H.J. Gaudreau - Jim Crenshaw 02 - The Collingwood Legacy (9 page)

Chapter 21

Gerry had already lowered Sherrie and Eve to the ground and the three now stood at the garage doors. Sherrie and Eve quickly blocked the doors open using two large fieldstones and the four began their exploration of the building.

The boat appeared to be over thirty feet long. It was sitting on a wooden cradle with its bow toward the large double doors. To the right, between the boat and the wall stood a small stack of crates. To the left of the boat was a bit more space; against the exterior wall and running the length of the building was a wooden workbench. Tools, cans of nuts and bolts and assorted implements lay scattered on the bench. Three stools were positioned at random along the bench front.

Jim climbed the ladder, untied the rope and then moved the awkward beast to the side of the boat. Soon the four had scrambled up the side and were standing in the command console area of the boat. Dark green cushioned benches lined the exterior walls and a galley way door hid in the center under the mahogany framed windows. The cushions were clearly the home of numerous mice.

“This is nice, well…it was nice!” Sherrie gasped.

“We could have a heck of a party on this couldn’t we?” Gerry said as he examined the settee.

Jim ran his hands along the smooth mahogany wood, admiring the workmanship then moved to the bridge deck. Eve quickly followed and spotted the ship’s wheel.

“Check this out! Look how this thing is flat,” she said to Jim. The ships wheel was mounted parallel with the floor on a chrome column extending to waist level. A matching chrome drum stood on the console in front of and to one side of the wheel. It held the throttle mechanism. Jim tried to move the wheel, it barely budged. “It’s stuck,” he said to the group.

“Might be how this thing ended up with a hole in the front,” observed Sherrie.

Eve then opened the door to the interior cabin. Dark green cushions, again the home of mice and what appeared to be sleeping berths.

“Nice boat once, what a waste it’s just sitting here,” Jim sighed.

“I wonder how it got here? I don’t ever recall any mention of this thing when we were kids,” Sherrie looked at Jim.

“I don’t either. But, come to think about it, I really didn’t know anything about this place. Dad just didn’t want us crossing the fence and for some reason that was one of his rules that I never broke. This place always had bad karma, ya know what I mean?” Jim explained.

“I DO! I always felt the same way. Denise and I used to pick blackberries all up and down that fence, but I never would go on the other side.”

No one could come up with an adequate explanation of how this boat ended up ten miles from Lake Michigan and soon they resumed their exploration. It was a cabin cruiser, obviously a high-end antique boat. Except for the damaged bow section, years of dirt, lots of mice and what appeared to be a mummified raccoon it appeared to be in remarkably good shape.

“This thing has to be worth a lot of money,” Jim remarked.

“I’ll bet you’re right,” Gerry said. “We’ll have to get it appraised.

Jim and Gerry climbed down the ladder and inspected the damaged left front of the cruiser. Gerry ran his hand along the gash, examining the damage in detail. “Jim, this looks like someone ran the boat onto the rocks. Look, the front part of this impact point splintered the wood, caved in several boards and then dragged back along the bottom of the hull.”

Jim studied the marks where Gerry pointed. “I think you’re right. And look here, this board is pulled the opposite direction. This boat was pulled off the rocks.”

“Wonder why it didn’t sink?” Gerry mused.

Jim grabbed a stool from in front of the workbench and sat looking at the damaged bow. Finally, he said, “Maybe it was being supported or floated somehow. I’ve heard of sailors wrapping a sail over a hole as a plug. But, to be honest, I have no idea.”

“Well, somehow somebody did it,” Gerry murmured as he tried without success to reach inside the damaged bow. “I’m wondering if we can fix this.”

“If the keel is sound…if it’s just this hole and refinishing the old wood, maybe some motor work, yeah, we could do it. Shouldn’t be too hard.” Jim said with an ironic grin. “Going to be expensive; that’s mahogany. And “it ain’t cheap” as they say.”

They finished exploring the boat then climbed down to the barn floor. Jim edged over to the tool bench and began exploring the antique tools and other objects.

Sherrie and Eve found a broom and began clearing dirt from the boat. Gerry began surveying the building. Eve appeared at the toolbox, removed a claw hammer and disappeared again. A few moments later a sad moan came from behind the boat. “Awwww…Darn, I thought we had something!”

Walking around the boat Jim and Gerry found the women sitting on two crates, another two crates were open and they were attempting to open a third.

“These are all Canadian Whiskey crates, but they’re all empty!” Sherrie explained.

“You were looking for cheap booze weren’t you!” Gerry pointed an accusatory finger at his wife and laughed.

The group examined the whiskey crates. “Lots of empty booze boxes,” Gerry said. “I kind of like the old wooden crates, they’re sort of interesting. Think we could use some around the house as decorations?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll bet we can get rid of these in a garage sale in about a minute,” Sherrie observed.

Jim had become fixated on repairing the boat. “I’ll bet I can fix this,” he said to himself as he studied the damaged bow. A moment later he was climbing the ladder and reentering the cabin. After several minutes Jim yelled, “Hey Gerry, do me a favor and bring me the tool box and flashlight.”

Gerry grabbed the box and soon found Jim on his hands and knees in the forward cabin of the craft, his head and shoulders wedged under a small settee.

“I should be able to access the bilge from somewhere around here. If I can, we should be able to see the frame and the backside of that impact point. We should be able to tell how big a deal it will be after seeing that.”

Gerry agreed with the plan and the two began looking for the bilge access panels. Soon Jim found the latch and pulled a three-foot long by two-foot wide piece of cabin sole from its frame. The two examined the inside of the bilge. Gerry looked at Jim but didn’t say anything.

“That’s odd,” Jim said.

“What is that?” Gerry asked.

There was no bilge. Instead, another panel lay just under the cabin sole they had removed. Gerry shinned the flashlight along the new panel. Finally, he spotted four large screw heads, one at each corner. Jim grabbed a screwdriver and they removed the cover. Inside they found six crates of Canadian Whiskey, only these were full.

It took a moment for Eve and Sherrie to climb the ladder and join Jim and Gerry in the boat. Soon the four had removed the six cases to the floor of the barn.

“I think this is a smuggler’s boat. That extra little storage area must have been added to the boat after it was built,” Jim said while climbing back up the ladder.

“You really think so? That’s too cool!” Sherrie said.

“Bet there’s more,” Eve added.

“What makes you say that?” Gerry asked.

“Well, if I’m going to all the trouble to outfit this big boat to smuggle booze I’m going to take a lot, not a little. And let’s face it, six cases is really not that much.” Eve seemed confident in her guess.

Jim studied Eve for a moment, “You’re right, that makes sense, let’s keep looking.” It took nearly thirty minutes, but they found five more compartments. All were empty save one, and it held an additional four cases of hard liquor. By now there was no doubt, this was indeed a bootlegger’s boat. They loaded the ten cases of liquor in the bed of Gerry’s truck and returned to the barn.

Jim and Gerry climbed back into the boat and began to examine the false bilge. “This might give us a better chance to see the inside framing,” Jim said to Gerry. He stretched out on the floor. Then, on his back, Jim slowly inched his head and shoulders inside the large compartment hidden in the bilge. The walls were made of pine boards with several coats of shellac to seal them from bilge water. Using the flashlight Jim examined the compartment interior. Solid walls. He would have to drill a hole.

Gerry sat on the settee next to where Jim lay. “See anything?” he asked.

“Nothing, we’re going to need a hole saw to get past these walls.”

Chapter 22

As the nation’s economy sputtered Cole’s days had become increasingly empty. There simply wasn’t anything to do in the shop. He did his best to hide it. Each morning began exactly the same. Elaine, the master of the cutting remark, made some comment about how she wanted to move to Grand Rapids, Chicago or Ann Arbor and he pretended there was something important to do at the office. There wasn’t. There hadn’t been anything to do there in months, but Cole felt like he had to keep up the appearance. Normally he slipped out of the office about noon. He’d head to the golf course or take a turn of the lake on one of his boats. Although lately he’d spent more time on a sailboat than a powerboat. The days of burning a hundred dollars of gas in an afternoon were coming to an end.

This morning however he did have an important meeting. His banker, Alan Wisecup, seemed to be very concerned about Cole’s loan payments. To Cole, Wisecup was the perfect banker. He wasn’t young. He was youngish. Which meant that he should have been promoted long ago. He hadn’t been which meant he wasn’t very good and he was still young enough to be stupid. He seemed to be a bit of, well, he seemed like a pencil pushing geek. Cole always had to work at not laughing outright at the man. Young, pencil pushing geeks were good, they could be pushed around.

Cole knew Wisecup was coming with bad news. The loans were coming due in less than ninety days. But, he was certain he could either talk the tight wad sonofabitch into an extension on the loan or simply refinance the entire thing.

This was important. The small amount of cash the business generated from boat repair, storage and commission sales wasn’t covering the note. Hell, it barely covered his house payment and the payroll for the four remaining employees.

At ten o’clock sharp Alan Wisecup, deputy chief loan officer of the Traverse Savings and Investment Bank walked through the door of Prestcott Boats. The secretary, Donna LeGrange, directed him to a seat in the waiting area in front of her desk. A move which annoyed Mr. Wisecup; he’d expected to be shown right to Cole’s office. Donna offered him water, not coffee, which also annoyed Wisecup. Then she disappeared into Cole’s office.

Alan hated Cole Prestcott, hated him more than anyone or anything in this world. A year ago his promotion looked certain, now this loan made him look like a fool. Worse yet the auditors might find how he had altered the books and made this incompetent show horse look like the second coming of Warren Buffett.

He had tried to force Prestcott to pay his bills, but it hadn’t happened. Now all he could hope for was to break even. He opened his briefcase, a shabby, tattered brown affair and removed a multicolored spreadsheet. The payment history was bad, Prestcott hadn’t made a full payment in the past five months. The cash flow looked worse, maybe if he took the house there would be enough there. Wisecup grimaced. He had to get this loan off the books before some auditor came snooping around. The house, the boathouse, the boats, the company. Maybe he could save his job and stay out of prison.

“Cole baby, the banker is here” Donna was a constant source of amazement to Cole. She knew the situation; she couldn’t help but know the situation. She had to know the business was in trouble. She had watched the parking lot empty itself over the past six months. Hell, she’d typed the lay-off notices. Now there were only five cars if you counted Cole’s, four if Jim Abbot rode with his brother. But she never mentioned it, never asked Cole about it and never treated a banker any better than dirt.

Cole could only shake his head in amazement; either the woman was as stupid as a post or she simply didn’t care. In either case, Cole liked it.

Today he was feeling cocky, he’d played the scene over and over in his mind, and he was certain he knew how the conversation would go. He pulled Donna to his lap and kissed her. “Its alright honey, send him in,” Cole whispered as he slipped his hand under her white polyester blouse and squeezed her right breast. She smiled and whispered, “Later sugar.”

Cole then lifted a knee and tipped her onto her feet. “Okay, send him in; I’ve got a few minutes this morning.”

Donna smiled, kissed Cole once more and returned to her desk. “Mr. Prestcott will see you in a moment,” she said. It was always best to let them wait a little bit. She settled herself behind the desk, studied the banker for several moments, took a measured sip from her coffee cup, then picked up the phone. She listened intently to the silent line for a long moment then said, “He’s ready now.” Donna then escorted Wisecup into the office of her boss.

Returning to her seat she opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a Barbara Cartland novel. Her day had begun.

Chapter 23

Elaine Prestcott stepped out of the shower, pulled the towel from the heated towel rack and began to dry herself. Glancing at her reflection in the mirror she smiled. She liked what she saw. Her stomach was flat and firm. Her breasts large, but not overly large and, she was happy to see, they didn’t sag. She half turned and looked over her shoulder. No sign of cellulite.

Elaine had a secret. Not the kind of secret that brought down empires or ruined the lives of politicians that couldn’t keep their pants zipped, but a good one nevertheless. She knew exactly what the bank, or more accurately Alan Wisecup, was going to tell Cole. It really didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out. There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that any legitimate bank would refinance Cole. Even the corruptible bankers whom Cole did business with had their limits, and they’d reached them.

An afternoon in a Petoskey bed and breakfast had not only relieved her ‘tensions’ but also given her all the information she needed. Elaine had seen all the documents, all the finances of her husband’s business, and decided that now was the time to move on with the rest of her life.

The years since her marriage to the cheating SOB had been good to Elaine. She had her figure, her hair fairly glowed in the sun and the lines around the corners of her eyes were only just starting to appear. In the beginning Elaine had held out hope that this self-arranged marriage could become, if not a loving one, at least a tolerable one. She had envisioned children whom she could love, and possibly she would come to accept Cole as a lover. The years had proven her wrong. Happy, or at least acceptable, endings only happened in second hand bookstore novels. She would have to endure or get out.

Thinking about it now she could pinpoint the exact day she decided to screw the bastard. It was a Wednesday, just six weeks after they had returned from a honeymoon in Key West. A normal morning, a normal day. But by lunch she had stumbled into Cole’s hidden world. He had an early meeting and had rushed out of the house. Elaine had been dressing for a Pilates class when Cole left. Passing the kitchen table on her way to the garage Elaine spotted Cole’s cell phone. Deciding to take it to him she scooped the phone, along with her keys and makeup, into her purse and left the house.

When the class was over she gathered her things from her locker and walked to her Firebird. The cell phone buzzed just as she opened her purse to find her keys. It was the phone’s voice mail notification. Elaine swiped her finger across the phone then pressed the keypad. The cell phone immediately launched into a recitation of the date, time and phone number from whence the voice mail sprang. Then a woman’s voice, dripping with honey, asked Cole when he was coming by again, mentioned the ‘shivers’ his touch gave her and dinner. Elaine listened and knew exactly what had happened.

The previous night Cole had attended a Chamber of Commerce meeting, or so he had said. He had come home very late and taken a shower before coming to bed. It wasn’t the first bed Cole had been in that night.

Elaine opened the car door and got in. She sat there for several minutes letting rage and hatred build. Then, she began to relax. If she really thought about it she didn’t love Cole anymore than he loved her. This was a marriage of convenience.

Elaine then began a cold, dispassionate assessment of her life. She had failed at her dream of entering medical school. She had left college to marry. In truth she had married for money so it only seemed logical that she start getting it.

She knew from the first time he’d brought her to Petoskey that his business would be a cash cow. Even while they had dated she could see the business growing. It seemed to double every week in those days. Now, her husband of less than two months was sleeping around. Elaine had thought about that, he was a cheater. In truth she’d known from the start that he would, and she knew he would never stop. She had no prospects and she could see the business making them very wealthy, very soon.

Twenty minutes later Elaine had her plan. She drove home, opened Cole’s side of the garage and drove in. She then placed the cell phone behind the car’s front tire, got back in the Firebird and backed out of the garage.

When Cole came home that evening he would find the crushed cell phone and think he’d dropped the little unit that morning. All evidence that Elaine had listened to his voicemail would be gone.

The next day Elaine waited until Cole left for work. Then she drove to the home of a woman she had met at one of the numerous socials she attended. The woman, fifty-six years old, had divorced her husband, a modestly successful housing developer, six years ago. She lived in a large, seventy-five year old field stone mansion overlooking Lake Michigan, was a board member of two country clubs, a prominent member of the local Democratic Party and known for her philanthropic giving.

This intrigued Elaine. The woman had never worked a day in her life and the husband’s business hadn’t been that successful. Two hours later Elaine knew why the business hadn’t shown great profits. She left the big house and drove the sixty miles south to Traverse City. There she opened a bank account and visited her new friend’s financial advisor.

A month later Elaine put the second part of her her plan into motion. Over coffee and a bowl of Cheerios she mentioned to Cole that staying home while he was at work was boring. She thought it would be much better if she worked with Cole everyday. He resisted the idea at first of course, she knew he would. But she patiently explained what a bookkeeper would cost the company. Besides, she had the skills and they might as well keep the money in the family. Put that way, Cole couldn’t resist.

Elaine quickly took over all the company accounting and purchasing. On every purchase Elaine padded the price, adding a few dollars to small purchases, a few hundred to larger ones. She then skimmed the excess from the company books and sent the money to Mr. David McFain of Growth Financial Management on Front Street in downtown Traverse City.

Mr. McFain, of course, used only the back door of the building, he being the same disbarred attorney who once held the position of budget director for the Detroit mayor’s office. McFain had been convicted of violating Rule 10 of the Commodities and Exchange Act, trading based on insider information. Eighteen months of cutting the grass and raking leaves with Wall Street’s best at Maxwell Air Force Base’s minimum security prison earned David a Master’s degree in stock manipulation. McFain was now very good at avoiding detection, and still had his Rolodex. Elaine was very pleased with the results he was able to provide.