Sailing into Death (CJ Washburn, PI Book 2)

by James Paddock

  "Warm and a bit humid. Otherwise, not bad."

  "Better or worse than warm and a bit dry?"

  CJ stood at the window looking beyond the ball field, to the bay. "Verdict's still out. Do like the water, though, and the boats."

  "So I gather you have something to report," Gianna said.

  "I do and you're not going to like it."

  "Did you find Douglas?"

  "That I did. Talked with him this morning; delivered the news about Alexandria. An hour later he was dead."

  "Dead!"

  "Murdered."

  CJ listened to the prolonged silence for a time and then said, "There's more."

  "More than he was murdered?"

  "A whole lot more. I was going to give you the report tomorrow afternoon when I returned, but developments require that I give it to you over the phone now. I'll need to know what to do next."

  "I gather, then, that this isn't a short report."

  "No."

  "Give me five. I'll call you back."

  CJ never moved from the spot at the window, his eyes following the yachts, his mind rehearsing his words. He decided to give it to her in the same way he'd received it himself; chronological.

  When she finally called back, fifteen minutes later, she said, "You've got my full attention now. What happened?"

  CJ told her about the visit to the Irish pub and then being escorted into the FBI office, followed by the visit from Douglas O'Reilly the next morning. He finished up this part of his report with his being arrested after Douglas' body was found in the bay with CJ's wallet floating nearby.

  "Arrested? You never called me!"

  "When I told them that my attorney was also my client, that you hired me to search for Douglas Rothbower, they decided you'd possibly hired me to find and kill him, that a local attorney would be advised."

  "That's ludicrous!"

  "It never got to that. I put the detective in touch with the FBI agent I met with. They just happened to be on a first name basis. I was shortly thereafter released and told to go home."

  "Good advice, it sounds like." She let out a sigh. "I'll call my sister and tell her, or maybe I ought to fly up there and tell her face-to-face."

  "I think after I tell you the rest, you'll want to do the face-to-face."

  "The rest?"

  "I haven't gotten to the good part yet."

  "There's a good part?"

  "Maybe good is the wrong word. If we were watching a movie, this would be the good part; might even require a second bag of popcorn."

  "Just give it to me, CJ."

  "The reason why I might need further instructions, why you may not want me to close the case just yet."

  "Damn it, CJ! Stop beating around the bush. Out with it!"

  "I just had a visit from Douglas' mother, Eveleen Danohough, and his other wife, Rebecca O'Reilly."

  Gianna seemed to choke on something before she responded. "You sure it's not part of this FBI undercover profile, two people acting the part?"

  "I don't think so. The mother seemed quite convincing, said that the adoption and all were illegal, that despite reports to the contrary, she did not die in childbirth."

  "Why did she give him up, then?"

  "She didn't say, though I've a feeling it was forced upon her, or she had no other choice. She said that once Douglas discovered who he was, he returned to the fold. He and Rebecca were married in Ireland a little more than a year ago."

  "I'll be damned."

  "I'm not done, yet."

  "What else?"

  "Rebecca is pregnant. She didn't say so but I noticed the baby bump. No more than a two or three months."

  "It just keeps getting better and better."

  "I'm still not done yet."

  "Oh, Christ, CJ! What else can there possible be? A third wife? Another mother? What?"

  "Your sister has been talking to him regularly."

  "She's what?!"

  "This is straight from Douglas this morning. Either he ran off or she kicked him out in the beginning. That part is a bit unclear. It was a number of years before he made contact again, by which time he'd found his biological mother and his history and wormed his way into the United Irish Republican Army and somehow or other got hooked up with the FBI. Because of his undercover mission they, Douglas and Kassandra together, concocted a cover story that he'd run off and she hadn't heard from him at all."

  "She never told me," Gianna said.

  "She didn't tell anyone apparently; played her part superbly."

  "Alexandria didn't know?"

  "I don't think so. They, Douglas and Kassandra that is, didn't talk often, July being the last time, he said. He didn't already know about Alexandria having been killed. He'd been out of country for the last few months, in Northern Ireland. Just got back. "

  "Jesus Christ, CJ! How could they do that? What was so important?"

  "That, I don't know. Agent Taffer wouldn't reveal the mission. Whatever it was, it was coming to an end."

  "How so?"

  "In Douglas' words, 'When this is over, I'll go back.' When I asked when that might be, he said, 'Soon. Very soon.' That could be a couple of days, a couple of weeks or a couple of months.'"

  "With this wife, Rebecca, pregnant?"

  "I don't think he knew about that. My hunch is that she hadn't told him yet."

  "If you saw it, how could he not?"

  "Maybe for some reason she was hiding it, waiting for the right time. He'd only just returned from Ireland, so..."

  "What are you thinking, CJ?"

  "If he was planning on returning to Kassandra, he would have had no intentions of building a family with Rebecca, maybe had made it clear from the beginning that he didn't want kids. She was being used for cover and she didn't know it, thought this was the real deal, the reason she hadn't told him about the baby yet. She wasn't sure what his reaction was going to be."

  "How do you know she didn't know anything?"

  "Because of her reactions when she learned of Douglas' other family, his involvement with the FBI. I don't think she is that good of an actress. Doug's mother, on-the-other-hand, knew everything except for his being FBI undercover. They came to me because they wanted to hire me to find Douglas' killer. When they left, Eveleen had rescinded that request, however I think Rebecca is now, more than ever, a pissed off widow. She wants answers and after she gets rid of her so called, mother-in-law, she's going to be back."

  "So, you're wondering now if I want you to continue with this?"

  "Yes. I've accomplished what I came for, to find and inform Douglas of the death of his daughter. Sometimes investigations are like this. You go to dig for a worm only to wind up in a nest of snakes."

  "An accurate analogy, CJ. I'm going to try to get a flight out today to talk to Kassandra tonight. She's also going to need an attorney and since I'm not licensed to practice at all in Indiana, I cannot be her attorney of record. Besides, my specialty is criminal law. I will have to bring on a consultant. The question of illegal adoption muddies everything. Was Doug a legal U.S. resident? Does his marriage to my sister come into question? Is his name Rothbower or O'Reilly? Even if Rebecca is not his legal wife, she is carrying his child. Who becomes the rightful heir? How is Eveleen Danohough going to fit into it? There may have to be DNA testing to prove she is his biological mother if she starts making claims."

  "Wow!"

  "Yeah, it gets complicated."

  "And right now I doubt Rebecca is thinking any of that," CJ said. "She is wanting to know who killed her husband."

  "Give her more credit, CJ. I'm sure right at the top of her concern is whether or not he was in fact her husband. A woman isn't going to let that slide by for very long. She will be wanting to know who this person was, this father of her child. The rightful heir issue is just a fuzzy cloud out there, yet to be recognized for the storm it may turn into."

  "I suppose that if in fact he had been communicating with Kassandra all this time," CJ said, "ther
e could be no claim of abandonment. All of her assets are also his assets, thus subject to claims by heirs."

  "Now you're getting the idea, CJ. When's your flight back?"

  "Tomorrow morning."

  "Hang tight, then. I'll call you tonight. Might be late. If you do any more, you'll be on the clock. No more pro-bono."

  "Thank you. If Rebecca returns, it may be to ask me to get on her clock. As long as I'm working for you, I'll decline her request, however..."

  "You'd like to find some answers for her. I get it. Technically, you can't work for her as you are not licensed in Florida, but you can work for me in Arizona. Florida is where your investigation has led you."

  "The local police told me to go home."

  "They can tell you anything they want, but unless you've broken some law, they have no enforcement power."

  "True."

  "I'll get back to you tonight. Become a tourist for a few hours."

  "I need to buy Stella a gift."

  "Perfect!"

  The next call CJ made was to Stella.

  Chapter 10

  "I'm coming there," Stella said after CJ had recited the entire story, including his arrest and his conversation with Gianna.

  "That's not necessary," he said.

  "The hell it isn't. Someone has to watch your back, keep you out of jail. They're going to start charging you rent."

  "Funny."

  "The way I see it, whether you're working for Gianna or this so called Irish wife, you won't be coming home tomorrow. You're going to need a second pair of eyes, a partner to bounce things off of. Gianna has deep pockets and can afford the additional expenses."

  "But Rebecca O'Reilly may not, and I may be working for her."

  "It'll be what it'll be. We owe it to Alexandria." And then Stella's voice became sultry. "Besides, I miss you."

  CJ smiled. "That's all I needed to hear. When can you be here?"

  "I'm making the flight reservations right now. Hold on a second."

  CJ was amazed at how fast Stella could book a flight. He listened to her breathe, say, "Hm" a couple of times and then...

  "I fly out at 7:00 a.m. and will arrive in Tampa at 2:15, via Atlanta."

  They talked about the weather for a few minutes and then Stella said, "Trish and I went to our joint counseling this morning."

  "How are you doing with it?" CJ asked. The two of them had counseling separately once a week and then together every other week.

  "I'm doing okay, I think, but Trish is still struggling. She went through a lot more of it than I did, having been kidnapped twice, hit by a car and had a gun pressed to her head. Hell, she was almost killed... twice. And then Clark killed her friend in Idaho. It may be years before she'll be able to get past it."

  "If at all," CJ added. He'd pulled the chair over to the window where he could relax and look out onto Tampa Bay. "I know something that might be good for you while you're here."

  "I don't hear that, I can't wait to get you into bed voice, so what else are you thinking might be good for me?"

  "What do you think about going sailing?"

  "Sailing?"

  "Don't sound so excited," CJ said. The tone in her voice deflated his balloon a bit.

  "Sorry. It's just that... well, I don't know."

  "What don't you know?"

  "For one, I don't know how to swim."

  "Neither do I."

  "So you think it would be a good idea for two people, neither of whom know how to swim, to go out on the ocean in a little sailboat?"

  "They're not sailboats; they're sailing yachts."

  "What's the difference?"

  "Yachts are much bigger." Actually, CJ had no idea if there was any difference. It was the only thing he could think of. "And it's not an ocean, it's a bay."

  "That's supposed to make me feel better? Would that be equivalent with handing the keys to a Mac-truck to someone who has never driven and turning him loose in a crowded parking lot?"

  "Tampa bay isn't crowded. I'm looking out at it right now and there's hardly any boats."

  "That's probably because the smart ones keep their feet on dry land."

  CJ opened his mouth to say something about the fact that they'd have to take lessons, but concluded she'd just have another snappy comeback. "Maybe it's not such a good idea," he finally said.

  "I didn't say that."

  CJ looked up at the ceiling. "Okay. What are you saying?"

  "I'm not sure what I'm saying. The idea scares me, however..."

  "However what?"

  "It might be romantic if we sailed with someone who knew what they were doing."

  "Just go along for the ride? Sit in the back and cuddle?"

  "Yeah, I guess so."

  It wasn't exactly what CJ had in mind, but it could be a decent compromise. "Okay. We can check that out."

  "And if you still wanted to go sailing, just the two of us, I'd have to insist on lessons first, and lifejackets always."

  CJ looked up at the ceiling again. "Lessons. Yes. Definitely. I should have thought of that. And lifejackets, of course."

  When CJ set the phone down ten minutes later, his stomach growled. He hadn't eaten since breakfast in the hotel diner seven hours before. He recalled the bistro at the corner of 2nd Avenue and Bay Shore Drive. He'd looked at the menu briefly, could almost taste the Atlantic Salmon or the Cajun Fried Grouper Sandwich. He wasn't sure he'd ever had grouper, but it was worth a try.

  He checked that he had his key card and then went out the door.

  As the door closed behind him, a young man in an official hotel uniform approached from the direction of the elevator.

  "Mister Washburn?" the man said, noting the room he'd just come out of.

  "Yes."

  "I was told to bring this up to you." He handed over a note.

  CJ ripped the tape holding the folded note closed, opened it and read it quickly. "Was it a man or woman who gave this to you?"

  "I got it from the check-in associate at the front desk. I don't know who gave it to her."

  "Thank you," CJ said. He fished around in his pocket until he came up with a few dollars, and then handed them over.

  The young man pocketed the money, turned and walked back to the elevators.

  CJ read the note again.

  You are being watched and followed.

  Meet me at Paddy McGee's at 3:15.

  Make sure you lose them first.

  R

  Chapter 11

  CJ stood in the hallway for some time considering the note. The "R" could only mean Rebecca. Why the need for a clandestine meeting? Was Paddy McGee's the best place for it? He looked at his watch. It was 2:32. He returned to his room.

  He pulled out a T-shirt that he'd brought along, white with a picture of the Grand Canyon and the words, Grand Canyon National Park. He put it on. The shirt he'd been wearing he left on the bed. He sorted through his suitcase again until he came up with a burgundy shirt of the same style. With that rolled up tight and tucked under his arm, he grabbed his car key and headed for the elevators.

  In the hotel gift shop he looked for ball caps. Sure enough, they had two colors, white and black. He purchased a white one that said St. Petersburg in gold script. He had the clerk put it in a bag to which CJ added the shirt.

  When he'd gotten off the elevator a few minutes before and walked through the lobby, he'd noted a man in an Hawaiian shirt sitting in the same spot where Rebecca O'Reilly had been earlier. He was paging through a travel magazine, taking no more than a subtle notice of CJ as he passed by. When CJ came out of the gift shop, the man was on his feet in a position to be able to see the shop entrance, talking on his phone. Except for a brief glance toward CJ, he displayed no obvious interest in anything beyond his conversation. CJ headed back to the elevators.

  Once inside he punched the buttons for the 2nd and 9th floors. He got off on the 2nd floor and found the stairs where he could exit out onto the parking lot. He was smart enough to know that j
ust because he snookered the Hawaiian shirt guy, he likely wasn't going to get away scot-free. There was certainly someone with eyes on his car. As he pulled the car out onto 1st Street, he got to thinking that he should have just walked out the front door. Now they may actually suspect that he is aware of them and trying to shake them, causing them to become more vigilant.

  Oh well; it is what it is, he thought. He noted all the vehicles parked nearby, one in particular being a dark green Chevy Impala with one man sitting in it. CJ couldn't help but notice the surprise on the man's face as he passed by. CJ watched his mirrors until the Impala came out of its street parking spot, stopped briefly to pick up the Hawaiian shirt guy who'd come running out of the hotel, and make a quick U-turn. Good, he thought. Now I know for certain who's following me.

  He slowed to allow the driver to get into a conservative following distance, deciding that he didn't want them to get the idea he was trying to shake them. He then casually made his way along the streets of downtown St. Petersburg.

  Once CJ was within a few blocks of Paddy McGee's, he began circling. He wasn't sure he'd find what he was looking for until he spotted it. It was a parking garage at Sunshine Lane and 1st Street, a little farther from McGee's than he wanted, but still close enough. He exited the garage on foot onto the Whitney National Bank parking lot where the green Impala, not surprisingly, was now parked. He entered the bank from the parking lot and then went straight through and directly out onto the street side, dodged traffic to cross over and into the White House and Black Market, exited from there out a side door, crossed a landscaped breezeway into another shop, put on the hat and shirt without stopping, stuffed the bag into his pocket and stepped out onto 2nd Street, nearly two blocks and several buildings away from where he'd left his escorts. From there it was a four-block walk to the Irish pub. A sophisticated surveillance team would not have let him slip away so easily, would have had all exits from the bank covered immediately. CJ had glanced out from inside the bank. They hadn't even left the car. Who were these amateurs?

  Just in case, though, CJ added a limp and then lifted his shoulders and bent forward as though plagued with a humped-back. He tilted the hat brim low over his face and then slowly approached the pub, looking about for any suspicious vehicles. There were none with people sitting inside. He entered the pub and looked around. While his eyes adjusted, the same young barmaid from the day before called from the bar.