Gina Cresse - Devonie Lace 02 - A Deadly Bargain, Plan C

by Gina Cresse

  “I don’t know. Paddy runs a good dive shop. He’s always careful. We ought to have it checked out.”

  Paddy turned the valve and smelled the air coming out of the tank. “Smells okay,” he reported. “But then, carbon monoxide is odorless.”

  “Carbon monoxide?” I questioned.

  “Leading cause of accidental poisoning death in the country.” Paddy went to a drawer and pulled a disk-shaped device out. “This is a carbon monoxide detector. I’ll bet that’s what it is.”

  “But how would it get in the tank?” I asked.

  “Well, it didn’t come from here. We run a clean shop. Tank was half full when you brought it in. Could be some genius filled it at a gas station or in his garage with a gasoline-powered air compressor. Seen it happen before. You’re lucky to be alive.”

  I jumped when the loud beeping alarm on the detector blared, indicating a dangerous level of the poisonous gas escaping from the scuba tank. A shiver ran up my spine as my eyes met Jason’s.

  Chapter Five

  Olive answered the phone as professionally as I’m sure Clancy insisted. “Tex and Clancy’s Marine Salvage. You sink it, we save it.”

  “Good morning, Olive. This is Devonie Lace. I bought a trunk from your husband last week. Remember me?”

  “Oh, yes. You’re the little girl who helped me with the computer problem I was having. Everything all right?”

  “To be honest, no. I wonder if you were ever contacted by the owner of the Little Maria?”

  “No. Not a word. Why?”

  “That scuba tank from the trunk I bought was full of carbon monoxide. Made me really sick. I’m concerned that maybe the owner of the boat may have had more tanks contaminated with it.”

  “Oh, my stars! Carbon monoxide? Are you kidding?”

  “No. I think your husband better have the other tanks from that boat checked out.”

  “I’ll have someone come check them right away. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. I was lucky,” I said.

  I could hear Clancy in the background pestering his wife. “Do I have to call a lawyer? Is she gonna sue us?”

  Olive shushed her husband. She must have placed her hand over the receiver because her next sentence was muffled. All I could make out were the words, “…you old fool.” Then she came back on the line.

  “You’re not going to sue us, are you?” she asked.

  “Of course not,” I assured her. “This is a buyer-beware business. I should have had the tank emptied and tested before I ever used it.”

  “I’m just glad you’re okay. Thanks for the warning. We don’t want anyone else to get a hold of one of those tanks before we check them out.”

  I pulled a pen from a small glass jar on my galley table. “I wonder if you would give me the name of the previous owner of the Little Maria? You must have been able to get that information from the registration records.”

  I heard Olive shuffle through some papers. “Let’s see. What was his name? I have it here, somewhere. Oh, yes. Here it is. Hastings. Roy Hastings. Lives over in Avalon. We tried to contact him but he never responded.”

  “Roy Hastings?” I wrote it down on a small notepad.

  “That’s right. Funny. Some fellow came by yesterday asking about the boat. Wondered if anyone ever showed up to claim it. He was real curious about the stuff on the boat.”

  “Really? Did you get his name?” I asked.

  “No. Didn’t leave his name.”

  “Did he say what his business was with the boat?”

  “No. Just curious, like you. Wanted to know if everything was just the way we found it. I told him yes, except of course for the trunk we sold you. He hung around for a bit then left. Like I said, nice fellow.”

  I dropped the pen back in its glass jar. “Thanks, Olive. You’ve been a big help.”

  I took a bite out of a Fuji apple and chewed it while I waited for Spencer to answer his phone.

  “Hello?” came the voice through the telephone.

  I hesitated, still chewing my mouthful of apple. Finally, I got the words out. “Spencer. It’s Devonie.”

  “Devonie? That name sounds familiar. I used to have a friend named Devonie, but she took off for the Caribbean last year and I haven’t seen or heard from her since. Not even a postcard.”

  “It’s good to hear your voice, Spence. I’m back from the Caribbean and I need your help.”

  “Of course you do. I was just sitting here waiting for your call. That’s my new job description—Information Technology Expert to Devonie Lace.”

  “I’m glad to see you haven’t changed. You still with the State?” I asked.

  “You kidding? Cushiest job I ever had. I’m working over at the DOJ. Been there since Christmas.”

  “DOJ?”

  “Yeah. Department of Justice—rap sheets, firearm permits, dactylograms.”

  “Dactylo-whats?”

  “Dactylograms. Fingerprints. Where’d you go to school?”

  “Same place you did. Guess I missed the day they taught us that one. Seriously, though, can you check on a name for me? Roy Hastings, from Avalon, California. It’s kind of important and you know I wouldn’t ask if—“

  “Not to worry. This is Spencer you’re talking to. What’d this guy do? Write your name on the restroom wall at the Bar & Grille? Stand you up for a date? Put that terrible picture of you on the Internet?”

  “My home page? Are you the one who—“

  “Oops. I swear I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “Spencer! I should have known it was you. You owe me, big time!”

  “Okay. Okay. What’s this guy’s name? Ray?”

  “ Roy. Roy Hastings.”

  “Got anything else? A driver’s license number? A social-security number? Anything?”

  “No. Sorry. Do your best. I’m not expecting miracles.”

  “Good thing, ‘cause you’re not gonna get one.”

  “ You’re underestimating yourself. Remember, you’re the King of Hackers. You pull off miracles all the time.”

  “Flattery will get you everywhere. I’ll see what I can do. I’ll give you a call when I find something.”

  “Thanks, Spence.”

  * * *

  I knocked on Jason’s door and waited. I could hear him inside, banging around in the kitchen.

  “Open up! Food police!” I hollered.

  He opened the door. A string of melted cheese hung off his lip and stuck to his chin. He held the smoking gun—a huge slice of pepperoni pizza with some additional topping I couldn’t immediately identify—gripped tightly in his hand.

  “Dev. Hi. Come on in.” He opened the door and let me in. “Want some pizza? It’s my latest creation—pepperoni, sausage and butterscotch chip. Sort of dinner and dessert all in one.”

  I crinkled my nose. “My God, Jason. I’m gonna refer you to a good cardiologist. Maybe he can talk some sense into you.”

  I sat down at the cluttered kitchen table and moved a package of Oreo Cookies, an empty bag of fries, and a half-full can of diet soda out of the way.

  “Hey, want to catch a movie? That new one I told you about just opened,” I said.

  “The chick flick?” he shot back.

  “It’s not a chick flick. It’s a romantic comedy.”

  “All right. But next time, we’re going to see something with nothing but car chases, shootouts, foul language and explosions. And don’t ask for any more advice about Craig. I’m not in that business. Deal?”

  “Fine. Let’s go.”

  “Okay. I just have to feed the neighbor’s dog first. They’re on vacation for three weeks. Come on. You can help.”

  It was late by the time I got back to the Plan C. I fumbled with the keys and finally found the right one for the hatch door. Something didn’t seem right when I grabbed the handle. The door wasn’t locked. I know I locked it, I thought to myself. I cautiously opened the door, then reached around the corner and turned on a light. My hear
t sank when I gazed at the sight.

  Utensils thrown on the floor. Clothes tossed everywhere. Drawers wide open, empty. The contents of every cupboard, closet, and drawer were strewn all over the carpet. My beautiful boat had been violated.

  It suddenly occurred to me that the culprit may still be onboard. My heart pounded faster than it should and my knees grew weak. I felt my face flush and perspiration formed on my forehead. I tiptoed to my cabin and retrieved the baseball bat I kept next to my bed. Posed, ready to clobber anyone who might still be onboard, I slowly crept through the galley into the main salon, peered into all the guest cabins and heads, then back to the master bedroom. I hoisted the hatch door up and shone my flashlight down below, watching for any movement at all. Whoever made this mess was long gone.

  I returned to the living room, slumped my tired body in a chair, and rested my chin on the butt of the baseball bat. I let my disappointed eyes gaze around the mess made by some lowlife scum who certainly didn’t deserve to live and thought of at least eight forms of torture I’d like to inflict on the little weasel.

  After the police report had been filed and the officers left, I started the cleanup process. It took me three hours to put everything back together. Exhausted, but determined to take a full inventory before I went to bed, I laid my head on my folded arms while I sat at the galley table. As far as I could tell, there was nothing missing.

  Chapter Six

  Olive had her back to the door and the phone stuck to her ear when I walked in. She was staring, mesmerized, at the image of sheets of paper flying across her computer screen, leaving one folder and landing neatly into another. Texaco sat faithfully at his mistress’s feet, watching her intently with his big brown eyes.

  I opened my mouth to announce my presence but was interrupted by Olive’s frustrated voice barking into the telephone. “No. Don’t put me on hold again. I’ve been on hold for—shoot!“

  In disgust, she held the phone out in front of Tex’s face. “They put me on hold, again!”

  I walked around to the other side of the desk and set my purse in a chair.

  “Oh. Hello, Devonie. I didn’t hear you come in.” Olive jammed the phone back in its usual position—between her left ear and shoulder.

  “On the line with technical support?” I whispered.

  “Technical support? You kidding? I don’t think the three kids I’ve spoken to in the last half-hour know how to operate a telephone, let alone a computer. The only buttons they seem to be familiar with are ‘hold’ and ‘transfer.’”

  I smiled. “Maybe I can help.”

  You’d have thought I’d removed the earth from her shoulders. She quickly placed the receiver in its cradle and stood up, ready for me to take the pilot seat.

  I think the information revolution, with the introduction of computers into the lives of nearly every person in the free world, must be a lot like the introduction of automobiles to a society accustomed to warm-blooded, four-legged, air-breathing, hay-eating horses. Horses, for the most part, were reliable and predictable. When old Bessie was off her feed, nearly everyone in town could tell you what was wrong with her and how to cure her, if you didn’t already know yourself. But be the first one on your block with one of those newfangled Fords and try to find anyone within a hundred miles to explain why it won’t start. I wondered how many years it took to get a population of knowledgeable mechanics planted everywhere they were needed.

  With a few keystrokes and some well-placed mouse-clicks, I’d resolved Olive’s computer dilemma.

  “God bless you, Devonie,” Olive gushed as I surrendered her chair back to her. “You’re a genius.”

  “I’m not a genius. I’ve just been there before.”

  Clancy stepped into the office, accompanied by a man. The man was tall, about forty, with dark wavy hair and a mustache. His plaid shirt was neatly pressed and he carried a leather briefcase. Clancy stopped short when he saw me sitting opposite Olive. “Oh, jeez! Do I have to call a lawyer? You changed your mind about suing us?”

  Olive turned and swatted him with a ruler. “Hush up, you old fool!”

  I laughed and shook my head. “No. I’m not going to sue you. But I could use your help.”

  “Help? What do I look like? The Pope?” Clancy replied.

  Olive hit him again, only harder. “Clancy McGreggor! If you don’t knock it off, you’ll be sleeping with Tex tonight!”

  “Good. Least he doesn’t snore. Be the best night sleep I’ve had since I married you.”

  Olive slapped the ruler down on the desk. “You sorry old coot!”

  Clancy sauntered up behind Olive and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I’m just kidding, darlin’. You know I love ya more than that old dog.”

  Clancy looked me over from head to toe. “You don’t look no worse for wear. What sort of help you looking for?”

  I retrieved a large ring of keys from my purse. “These are the keys from that trunk you sold me. I’d like see if I can find something one of them might fit.”

  “Don’t believe I ever met anyone as nosy as you.”

  I glared at Clancy. “Last night, someone broke into my boat. They tore the place apart looking for something. They didn’t take anything.”

  Clancy scratched his whiskery face and adjusted the ball cap on his head. “And that means what?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “There’re just a lot of weird things going on about that boat. First of all, it’s abandoned—you have to admit that’s strange. Then, the poisoned scuba tank. A stranger comes by to inquire about it, and you tell him about me buying the trunk. Then, my boat is ransacked, but nothing is taken. I’d like to know what it’s all about. I guess it means I’d like to take a look at the Little Maria again.”

  “Look all you want. Don’t know what you think you’re gonna find, though. Sounds like what you really need is a good insurance agent. This here’s Morgan—best in the business.” Clancy motioned to the man who came in with him.

  The man held out his hand. “Morgan Johnson—West Coast Insurance.”

  I shook his hand and forced a cordial smile. I didn’t need another insurance salesman trying to convince me I was on the verge of economic disaster. I’d decided that the whole insurance concept may not be such a good idea. Your money suddenly belongs to the insurance company, and the last thing they want to do is give it back when it’s needed.

  “Actually, I’m not an agent. I’m an investigator. I specialize in marine losses. Most of my work takes place under water. But our company does handle property damage, robbery, and vandalism cases. Do you currently have a policy?” he asked.

  “I’m covered, thanks. So, you must do a lot of diving in your line of work.”

  “I do, as a matter of fact. I heard Clancy had a bunch of scuba tanks he might want to part with. Thought I’d come take a look.”

  Clancy and Morgan followed me over the rail of the Little Maria. There was storage under the bench seating. I found a key that released the padlock and lifted the benches, revealing dozens of life jackets.

  “I’ll let you buy this key back from me,” I said, smiling, as I held the key out to Clancy.

  “Don’t need it—not now that you’ve opened it.”

  “Okay. I’ll keep it then.” I replaced the padlock and snapped it closed.

  “Hey! Open that back up,” he barked.

  “Don’t need to—not now that I’ve seen what’s in there,” I said.

  Clancy frowned and folded his arms across his big chest. “How much?”

  I scratched my head. “Seems to me you put a value of fifteen dollars on a key that gained access to an unknown end. This one ought to be worth at least twenty.”

  “Twenty! You gotta be out of your mind!” Clancy said.

  I dropped the key in my purse and stood up.

  Clancy’s hands fell to his sides and his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Fine. Twenty dollars. Who’s the pirate?” Clancy complained.

  “Hey. I learned fr
om the best,” I reminded him.

  Clancy dug a wadded up bill from his pocket and reluctantly placed it in my hand.

  My search turned up four fire extinguishers, one first aid kit, two dozen flares, and a twenty-man survival raft. Below deck, I counted fifty dive tanks and an equal number of weight belts.

  “Had every one of those tanks checked,” Clancy assured me. “Not a whiff of carbon monoxide.”

  “Good,” I replied.

  Morgan stayed below to check out the tanks. Clancy followed me back to the bridge. I studied the GPS monitor mounted on the panel. “Isn’t that a Global Positioning System?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Darn nice one, too. Been thinking of taking it off her and using it on my boat,” Clancy replied.

  “I bet this one stores a bunch of locations. Have you checked it out?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Mind if I turn it on?”

  “Go ahead,” he said.

  I powered the device up and stared at the green screen. “How does it work?” I asked.

  Clancy sidled up to the apparatus and started pressing buttons. “Here. You just press this one to recall your stored locations. If you press this one, it shows them with the date and time. See?”

  I watched as dozens of lines of cryptic codes scrolled up the screen. “Slow down. Can we sort this by date and time? Descending?”

  “Heck, probably. Let’s see. I think, if I just push this one. Oops. That’s not right. Wait.” He fumbled with the buttons.

  I worried that he might erase something important. “That’s okay. Let’s not try anything too spectacular. How about if we just scroll down to the end. Maybe they’re already in order.”

  “I know I can do it, if you just let me—“

  “Really. I think they’re already sorted. Look.”

  Clancy stared at the screen. “Hmm. Guess you’re right.”

  He scrolled down to the last entry stored. The date, time, longitude, latitude, and an alphanumeric identifier displayed at the bottom of the list. I enunciated the words, “‘El Niño wreck.’ Look at the date. November tenth. Isn’t that about the time you found the boat, abandoned?”