Dark Storm Read online

  “Maybe it will help her to be helping,” Claire said, pulling a tissue out of her shorts and blowing her nose. “Jace and Mitch both have great safety records and know what they’re doing. I’ll bet she took that new doll with her. I just hope he brings her back soon.”

  “I’d trust him to do that, and it really may help her. So here’s the rest, probably the reason he sent this since Jace and Steve were in too much of a hurry to call us. Heck’s found another board member of Fly Safe besides Yost, and guess who?”

  “Not Will Warren or Tara?”

  “No, but a name I’m familiar with. Lawrence Ralston.”

  “The guy who wants you to defend him for netting a dolphin?”

  “Yeah, maybe for killing it. But an observer in a big sailboat near him says he captured it intentionally.”

  “Let’s go find him now before heading home.”

  “I’m supposed to see him in my office on Monday morning. It might spook him to question him now if the Fly Safe people have anything to do with harassing the Flutterby Farm. Yost, now this Ralston guy. Something’s starting to smell about Fly Safe.”

  “Nick, Larry Ralston might suspect less if you question him in your office, but time is precious! The so-called golden hours we might find Darcy are already tarnished, if not gone! Jace took decisive, quick action and we, too, should follow any trail for information. Can’t you just say we happened by—‘Hey, nice boat. So, are you the guy I’m supposed to see on Monday morning? Can we chat a bit now?’”

  “Yeah, you’re right. A risk, but worth a try. He needs me, evidently, as much as I need him right now. If his boat’s in, it’s at Crayton Cove, so we can say we were at the restaurant there. Steve’s not home to bring up to speed right now, anyway. Before that storm comes closer, let’s go.”

  12

  It was about a fifteen-minute drive to Crayton Cove where Larry Ralston’s charter fishing boat was docked. Nick parked the car not far from the maze of docks lined with everything from sailboats to yachts. Noise and laughter poured from the open-air restaurant called The Dock.

  “If that rain comes up,” he told Claire, “they just roll down those window flaps over the screens and let it pour.”

  “I’ve always loved being here under better circumstances,” she said, taking his hand. “Darcy and Steve announced their engagement there, and it was one of the first places we went when our lives returned to normal, remember?”

  “Even after we managed to save Lexi and get back here in one piece, when has life been normal?”

  “True,” she said with a nervous glance at the sky. “I hope Jace and Mitch keep an eye on that rainstorm since they have Lexi with them.”

  “Sweetheart, they are hurricane pilots. They are used to watching the sky and dealing with storms—much bigger ones than that.”

  “Since they are usually in such dangerous ones, they might think this little one coming is nothing. But I know it will help Lexi to be with them, and the few times he’s taken her up before, she’s loved it.”

  “And, no doubt, she’ll feel like she’s helping find Darcy. Now, let’s see what we can do here.”

  “Starting with finding the Down Under among all the watercraft along these docks. We’ll have to ask someone. How about that guy over there?” she asked, pointing at a wiry, sun-bronzed man coiling a rope near a small sailboat. “I’d guess with his captain’s cap he’s an owner or at least works here.”

  Who belonged and who didn’t, Claire thought, was easy to figure out. The tourists were obvious, the ones who just walked the docks looking at what her father used to call “boat flesh,” most of which, despite the worsening weather, were not docked today since it was the weekend. But they figured Larry’s boat would be here since Nick had heard he was not allowed to take fishermen out until a hearing. No wonder he needed a lawyer fast.

  She saw a couple of young kids eating ice cream cones with their parents. More than once when she and Darcy were growing up, on the way back from getting library books, before Mother became completely agoraphobic, they had stopped here just to ooh and aah over the boats.

  “Hiya,” the thin man greeted them. “Looking to buy? A couple for sale.”

  “Actually,” Nick said, “we’re looking for a specific boat, a charter fisher called the Down Under.”

  “You two don’t look like journalists,” he said, squinting up at them from his perch on a wooden bench on the dock. “Guy that owns it’s in hot water for killing a dolphin. Lots of TV and newspaper types been around lately. And another guy looking for him a short time ago.”

  “No, I’m just a business acquaintance he wants to see.”

  “Down at the very end of this main dock, turn right, end of the line. Big boat, big info about taking a charter painted on a sign.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  They followed his directions. Claire was glad to see the other visitors seemed to have no interest in boats this far out on the dock, and, thank heavens, they saw no prying journalists. All they needed was for Nick to be recognized as a local criminal lawyer if this Larry Ralston was in trouble. Dolphins and manatees—many breeds of birds, too—were protected and almost sacred around here. She wondered if the news coverage of Ralston and perhaps a future trial would be either helpful or dangerous publicity for a group evidently as aggressive as the Fly Safe people. But even if Ralston became Nick’s client, none of that mattered to her compared with finding Darcy.

  Nick whistled low in awe when they saw the boat. “Heck said it’s a fifty-four-footer, but it looks bigger—and new,” he said.

  It was a handsome two-deck boat with the captain’s chair observation deck on the top in a partly glassed-in cockpit. It had all kinds of radar and satellite gear poking from the top deck and a large live tank at the back of the stern for keeping catches fresh until they were cleaned and packaged. Places for fishing rods studded the stern taffrail, and swivel fighting chairs were prominent.

  “He’s got a place here where his charters obviously clean their fish,” Nick added, pointing to a large plank tray that had been scrubbed clean.

  Evidently Ralston was washing his nets, because a big one draped over the side between the dock and the boat was riding up and down partly submerged in the waves. Maybe that was an easy way to clean a large net.

  “Wonder if he usually keeps a catch of big fish that don’t fit in the live tank in the net,” Nick said, staring down at where the net disappeared into the blue-black water. “That would keep them fresh until he can clean them. Man, that net’s big enough to hold a big fish. If I take him on as a client, I’ll advise him to get rid of that before a trial, but then it looks pretty new, doesn’t it? Maybe it was already confiscated and he replaced it. I mean, it’s so white while the other nets we’ve seen have gone brownish from the salt water.”

  They read the painted sign the man on the dock had mentioned. Bright letters offered half-or full-day deep-sea fishing on the Down Under with the chance to catch sailfish, mahi-mahi, bonito and skipjack tuna. In case Ralston was not aboard, Nick scribbled down the phone number of “Captain Larry” and stuffed it in his pocket.

  “Hello!” he called out when no one appeared. “Larry Ralston? Captain Larry!”

  No sound but the wash of waves against the big wooden pilings holding up the dock, the buzz of muted voices from the restaurant and the screech of a seagull that swooped in to sit on the sign, evidently thinking they were about to clean some fish he could get part of.

  “Larry Ralston!” Nick called again, cupping his hands around his mouth.

  “I hope you don’t have to wait until Monday in your office,” Claire said, annoyed her voice sounded choked up. Every little setback loomed so large. They had to get more information on Fly Safe, on how their board members felt about something like a butterfly farm, and Nick would have some leverage over this guy. Had someone visited the farm the day Darcy disappeared? Did anyone know of someone else who might have a beef against the Flutterby Farm or Tara Gera
ld?

  “I’ll bet he’s just taking a nap or stepped away for a minute,” Nick observed, pointing at the mooring ropes holding the boat close to the dock. “If he was not around, he wouldn’t leave everything as open as it looks. And on a seat cushion in the stern, I saw a cell phone just lying there.”

  “I saw that. It made me think he’d be right back. He’d surely be eager to see you, and we need any kind of help we can get right now,” she said the obvious again, gripping his hand. “Let’s maybe go on board and knock on the galley or cabin door.”

  Nick looked at his watch, then glanced at the clots of gray clouds coming closer.

  “Let’s give it a few more minutes. If he’s not here, we’ve got to go home, hope Steve’s back and bring him up to speed. I’d hate to just try to calm Steve over the phone. Can’t say I blame him, but he seems to be waiting to explode.”

  * * *

  Despite the desperation of their mission, Jace was amused at the comedown this little Piper Cub airplane he’d borrowed presented when he and Mitch were used to much bigger aircraft. And that tiny storm on the horizon was a far cry from the behemoths they were used to seeing and flying through. This bright yellow plane he’d borrowed from a friend had its pluses, though: Lexi and her new doll liked the bright color, and the thing had floats as well as wheels in case they spotted anything interesting and needed to put down on water or grass in this fringe-of-the-Glades area.

  “I hope we see her car,” Lexi called up to them for the fourth time. At least it was better than the voice of that doll she wouldn’t let go of.

  “Yeah, Lex,” Jace said over his shoulder. “But you can see there aren’t many good places to drive a car out here.”

  “So maybe she didn’t go far, then left her car and walked. Or waded. She likes to wade in water, like at the beach, but I’m scared there might be gators or those big snakes down there to hurt her.”

  Jace and Mitch exchanged frowns. Yeah, there wasn’t much good news here and no sign of a car or even a person except a couple people on an airboat that was leaving a large trail below. And then he heard a crack of thunder.

  “Gonna loop past that little storm and head back,” Nick told Mitch. “If we didn’t have Lexi, I might go farther east but I can’t see it.”

  Lexi piped up again. “I can see the storm, and it’s not too scary. I want to find her, Daddy!”

  “Me, too, honey. But we’d better go back home and we’ll keep looking more later.”

  “But I’m not afraid! Unless we lost her!”

  Jace frowned as he banked the plane back toward the west. Mistake to bring Lexi, evidently. But he had really wanted to spend time with her and help in the short time he might have before another flying assignment.

  Although he prided himself with nerves of steel in the air, he jolted when that robot doll’s voice came from the back seat.

  “I’m not afraid, either,” it said in that sickly sweet monotone voice. “Lexi and I want to know what will happen next. Where are Mommy and Nick now? But I am sure we will find Aunt Darcy, and she will be just fine.”

  Jace whispered a swear word only Mitch could hear.

  “Remember the basics we had pounded into us,” Mitch told him, his voice nearly muffled by the noise of the engine. “Any problems—aviate, navigate, communicate.”

  “Not with that damn doll,” he whispered back. “I swear it likes to eavesdrop.” He added in a louder voice, “Heading home for now, Lex.”

  * * *

  Claire realized the rainstorm was larger than it had looked. The drops were heavy, and gusts of wind drove them sideways. She was instantly soaked but at least it was a warm rain.

  “He should be here by now!” Nick shouted, taking her elbow. “Let’s take shelter under the boat deck on board. He won’t mind when he hears who I am.”

  He steadied her across from the dock to the boat. Tethered by ropes, the big craft was barely rocking in the waves. They huddled on the lee side under the slight overhang above the stern, clinging together. It felt so good to put her arms tight around Nick’s waist as he held her to him. But a blast of wind somehow yanked open the galley door, which nearly bumped into them. It banged against the wall.

  They both turned to look. Claire figured Captain Larry had heard them and was coming out. Suddenly, she had a terrible thought: What if he was armed, what if whoever took Darcy had been armed, had used a gun?

  But no one stood in the doorway.

  Nick shouted again, this time through the door. “Larry! Larry Ralston! It’s attorney Nick Markwood!”

  No sounds but the whine of wind and drumming of rain. And another rumble of thunder. That scared Claire, not for them but for Lexi with Jace and Mitch in a plane. Surely he’d head back and land.

  To her surprise, Nick tugged her hand and went through the open door into the cabin of the boat. A light was on over the small sink, so Ralston must be here.

  “Larry! Larry Ralston! Nick Markwood and my wife, Claire, to see you!”

  Claire was grateful for the shelter, though being here like this—actually trespassing—made her nervous. She told Nick, “He must have just run out for something, then the storm hit, so he stayed put for a while.”

  “Yeah. As soon as this quits, we’ll head out, and I’ll call him to explain. All we need is someone in another boat nearby calling the cops, then Jensen comes to arrest us for breaking and entering—or trespassing at best.” He shook his head and gave a little grunt of a laugh.

  They both looked around the cabin. Not exactly what they called “shipshape,” so didn’t Captain Larry keep things organized here or hire a first mate who did? The lamp, which was lighted, was still attached to the wall, but hung askew. Claire saw that broken glass—a bottle of liquor?—from the small bar was smashed into gritty shards she felt underfoot. A back cushion from the seat along the wall under two portholes was on the floor.

  She saw Nick was taking that all in, too, frowning, puzzled.

  “And,” she said, “I’m glad we didn’t touch his—or someone’s—cell phone that was out on deck, even though this storm may ruin it. There’s been a struggle here, right?”

  “Looks that way. Maybe he was hurt and went for help, didn’t close or lock up, but I don’t see any blood around.”

  He loosed his hold on her and took several steps toward the cabin, then evidently changed his mind. “We better not touch anything,” he told her. “Let’s get out of here, and I’ll try to phone him to see if he’s okay.”

  They hurried outside and back onto the dock. The rain had let up a bit, but not enough to keep them dry. Nick bent over his phone, and Claire tried to block the sprinkles. She saw his hand shook as he pulled the paper out of his pocket and punched in Ralston’s number.

  The phone lying in a puddle on the back deck rang. Again. Again.

  “Nick, that’s his phone.”

  “I hear it. Something’s wrong. Really wrong.”

  “Disappeared just like Darcy? Related somehow?”

  “Don’t jump to conclusions, but I’m calling Ken Jensen. Hope he’s working today, but I guess he’s always on call.”

  They huddled. Claire could tell that Nick’s call to Ken went to voice mail, so he described the time, place and what they’d found, even mentioned that Ralston was on the Fly Safe board they had discussed.

  Claire quickly called home to see where Jace and Lexi were.

  “They’re not back yet but they landed,” Nita told her. “They didn’t find nothing. They gonna be back here soon. Jace is going to see Brit at the zoo even in the rain.”

  As soon as she said goodbye to Nita and explained Lexi was fine, Nick said, “I hope Ken calls back soon—and that he won’t be mad as hell at us for checking on people with possible information. Maybe we should go wait in the restaurant, get some coffee at least. Don’t know how to make sense of what we found.”

  Claire nodded, but she kept watching the rise and fall of the large net over the side of the boat. Since the wa
ter was more turbulent than earlier, something white kept showing beneath the waves, then sinking. It must be the belly of a fish, surely not of a trapped dolphin that was the cause of Captain Larry’s troubles.

  “Nick, look,” she said, pointing.

  Like her, he leaned over in the lessening rain to stare down between the boat hull and the dock. In the next surge of water, it surfaced again, a white arm, which led to a bare white shoulder.

  Claire sucked in a sob. She screamed and fell to her knees, reaching far down into the net. No! No, it couldn’t be! Not Darcy!

  13

  Claire sucked in a sob. She reached down so far into the net that Nick yanked her back.

  “No!” she screamed again. “No, it can’t be!”

  But the minute she pulled free from Nick and lay on her stomach to reach for the submerged arm again, she saw it wasn’t Darcy. The arm, as Nick helped her pull it up, was muscular, large and looked fish-belly white under the surface despite its dark hair.

  “Oh, thank God, thank God,” she cried, but then someone was dead. And the more likely conclusion was that Larry Ralston had leaned over the live tank, slipped somehow and fallen in. But was that actually likely with a professional fisherman who had to know this boat and dock so well?

  “Here, let me,” Nick said, hooking the man’s elbow through a woven space in the net, but not pulling him up farther. “I’m calling Jensen again.”

  Claire knelt on the dock, staring down, both grieved yet grateful. Again, she agonized, how could a charter captain used to waves and water have slipped in that small space without being able to grab the dock or the boat—the net at least. If this even was Captain Larry Ralston.