Don't Take Any Wooden Nickels (30 page)

“You’re a what?” Dewey asked.

“She’s a private investigator,” Murdock explained. “A PI!”

“Anyway,” I interjected, “I’m working for Shayna Greer. Right now, I’m trying to find out who really killed Eddie Ray Higgins.”

Murdock let out a low whistle.

“Shayna didn’t do it?” he asked.

“She says she didn’t. And I believe her.”

“Well, how do you like that? It did seem awful shocking, but then again I learned a long time ago not to be surprised by the things people do.”

“I truly believe she’s innocent,” I said. “I think Eddie Ray was mixed up in something that got him killed, and it was just set up to look like Shayna did it.”

“Could be,” said Murdock. “Could very well be.”

“In any event,” I continued, glancing at my watch, “I need some information, and I was hoping you fellows might be able to help.”

“If we can. Shoot.”

I placed a folded bulletin on the pile and leaned forward, elbows on my knees.

“Either of you guys ever heard of Manno Island?”

“Manno Island? Yeah, I think so. South of here? Not very big. Runs out from Carson Point.”

“That’s the one.”

“What about it?”

“What do you know about what’s on it?”

The men looked at each other and then at me.

“Golly day,” Murdock said. “You think one of the Tanigawa brothers killed Eddie Ray?”

My pulse surged.

“Is that where they live?”

“Yeah. That’s the place.”

“What’s out there? I thought the island was deserted.”

“I ain’t never been there,” Dewey said, shaking his head. “I don’t trust those fellows. Don’t do business with them.”

“I been a few times,” Murdock said. “Last spring, when my daughter was in a cast. She does all my crab picking, see, at the co-op here in town. But she slipped at the dock and broke her wrist and ended up with a cast all the way out to the end of her fingertips. She was bound up like that for ’bout six weeks. So, in the meantime, I sold some crabs to the Tanigawas. They got a picking house down there.”

“A picking house?”

“Yeah. You know, crab processing.”

“Other people work there, too?”

“Oh, sure, lots.”

“How many?”

“Let’s see. When I was there, I’d say I saw ’bout thirty or so, all Japanese, all of them picking crabs.”

I was about to question him further when he burst out laughing.

“If you could call it picking,” he said. “I tell you what, those folks didn’t have a clue what they was doing. It’s a miracle they didn’t cut their fingers off.”

“Or smash ’em with the mallet,” Dewey added.

“But they paid good for the crabs,” Murdock continued. “I figure if they can’t pick right, it’s no skin off my nose. I got my money up front.”

“Where do the workers live?” I asked. “There on the island?”

“Yeah. There’s a little cinder-block dormitory behind the picking house.”

“Do they ever come into town? Do they come here to your church?”

Murdock picked up the stack of folded bulletins and rapped them against the table, squaring the pile.

“Well, the Tanigawa brothers are here in town kind of frequently,” Murdock said. “Probably a couple times a week. But now that you mention it, I never do see any of those workers here. I suppose they keep to themselves. Dewey, you ever see any other Japanese people around town?”

“Never. I know a couple nice Japanese families that live in Easton. But they don’t have anything to do with the Tanigawas.”

“Yeah, I don’t think anybody ’round here wants to have anything to do with those brothers.”

I sat back, thinking. I knew that everything Murdock had told me fit with my theory of a drug lab—particularly the fact that the people who worked in the picking house hadn’t a clue how to actually pick. The Tanigawas must buy a small but steady quantity of crabs to provide a cover for what was really going on there.

“How much can you tell me about the layout of the island?” I asked. “How much of it did you actually see?”

“Oh, just a little bit,” Murdock said. “They’ve got a dock on the northern tip, with a kind of a rough ramp that goes up to the picking house. When I went there, I usually just tied off at the dock, helped unload some bushels into the picking house, and then I left.”

“Would you say that they get a fair amount of boat traffic in and out of there?”

“Gosh, no,” Murdock said. “I only know one other fella who sells to them regular, and even then it’s only fifteen, twenty bushels a week. That’s probably all the traffic they get. I think Shin runs the picked crab out to the distributor himself. He’s got a nice little eighteen-foot runabout.”

“Which one is Shin? The one who speaks English?”

“Yeah. From what I understand he’s lived in the States most of his life. Kenji just moved over from Japan a few years ago.”

“Do the brothers live in the dormitory with the crab pickers?”

“No, there’s a little house there on the island, too. They stay there, I believe.”

“How long have they been there?” I asked.

“Gee,” Murdock said, scratching his chin. “Couldn’t tell you. Two years? Two and a half? I don’t remember exactly.”

I nodded, pleased with the amount of information these men had been able to give me. I thanked them for their trouble and told them I would be on my way.

“You going back to the marina?” Dewey asked. “We’ll walk with ya. We’re done here.”

Grateful for the escort, I stood where I was and waited until they walked into the sanctuary with the pile of bulletins before making a quick, quiet call to Kirby. I told him the men were going to walk me back to the store, and he could go ahead and leave.

“You’ve got lots to do,” I whispered. “You’d better get moving.”

“You’re sure you’ll be safe coming home?”

“He didn’t try anything on the way out. I doubt he’ll try anything on the way back.”

“Okay,” Kirby said. “Call me if you run into trouble.”

We disconnected just as the men returned.

“Alrighty,” Murdock said. “If you’ll get the lights, we’ll be on our way.”

I turned off the light, they locked the door, and we headed out. It had grown colder while we were inside, and I pulled my coat tightly around me as we went.

We hadn’t gone far when I noticed a movement to one side. It wasn’t much, really, just a shadow that flickered across the next building as we walked past. I hesitated, my heart pumping. A moment later, I distinctly heard the soft crunch of gravel behind us.

We were being followed.

We walked on. Murdock was chattering away, though I wasn’t really listening. Without question, I could sense that someone was behind us, by my guess only about ten or 15 feet back. I was tempted to spin around, and I kept thinking,
Does this person mean me harm, or is he simply keeping tabs on me?
Worse than that, if I was in danger and he was about to make a move, had I now endangered these two sweet old men as well?

I kept walking forward, ears alert, adrenaline flowing, my body ready to spring into action if necessary. I thought if we could only make it to the marina safely, then I could confront the person without as much risk to my two companions. I increased our pace and my two buddies followed suit, though Murdock began to sound a little breathless as he talked. Deep in my coat pocket I fingered my car keys, holding them so that the longest, sharpest key pointed forward like a dagger. I thought about using the other hand to call Kirby, but I knew he would already be several miles away by now and unable to be of any real help.

Finally, I realized, there was a boat docked just up ahead, a trawler, that had several big, strong men on board. They were working on something mechanical, and one held a bright light while the other two clanged away with wrenches and pliers. I knew it was my time to make a move, though before I could turn around, one of the men on the boat waved and called out.

“Evening, Murdock. Dewey. Ma’am.”

“How’s it going, Claude?” Murdock replied loudly with a wave.

“Just fine. Is that you back there, Hank?”

I spun around to see the man behind us. He was walking with both hands in his pockets, head down from the cold. It was Hank Hawkins, the great big fellow with the scar who had been dating Shayna before Eddie Ray came back to town.

Hank Hawkins had been following us.

“Yep,” he acknowledged, waving at the men on the boat. “It’s me. How ya doin’?”

We kept walking, though in our hesitation Hank caught up with us. Dewey and Murdock greeted him as well, and the four of us continued on toward the store together.

My mind was spinning. Was he merely walking into town after us, and I had mistaken him for a tail? I didn’t know whether to feel like an idiot or to be doubly on my guard. It seemed just too much of a coincidence that a man on my list of suspects for Eddie Ray’s murder had been the one behind us on this dark night, hiding in the shadows.

Then again, this was an awfully small town.

“Howdy, folks!” a woman’s voice called.

I looked toward the marina to see Russell and Tia Lynch in the back of a large boat. It looked like a tourist vessel, with double-decker observation areas and a small snack bar. Usually, these kinds of boats could be seen cruising up and down the rivers, blaring narration or music over their loudspeakers, offering either nature tours or party trips, depending on the company running the show. But this boat was devoid of people or chairs, its decks wide and empty. I realized this must be the water taxi, the vessel that had led to the dispute between Russell and Eddie Ray.

Tia was sitting on the back of the boat, smoking and drinking from a bottle of beer. Russell was leaning down over a toolbox, fooling with the engine.

“Evenin’ to ya,” Murdock called. “How’s the water tonight?”

“Getting ready to go fishing,” Russell said, glancing up at us. “But it was smooth as glass coming over here.”

Our group of four walked to the edge of the dock where we could converse. I needed to keep moving, but I thought I had a few minutes to spare.

“Hey, Callie,” Russell said, tipping his hat to me. “I didn’t see you there. Thanks again for bringing that wire out to me.”

“What’s that?” Tia asked, leaning slightly forward.

“This is the lady I told you about, the one who brought me the wire for the fence.”

She looked me up and down. Suddenly I felt exposed and defensive.

“That was a long way to go for a little wire,” she said evenly. She wasn’t an unattractive woman, but there was something harsh about her features.

“I didn’t mind,” I replied, trying to sound as warm and friendly as possible. “I know what it’s like to run out of something you need.”

“I bet you do,” she said, still eyeing me. I realized suddenly that she was half drunk, and a chill ran up and down my bones. James Sparks had been drunk when he drove the boat that killed my husband.

“Are you going to drive this boat?” I couldn’t help but ask her.

“Me? Are you kidding? I don’t even like to ride on it. I just caught a lift with my husband so I could visit my mama.”

Dewey hooted.

“Is your mama in the bar, Tia?” he cackled. “’Cause I’d be willing to bet that’s where you’re headed next!”

To my surprise, Tia just laughed.

“I’ll get down to Mama’s eventually,” she said, winking at Dewey.

“Hey, Murdock, can you give me a hand with this winch?” Russell asked, oblivious to all of the interaction around him. Murdock stepped closer to the boat, and I took that moment to say my goodbyes and make my exit. I had lots to do, and time was ticking away.

I left them all clustered there at the dock and went up the narrow walkway along the side of the store.

As soon as I got in the car, I turned it on and cranked up the heater, holding my hands in front of the vents for warmth. I glanced at the spot up the street where Shayna’s apartment sat looking dingy and forlorn in the darkness. There was no police tape there anymore, and I could only assume that the pool of Eddie Ray’s blood had been washed from the driveway by somebody’s garden hose.

I put the car in gear and looked back over at the people who were still there at the dock: Russell and Murdock, busy with the engine. Tia, leaning back to take a long swallow of beer. Dewey, his shock of white hair whipping loosely in the wind.

And Hank, standing on the edge of the group, watching me intently. Looking back at him, I gasped as I realized what he was wearing: a black coat, brown pants, and dark shoes.

Thirty-Three

According to my watch, I made it back home on schedule. The place was dark except for the lamp I kept on a timer.

I pulled into the driveway and parked in the carport, as usual. I made a lot of noise getting out of the car, rattling my keys, banging my purse against the door. Fortunately, my noise caused no barking, because Sal was safely ensconced elsewhere. Whistling a tune, I unlocked the house, stepped inside, and shut the door firmly behind me.

I had to admit, it was creepy coming into my home—the home that had earlier been invaded—knowing there was already someone inside. I put my purse on the counter and walked back to
my bedroom. The door was slightly ajar. I pushed it further open and clicked on the light.