Stormcatcher (3 page)

By his tone, the sheriff seemed to be accusing Simon of something. His jaw was clenched, and he kept cracking his knuckles.

“Sure.” Simon glanced at Wynne. “I’ll call before I leave the morgue. I shouldn’t be long.”

“No problem.” Wynne watched them walk away. The day seemed suddenly overcast, and she rubbed the gooseflesh on her arms. She didn’t see how this new discovery could affect her, but she was convinced it was going to.

W
ynne’s toes were frozen from their contact with the frigid water. Even in the summer, Lake Superior felt like melted snow. Gulls cawed overhead, and the sound of the surf soothed her, but the throb of a laboring motor soon drowned out the comforting noises.

She squinted against the sun in her eyes and stood. A boat limped toward the dock. The engine sounded like it was hitting on only two cylinders. The boat would be lucky to make it to the dock.

She raised her hand. “Ahoy. Do you need assistance?”

A man on the deck waved his hand over his head. The wind snatched his words away. Wynne hurried to the end of the dock and watched as the boat moved slowly toward her. When it came in range, the man tossed the rope to her. It fell into the lake, and she knelt to retrieve it from the cold water.

Tying it to the pier, she pulled on it to help guide the boat to the dock then wrapped the rope snug.

“Thanks.” The man hopped ashore. Another man began to poke around at the motor while a woman about Wynne’s age wrote in a log.

“I didn’t think I was going to make it.” The man was about forty with salt-and-pepper hair and shrewd blue eyes. His ruddy complexion had seen too much sun and wind. He held out his hand. “Mike Wilson.”

She put her hand in his. “Wynne Baxter.”

“Baxter. You must be the marine archaeologist I’ve heard about. I was thinking of calling you and seeing if you’d be interested in a summer job.”

“You’re on a marine archaeology dig?” Wynne was intrigued. She hadn’t thought anyone was working in this area.

“Not exactly. I’m into ship salvage. Your expertise in locating sunken ships would help me find some wrecks. I need some help.”

Wynne wrinkled her nose. “No thanks. No offense, but gutting our national treasures is the last thing I’d want to do.” She expected him to get angry, but she didn’t care.

He merely smiled. “I could make it worth your while.”

“So you can sell the stuff to private investors?” She shook her head. “No thanks. I’d rather see my finds end up in museums where everyone can enjoy them.”

“Well, if you change your mind, here’s my card.” He handed her a card that read Wilson Salvage.

“We’ve got it fixed, boss,” the man at the engine called.

“I’d better get going,” Wilson said. “Thanks for your time.” He touched the bill of his ball cap then swung his long legs onto the deck of his boat.

Wynne wondered if they’d have future trouble with Mike Wilson. What if he found
Superior Lady
before they did? There was expensive technology on that yacht.

Simon shivered, not so much from the cold, sterile feel of the morgue, but from the dread that congealed in his stomach at what he was going to have to do. He followed Mitch Rooney down the colorless hall to the door at the end.

“In here.” The sheriff held open the door. His stare held a trace of hostility.

Simon drew in a deep breath and forced himself to step into the room. Sweat broke out on his forehead in spite of the chill in the room. The coroner pulled back the sheet that covered the face of the figure on the table.

Simon sucked in his breath. “That’s Amanda.” He turned and bolted from the room, his stomach rebelling at the sight of the woman he’d thought to spend the rest of his life with. In the hallway, he leaned his forehead against the wall and tried to calm himself.

He sensed rather than heard the sheriff follow him. Swiping the back of his hand over his forehead, he turned to stare into the sheriff’s face. He saw no sympathy in the man’s expression.

“I’d like to ask you some questions,” Rooney said.

“Fine.” Simon squared his shoulders and followed him to a small room.

The sheriff stepped to a metal cart that held a coffeepot and foam cups. “Coffee?”

“That’d be good.” A shot of caffeine might strengthen him for what lay ahead. He could tell by the sheriff’s manner that he was set to grill him.

The sheriff poured two cups of coffee and handed one to Simon. “Have a seat.” He indicated two straight-backed chairs with worn seats in the corner.

Simon sat and took a sip of his coffee. The heat hit his stomach and began to thaw the ice running through his body.

The sheriff sat beside him. “When was the last time you saw your fiancée?”

“The day before she disappeared. Three months ago.”

“Did you argue?”

Simon wished he didn’t have to answer. “Yeah.”

“Did she break off your engagement?” Rooney sounded hopeful.

“No.” Simon perched his cup on his knee and stared into the dark liquid. He didn’t dare tell the sheriff the specifics about their argument. The man would arrest him on the spot. “She said she’d see me in the morning.”

“Where were you going to meet?”

“At the boat dock. We were going out for lunch. When I arrived, her car was there, but she wasn’t. Jerry’s car was there as well, but
Superior Lady
was
gone. A fisherman on the dock told me she’d gone out with Jerry and she’d taken a suitcase.”

“Did you try to find them?”

Simon nodded. “I tried to raise them on the radio, but Jerry never answered.”

“You didn’t go after them?”

“I tried but didn’t find any sign of them.”

“I’m sure you were angry.”

“I spent three days looking for them until I realized they’d run off together.” Simon shrugged. “It had happened before. Jerry always liked what someone else had.”

“Kind of like you,” Rooney sneered.

Simon had been trying to keep his cool, but Rooney’s attitude was getting to him. Their history might get in the way of the investigation. He shot the sheriff a hard look. “Look, let’s just get this out in the open. You don’t like me. I understand that. But let’s keep it to business, okay?”

Rooney’s mouth tightened. “Fine,” he said in a clipped tone. “Sounds like you disliked your cousin.”

Simon blew out his breath. “Not at all. We were like brothers. I knew his faults just like he knew mine, but I loved him anyway.” Simon swallowed as memories assailed him. Jerry laughing from the treehouse they’d built when Simon was ten; his excitement when they graduated from high school; the light in his eyes when he came up with the design for the
Superior Lady
. He’d been so sure blue skies were ahead and the three of them would be famous. Instead, he’d gone out on
Superior and had never come home. The futility of it all made Simon curl his fingers into his palms.

“Do you have any idea what could have happened to the boat—what caused it to sink?”

Simon shook his head. “It was innovative but safe. And the weather was perfect when they disappeared. That’s why I was so certain Jerry had just gone off with Amanda. There was no reason for them to have had trouble out on the lake.”

Sheriff Rooney stood and tossed his cup into the trash. “I’m sure I’ll have more questions later so don’t plan on taking any trips. Something smells fishy in all this, and I intend to get to the bottom of it.”

“Has the coroner determined the cause of death for Jerry or Amanda?”

“Not yet. But he will.”

The words sounded ominous the way he said them.

“I had nothing to do with their deaths.” Simon knew his protestations of innocence wouldn’t sway the sheriff, but he had to say them anyway. “Something must have gone wrong with the boat.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew it was the wrong thing to say.

The sheriff’s gaze sharpened. “Sabotage maybe?” he said, his voice deceptively soft.

“No, I mean a problem….” Simon’s voice trailed away. The reality was there was no reason for the boat to have gone down. It was sound with a great engine they’d used on other boats.

“An engine explosion?”

“I don’t see how,” Simon admitted. “It had one of the best engines on it.”

“Sabotage,” the sheriff said again. “But you don’t want to admit that. I wonder why?” His tone indicated he was already sure of the reason.

Simon drained his cup and tossed it into the trash. He wished he could get rid of the sheriff’s suspicion as easily.

Wynne had plopped back on the dock, but her backside was starting to hurt from her hard seat. Glancing at her watch, she saw that Simon had been gone for an hour and a half. Surely he’d be back shortly. She should have gone back to Windigo Manor for a while, but the day was too beautiful to be spent inside. At least out there, she could feel the sun on her face and smell the scent of the lake.

She heard the sound of a vehicle and turned to see Simon get out of his truck. His eyes were shadowed, and his jaw looked as hard as Eagle Rock itself.

“Let’s go,” he said abruptly. He stalked to the boat and stepped onto the deck.

Wynne scrambled to her feet and hurried after him. With his mood obvious, she wouldn’t put it past him to leave her if she lingered.

“Was—was it Amanda?” she asked quietly as he untied the rope and shoved the boat away from the dock.

“Yeah.” Simon’s jaw twitched.

A long silence descended as Simon fired the engine
and the bow lifted as the boat sped away from shore. Wynne wanted to ask more questions, but she could tell he was in no mood for chitchat.

“We’ll stop and pick up the rest of the crew,” Simon said. The boat moved toward the dock at Turtle Town.

A few minutes later, two men waved as the yacht pulled up to the dock. One was about forty with stringy blond hair pulled back at the nape of his neck. He wore ragged cutoffs and a black sleeveless T-shirt. The other was about thirty with a freckled nose and reddish hair. His interested gaze swept over Wynne as he stepped aboard
Thunderbird
.

“You’re as pretty as I heard you were,” he said. His snub nose was peeling from a sunburn.

“Cool it, Joe,” Simon barked.

Wynne’s smile faltered. Why did he sound so annoyed? She turned her smile back on full wattage. “I’m Wynne Baxter.” She held out her hand.

“Joe Evans.”

His firm grip enveloped her hand. He didn’t seem to want to let go. She gently tugged her fingers free and turned her gaze to the man behind him.

“Hi.” She held out her hand to the other man.

“Bjorn Poonen.” He had a faint Scandinavian accent. He briefly touched her fingers, and his cool gaze slid by her. He nodded to Simon. “You’re late, boss.”

“Business to attend to. I should have called on your cell phone. Sorry.” Simon revved the engine and the boat began to move away from the quay.

Wynne went to join Simon at the helm. “Where do you want to search first?” she asked as the shoreline disappeared. Gulls cawed over their heads, and the dull roar of the engine mingled with the sound of the wind and waves. The odor of oil and fuel drifted to her nose.

Simon whipped the wheel to the right and the boat veered. “Right about here,” he said. “Jerry filed a trip itinerary in this direction.”

“I would have thought you already looked here then,” Wynne said.

“I did, but I didn’t look under the water. I thought he might be out here floating around and enjoying himself. I never saw any trace of the
Superior Lady
.”

He moved to his equipment and began to fiddle with the controls. Joe slid into the seat at the panel. A beep began to sound as the sonar started to search below the surface of the water.

Joe stared at the screen. “Let’s troll this meridian first.” His finger jabbed at the screen.

“I can do that.” She scrambled into the seat Simon had vacated. Watching her speed, she pressed the throttle and the boat began to move slowly through the water.

By three o’clock, they’d found nothing that showed up on the screen as more than rocks and boulders under the waves. Wynne knew they had a slim chance of finding
Superior Lady
. And it was going to be a long, hard time of it if Simon didn’t speak. He’d sat beside her all afternoon and barely uttered a word.

The only sound had been that of the other two men talking in low tones out on the deck. She was tired of his attitude. What had she done?

She cut the engine, and his head jerked around. “Why are you stopping?”

“Look, if you want my help, you’re going to have to talk to me. It makes too long a day to stare at the water and say nothing. I might as well be out here alone for all the company you’ve been.”

His lips tightened. “It’s not like we’re best friends.”

“True. But I’m not your enemy. We’re on the same team. We might as well be friendly.”

“I’m not good at small talk,” Simon said as he stared back at the screen.

“I’m not talking about small talk. Tell me what you’re seeing, talk about how you got interested in the Viking search and where you’ve looked. It will help pass the time.”

“Maybe tomorrow.”

“You want to talk about what happened at the morgue?”

Pain darkened his eyes. “The sheriff thinks I did it. I’m sure if we find the boat, we’ll be ordered not to disturb it.”

“Oh, surely not, Simon.” Wynne couldn’t imagine Simon in a rage. He’d been morose today, but not dangerous.

He shrugged. “I’ve been warned not to leave the island. Rooney is on a witch hunt, and I’m the one he has in mind for the stake.”

“Why would he think that? Just because Amanda ran off with Jerry?”

“Pretty good motive, don’t you think?”

“Did you suspect there was anything going on between them before they disappeared?”

He hesitated and looked away. “No.”

She had a feeling he wasn’t telling her the truth, and a feeling of disquiet swept over her. She pushed it away. Max considered Simon his best friend. He stoutly defended him. She was probably probing too hard.

“Why were you so sure then that Amanda was with Jerry?”

He shrugged. “Someone saw her board the boat with a suitcase.”

“Do you have any idea where they were heading?”

He shook his head. “As far as I knew, Jerry was just going out for a few hours to test the
Superior Lady
. Amanda and I had planned to meet to discuss…things. When she was nowhere to be found, I asked around and discovered she’d gone off with Jerry.”

He stated the words impassively. Wynne wondered how deeply he’d felt his fiancée’s defection. “Let’s see if we can figure out who might have wanted to harm either of them.”