Murder at Fire Bay (21 page)

“Some country boys go to work at an early hour, too . . .John.”

He laughed. “Okay, Bronski, what’s on your mind?”

I forced myself awake and described the day’s events, including all the reasons that I thought our girl Ashley was up to something that something being that she was transporting drugs big time. I explained that since the Boss thought I was crazy for even suspecting that sweet thing, I had to alert the postal inspectors myself.

“So what would you like for me to do, Leo?”

“Put cameras throughout the building,” I said, and then held my breath. We were talking money here. I knew his next question would be just where the money was going to come from. Approval would have to be given by the top dogs.

“Cameras, huh?” he said. “I don’t know, I’d have to get approval from all sorts of people. You’re asking a lot, Bronski.”

There was a moment’s silence, and then I threw the last ball I had.

“Well, it was just a thought. Besides, I doubt you could get them installed without anybody knowing about it. I mean this isn’t a big place like Anchorage, where nobody knows what’s going on, you know. I bet Ashley would know in a heartbeat, not to mention the chief of police, who I suspect plays a small part in all this. I know him. He was a SEAL in Vietnam and is still good at sneaking around.”

I heard a yawn on the other end. Was it from being sleepy or was it to show indifference? I waited for the response.

“He was a SEAL?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s interesting. SEALS usually have a higher code.”

“It depends on whether you have a disabled kid that needs a lot of money for medical problems,” I answered.

There was another yawn.

“I’ll get back to you, Leo.” There was a click on the other end of the line.

Yeah, sure you will, I thought. But he had called me Leo. Usually, it was Bronski this and Bronski that. None of the intimate stuff, like using a person’s first name. I hung up the phone and sat up on the edge of the bed. Earlier in my life I would have pulled out a smoke, but alas, that was history. My eyes strayed to the drawer where I now kept the bottle of Jack Daniel’s. I’d only had one shot that day; I could have another without calling myself a drunk. I poured a shot and, sipping it, I sat back on the bed and ruminated about how I had gotten tied up in a drug operation when I was supposed to be working a murder. I was no closer to solving that than the first day I walked onto the scene. Who had murdered Gloria? What was the motive? According to the papers, she had no enemies.
 

I drank the last sip and turned out the lights. Tomorrow was coming.

* * *

Six o’clock the next morning found me walking into the Eat More. It was getting to be a regular habit. Usually I was content with a bowl of cereal and then off to work. But since Jeanette and I were apart, I missed the human companionship of sleepyheads grousing about the weather or the high tides or whatever the day’s concern might be.
 

Naturally, I headed toward where Emily sat. We said our good-mornings and then set to putting our breakfast down our respective hatches. After a few minutes, I sat back for a moment and regarded Emily. Whether by happenstance or not, she too stopped and looked back at me.

“Yesss?”

“What do you think of Sam?”
 

Her face turned red. “He’s . . .he’s very nice. Don’t ask me anything more.”

“Sorry, you’re right, none of my business,” I said, and went back to eating.

Her fork dangled in mid-air. “It’s just that everything has been so perfect so far that I’m afraid to breathe. Maybe he will disappear.”

She looked so vulnerable that I dared not laugh or even smile, but I had seen the look on that boy’s face, no way was he going to disappear.

“Oh, I don’t think so, Emily. I think he’s a keeper.”

She nodded, as if she already knew that to be true, and we resumed eating.
 

“Uh . . .Emily,” I said between bites, “Sam must not know about our post office drug problems, or maybe I should say the “arrangement” we have between us. I like him. He’s a nice guy, but until we come to a close on this, he is not to know, okay?”

I looked straight into her eyes and hoped she had not told him.
 

She nodded. “I have not told him.”

“I don’t really think he has anything to do with the drug ring, but the fewer people involved, the better. Sound reasonable?”

She nodded again. I went on. “And I also realize I shouldn’t be seen with you out in public anymore. Especially in this restaurant. Not with the police chief eating here.”

“Sorry,” I said, “but that’s the way it has to be.”

I gave her the previous day’s events: the tape recording and me trying without much success, to get the postal inspectors involved. I was just finishing with my story when a smile came over her face. It didn’t take much thought to guess who was walking up behind me.

“Hello, sir,” he said as he sat down. Of course, he was not looking at me, but at Emily and, so help me, her face turned red.
 

“Young man,” I began, putting a stern look on my face, “You may call me Leo.”

He turned to me. “Yes, sir, er . . .Leo.”

I smiled and wiped the last of the egg off my face. “Well, good people, I have to go to work. Emily, I hope you got all you needed for that interview?”

She smiled and nodded. Perhaps now she wouldn’t have to explain to Sam what she was doing with another man. I had the idea he would soon consider her his property and not to be trifled with, especially by some old guy like me. Damn it, Leo, I told myself, you might be a slightly older guy, but you can still go on moose hunts. After all, you are not as old as that poor man who’s had a stroke and whose only thrill is to sit on top of a bluff and look out over the ocean.

* * *

I pulled up to the rear of the post office and noted Ashley’s car was already there. I guessed she must have been tearing the place apart looking for a particular package. The place was quiet when I walked in the back door. There were only the sounds of shuffling mail. I took the long way to my office, pausing to say a good morning here and there. When I came by Martha’s case and gave what I hoped was a cheery greeting, she looked back at me like I was lower than low.

“Miss Dictator says we can’t talk at all,” she muttered.

I just nodded and walked on. Ashley, I thought, why can’t you leave it alone? By the time I got to my office, I suspect puffs of steam were collecting around my ears. I slammed the door, removed my jacket, and sat for a full minute counting to ten. I was getting tired of her little game, but I had to go with it a while longer. The troops had to be kept as happy as possible, and I could only assume she was trying to turn them against me. Finally, my hand lifted the phone and my fingers punched Ashley’s number.

“Yes,” she said in the sweetest way possible.

“Come to my office, right now.”

“But, I . . .”

“Ashley, are you on the phone with someone?”

“No.”

“Then, Ashley, come to my office!”

I hung up the phone before she could start in with the reasons why not.

I waited. Five minutes went by. Still no Ashley. Very well, I thought, very well.

 
I lifted the phone. Only this time I got on the loud speakers.

“We are going to have a stand-up meeting in five minutes,” I said, and went on to say that I wanted everyone to attend.

My office door burst open. It was Ashley, with a snarl on her face. She had enough tact to close the door before she spoke.

“All right, Bronski, what the hell is going on?”

“Ashley, I’ll make it short. You countermanded my orders about the people talking.”

“I did it for the needs of the service.”

“No, you didn’t. You did it for control. You know it, I know it.”

She smiled and took the by now infamous picture out of her pocket.
 

I shook my head. “Ashley, if you want to show that picture with your boobs hanging out, that you’re holding up, to the people, go right ahead.”

So help me, her face paled. As my maternal Irish grandfather would have said, “And what a grand and glorious sight it was too!” While she was speechless, I got up from my desk, went to the office door, and held it open while she walked through it.

It was a short and sweet stand-up meeting. I simply told the employees there had been a mix-up with management, but now things were straightened out. They would be allowed to carry on normal conversation as always. I took a quick peek at Ashley and saw she was standing there looking straight ahead with a red face. Was she angry? I certainly hoped so.
 

“Anybody have a question? Again, normal conversation is okay.”

Nobody said a word. I did see some smiles, and that made me hope that I was back in their good graces again.
 

“Okay, everybody back to work.”
 

Everyone went back to his or her stations, chattering away. I sighed. Knowing human nature, they would probably push it for a while with excess talk, but eventually the talk would slow to a normal level. Without looking at anybody, I strode back to the office and closed the door. I had just gotten seated when Ashley came charging in and slammed the door, which must have made a good impression on the employees.
 

“Ashley, next time you come through that door, you will knock. Is that understood?”

God, but I hated these control games.

She stood there, fury on her face. “I’m in control here, Bronski, or have you forgotten that little native wife of yours?”

My shoulders slumped and I hoped I put on a good act. “No, Ashley, I haven’t forgotten.”

“Good. Now, you got away with it this time, but don’t try it again. Understood?”

My chin on my chest, I nodded, and felt the comforting vibration of my pocket recorder.

Chapter 28

I rolled over to look at the clock. Hell, it was 7:00 o’clock. A little later than I thought. I turned back and fluffed my pillow. Then it came to me: it was Saturday. I didn’t have to be at work. Today was Ashley’s day, and I hoped she meant what she said about being to work on time. Maybe my little rebellion the day before had something to do with her acting a little more like a proper supervisor, i.e. one that obeyed her boss.

It had been nice, walking out of the post office at quitting time with just a hint of a spring to my walk. I even went easy on the guy working on a big van’s engine in the rear parking lot.

“You know you’re going to have to move that truck by Monday, don’t you?” I had asked the driver.
 

The poor guy had leaned back from the engine’s hole, showing the fresh grease and oil all down the front of his coveralls.

“Yes, sir, I’ll have it out of here by Monday, for sure,” he said, wiping his hands with an even dirtier rag.

“Well, if you’re not gone by Monday, I’ll have to have you towed . . .at your expense, of course. This is federal property.”

With that admonition, I had hopped back into the Jeep and copied down the license number and the name of the company, Moot Point Shipping, from the side of the van. Some two-bit outfit, I thought. Probably never see them again.

But like I said to Jeanette that evening, I had some sympathy for the little guy in business, trying to make it out there against ever increasing competition from big box stores and companies. “Yes, I agree,” my love had said, and then, “Moot Point Shipping . . . Moot Point Shipping . . .seems to me I’ve heard that name somewhere before.” We had wished each other a pleasant weekend, exchanged I-love-you’s, and rung off.

I turned over and wondered what to do with my Saturday. Then came the blessed smell of pancakes. I loved pancakes almost as much as granola cereal. No more bed for me, no sir! It was get-up time.
 

I had to admire Mrs. Mordant. She might be nosy at times, but her jolly attitude could not be denied. Every day was the same for her, and there was no letup in her care of the old man. She had not put him in a nursing home but, instead, had kept care of him herself. The cleaning and feeding went on and on, and I wondered if she ever had time for herself. Since I had become almost a family member, she no longer fed the old man in his room, but brought him out to the kitchen.

“There, Dad,” she said, as she dabbed a piece of pancake from his chin. “Doesn’t that taste good?”

He replied with a mutter. I put my coffee cup down and said, “It looks like it’s going to be a beautiful fall day out there. I understand the temp might get up to sixty degrees.”

The old man made a noise, getting his chin dirty again. Mrs. Mordant shot me a smile of appreciation. I had a hunch the old man was not easy to please and, at times, no doubt resented what he took to be her forced cheerfulness. I checked my watch. Nine o’clock. Where had the time gone?
 

I got up from my chair and stretched. “Well, good people, I have to go into town. Thanks for the meal, Mrs. Mordant. It was great.”