Bloody Point (27 page)

She turned the SUV toward her boathouse apartment. She would
change, pick up the chair, and drive to Wells Inlet. She’d eat later, she
decided, after it had cooled off. Something in her wanted to get this job over
with as soon as possible.

† † †

Craig called Jake late Friday afternoon. “I’ve been trying to
get in touch with Cassie. Have you guys seen her?”

“No.” Jake took a deep breath. “She’s not talking to us.”

“That’s not good.”

“I agree. Trudy says she’ll come around eventually, but I
don’t know.” Jake knew she was probably right, but it didn’t make him feel any
better. “We’re just about to leave to go by the newspaper office.”

“Don’t bother,” Craig said. “I called there. She’s left the
building.”

By the time Jake hung up the phone, a sick feeling had filled
his stomach. Trudy had gone out to run an errand. When she got back, they’d
have to talk.

† † †

Cassie entered the parking lot at the Wells Inlet Marina and
pulled into a space off to the side next to a hedge. Maybe she was just tired.
Maybe sadness was sapping her energy. But for some reason, she didn’t want to
be there.

She looked around. Scrub was nowhere in sight. Her dad’s car
was not in the lot, either. Why wasn’t he there? Retrieving her cell phone, she
called him at home. No answer. She left a message. She tried his cell number.
No answer there, either. Cassie grimaced, wondering what to do.

Maybe he was in a dead zone in the cell coverage, on his way
here, she decided. Taking only her keys and the bo’sun’s chair with her, Cassie
locked the SUV and walked to the marina office. “Is Scrub here?” she asked the
young woman behind the desk.

“No, I haven’t seen him,” she said.

“How about Richard Maxwell. You know him?”

The woman smiled. “Everybody knows him. D-Dock, slip 18. All
the way down.” She gestured toward Cassie’s right.

As Cassie walked toward the D-Dock she noted that the clouds
were beginning to gather in the west. The heat was oppressive.
Come on, rain
,
she thought.
Cool things off
. Dressed in khaki cargo shorts, a tank top
and her boat shoes, Cassie was just barely comfortable. Shading her eyes with
her hand, she scanned the docks. There was no sign of Scrub or her dad. Or
Rick.

“Well, hey, beautiful!” a voice said softly.

Cassie jumped and spun around. Richard Maxwell was right
behind her.

†

Bloody Point

Chapter 27

“S
ORRY to scare you!”
Maxwell said, laughing.

“Hello, Rick,” she said.

He put his arm around her and gave her a squeeze. “You’ve
been ignoring me.”

It was true. He’d called her three times. But then, so had
Jake. “Sorry, I’ve been busy,” she said. “What did you want?”

“I just wanted to make sure you were coming today.”

“Oh, sorry.” Cass looked all around. “Where’s Scrub?”

“He’s waiting for us.” Maxwell gestured toward his catamaran.
“Let’s go.”

“And dad?”

“Busy. But I think the three of us can handle it. I promise,
it won’t take long.”

Cassie preceded Rick to the D-Dock. For a Friday night, the
marina was surprisingly empty, but the predicted weather would have most
boaters waiting for tomorrow to go out. It wasn’t smart to be on the Bay with a
front coming through. Winds could jump to sixty knots or more, and the relatively
shallow Bay could become a heaving sea in a short period of time.

As Cassie walked toward Rick’s boat she looked down at the
new dock, still a pre-weathered brown, and she wondered how the re-building of
Goose Creek was going. She made a mental note to herself to check on it next
time she was down that way.

They got to Rick’s boat and walked out onto the narrow finger
pier. A laughing gull shrieked at them as they walked. Cassie got to the boat
and hesitated, surprised to see the lifeline on the catamaran still connected.

“Let me get that,” Rick said. Three seagulls took off,
squawking, from nearby pilings. Rick leaned in front of Cassie to let down the
lifeline. He was wearing Polo cologne. A small alarm went off in her head.

She looked in the ports. Where was Scrub? She couldn’t see
any evidence of him. Why was the lifeline still up if Scrub was on board?

Her heart began to pound. “Oh, wait!” she said, turning. “I …
need to get something from my car.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Rick responded quickly, and with that, he
whipped a metal flashlight out of his pocket and hit Cassie over the head.

But Cassie was already moving and the flashlight did not
connect as solidly as he’d intended. Her vision started to go dark and her
knees buckled. She grabbed his shirt and tried to throw him off the dock. Her
muscles seemed frozen. She had no strength. She felt like she was in a
slow-motion nightmare. Still, she fought. “No!” she cried, but her voice
sounded far away, even to her.

Rick cursed. He threw one arm around Cassie’s neck, the
flashlight still in his other hand. Cassie drove her elbow into his gut. She
couldn’t breathe! She needed air! Cassie stomped on his instep and tried to
elbow him in the groin.

Then Rick brought the flashlight up and hit her twice more. The
world went black and she collapsed.

Rick caught Cassie in his arms. He glanced around. No one was
in sight. He lifted her onto the boat and carried her below decks to the berth
he had prepared. When he had secured Cassie there, locking her in handcuffs,
blindfolding and gagging her with duct tape, he stepped back and admired his
work.

How lucky he was! The woman he’d known since high school was
Special Agent Mike McKenna’s wife.

Stupid Mike McKenna. The Boy Scout. The perfect little
Christian. Well, Mike certainly paid the price for interfering with my plans.
Maxwell smiled to himself. When Mike had stumbled on Tyson beating up that
motorist, when he’d stopped and drawn his gun and shot Tyson dead, Mike had
destroyed more than the life of a street punk: he’d thwarted a plan Rick had
been working on for two years. Two years! It had taken that long to get
Frederick Schneider on board, to get him to agree to supply the guidance system
Rick had promised to sell to the slimy little third world dictator.

The delivery was to take place that evening but then MiKe
shot Tyson, and the whole thing fell apart. Schneider freaked out and refused
to cooperate again. And it had taken Rick another six months, an arranged accident,
and a couple of arson jobs, to set the deal up again.

By sheer luck, he had discovered Cassie living at the marina.
Mike McKenna’s wife! He still couldn’t believe his good fortune when he was
able to entice the grieving widow into a relationship.

And now all the cards were about to fall into place. Soon
there would be the big payoff. He’d be able to live in the Caribbean forever.
And, thanks to his good fortune and careful planning, he would get a little
bonus: rape Mike McKenna’s wife, and then kill her when he was finished.

Ah, revenge was sweet. He was looking forward to it. He
actually trembled with excitement.

† † †

Jake was pacing back and forth on the front porch when Trudy
arrived home. His calls to Cassie had gone unanswered. Her dad wasn’t home. He
couldn’t remember the name of her photographer and the newspaper switchboard
was shut down for the night.

By the time Trudy walked up the front porch steps, he was in
a sweat.

“Why are you so hyper?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I just need to talk to Cassie.”

The phone rang before their conversation could go further. It
was Craig. “I just got a call from the wife of the owner of the
Lady J.
Something’s up. I’m headed down towards Deale to see her.”

“Alone?” Jake asked.

“Gotta be.”

“Wait, no, Craig … ” but Jake couldn’t think of a better
plan. “At least tell me what’s going on,” he said.

“The husband left in a tizzy fifteen minutes ago. She’s in a
panic. I’m on my way there now.” Craig paused. “This could be the break I’ve
been waiting for.” He explained the rest of his conversation with the woman.

“Call me,” Jake said, “as soon as you are clear of there. If
you can’t get me here, call Trudy’s cell phone.”

“What’s up?” Trudy asked.

Jake turned to her. His neck was tight and his mouth was dry.
“The boat that started the marina fire? Craig’s been trying to get the owner to
talk for weeks. Finally, tonight, the guy’s wife calls. He left fifteen minutes
ago, saying he had to meet somebody, totally stressed out. She’s scared. She’d
heard the messages Craig left and used Caller ID to get his number. She’s
afraid her husband’s gotten mixed up in some big kind of trouble.”

“Oh, my,” Trudy said.

“Craig’s headed down to Deale. Look, Trudy,” Jake put his
hand on her shoulder. “We need to … I need to do something. Will you take me to
Cassie’s apartment? Will you help me chase her down?”

“Of course! But Jake, I don’t understand … ”

“I don’t either, but I just feel like I’ve got to find Cass.”

Trudy had an idea as they drove toward Cassie’s apartment. At
her suggestion, Jake called Mr. Turnage, Cassie’s landlord, and he checked the
apartment for them. Cassie wasn’t there. Nor was her car. So Jake and Trudy
went straight to Jim Davison’s. He had just gotten back from the store. “I don’t
know where she is,” he said, and his voice was mottled with concern.

The three stood in the kitchen and discussed possibilities.
“She could be working. There’s the photographer,” Jake said, “but I don’t know
his name.”

“And Skip, the boat surveyor,” Cassie’s dad added. “She went
out to dinner with him.”

“You’ve got his cell number, Jim,” Trudy said. “He did
Cassie’s boat.”

“That’s right, I do. And I also have Len’s number. He might
tell us how to reach the photographer. Or, maybe he even knows what Cassie’s
plans were.” Jim Davison reached for the phone. Seconds later, a puzzled
expression crossed his face.

“What?” Jake asked him.

Jim punched numbers into the phone. “I’ve got voicemail,” he
said. “Usually the answering machine kicks in unless I’m on the Internet.” Jake
and Trudy stood by as he retrieved the message. Frowning, he handed the phone
to Jake. “Listen to this.”

Jake pressed the phone to his ear. The message was from
Cassie. “Dad,” she said, “I understand you’re going to help us fix the wind instrument
on Rick’s cat. I guess you’ve left. I’ll see you there.” Jake put the phone
down. His eyes were fixed on Jim’s face.

“I never said I was going to help Maxwell,” Jim said.

“What’s going on?” Trudy asked.

Jake told her.

Jim picked up the phone again. “I don’t have Rick’s number.
But let me try Scrub.”

But Scrub didn’t answer his cell phone and by the time Jim
put his phone down Jake was ready to go.

“Where’s this guy live?” he asked.

“I don’t know, but Scrub works at Wells Inlet Marina and
Rick’s boat is there.”

“Let’s go!” Jake said to Trudy. “You stay here,” he said to
Jim, “in case Cassie calls.”

They arrived at the Wells Inlet Marina around 8:00 p.m. When
he stepped out of the car, Jake noticed the wind had come up. The sky to the
west was bluish-gray. The front the weather guys had predicted was coming
through.

He hitched his gun pouch to a more comfortable position. He
still wasn’t used to wearing it on his left. He’d practiced drawing until he
felt confident he could quickly have the gun ready to shoot. Whether he could
hit a target or not was an entirely different matter.

“Where do we go?” Trudy asked.

“I don’t know. I’m playing this by ear.” Jake led Trudy to
the office, but it was locked. Then he walked down to the docks. There were
four parallel piers, and Jake shaded his eyes and scanned them all. “Look!
There! Isn’t that Scrub?” he asked, pointing to a small figure on the B-Dock.

“Yes, I believe it is,” Trudy said.

They walked that direction. Scrub saw them coming, and
trotted up to meet them.

“Hey, Scrub. How are you doing?” Jake asked, extending his
hand.

“Good, sir.” Scrub nodded his head in a slight bow.

“Jake Tucker.”

“Yes, sir. You’re Miss Cassie’s friend.”

“That’s right.”

“And Miss Trudy. How are you, ma’am?” Scrub asked.

“I’m fine, Scrub,” Trudy said.

“Scrub, we’re looking for Cassie. You haven’t, by any chance,
seen her today, have you?”

“No, sir.”

“How about Richard Maxwell?”

“No … he’s not here. See over there, his slip’s empty.”

Jake followed his gesture as he pointed to the deserted slip.
Disappointed, he turned back to Scrub. “When did he leave?”

“Don’t know, sir. He was gone when I got back today.”

Jake frowned, struggling to come up with Plan B. How much did
Scrub know? And how reliable was he? Lost in thought, Jake rubbed the back of
his neck. Looking down, he kicked at a small stone. And then he noticed the
dockhand was wearing boat shoes. And on his left shoe, the front eyelet was
pulled out.

Jake’s head snapped up and his eyes bored into Scrub’s.
Adrenaline poured through him. Instantly, he sized him up. Scrub was short and
rather scrawny. He might have had the strength to reach up and hit Jake hard
enough to knock him out, but there’s no way he could have manhandled him in and
out of the car on his own.

Jake glanced at Trudy. Her look told him she’d followed his
eyes, and seen the same thing. He turned back to Scrub and forced his jaw to
relax. “Nice shoes, Scrub.”

The handyman smiled sheepishly. “Yes, they’re new.”

“New? It’s looks like you’ve had them for a while.”

“Oh no, sir, they’re new. I got ‘em for my birthday.”

“Really?” Jake said. “When’s your birthday?”

“It was three weeks ago. Three weeks ago tomorrow. And Mr.
Maxwell, he gave them to me. For my birthday.”

Jake’s heart began pounding. “Maxwell? Richard Maxwell gave
those shoes to you?”

“Yes, sir,” Scrub said proudly. “He did that.”

“Three weeks ago?”

“Yes, sir. After I took his car to be inspected.”

“His car? What kind of car does he have?”

Scrub’s eyes were bright. “A real nice Volvo, sir. Nothing
wrong with it. Just a headlight out of aim. That’s all.”

“What kind of headlights does he have?”

“Those real ugly blue ones, sir … ”

A fire erupted in Jake’s bones. He turned to Trudy. “We need
to find Cass, Trudy. We have to find her.” Jake’s thoughts were racing. Cassie
probably didn’t know Maxwell was a bad guy. He had to tell her. Now.

Trudy pulled out her cell phone. She dialed Cassie’s number.

“Well,” Scrub said, scratching his head. “She should be here.
She’s got to be here somewhere.”

“Why? Why do you say that?” Jake demanded.

“Her car. Her SUV. It’s right up there.”

Jake followed his gesture. In the parking lot, behind some
bushes, was an SUV. Was it Mike’s 4-Runner? Jake charged up the hill. Trudy
followed. The car was locked. Jake peered in the windows.

“That’s her purse,” Trudy said, in a half-cry. “There, on the
seat.”

Jake turned to Scrub, his blood pumping. “Scrub, did you see
Cassie tonight? Did you see her get on the boat, with Maxwell?”

“No, sir. Like I said, Mr. Maxwell was gone when I got back.”

Think, come on … think
, Jake ordered himself. His head
felt like it was in a vise. “Do you have any idea where Maxwell might be going?
What his plans were?”

Scrub smiled. “He’s planning on a long trip, that’s all I can
say. He had me load up boxes and boxes of food in that thing. Yes, he did.”

“Trudy,” Jake commanded, “you keep calling … call her dad,
call her office … see if anybody knew what Cassie was doing tonight. Scrub,
let’s go look at where Maxwell’s boat was docked.”

Scrub jogged to D-Dock with Jake following him. Together they
walked to the end. “How many other boats are usually here?” Jake asked,
gesturing toward the empty slips.

“They are all empty right now, sir. Marina’s not full yet.
Mr. Maxwell, he wanted to be over by himself.”

How convenient.

“Here it is, sir,” Scrub said, motioning toward the empty
slip. “You see? The dock lines are gone. Mr. Maxwell, he’s planning to be gone
a long, long time. A long time.”