Bunker 01 - Slipknot (13 page)

The breeze created by the thrown report blew a cloud of powdered sugar from the abundance of whatever chocolate goodies Ginny was in the midst of consuming and onto the front of her navy blue shirt and moonlike face. Even the lenses of her glasses were dusted. At my usual loss for words, I stood awkwardly silent while the Pillsbury Dough Girl washed down a mouthful of chocolate with milk slurped from a one-gallon container. In the past when I had barged through closed doors unannounced, I had always done so leading with a loaded handgun. “Stick ’em up” or “Don’t move” or “You’re under arrest” was part of the protocol.

Whatever came to mind now as an opening statement seemed toothless.

I wondered if perhaps my entrance had been a bit dramatic as Ginny calmly removed her fouled glasses and attempted s l i p k n o t

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cleaning them with her shirt. The shirt’s hem was stretched to the max and resisted her pinching fingers. Following her third and final failed attempt to pull the shirt from her body, she simply rubbed the lenses across her mountainous bosom, back and forth, until a furrow was worn in the sugar that had settled there, exposing a stripe of navy blue. Now I knew why the fashion gurus advised no stripes on large folk.

Placing the glasses back in front of her eyes, Ginny gave me a long stare, up and down and back to where our eyes met. Her cowlike tongue did a full circumnavigation of her lips, leaving them glistening amid fields of white powder on her chin and cheeks. “Well, now, Ms. Bunker, I see you’ve changed your costume to contemporary trollop,” she said with an evil smile. I was less bothered by the insult than I was by the realization that I did not possess her ability to come up with one so quickly.

I took a deep breath and wondered if she would have been so insulting with the barrel of a gun in her face. Realizing that it would not impress my boss if I pummeled a paying client within inches of her life, I smiled back and said, “Thanks for the fashion commentary, Mrs. Turner. My visit here is quite serious. This report of my survey of your property includes changes that must be made to bring the plant up to the mini-mum safety standards. The underwriters are giving you ninety days to comply. If you do not do so, your policy will be canceled.”

Without another word, Ginny leaned across her desk and grabbed the papers I had delivered. She read silently. As she turned each page, her breathing got shorter and more

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labored. Her face got redder and redder, and sweat melted the dusting of powdered sugar into a thin paste. While she went through the report, I allowed my eyes to wander around her desktop and surroundings, and I wished I could have a few minutes alone to rifle through her things. I had sensed that Ginny Turner was guilty of something, or at least knew more than she had let on when I first met her. So far, she had done little to clear herself of my suspicion.

Both my contemplation of how to coerce Cal into letting me in after hours and Ginny’s reading were interrupted by a sweet young voice over an intercom on the desk. “Mrs. Turner, Blaine Hamilton is on line one for you.”

Mashing a button with a giant thumb, Ginny barked,

“Tell him I’ll call him back!” Scowling, she turned her focus back to the report. Interesting. Was she annoyed by the interruption or by the fact that I’d heard Blaine Hamilton had called? I knew Green Haven was a small town, but even so, I could not imagine what possible relationship could exist between Blaine Hamilton and Ginny Turner. I wondered if there was a way I could eavesdrop on the return call.

When the intercom chirped a second time, the sweet voice on the other end was even more timid, actually shaking.

“Mrs. Turner, I’m sorry. Mr. Hamilton would like to confirm your seven o’clock meeting at—”

This time I thought Ginny’s thumb would go through the desk. “I said I would call him back! What didn’t you understand about that? Goddamm it!”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Turner, but he—” Before another syllable could squeak through the tiny speaker, Ginny jerked the s l i p k n o t

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device’s cord from the outlet, sending the small plastic box against the wall, where it fell to the floor in three pieces. It was very obvious that Ginny did not want me to know anything about her meeting with Blaine Hamilton. I decided I might just be in the mood for a walk this evening.

“You, Ms. Bunker, are dismissed,” Ginny said to me.

“Dismissed? Do you have any questions? Do you understand that in ninety days, your coverage will be terminated if the requirements are not met?” I asked.

“I understand that these changes will amount to tens of thousands of dollars that I do not have. I understand that you could very well put me out of business. I understand that I am the largest employer in Green Haven and that many hardworking people trying to make an honest living will be cold and hungry without the income provided by the plant,” Ginny said in a tone that was a little louder than necessary.

A very compelling position, I had to agree. If Ginny had not been totally unlikable, I might have started to feel bad about doing my job and coming down so hard on her. “Don’t your employees deserve a safe working environment? Don’t you care about their safety?” I shot back.

“My employees are first and foremost!”

“So I’ve noticed,” I said quietly as I glanced at the pieces of broken intercom. This was my exit cue. Closing the door behind me, I hesitated long enough to hear the loud bang of something flung with great force against the other side and wondered if it was the stapler or a paperweight. As I descended the stairs, I considered Ginny Turner’s violent

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temper and wondered whether, in the throes of a rage, she was capable of murder.

I found Cal standing with a group of three other men around the tailgate of a truck. The men were, I suspected by the lack of lab coats and hairnets, fishermen of the two boats whose decks were being scrubbed and hosed, all unloading apparently done. As I approached, I recognized the handsome Lincoln Aldridge, who had given me his stool at the coffee shop. Everything about this guy was attractive. Yes, very attractive indeed. I decided that this was my opportunity to be introduced. I hoped not to act as adolescent as I knew I could in the presence of someone I was so eager to meet.

I drew closer to the men and noticed that they were watching and discussing something on the beach below. Because of the height and length of the dock, I could not see the beach until I reached the truck parked at its edge. The shore, as far as I could see in either direction, was crawling with people.

And this was not a sandy beach where people would come to sunbathe, swim, or sit and muse. I joined the spectators around the truck and thought it seemed as though the motions of the people along the beach were purposeful—as if they were looking for something. But they weren’t organized like a search party; they looked more like an Easter-egg hunt—every man for himself. My interest was more in getting Lincoln’s attention.

“Hey, Cal, what’s going on?” I asked cheerfully. Cal responded politely, and what his brief explanation lacked in detail and enthusiasm was compensated for by the input from s l i p k n o t

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the fishermen to whom I was eventually introduced. Lincoln was even better-looking than I remembered from our brief encounter in the coffee shop. I grew nervous and focused on the other two men. Lincoln’s son, Alex, I knew was the kid humiliated at the town meeting, Audrey’s crush, and also one of the two boys who acted as ambulance attendants at Dow’s beach scene. He couldn’t have cared less about our introduction.

The third man shook my hand and introduced himself as George, the captain’s brother, the captain being Lincoln. Dy-ing to strike up a conversation with Lincoln, I cursed my in-ability to do so. Unable to speak, I listened.

From what I could gather, half of Green Haven was searching for Nick Dow’s little black book. A wad of cash also may have accompanied Dow into the drink, and some feigned a desire to find it, but from what the men told me, the real treasure for most of the searchers was the black book. Ultimately, I understood that the secret toxicology findings and autopsy report were not so secret after all. In fact, everyone seemed to know more than I did. I was surprised to hear that the consensus of the men was that Dow’s black book held evidence that could convict many of the townspeople of a variety of things ranging from felony to indiscretion. Why, I wondered but dared not ask, were these men not included among those desperate to find money or conceal evidence that, if uncovered by the wrong people, could lead to imprisonment or divorce?

The disjointed conversation around the truck led me to believe that among the frantic searchers were people who

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would probably be counted among the suspects in a murder investigation if the black book were to surface. Why had nobody notified the authorities? Perhaps I should contact the state police again, I thought. Maybe, with this new development, the chief detective would be grateful for the lead rather than rude, as he’d been with my other attempt. Were my new acquaintances totally innocent and therefore unconcerned about the whereabouts of the book? Or did they already somehow know that the search would be fruitless?

The men soon ran out of talk. Cal excused himself to return to work. George and Alex returned to the
Sea Hunter
at the request of their captain, leaving the two of us alone. “I have been secretly hoping to meet you,” Lincoln confessed quietly when he knew that George and Alex were out of earshot.

Had I heard that correctly? “Really?” I smiled and blushed at my attempt to sound coy.

“Yes. I saw you at the coffee shop and wanted to say hello, but you were fully engaged by Audrey, who was no doubt professing her love for my son.”

“Really?” This repetition fell well short of whatever femi-nine wiles I’d had in mind. I felt my face going beyond blush.

Why could I not think of something interesting to say? Why was I incapable of flirting? I had to say something before he went back to his ship.

“Yes, really,” he said softly, and looked down into the rusted bed of the truck. After a long, strained pause that I was unable to fill with even a comment on the weather, he said, “Well, I wanted to meet you. Now I have. It was a pleas l i p k n o t

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sure. If you’ll excuse me, Jane Bunker, I have some errands.”

“I’m scheduled to survey your boat this week,” I blurted out as he climbed into the truck.

“Yes, I know,” he said, seeming pleased that I had vo-cabulary beyond “really.” He turned back to me, this time mesmerizing me with the sexiest blue eyes I had ever imagined. “I hope to get back out fishing in a couple of days. So let’s make an appointment for either before I go or after I return. I’d like to clean her up a bit before you come aboard.”

“Oh, don’t go to any trouble on my account. I’ve been aboard some real wrecks!”

“We’re not known for our housekeeping skills. Some advance warning would be greatly appreciated.” Another long, awkward pause with the ball left in my court was saved by his suggestion of dinner.

“Dinner? Dinner would be great. I eat dinner every night.

It’s my favorite meal.” Shut up, you babbling idiot! I thought.

I must have sounded quite desperate.

“Tonight?”

“Tonight?” Oh, shoot, I thought. I already had an evening of eavesdropping scheduled. “Tonight is not good for me.”

Was I really turning down my first dinner invitation in Maine from anyone other than the Vickersons? I was blowing an opportunity to get to know the most intriguing bachelor in Green Haven. And I couldn’t remember the last date I’d had or turned down.

“Tomorrow, then!” Lincoln said without missing a beat.

“There’s a meteor shower. I’ll pack a picnic basket and take you to the most remote and gorgeous spot in the state of

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Maine to see the night sky. I’ll meet you here at seven. What do you say?”

What
do
I say? Do I say you are the most romantic man I have ever met, and I am totally enchanted? Do I say let’s skip the formalities and go to bed right now? Remembering my age, I pulled my wits together and said simply, “Great.” No sense putting the cart before the horse, I reasoned. We said our goodbyes and our see you tomorrows, and I walked away consciously restraining my urge to jump up and down and shout “Hooray!” A date! I could not have fantasized this any better, I thought as Lincoln drove slowly by me to the gate.

He stopped, looked both ways, and pulled out onto the main road. The unmistakable screeching and chattering of a belt out of adjustment grew fainter as he disappeared up the hill.

I had heard that same sound the night before, when I was out at Dow’s.

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i exited the plant property by the same gate through which I had entered, though I was far less poised on my way out. Confidence flagging, and wishing for something to hide behind, I had gone from sassy broad to total introvert at the speed of sound. I scolded myself to regain my air of superiority before anyone saw me squirm with self-doubt. What if Ginny Turner were looking out her window? How could I be so stupid? How could I fall for someone who was so obviously playing me? How could I gracefully back out of the date that I had so desired?

If Lincoln had been so eager to meet me, why hadn’t he done so last night, when he had me trapped in his high beams? Maybe it had been the crowbar. I nearly laughed to myself as I imagined how I must have looked to the trespassing and unsuspecting Lincoln. Perhaps I would keep our date, I considered, if only to get to the bottom of what business he’d had at Dow’s.

It may seem shallow, but I couldn’t help thinking that my fun clothes clashed with my mood. Not that Ginny’s fashion commentary had had any effect, but if the remainder of my