Revenge is Sweet (A Samantha Church Mystery) (12 page)

“Just around the corner, Sammie,” Howard said. “Will Esther be there to pick you up when you get to the island?”

Sam opened her eyes and looked over at Howard. “Who knows? I hope so. I called and gave her my flight info. I hope she’s there, I didn’t leave much of a window for her to call and protest my arrival.” Sam closed her eyes and went back to sunning herself. Moments later, she looked again at Howard. “I hope I’m doing the right thing,” she said. “I feel like a rubber band that’s just about stretched as tight as it will go.”

Howard was making the long turn from Sixth Avenue to Interstate 25. He merged the wagon into the northbound lanes of traffic toward I-70, then glanced over to Sam. He nodded.

Sam shrugged and then squinted as she looked directly into the sun. “I’m leaving, but I don’t know what’s happening to Wilson. A part of me knows that I should stay here, in case something does happen, but I need to see my daughter. I can’t go on any longer without seeing her. I hope Esther lets me in, otherwise I guess I’ll have to sleep on the porch, because I am not coming back until I see April. I hope to God I am doing the right thing, Howard.”

“Samantha, you’re in a tough spot right now, but you’re doing the right thing going to Seattle. I’m sure that Wilson would tell you the same thing. He knows how important it is to get April back here to be with you and there’s not much you can do until you hear from the kidnappers.”

“The wait alone is going to kill me,” she said. She waited a moment before continuing. “That’s their plan, I’m sure of it.” Sam looked at Howard and smiled slightly. Her eyes welled with tears. She turned away and looked out the car window. The warmth from the sun felt good on her skin. It felt like a summer day and she was a little hot in the heavy sweater she wore. “Probably raining in Seattle,” she said.

To Sam’s surprise, it wasn’t raining when her plane landed at SeaTac International Airport Friday evening. The city was glistening in darkness. Sam always found something electrifying about big cities at night, but the only thing that mattered tonight was seeing April. She left the airport terminal to hail a cab and noticed the night didn’t seem as cold as she had thought. She took a cab to the Seattle waterfront and the Colman Dock Ferry Terminal. During the twenty-minute ride approaching the city center, Sam hardly noticed lights beaming from the tall buildings in the distance or from the massive container ships docked at the ports of Seattle.

She tipped the cab driver and proceeded up the ramp toward the ferries. She bought a ticket for an 8-mile, 35-minute ferry ride to Canal Island within an hour of landing at SeaTac.
It was 7:15 p.m. when she boarded the mostly empty vessel preparing for a 7:20 p.m. sailing. It was quiet now that the commuters coming to Seattle from the surrounding islands and peninsula to work had gone home for the evening. With few people on board, the already big boat appeared even larger. She selected a seat at the front end of the main passenger cabin. Large windows made the city look like a painting. She put her purse and bag on the cushioned seat beside her, and threw her jacket over the top. Her heavy sweater and the light top underneath were enough to keep away the chill.

The seating area was sectioned off from the rest of the main cabin. The semi-darkness in the area relaxed her. For the first time since this afternoon, when she had decided to fly to Seattle, she felt calm. She rested her head against the tall back of the cushioned seat. She tried to imagine herself as one of the commuters who boarded one of these vessels every day. Commutes would take every bit of an hour she guessed, depending on how close one lived to the terminal and the
ir job on the other side.

To be closer to her daughter, Sam tried to envision moving to Seattle and living on Canal Island, commuting in each day. She wasn’t sure she could be regimented enough to be bound everyday by a predetermined ferry schedule. Still there were people who
did it every day for years. If April couldn’t be with her in Denver, could Sam live close to her on an island in the Pacific Northwest?

The thought made her pause.
She had never entertained the notion before. For a moment, for only a moment, it sounded doable. She thought of Nona and Howard and how disappointed they might be if she were to move away. She envisioned herself sitting with them at the kitchen table and looking in their eyes to tell them she was leaving.

Her grandmother might say something like, “All the way up there?”
Their hearts would ache, knowing that April might never come back and at the thought of her leaving, but they would not hold her back. They knew how important it was for Sam to get April back. If it meant quitting the Grandview Perspective, moving and finding a new job in the Puget Sound region, Sam would do it.

She watched as a steady stream of people boarded the vessel. She couldn’t help thinking of cattle and wondered if those people ever felt like they were being herded onto the boat, or given the way they followed each other, most with their heads down, if they felt like lemmings going to the sea. Some of the commuters, with tired looks on their faces, carried umbrellas, briefcases and laptops, their overcoats covering their professional attire. They were going home from working late.
Sam watched a moment more.
Not for me.
Her resolve deepened to bring April home.

The vessel pulled away from the dock, and began to slip silently out into Elliott Bay, the engines humming with a different sound. The tall buildings stared back at her in a dazzling circuit boa
rd of lights. The semi-darkness in the cabin made the city lights pop vividly, giving the impression of a fireworks display. The clouds had parted and Sam could faintly see specks of stars. The nearly full moon had just begun to rise between the buildings, shining brightly like a new dime. Its distinct face close enough that Sam could make out the eyes.

To Sam’s left the Space Needle loomed. An American flag bathed in a flood of light at the top of the Needle waved softly back and forth in a light evening breeze. To her right, the long black hull of a
hanjin
container ship had pulled in and docked at one of the ports. The big red-orange cranes used to unload the ship’s cargo stood like prehistoric creatures over the ship. The city lights on the hills of Queen Anne and along Alki Beach and West Seattle made the hilly landscapes come alive in light.

The ferry left the harbor and began to glide across th
e dark waters of Puget Sound that were as smooth as glass. Other boats, dots of light in the distance, moved along the still waters.

Sam glanced to the only other passenger seated in her section. She couldn’t help hearing the long drawn out sigh that came from his lips as he sat down heavily, a few seats away from her. She watched as he took out a book, but couldn’t catch the title and wondered how he could read in the dim light. He turned a few pages, stopped and looked out the window for a few minutes, then read some more. After a few minutes he closed the book and tossed it on his briefcase. He looked out over the water. Sam noticed him focus on a smaller boat that appeared to be following the ferry at a close distance. It looked like a speedboat.
“Goddamn terrorists.” Sam heard the man mutter as he continued to watch the little boat.

“Pardon?” Sam said as she turned at the sound of his voice.

The man, tall and heavy set with a balding pate, looked over at her. “I said goddamn terrorists.”

Sam was sorry that she looked in his direction. He had what he wanted, a captive audience.
“See that out there,” he said and pointed his right hand toward the water.

Sam looked. “The little boat?” she asked, turning to him.

“Yes, the little boat,” the man repeated. “It’s a Coast Guard boat. Ever since those goddamn little cowards started pestering us, the ferry system, which I might tell you...”

The man stopped and studied Sam for a moment. “Are you from Seattle?”

“No, actually this is only my second visit,” she said.

“Too bad you couldn
’t come at a nicer time of year…” The man’s voice trailed off and his face softened to a smile. For the first time Sam thought the man looked happy. She smiled back, waiting for him to continue. “The springs are nice,” he went on, looking out over the lights caught in the water’s reflection as he spoke. “A little wet sometimes, but the days are long and everything is so green, so absolutely lush. Winter is, too, for that matter. ’Course, all the locals here will all tell you that summer really begins on the fifth of July and then after that, oh look out.” He looked at Sam, beaming. A native, she thought.

“Late July, August and usually all of September are beautiful here, best time of year,” the man spoke with authority. “You can’t beat the look of the blue sky surrounded by water and mountains. Just awe-inspiring. Actually, we like to keep our little secret that people think it rains all the time in Seattle. I can tell you it doesn’t. Not like people think it does, anyway.” The man chuckled as he adjusted his overcoat around his burly body. He watched the little boat for a moment, his face in a frown.
Then the Coast Guard boat turned off and began to head back to Seattle. He snorted. “But let me be the one to tell you that traveling and commuting sure has become a hassle with all these new security checks and sweeps and whatnot. The boats are always leaving late now ’cause they have to do these security sweeps all the time. You heard that announcement just after the ferry left the dock …”

The man’s voice trailed off as he looked over at Sam. She nodded. “You mean the one that came over the loudspeaker and started out ‘welcome aboar
d the Washington State Ferries?’

“Yep,” the man said and he began to speak in a mocking voice. “Say it every time. How you have to keep your bags with you at all times and how you have to get off the boat as soon as it docks, or as they say in ferry talk ‘disembark the vessel,’ quickly so they can do a security sweep, and get cars a
nd everyone reloaded again so they can leave in a timely manner.”

The man quieted for a moment as he looked at the Seattle skyline, which had become smaller, twinkling in the distance, but no less spectacular. The moon had climbed higher in the clear night sky, casting a longer, wider beam along the black waters.
“Well, you know they only do that security stuff for your protection,” Sam said. “It’s become that kind of world now.”

The man nodded. “Unfortunately, you’re right,” he said, his attention still fixed on the skyline.

“Seems like a nice smooth ride tonight, though,” Sam said trying to lighten the subject and the man’s mood.

“It’s a beaut,” he said and smiled again. “It is usually a smooth ride like this. Once in awhile we get some strong winds that’ll rock the boat a little, but they’re so gosh darn big that it’s really hard to notice.”

He picked up his book and put it more securely in his briefcase. Sam watched the Seattle skyline as it continued to shrink in the distance. The boat started to glide into a turn and sailed into Eagle Harbour. Within minutes the loudspeaker came to life again, announcing that the ferry was arriving at Canal Island.

“Guess I’d better make my way up front,” the man said and grabbed his briefcase and stood. “Enjoy your stay.”

Sam waved and watched as he left the section. She took one last look over the water, but the boat was well inside Eagle Harbour now and the Seattle skyline had disappeared. She collected her things and began to follow the other passengers as they prepared to ‘disembark the vessel.’

The cold night air coming off the water hit Sam when she walked out onto the deck toward the ramp. The crispness of the air brought
her back to reality. The conversation on the boat had taken her mind off whether she’d have a ride once she got to Canal Island. Nervousness bubbled in her stomach as she followed the rest of the passengers from the boat and up the long ramp toward the main terminal. Sam passed through the automatic doors in the terminal to the parking lot and was struck by another stiff breeze. She began to scan the parking lot for Esther’s black Subaru Forrester, which Sam hoped she still drove. She looked a moment, but didn’t see a familiar car. Several taxis were parked just beyond the automatic doors. One of the drivers noticed Sam scanning the parking lot. “Need a lift?” he asked. “We go anywhere on the island and off.”

Just then Sam spotted Esther sitting in her Forrester, parked slightly off to the right and the nervous pit in her stomach became heavy with anticipation.
“No thanks, my ride’s here,” Sam said and smiled at the cab driver. She waved to Esther. Esther stuck her hand out the window and gave a half-hearted wave back. “There’s my ride over there,” Sam said.

As she walked toward the Forrester she began to doubt that the spontaneity of this trip had been the best idea. Sam stopped those thoughts. She wasn’t coming to see Esther. S
he reached the Forrester, opened the back passenger door, slid her luggage inside, tossed her jacket over the top and closed the door. The interior of the car, as Sam expected, smelled of dog. She knew it wouldn’t be nice of her, but the first thing she wanted to do before getting in the car was to get all the dog hair off the seat where she’d be sitting. It was one reason she took only denim to wear. The dog hair would not cling to that kind of fabric as it would her other clothes. She deliberately selected the bulky sweater for the trip because it was washable. The rest of her luggage contained T-shirts and sweat tops, easily washable attire.

“Hello Esther,” Sam said as she slid into the passenger seat and grabbed for the seatbelt.

“Hello Sam,” Esther said and waited for Sam to buckle up before starting the engine. There would not be much more of a greeting between the two women. Sam knew how Esther felt about her and she knew Esther really didn’t want her to visit. But she did, after all, have every right to see her daughter.

“How’s April? Is she feeling better?” Sam asked, knowing that given the hour April was ready for bed and wouldn’t have come to the ferry terminal to greet her mother. Sam hoped her disappointment wasn’t glaring. There was a part of her that hoped that her daughter would have come anyway, just because it was her mother.

Esther didn’t answer for a moment as she negotiated through a maze of other ferry traffic also trying to get out of the parking lot. Sam waited for her to speak.

“Doin’ a little bette
r today,” Esther said at last and there was a slight edge and coldness to her voice. “How was your flight?”

“Good, thanks,”
she said and took a moment to study Esther. She was wearing jeans under her rain slicker. It surprised Sam to see that Esther’s hair had gone gray. She had seen Esther when she came to Denver about eight months ago. She had stayed with Jonathan and Sam went to the house one afternoon to get April. She waved to Esther who stood on the front porch and watched as April walked to Sam’s Mustang. Esther’s hair was the same jet-black color it had always been. The woman was a few years north of seventy and the jet-black hair at her age looked the phony color it was. It was still the short, wavy perm it had always been, but now it was streaked with gray. In fact, Sam thought the gray was most becoming. It complimented Esther’s facial features, which belied her true age. She had few wrinkles, a small dainty nose and little puffiness around her eyes. For the first time, Sam actually thought Esther looked attractive. She commented on the color.