thousand dollars into the hands of David McFain.

  The red Cadillac parked in the public lot just across the street from Clinch Park. The blue waters of Traverse Bay sparkled, sailors shook out their sails and fishing boats began to troll the debts. Already people were tossing Frisbees and preparing for a day at the beach. Elaine popped the trunk, lifted the dark gray carpeted hatch cover hiding the spare tire and removed a small locked metal box from the cavity thus exposed.

  Returning to the driver’s seat she placed the box on the arm rest and opened her purse. She pulled down the lining and removed a small key taped to the inside leather wall. Then, she unlocked the box. Elaine removed a small, flip phone and dialed from memory. A moment later she said, “I’m here. Meet me at the cafe’.” She pressed the disconnect key, then erased the call log, put the phone back in the box, reassembled her purse then popped the trunk and returned the box to its place.

  She quickly surveyed the parking lot and sidewalk. This wasn’t a day to meet old friends. Then Elaine fed the meter and walked the three blocks to the professional building and a small cafe’ next to the offices of Growth Financial Management. She took a seat at one of the four outdoor tables in the back. A waiter soon appeared, lit the scented candle meant to add ambiance to the Ikea table and took her order. Moments later he returned with a chai latte.