Murder at Fire Bay (10 page)

“Well, we’ve started turning the place upside down.” I went on to tell him the boat part came from the same company in Portland as the boat part that Mr. Grosse was missing.
 

Then came a long silence. Just when I was beginning to think the Boss had fallen to sleep, he spoke in a tired voice. “Keep at it, Bronski,” he said, and hung up.
 

I slowly hung up the phone, dropped my boots down to the floor, and walked over to the window that looked out on the lobby. I eased the blind open ever so slightly and looked at the people standing, waiting patiently for a window clerk to handle their respective problems. Some were mailing packages; some were receiving packages too large to fit in a PO Box. It was my responsibility to make sure everything went smoothly and I wondered if I was up to the task. I slowly shut the blind and regained my chair. It was time to do more input to the computer.

Come five o’clock I was out the door. I had my hand on the Jeep’s door handle when a hunch about the missing package occurred to me. I slung my briefcase onto the passenger seat, closed the door, and walked over to the outside garbage bin. Taking a deep breath, I opened one of the lids and peered down, looking for actual garbage. No need to get slime all over myself. Seeing none, I crawled over the side and started shuffling paper and old envelopes around. Talk about a needle in a haystack. I looked back over my shoulder to see if anybody had seen me. Since everybody else stopped work either at four o’clock or five-thirty, there was little chance anyone had. I dove back into the trash, determined to inspect the whole bin. I knew it as soon as I saw it: a large package, two feet on a side, with writing all over it, naturally at the very bottom of the bin.

It was my first inclination to haul the box out and call its owner. It was not just its weight—probably better than forty pounds—that made me pause. There was no way it had been put in the bin by mistake. Not a box that large. I laid it back down on the bottom of the bin. Garbage pick-up was not due for the next two days. Did I play amateur detective, or did I hand the “case” over to the postal inspectors? There was no way they could get here before morning, and meanwhile the culprit might make off with the package.
 

I climbed out of the bin without the package. If we had a stolen parts ring here in Fire Bay, then it was up to the US Postal Service to solve it. But I had to cover my rear. I knew the Boss wasn’t a great admirer of John Crouch, the postal inspector, so he might support me for a day or so.
 

I climbed into the Jeep and hustled to the B & B. Maybe I could catch the Boss before he left work.

Chapter 11

“Who’s this?”

“Boss, it’s Bronski. I’m here at the B & B.”

“Oh, I shoulda known by the exchange number.”

Poor Boss. Another number for him to know. I went on to explain about finding the lost package in the garbage bin.

“Good going, Bronski! You got a plan on how to handle this situation?”

I took a deep breath. He probably wasn’t going to like my plan.

“Well, even though it’s not standard procedure, I think I have no choice but to involve the local cops. We need somebody to sit on that package until the postal inspectors can get here from Anchorage. It can’t be me, because in the daytime I have to be on the job, you know, putting up a front.”

I heard the lighter flick a couple of times. That meant the Boss was thinking as he lit that brown protuberance in his mouth.

“Have you told anybody else about this?” he said.

“Nope.”
 

“Okay, Bronski, here’s what you do. Call the cops and speak only to the chief. Then give Ashley a call and let her know. Nobody else. You got that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“For cripes sake,” he went on, “a parts-for-boats operation. It has to be somebody local. Who are they selling the parts to? That’s what I’d like to know. But I guess that’s for the local cops to figure out. Okay, Bronski. I’ll explain to our favorite postal inspector what the situation is. Uh . . . Bronski, be careful. This could be a simple two-man operation, or it could be something more. I’d hold things close to my chest if I were you and trust no one.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

With that he hung up. I sat back on the only chair in my room and ruminated about the box. Then I remembered I was supposed to call Ashley. I glanced at my watch and realized she still might be at the office. It was only six o’clock. It usually took that long to close up the day’s books.
 

She answered on the second ring.
 

“Ashley, it’s me, Leo.”

“Oh!” she answered.

“Good, you’re still there,” I said.
 

I went on to explain to her about finding the part and how we were going to run the operation. And that she was not to discuss this with anyone but me and the postal inspectors. She said she understood and we rang off.
 

My next phone call was to the local cops. I did not relish doing this, mostly because this was a small town and, despite themselves, cops talk. I punched the numbers for the cop shop.
 

“Fire Bay police,” a voice answered. But it was not just any voice. I’d heard that voice before out west at Howes Bluff.

“Trooper Wattle?” I asked.

There was a moment’s hesitation and then a simple one-word statement that said it all: “Bronski.”
 

I could imagine his head lowering and asking in a silent prayer, “Why me, Lord?”

But there I was, and he had to deal with me. We’d had a run-in or two at Howes Bluff, but I had developed a respect for the man and I think he had for me. I knew him to be a straight arrow.
 

“Whoops,” I said, “I guess I must have rung a wrong number.”

“No, not actually. I’m now Chief Wattle.”

“You left the Troopers?” I could not believe it

“It’s a long story, Bronski. So don’t ask. Why are you calling?”

I took a deep breath. “Well, we have a problem at the post office.”

“Huh, why am I not surprised? What is the nature of your problem?”

I explained the problem and what the US Postal Service needed from him. “It’s only temporary,” I went on, “just for a couple of days and uh . . . nights.”

“Yes, I figured “night” was in there somewhere. Listen Bronski, this is on federal property, so it’s really out of my jurisdiction.”

“I understand your concern, but this isn’t Anchorage, and it might involve a parts ring of some sort here in the area. You’d have to get involved anyway.”

“All right, Bronski. Where do you want to meet?”

“There’s a knoll back of the post office with a lot of high grass. We could slip in there after eight o’clock and watch through the night. In fact, I’m willing to take the first shift, say eight to midnight.”

“Bronski, you’re all heart. All right, we’ll do it for two nights. I’ll do the second shift myself. We haven’t been all that busy since the tourist season is coming to a close, so I should be able to come up with an excuse at the office.”

We hung up after a few more arrangements were made. I grinned in the sunlight coming through the window and noted it wouldn’t be long before the sun went down. I wasn’t surprised that Chief Wattle volunteered to pull the midnight shift. I knew him to be a man of action. He was probably bored stiff. Besides it would look good on his resume, and the local newspapers would love to hear about their chief being ever vigilant and on the job.
 

I had just lain back on the bed when the phone rang. For some reason I knew whom it was before I picked it up.

“Jeanette?”

“Leo?”

“Yup, babe, it’s me.”
 

“I . . I hadn’t heard from you for a couple of days.”

Oh, oh, I thought, of all people. My own wife. I went from feeling good and confident to feeling like hell. “Sorry, Jeanette. I got busy.”

For sure I’d blown it!
 

 
She said it was okay, but I could tell she was being brave about it. We discussed her problems first, and then I launched into mine. I hung up feeling better, but I realized I’d better call her every evening. Life is complicated.

I got up off the bed and began pacing the floor. It would be another hour or so before the sun went down. I needed to take a walk to relax.

When I passed through the downstairs dayroom, Mrs. Mordant grabbed me and asked if I’d take her father up to the bluff. I nodded, even though I really needed to be out on my own. It was hard to say “no” to the old duffer, so after a quick bundle-up, we were off.
 

After arriving at the bluff’s top, I set his wheelchair’s brakes and sat down on the bench beside him. We sat in silence for a while with me wondering when he would start his “wue” sounds. Finally, I gave up wondering and sat back, enjoying the warm breeze coming off the ocean. I could do with a warm night lying in the weeds above the post office. This thought set me to wondering what type of person might be involved. Was someone at the post office in cahoots with an outside person? Or was he or she on their own? And what were they doing with the boat parts? A lot of boat parts would have to be sold to make the operation worthwhile.
 

My thoughts were interrupted by the old man’s claw hand pointing out to sea. “Bo . . .bo . . . ”

I looked to where he was pointing. Yep, sure enough, there was a ship, a tanker, steaming its way into the bay. Beautiful, majestic even. I looked back to the old guy, half expecting to see a tear dropping down a cheek. To my surprise, there was a pleasant expression on his face. I reached over to wipe the spittle from around his mouth and then put the cloth back in the wheelchair’s side-pocket.

“It is a beautiful sight. Isn’t it, sir?”

He slowly turned his head to face me and gave a slight nod. It was the first time I had really looked into his eyes, and what I saw was a real intelligence. I also saw sadness and, for some reason, this affected me, and I wiped away the tear from in my own eye. It wouldn’t do for the old man to see me drop a tear. After all, I was the postmaster, a calm and deliberate person, not some alcoholic just one step above breakdown.

My watch beeped. That meant it was 7:00 o’clock. Time to get back for a bite to eat.
 

“Ready to go, sir?”

He bent his head down. I had a hunch he could have sat there much longer, maybe thinking pleasant thoughts from back in his day, when he was young and sure, perhaps when a young woman looked up to him and batted her eyes. How many times had that happened to me? And yes, even knowing the flattery, my chest always swelled.

“Here we go, sir.”

We went whizzing down the smooth path just one notch below dangerous, but he was safe with his hands on the wheelchair’s arms. He was leaning forward against his seatbelt, and with his cap’s earflaps splaying backwards in the wind, he was a kid again. I resolved then and there, whenever the weather was decent and the snow not too deep, I would take him to the place on the bluff. It was his magic place, maybe his only joy in life, and I had been chosen to be his transport. Was I paying back just a small amount of the debt I felt I owed to life? Careful, I told myself, you’re getting maudlin.

We burst through the doorway, like two kids coming in from play.

“Well, did you have a good visit?” Mrs. Mordant asked.

I walked around to the front of the wheelchair and saw a gleam in the old man’s eyes.

“Yes, ” I said, “we had a good time.”

Chapter 12

I snuggled into my sleeping bag and peered through the weeds down at the garbage bin not fifty yards away. Thank goodness I had thought to buy the sleeping bag while in Anchorage. At the time, I thought it was an extravagant purchase, but now it felt pretty darn good. My watch beeped. That meant it was all of 10:00 o’clock. Time flies, they say, when you’re having fun. I wasn’t having fun. All the same, it was kind of exciting to think I might get to see who was stealing parts.

Before making my nest in the weeds, I had made a quick pass by the bin to make sure the box was still there. I would have felt like hell if it hadn’t been, but it was. So all there was to do was wait.

* * *

My watch beeped midnight and I yawned for the umpteenth time. When in hell was Wattle going to show? I began to wonder about the wisdom of lying there in the weeds. Suppose I had been spotted in the garbage bin during the afternoon? Or suppose I had been spotted checking on the bin earlier this evening? Suppose, suppose, suppose. I was driving myself crazy.
 

Then I saw movement near the bin. Hot damn!
 

Well, hell, it was only a big dog most likely looking for a snack.
 

“Hey, Bronski, see anything?”

I must have elevated a foot off the ground, and I found myself reaching for a non-existent M-16. I turned over to look back into the darkness.

“Wattle! Don’t you ever do that again!” I whispered.

He chuckled. “You were in Nam, weren’t you.” It was a statement, not as a question.