“You’re safe now, Calvin,” she whispered. “You’re safe and warm. You’re safe and warm.” Gradually, Calvin’s breathing deepened and he seemed to relax.
“That was nicely done,” a voice said softly from behind her.
Gabrielle looked over her shoulder to see a woman in a military uniform.
“I’m Diane O’Brien,” the woman told her. “I’m a Commander in the Coast Guard. I was in charge of the cutter near Elm Tree Cove the night Calvin rescued his brother.”
Gabrielle wasn’t sure what to make of this, but had been raised to be polite. “I’m Gabrielle Poulin. I’m a friend of Calvin’s.”
O’Brien smiled warmly. “And a rather good one, I’d say.” She came into Calvin’s room and took off her overcoat and put it down, then sank into the only other chair in the room. “Not to be nosy, but are you two going together?”
Gabrielle flushed a little, but nodded.
“Good,” O’Brien said. “He’s been through a lot. It’s likely to be tough for him the next few months, it’s good that he has someone he’s close to.”
Still holding Cal’s hand, Gabrielle frowned. “Do you know what happened that night? Nobody’s told me and I don’t want to ask Calvin’s mother, she’s already got enough on her plate.”
O’Brien nodded slowly. “You seem like a fairly insightful young lady.”
Gabrielle’s lips thinned in annoyance. “Adults like to say that to teens when they don’t want to answer their questions.” She gestured to Calvin’s unconscious form in the bed. “He’s old enough to be in the military. So am I. We’re old enough to fight for this country and get shot at, yet when I ask a simple, important question, no one will give me an answer because they don’t think I’m old enough or tough enough or some other bull.” A single tear crept down her cheek and she angrily brushed it away. “Tomorrow or the next day, Calvin is going to wake up and want to know what happened to his brother, and why. But his brother is dead. I know Cal well enough to know he’s going to feel responsible for it. And guilty. And it’s going to tear him apart.” Her voice was rising now, her cheeks dotted with spots of color. “I’m going to do everything I can to help him through that, but I can’t do much if I don’t know any facts.” She glowered at Commander O’Brien, United States Coast Guard. “And no one will tell me!”
“Jesus!” O’Brien said. “Does Calvin have any idea what type of woman he’s got looking out for him?”
Gabrielle stared at her, not amused.
“Okay,” O’Brien said slowly. “Okay, but it’s not pretty. Heroic, but not pretty.” She gestured to Calvin. “Your young man there took it upon himself to rescue his brother from a very dangerous drug cartel. Alone. At night. In a storm. He is either one of the bravest men I have come across, or the dumbest.”
“He can be both,” Gabrielle said, with mixed exasperation and pride.
“Well, whichever it is, he was also lucky. Once-in-a-lifetime lucky.”
“Please,” Gabrielle pleaded. “What did he do? What happened? And what about Jacob?”
So, Commander O’Brien told her. Some of it she knew, some she had been told by Jacques LeBlanc, some by Howard Honeycutt and Frank Finley, and the rest she could fill in. She told Gabrielle of Calvin swimming in the cove and sneaking aboard the Celeste, of freeing Jacob from the equipment shed and their desperate escape from the ship. Fighting with Jacques LeBlanc, getting shot and then drifting with the outgoing tide. The freezing water, the No. 6 Buoy. And of being found by Ensign Dunbar, tied to the buoy and alone. The frantic helicopter ride. Calvin’s dangerously low body temperature and blood loss.
It took forty minutes, with one break to shoo away a nurse who came to tell them they needed to let Calvin rest. When she was done, Gabrielle sat very still, not bothering to wipe away her tears.
“Have they found Jacob’s body?” she asked.
O’Brien shook her head. “I don’t think they will. The North Atlantic rarely gives up the men it takes, and the storm tide would have carried him deep into the ocean.”
“I don’t know if I can help him,” Gabrielle said quietly, gazing at Calvin. “The doctors told his mom that part of the reason he’s sleeping so much is that he doesn’t want to face what happened to Jacob.”
“I know,” O’Brien said softly. “But he’ll come back soon. He’s young, that helps. And when he’s back, he’s going to need some help.”
“Calvin can be very stubborn,” Gabrielle said hesitantly. “He might not let me help him.”
O’Brien hid a smile. “Oh, I think there might be a little bit of stubbornness in you, too. You’ll find a way.”
Gabrielle looked at her, a hint of a smile tugging at her mouth. “Yes, I will.”
Commander O’Brien would have bet money on it.
Chapter 71
Of Clam Chowder and an Unexpected Visit
They stood side-by-side at the kitchen counter, mother and daughter, losing themselves in the simple task of cooking. There was no need to talk; this was a meal they had made a thousand times and they each knew it by heart. They had made it in happy times and sad times, because people need good food to celebrate, and comfort food to weather the hard times.
And because they were both mothers, they made more than they alone could eat.
First, they put four dozen hard-shelled clams into a large enamel pot that had belonged to Céline’s mother. Danielle added in the water and a pinch of sugar, her secret ingredient. They brought the water to a boil. In the best of worlds, they would have sent their menfolk out to dig up the clams, but the menfolk were in the hospital, or worse, so they had stopped on the way home and bought some fresh from a neighbor they saw carrying a clam rake and a heavy bucket.
When the shells opened, they took them out and set them aside to cool, then poured off the broth into a bowl, careful to avoid inadvertently contaminating it with sediment from the pot.
With the shells cooling, they took five slices of bacon – the recipe called for three, but Céline was partial to bacon – and cut them into small pieces, then put them in a pan over a low flame. When the shells were cool, they shucked the clams and separated them into two roughly equal piles. Then, side-by-side, they each minced the clams, hands and knives moving automatically from years of practice. Céline finished first, as she usually did, and turned her attention to chopping two large onions.
Danielle peeled the potatoes and cut them into chunks. Céline, who preferred neatly cut cubes, shook her head in disapproval and ‘tsked’ as she always did, but said nothing. Her daughter, who had been chunking the potatoes since she was twelve as a way to declare her independence, smiled and said nothing. It had become part of the way they cooked together, and neither of them would have it any other way.
When the bacon was ready, they added in the onion and sautéed it. Danielle began humming an old tune and, unconsciously, her mother joined in. Humming and stirring, the two women poured off some of the bacon fat, then added in the potatoes and the clam broth and stirred until the entire concoction was simmering, then added some black pepper. They left it to simmer until the potatoes were ready.
Danielle got a stick and a half of unsalted butter while Céline measured out three cups of evaporated milk and two cups of whole milk. Then, when the potatoes were fork-soft, they added the evaporated milk and whole milk, scraped the clams off the cutting board into the pot and dropped in the butter.
Céline added one more pinch of sugar and handed her daughter a cold glass of Chardonnay. Danielle sipped the wine and slowly stirred the chowder. When it looked like it might start to boil, she removed the pot from the stove and took a small sip from a spoon. She frowned and stirred in a slurry of cornstarch to thicken it.
“Cornstarch,” Céline muttered in mock disdain. “Scandalous! Civilized people use crackers.” She opened the oven and took out a pan of blueberry cornbread, still warm, then fished about in the refrigerator finding the butter dish. She smiled again at her precious daughter.
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br /> “There, I think we’re ready,” she said.
Céline ladled out two bowls and the women took their chowder and wine and cornbread to the dining room table. They sat across from each other, neither one touching their food.
“I’m not sure I can eat, Mom. I’m sorry.” Danielle whispered, eyes brimming with unshed tears.
“I know, Danni. Try one spoonful and have a little more wine.” Her mother stirred the chowder with her spoon and then blew on it to cool it. Raising it to her lips, she took her first taste and smiled. “Well,” she said, as she always did, “not enough bacon, but not bad even so. Go ahead, try some.”
Danielle forced a smile and brought the soup spoon to her lips. “Not as good as yours, but pretty good.” In truth, she could not taste a thing. She might as well have been pouring warm sand into her mouth. She took another sip of Chardonnay.
Céline quietly cajoled her daughter to try some of the blueberry cornbread, buttering a slice and putting it on Danielle’s plate.
“Gabrielle called and said that she went to see Calvin today,” she said encouragingly.
But before Danielle could reply, there was a knock at the front door. The two women glanced at one another, then Danielle picked up her shotgun and moved to the door.
“Who is it?” she called pleasantly, bringing the shotgun up to shoulder and readying herself to fire if the front door was kicked in.
“Mrs. Finley, it’s Petty Officers First Class Josephs and Santana,” a voice called.
Danielle glanced out the window and saw the two Petty Officers standing there, in uniform. They stood right in the middle of the pool of light cast by the front door floodlight.
“Danni?” her mother asked uncertainly.
“It’s okay, Mom,” she replied. “I know them.” But why they were here was a mystery. She opened the front door and stood back. The men saw her shotgun and glanced uneasily at each other.
“Ah, Mrs. Finley, if this is a bad time,” Josephs said hesitantly, his eyes on her weapon.
“Sorry,” she said, leaning the shotgun up against the wall. “Since the attack on our house, and then last Thursday, well-” She shrugged expressively. “We’re just trying to be careful.”
“Yes, ma’am, I can see that,” Josephs said, not coming any closer.
Céline joined her daughter in the doorway. “Don’t just stand there in the cold, boys. C’mon in, we don’t bite.”
“Uh, ma’am, it’s not biting we’re worried about,” Santana said.
Unexpectedly, Danielle smiled. “Have you eaten? We’re just sitting down to homemade clam chowder and blueberry cornbread. And there’s beer in the fridge.”
Both men brightened, exchanged another glance with each other, then walked briskly through the door.
Thirty minutes later, the two men pushed their empty bowls away and ate the last of their cornbread. “Oh, Mrs. Finley, that was great,” Santana mumbled around some cornbread. Josephs nodded his agreement, still busy chewing.
Danielle looked at the two men, first Josephs, then Santana. Despite the warm welcome they had been shown, and the good food they had devoured, they were both so nervous they were vibrating. She glanced sideways at her mother, who met her eyes and nodded ever so slightly.
Danielle got up and went to the kitchen, emerging several moments later with a bottle of Glenfiddich Scotch, four glasses and a bowl of ice cubes. She set out a glass in front of each of the two men, gave one to her mother and kept one for herself. She held up the ice cubes. Josephs nodded and she dropped two into his glass. Santana declined. Céline accepted two and Danielle dropped one into her own glass.
She poured two fingers of Scotch into each glass. “This is some of my Dad’s favorite Scotch,” she said conversationally. “Even he can’t drink wine all the time. I’m not much of a Scotch drinker myself, but I must admit, this is pretty nice.” She raised her glass. “A week ago I didn’t even know your names, but since then you’ve saved my life when those thugs attacked my house. You helped save my husband Thursday night, for which I can never thank you enough. I’ve seen you cool as cucumbers in a life and death situation, and yet tonight both of you are squirming like boys in church who really, really need to pee.”
She glanced again at each man, locking eyes with them and nodding. “Now I want you to take a big slug of this Scotch and tell us whatever it is you’ve been wanting to tell us.”
“Ah, man,” Josephs said uneasily. “Mrs. Finley, we shouldn’t even be here.”
Céline reached over and patted his hand. “I understand, Mr. Josephs. So much has happened in the last few days, so many people have been lost or hurt. We’d appreciate anything you can share with us.”
He sighed heavily. “Listen, this is confidential and all that crap. If Commander Mello ever found out, I mean, jeez-” He took a gulp of the Scotch. Danielle reached across the table and poured some more into his glass.”
“I’m married to a cop,” she said reassuringly. “I have to be discreet.” She didn’t add, ‘Because if I’m not, bad guys might try to kill us,’ but it was understood.
Josephs glanced at Santana, who shrugged eloquently. “When Tommy and I get involved in a shooting incident, we have to be debriefed by the Coast Guard afterwards to, you know, make sure we didn’t screw up. So, right after a shooting, we have to write up a timeline of what happened and when.” He rubbed his face, which was flushed from the Scotch. “They trained us to keep track of important stuff, like somebody getting killed, and to note what time it happened.”
“We had this one teacher,” Santana chimed in. “He was always yelling at us: ‘Somebody gets shot, look at your watch!’ Gets to be a habit after a while.”
“The gunfight Thursday night was long and goddamn bloody. At one point, things weren’t goin’ all that good and your husband sent me and Santana to the road to try to flank the drug guys on the south bank of Elm Tree Cove.”
“Okay,” Danielle said encouragingly, wondering where this was going.
“Well, when we reached the road, we saw two assholes trying to do the same thing, creeping across the bridge going north and hoping to flank us,” Josephs explained.
Danielle was startled; she hadn’t heard of this. She looked at the two Petty Officers. “You guys shot them?”
“Nope,” Josephs said bluntly. “But somebody else did. Real slick. Somebody shot the two assholes from behind, from the south side of the bridge. Took ‘em down with a burst each, then fired a second burst into them to make sure.”
“See, the thing is, we couldn’t figure out who did it,” Santana said, leaning forward. “It sure as hell wasn’t the State Police, and Chief Corcoran said later that he and his men hadn’t arrived yet.”
Danielle looked at them expectantly.
“Me and Tommy,” Josephs said, gesturing to Santana, “we heard the shots that killed those two assholes. Those were AR-15s, sure as shit. Or some AR-15 clone shooting 5.56mm. Very distinctive sound.”
He let the words hang there.
Danielle chewed her lower lip. “Frank has told me that the North Harbor police use AR-15s, but only semi-automatic.”
“Real simple to make them full auto,” Santana said. “Any competent gunsmith can do it. Hell, anybody who knows his way around a workbench can do it. Find instructions right on the Internet.”
“But there’s more, isn’t there?” Céline asked the Coast Guard men.
“Well,” Josephs said. “When me and Tommy left Mr. Finley and started for the bridge, I looked at my watch, right? It was 7:20 p.m. We crawled some and ran some, then crawled again when we got closer to the bridge. When we saw the assholes get it, I checked the time again. 7:40 p.m. We waited a few minutes, then crawled to them to make sure they were dead. Right there, I looked at my watch again. 7:55 p.m., give or take a minute.
“We started back to the north side, because I was hoping to tell Mr. Finley what happened. There was still some shooting going on and we got pinned down for a bit, so it w
as slow going. We got there just as Mr. Finley got shot and, well, I looked at my watch again. 8:30 p.m. The thing is, once your husband got shot, there was no more shooting after that. None.”
Beside him, Tommy Santana nodded in agreement.
“And you’re sure about the time, Mr. Josephs?” Céline asked.
“He’s right,” Danielle said unexpectedly. “When Frank got shot, he fell down and broke his watch. He showed it to me; it said 8:33 p.m., but it runs a little fast.” She turned back to Josephs. “But I’m not sure where you’re going with this.”
Josephs grimaced at the memory and shook his head. “See, the thing is, Police Chief Corcoran said he and his men arrived on the scene at 8:40 p.m. He was quite clear about it, but that is an hour after me and Tommy saw the two shooters with AR-15s blow away the drug guys.”
“But if Corcoran was there all along, why didn’t he-” Danielle’s voice abruptly cut off. Understanding washed across her face. “Oh, that miserable bastard!”
Josephs nodded in sour agreement. “See, me and Tommy, we’re thinking that maybe Corcoran and his men arrived earlier, killed the two assholes on the bridge, then watched the firefight for a while. You gotta remember, the drug guys, they fought until they got the last package off the beach. Maybe, just maybe, Corcoran and his men then killed all of the drug guys and took the three packages. A hundred and fifty pounds of heroin.”
“It wouldn’t be hard to kill them in the woods,” Santana said. “Sneak up on them while they’re busy shooting us, wait until they snatched the last package off the beach, then shoot them as soon as they pull back deeper into the woods. Classic ambush.”
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