The Writer (15 page)

“It appears Decklan wasn’t lying about his fuel line problem! The same thing just happened to us!”

Adele crouched her way to Delroy’s right side and saw the cause of the stalled motor. The dark gray, high pressure fuel line had broken apart where Decklan had apparently done a temporary duct-tape repair. Delroy was an experienced enough boater to know that the fuel would quickly degrade such tape into a mushy mess, soon rendering the repair useless. He also knew that he should have checked the fuel line prior to leaving Roche Harbor. He silently cursed himself for failing to do so.

The runabout was repeatedly being tossed to the left and right and Adele thought she saw water pooling in an open space directly beneath where the outboard motor was mounted. Delroy noted the concern in her eyes and tried to calm her.

“That’s the bilge! It’s collecting the water that gets inside the boat, so the water you see there is just what it was designed to do. We’re still fine!”

Adele gave a stiff nod and tried to appear calm; though, with each wave that lifted the small runabout and then sent it crashing back to the water’s surface, she felt her forced façade of calm exterior breaking apart.

“Do you have a pen in your backpack?”

To Adele it seemed a most unusual question given the circumstances, but she nodded.

Delroy pointed to where the backpack lay next to the passenger seat.

“Good, bring it here!”

Adele half stooped and half crawled to her backpack, retrieved the pen, and then made her way to the back of the boat and handed it to Delroy. He took the pen apart until only the hollow, plastic exterior remained. Delroy tried to snap the pen casing in half, but lacked the strength to do so. He sheepishly handed it to Adele and asked her to do it.

With gritted teeth and a loud grunt, she snapped it in two just as another wave broke over the side of the runabout, dumping another half gallon of water into the hull’s interior.

Delroy jammed one end of the broken pen into a damaged section of the fuel line. He strained to push the pen farther into the hard plastic opening. This time Adele didn’t wait for him to ask for help. She grasped the pen and jammed it in and then did the same to the other end, securing the fuel line into a continuous section from fuel tank to motor.

“Will it hold?”

Delroy was grinning ear to ear as he shrugged his shoulders.

“Only one way to find out!”

The former college professor stumbled his way back to the helm and turned the ignition key over. The engine let out a dry cough, belched, shuddered and after a few more seconds, started. Adele peered down at the repair and saw gas seeping out from both ends where the pen casing entered the fuel line. The smell of fuel mixing with the water collecting in the bilge grew stronger.

“It’s leaking!”

Delroy motioned for Adele to return to her seat.

“It’ll have to work. I guess now would be a good time to quit smoking!”

Adele forced a smile even though she wanted to cry out when the back end of the boat lifted upward and lurched precariously to the right, almost knocking her from the passenger seat.

Delroy put the outboard motor into gear and carefully moved them into the oncoming waves, which by then were higher than three feet. The saltwater smacked into the bow with a snarling, thumping hiss, seemingly determined to push the small runabout onto its side.

Soon, the northern side of Jones Island was no more than a hundred yards away. Adele couldn’t quite make out the details of the rocky shoreline, but she could hear the waves crashing into the island’s rough, age-pitted skin.

Delroy’s recent jovial mood suddenly turned very serious as he found himself unable to make the turn to the right without falling too far into the trough of an oncoming wave and running the risk of having the boat capsize. He also realized that if the motor were to die at that moment, they would likely find themselves dashed upon the rocks of Jones Island.

Adele sensed Delroy’s fear which in turn, doubled her own concern. She knew that if an experienced boater like Delroy suddenly appeared to be straining to maintain control of the vessel, the situation had surely entered the realm of a life and death struggle to make it to Deer Harbor alive.

“C’mon, damn it!”

Delroy was leaning forward into the windshield as both his hands tightly gripped the steering wheel. The boat’s bow rose up over the crest of a wave, plunged downward, and then repeated the motion. Every third or fourth wave was especially violent, causing the bow to bury itself for a frightening few seconds underneath the water before finally emerging and again climbing up and over the next wave as the motor continued to push the water craft forward.

“Ms. Plank, I need you to hold on very tight. I have to point this thing to the right and when I do, it’s going to feel like we’re going over. WE WON’T GO OVER, OK?”

Adele felt as if she couldn’t breathe. She nodded once even as her body began to tremble uncontrollably. Delroy stared into Adele’s eyes and gave a quick, half-grin and then winked.

He began to count down to the moment when the boat would be turned into the deep trough of the next wave.

“One…two…THREE!”

Delroy simultaneously turned and accelerated. Adele could feel the runabout’s fiberglass shell shudder violently as it lurched to the right even as a wave struck the boat’s side and then pushed it back to the left. Delroy accelerated even more to ensure the bow pointed again to the right. The boat was lifted upward by a wave and then dropped into the trough where it started to roll onto its left side.

Adele turned her head and saw swirling night-black waters seemingly inches from her face. She opened her mouth to scream but then abruptly closed it for fear of having it filled with that same water. Then the bow lifted upward again and Adele was thrown back into her seat and in almost the same instant, tossed to her right as the runabout struggled to remain afloat. A wave crashed over the side and filled the interior with yet more seawater.

Delroy pulled the steering wheel to the left and decelerated to little more than a fast idle as the bow dipped downward and then just as quickly he accelerated as the boat climbed the crest of the next oncoming wave. Adele watched as Delroy repeated the same slowing down and speeding up maneuver.

They had reached Spring Passage. Orcas Island rose up from the white-capped swells to Adele’s left. Delroy pointed to a rocky outcrop some three hundreds yards ahead.

“That’s Steep Point. Deer Harbor is just around the bend. We’re gonna make it!”

Adele said nothing. She was still struggling to overcome the great fear that gripped her in its unyielding hands. She stared ahead at the inky, sinister hissing liquid that continued to push against the boat. She thought she could hear the water murmur its frustration over its inability to swallow whole the little vessel and its human contents.

It took another half hour before they came within sight of Decklan Stone’s private island. It was the longest half-hour of Adele Plank’s life. Adele pointed to the area she recalled the partially hidden cove would be found. Both she and Delroy could see the lights of Decklan’s house blinking down at them from between the gaps in the tall trees. Delroy cautiously steered the runabout slowly alongside the small island as he strained to find a gap in the rocks that would indicate the partially hidden cove Adele promised was there.

“Ah, that must be it!”

Adele finally allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief as she wiped the seawater from her eyes and face.

Delroy responded by straightening the saltwater-soaked fedora on his head.

“I told you we’d make it! Never a doubt!”

As Delroy continued to move the runabout toward the cove’s sand and pebble shore, Adele turned around to look back in the direction of the Deer Harbor marina and the burned-out remnants of Bella Morris’s store.

We might have made it across that channel, but something tells me we’re still a ways away from being OK.

“Ah, this is so much better!”

Delroy Hicks had made good on his promise to raid Decklan’s wine collection and promptly poured himself and Adele glasses from an award-winning Malbec.

They each had blankets wrapped over their still-soaked bodies as they sat in the gloom of the island home’s interior. No additional lights were turned on following their arrival as they both agreed doing so might alert law enforcement or someone else that others had entered the Stone residence. Prior to opening the wine, they feasted on hastily-made cheese and mustard sandwiches.

“Here’s to surviving the storm and the challenge of a good mystery.”

Adele clinked her glass softly against Delroy’s and then took a small sip of the dark red, velvet-textured, wine.

“So, might I ask what you’re seeking here, and why it’s worth us risking being arrested?”

Adele looked around the great room where she and Delroy sat cross-legged on the wood floor with the open bottle of wine sitting between them. It was then she realized that despite the home’s rustic grandeur, it was a place devoid of actual warmth. It felt oddly unlived, almost lifeless, like nothing more than a two-dimensional reflection of the man who resided there.

“He’s been very sad for a very long time, hasn’t he?”

Delroy took a sip from his own wine glass and then winced as another series of stabbing pains shot through his abdomen. He waited several seconds for the pain to subside before sharing his thoughts.

“Oh, yes, that is undeniable. Decklan Stone is the most miserable creature I have ever known. It is why when we would visit with one another, he always did so by coming to my sailboat and never inviting me here. He wanted to escape this place, the memories of Calista, and the terrible tragedy that was her death. It might be called a cliché by some, but Decklan is a man with a broken heart and it has slowly been killing him just as surely as the waters outside this home killed his beautiful wife all those years ago.”

“He told me he tried to leave once.”

Delroy appeared genuinely surprised to be told of Decklan’s attempt to leave the islands.

“Really? And what happened?”

Adele set her wine glass on the floor and wrapped the blanket that hung over her shoulders more tightly around her body.

“He couldn’t do it. He took the runabout in a bad storm just like we did tonight. He made it all the way to Anacortes and then had to turn around and come back here. He said it felt like he was abandoning Calista.”

Delroy appeared to be on the verge of tears.

“Calista’s death has made Decklan a prisoner, and it appears he’s been delivered a life sentence.”

“And now if we assume he had nothing to do with Bella Morris’s death, it seems likely someone is trying to set him up. The question that remains though, is
why
?”

Delroy reached out to grab the wine bottle and then proceeded to refill both glasses.

“Indeed, I’ve been asking myself that very question since we left Roche Harbor, except during those briefly terrifying moments when I thought we might actually die out there.”

Adele’s eyes widened.

“And?”

Delroy managed to combine a simultaneous drink of wine and a shrug of his shoulders.

“And nothing. I have no idea who would wish to do such a thing.”

“Well,
someone
had to have informed the sheriff they saw Decklan speaking to Bella shortly before the explosion.”

Delroy began to nod his head slowly when suddenly he sat up straight, which in turn caused the blanket to fall away and collapse onto the floor behind him.

“The sheriff!”

Adele’s mouth collapsed downward in confusion.

“Yeah, someone spoke with the sheriff. The question is who?”

Delroy snapped his right fingers together.

“Exactly! The sheriff spoke with the sheriff! I mean to say, the
former
sheriff, Sheriff Speaks was the one who informed the current sheriff that he saw Decklan talking with Bella. Sheriff Speaks lives here on Orcas Island, correct? He also keeps a boat in the marina, yes?”

Adele was nodding her head as her mind raced to put together the pieces of the puzzle Delroy was laying out for her.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

Delroy continued to speak as his own excitement caused the volume of his words to increase.

“And the current sheriff, Sheriff Benson, he worked for Sheriff Speaks. He owes his
entire career
to Speaks. Benson was who Speaks personally endorsed to replace him.”

“So you’re saying we can’t trust Sheriff Benson?”

Delroy simultaneously grunted and flinched, gestures which made clear the idea of trusting Sheriff Benson to be inconceivable to him.

“Hell no, we can’t trust him! Not if this thing, whatever it is, somehow involves Sheriff Speaks. If there are any skeletons in Sheriff Benson’s past, you can bet Speaks knows of them and that knowledge gives him leverage. It gives him power. And men like Martin Speaks rarely give up such power. And if he
is
involved, and therefore had something to do with Bella’s death, then we best realize we are dealing with a man capable of killing a human being in order to keep secret whatever thing it is he’s hiding.”

That declaration caused both Adele and Delroy to go silent as they both realized the gravity of the situation they found themselves involved in.

“I think whoever was standing outside this house when I first came to interview Decklan followed me to Bellingham. It was a man. He was in the library basement with me when I was doing research for the interview. I didn’t want to think about it much since it happened, but now I have to wonder if he was there not just to scare me. That maybe he was there to hurt me, or possibly worse.”

Delroy’s chin fell against his narrow, bony chest as he peered up at Adele from underneath the brim of his fedora.

“You know, I’ve spent most of my adult life thinking guns are horrible and dangerous things, but I wish we had one with us now.”

Adele lifted her glass and nodded.

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Her wine glass was nearly empty when Adele leaned her head to the right. Delroy noticed the gesture.