Don't Take Any Wooden Nickels (34 page)

I knew I needed to be ready to act fast. Wherever we were heading, there could be lights and people and activity—and a woman in a dry suit clinging for dear life to a dinghy might be a bit suspect, to say the least. Based on the direction and duration of the trip, I had the sinking feeling we were going to end up back at
the Kawshek marina, which meant that my death-defying trip hadn’t been worth it after all. When I climbed on board, I had hoped that Russell would sail south to return the empty container from where he had gotten it, thereby leading me to the missing link in this chain of crime. Instead, I feared, he had merely turned toward home.

Bracing for the cold, I slid out of the dinghy and crouched low on the ladder, listening to the motor, waiting for the sound to tell me it had been switched into neutral. Finally, I took the chance and lowered myself into the water, letting go of the ladder and pushing back away from the boat as firmly as possible.

I made it away without injury. Kicking softly to stay afloat, I fit the respirator into my mouth, slid the mask down over my eyes, then submerged just to eye level, where I could see without being seen.

From what I could tell, we weren’t at the marina after all. We were at a private dock. There was a sort of camping lantern hung from a pole, and one man was standing near it at the dock, waiting for the boat. It was Hank, the man who followed me at the Kawshek pier and who had broken into my home.

He caught the rope Russell threw to him and then held it while Russell cut the motor and tossed out the bumpers. Together, the two men tied the boat up to the cleats.

I needed to get a little closer. My tank felt as though it was almost out of air, so I made my way underwater as quickly as I could, surfacing over to the side among some marsh grasses where I could see better.

“What’s the matter?” Hank asked.

“Stupid snakeheads,” Russell snapped. “They had eighteen in there this time.”

Hank let out a low whistle.

“That’s too many.”

“What about the girl?” Russell asked. “She still snooping around?”

I blinked, feeling sure they were talking about me.

“I’ve got someone on it,” Hank said. “I have to check in with him, but at last report she had driven over the bridge and was headed toward DC.”

“Good,” Russell said. I closed my eyes, thankful that our ruse with Mr. Buchman in my car had worked.

Russell reached up and took the lantern from the pole, and then the two men walked off across the grass toward what I now realized was the Lynches’ farm. Seizing the opportunity, I climbed up onto the bank among the reeds, pulled out the cell phone, and dialed Kirby, who sounded nearly frantic when he answered the phone.

“You’ve been gone exactly one hour and fifty-five minutes!” he cried. “My finger was ready to dial for help.
Where have you been?”

“I’ll explain later,” I whispered sharply, cutting him off. “Here’s what I need you to do. Get our stuff, get in the boat, and get back to the car.” I explained that I had taken a little trip as a stowaway, and I gave him directions to come and get me, telling him to meet me on the side street just before the farm.

I hung up the phone, tucked it back down into my suit, and looked around, trying to decide how to get out of there. Before I could make a move, however, I saw a light coming across the lawn. It was Russell and Hank, swinging the lantern, heading back to the dock.

“…shouldn’t take long,” Russell was saying as he walked up the dock and hung the lantern from the pole. “I wanna get this done before Tia gets home.”

“Why didn’t you make
them
do it?” Hank asked.

“I did,” Russell said. “They got all the garbage out, but we still have to spray it down.”

“I’ll get the hose,” Hank said wearily.

I moved further into the cover of the reeds, my body shivering from the cold. I watched as the two men slowy began cleaning out the container. Russell held open the makeshift door while Hank sprayed the hose. After a while, Hank stopped spraying and Russell went inside with two big white jugs.

Bleach,
I realized, the acrid smell striking me like a slap across the face.
They’re using bleach to disinfect the big container!
The smell grew stronger after Russell came back out, the jugs obviously empty. My eyes watered as the smell lingered and, once again, Hank sprayed the whole interior down with the hose. It must’ve taken a good 15 minutes, but finally the men seemed satisfied. Hank put away the hose, Russell locked up the boat, and they retrieved the lantern and walked back across the yard to the house.

At that point I realized I was chilled to the bone, my teeth literally clicking together. I knew I needed to get out of there and get into something warm very soon.

Slowly, I crept through the tall grass until I reached some trees. Staying in the shadows, I worked my way around the perimeter of the entire farm, finally passing the area where Russell had used my wire to repair the hole in his fence. I found the road and walked up it a half mile before I finally saw the side turn where I had told Kirby to meet me. Luckily, no cars passed me in either direction as I walked.

About 20 feet up I found a rock on the side of the road and sat down. I was exhausted and cold, my feet hurt, and I felt fairly sure I was getting sick. Still, I knew that I had solved the mystery of Manno Island. My initial suspicions were incorrect: They weren’t smuggling drugs there.

They were smuggling people.

Thirty-Eight

Kirby was worried about me.

“If you haven’t stopped shaking by the time we reach the house,” he said, “I’m calling a doctor.”

“I don’t n-need a doctor,” I replied, shivering under his coat and mine. “I think a w-warm bath will be sufficient.”

Kirby drove quickly toward home, scolding me part of the way and questioning me the rest. He seemed more concerned with my well-being than with what my investigation had turned up. Though he was surprised to learn our theory about drugs was wrong, he took the news of people-smuggling in stride.

“It makes sense,” he said. “The logistics, the easy access to international shipping channels, the anonymity. They’ve probably been working illegal immigrants in and out of that island for months.”

“But if they’re coming from China,” I said, “why are they ending up on the East Coast rather than the West?”

“I think illegal Chinese immigrants are brought into this country from every direction. Remember the ones who washed up on the shore in New Jersey?”

I nodded, thinking.

“I have a feeling I know now what Eddie Ray saw,” I told him, “the night he went hunting for buried treasure.”

“You think he saw a man with a machine gun, like you did?”

“No,” I replied. “I think he saw Russell’s boat—what he still thought of as
his
boat—pulling up to that island and unloading people out of a shipping container. I’d bet you anything he went straight to Russell’s farm, waited there until he got back, and then confronted him about it. I think ol’ Eddie Ray saw a good thing and somehow tried to get himself in on the action.”

“I’ve read that the smuggling of people is incredibly lucrative.”

“Lucrative, perhaps, but also reprehensible. And Eddie Ray ended up getting himself killed.”

We talked about that for a bit, wondering if the killer was Russell or Hank or one of the Tanigawa brothers—or someone else connected with the smuggling. I wasn’t sure how to find out, though I knew the next step in clearing Shayna’s name was to go to the police, or perhaps to the Immigration Bureau.

“Whoever it was,” I said, “they must’ve brought in a boatload the night I found the murder scene. That bleach smell must’ve come from the boat, which for some reason they had parked at the deserted boat repair shop. I bet at least one of those guys was watching the road—watching me find the spot where they had killed Eddie Ray—from that roof, with some night-vision goggles.”

“What about the bleach smell later, at your house?” Kirby asked.

“The boat could’ve been nearby, maybe even tied up to my own dock.”

“Too shallow,” Kirby reminded me.

“Then maybe that stink was on their clothes,” I said. “The way they were splashing around cleaning that container tonight, I wouldn’t be surprised if Russell had gotten bleach all over himself. I bet one of them came to my house to check me out, and I smelled traces of the bleach on their clothes. Sal
was
barking at an intruder, just one that chose not to let himself be seen.”

“You’re still shaking,” Kirby said.

“I’ll be okay,” I replied, suddenly feeling a bit claustrophobic at the intensity of his concern. It was one thing to have someone care about you, and quite another to have them fawn over you. Kirby didn’t seem to pick up on my mood, however, because he kept going, telling me how the time we had been apart was the longest of his life and that he’d thought for sure I was dead.

“I was blaming myself,” he lamented, reaching over for my hand. “I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.”

I was flattered, but it all seemed a bit melodramatic to me.

“This is what I do, Kirby. I investigate.”

He shook his head.

“I know,” he told me. “I thought I’d like it, too, but tonight has given me a new appreciation for sitting at a desk with the paperwork. Believe me.”

“I’m sorry for dragging you into all this.”

“Don’t be,” he replied. “It’s been a real trip. Is your job always this exciting?”

“Not nearly,” I said. “Not usually, anyway. Maybe once in a while, an investigation might get a little dicey…” My voice trailed off with thoughts of past investigations, some quite exciting, some incredibly mundane. I didn’t elaborate further, and he didn’t ask.

Kirby held my hand all the way to his house. Once there, he helped me up the front steps and inside. He had called ahead, and a female member of the staff met us at the front door, fully dressed in a uniform despite the fact that it was four o’clock in the morning.

“Come with me,” she said warmly, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. I followed her as she led me upstairs to a huge, sumptuous bathroom.

A hot bath had already been drawn for me, and there were towels and a robe hanging on a warming rack nearby.

“Please make yourself at home,” she said. “There’s soap and shampoo on the shelf right there.”

She pulled the door shut, and I proceeded to peel off the dry suit and climb into the tub.

It felt heavenly. The longer I soaked the more I felt myself returning to normal. Finally, I shampooed and rinsed, then I just lingered there a bit longer, relaxing in the warm water until I almost fell asleep.

Not only was the towel rack heated, I realized as I climbed out, but the floor was, too. I dried off and pulled on the robe and slippers, then I used a comb that was in a basket on the vanity to comb out my hair.

There was a knock on the door when I was nearly finished. It was the maid and she had with her some clean, dry clothes for me to try. I chose a pair of jeans that were about my size, a worn but comfortable T-shirt, and a thick fleece sweater.

Finally, I picked up my things and went back downstairs in search of Kirby. I also wanted to find my dog, and I wanted to
make sure Mr. Buchman had made it back from his adventure in Operation Decoy.

Kirby was waiting for me in his study, sitting on the sofa in front of a blazing fire with Sal on his lap. It was such a cozy, homey scene, and for a moment as I stood in the doorway, my breath caught in my throat.

If only I could feel for this guy what he apparently felt for me! Seeing him there, staring into the fire and gently stroking my beloved Sal, it struck me again how handsome he was, how genuinely sweet.

“Hey,” he said, spotting me in the doorway. “Look at you.”

I came into the room and joined him on the couch, greeting my little dog and her wagging tail. She switched over to my lap, and I clutched her to me, exhaustion suddenly overwhelming every other emotion.

“They haven’t heard from Bucky yet,” Kirby said. “I’m getting a little worried.”

“I told him to drive slowly and take his time,” I said, looking at the clock. “Maybe he’s just really stretching it out.”

“I hope so.”

“Are you sure he knew to come here and not to my house?” I asked.

“Yeah, but while you were taking your bath I drove over there anyway. He’s not back yet at either location.”

“I’m sure we’ll hear soon. Let’s say thirty more minutes, and then we’ll do something about it.”

“Okay.”

We sat side by side on the couch in relaxed silence. Sal jumped down from my lap to curl up in front of the fire. After a while, Kirby began tracing a pattern on the back of my hand with his fingers. Eventually, he moved his fingers lightly up my arm, across my shoulder, and to my chin. Shifting ever so slightly, he leaned forward and tilted my face up until I was looking at him. Then he bent down and pressed his lips to mine.

He kissed me harder this time, with an urgency and a passion that he’d held in check earlier. I felt myself responding, my own urgency increasing, a soft moan escaping from my throat. Finally, I broke the kiss and simply held onto him, my arms tight around his neck, my body feeling shielded and protected in his embrace.
Oh, Lord,
I prayed,
You created us to need each other. Why, then, is it so difficult to get it right?