The Boardwalk Bomber

By Michael Jesse

Chapter 16

On Sunday morning I woke up early and went for a walk up the beach with my coffee cup. I took a shower and glanced over the newspapers and by nine I was down at Woodman's getting my boat ready. It's a 16-footer that I bought from Fred after a couple months of renting boats from him.

I had been on sailboats a few times over the years, but never considered owning one. After I became Jack Durham -- and had more leisure time -- I decided Jack was the kind of guy who'd take the afternoon off on a nice day and just go sailing. Fred gave me a couple lessons (for a fee) and then I rented a little Sunfish from him a few times, capsizing it repeatedly until I got the hang of it. After a few weeks I was feeling like a pro so I bought the 16-footer. It's the best investment I've ever made.

It was about 9:15 when McCain showed up, wearing khaki shorts that showed off her mile-long white freckled legs.

"Hey there," I said. "It's a great day for sailing."

She stared at the boat. "Are we going in that?"

"What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing. I just pictured it ... bigger."

"Big boats are no fun," I scoffed. "You can't even feel the water under you. Might as well be on land in a Greyhound bus."

I tossed her a life vest. "Put this on. Captain's orders." She didn't argue. The orange vest was practically the same color as her hair. "And you should be wearing sunblock. You don't feel it out on the water but--"

"I know, I know," she said, holding up her bag. "I brought some of my industrial-strength White Girl brand." She sat on the deck and started putting it on while I finished rigging the lines. I did my best not to watch, but it was hard not to look at those legs, which seemed especially bare for being so pale.

"So," I said, keeping my eyes busy on the rigging, "how's your investigation?"

"Not bad. How's yours?" She tossed the tube of sunblock into her denim handbag.

I smiled. "Not bad. Did you know there's a connection between Bigfoot and Brandi Greene?"

"You mean that they went to high school together? Yeah, we know that."

"And that there's been contact recently?"

"Yeah, we've seen them together. "

"Oh, well never mind then," I said.

"You sound disappointed."

"Not at all. I'm just trying to make sure I'm not holding out on you."

She narrowed her eyes and looked at me sideways. "Should I worry about how you know this stuff?"

"Bigfoot came to see me because you scared him. He thinks he's a target of the investigation. So, are you coming on board or what?" I held my hand out and she took it and climbed aboard awkwardly, like someone wearing roller skates for the first time. I had her sit up front so I could mind the tiller and then pushed off the dock with an oar, paddling a few times to get us going a bit.

"What did you tell him? " she asked, as her hand felt around for something to grip.

"I told him you questioned me pretty thoroughly too and that it was routine. I said he should just tell the truth and he'd have nothing to worry about."

She nodded and started to say something, but just thenIÈ pulled the sails in tight and in a moment they filled out with a satisfying snap and the wind began to carry us out into the bay. She grinned like a girl, and I could tell she loved the feeling of being carried by the sail. Some people are indifferent, or even annoyed by depending on the wind. Those people tend to buy power boats and roar across the water like commuters on the highway. Sailors recognize each other, even when it's the first time. She took a deep breath and glanced back at me with sparkling eyes and red hair going wild. "What do I do?" she asked, "or am I just a passenger."

"This boat is too small for passengers," I said. "You're crew. And your job is to mind the jib."

"The what?"

"The little sail in front. Just keep it taut like this and tighten up if it starts to luff."

"Luff?"

"When it loses wind and flaps a bit. "

"When the jib luffs."

"Exactly."

"Why don't they just say 'when the sail flaps'?"

"I don't know. Because it sounds cooler the other way?"

We were silent for a while and I would have like to just let it go on, but I said, "So do you think the Bigfoot-Brandi connection means anything?"

She shrugged and I felt guilty bringing her back to shop talk on her day off. "They're both townies and the non-tourist community here isn't that big, so it's not necessarily a red flag. But we're certainly going to look at that."

"Well I've talked to Bigfoot a few times and he seems to be an open book. If he was going to kill someone he'd probably do it spontaneously and with his bare hands."

"I agree," she said. "He's not the devious type. But he's not just a big muscle bound dumb guy either. He's intelligent so he's perfectly capable of being devious for a good enough reason."

"You mean the insurance money?"

"It's possible. I'm not saying that's likely. Just possible."

"What does seem likely right now?"

She looked at me for a moment. ".You mean who do I suspect?"

I nodded. She leaned closer and motioned me closer. I leaned forward, knowing it was absurd since we were out on the water all alone but I wasn't going to turn down the opportunity to be close enough to smell her.

"You wanna know what I think?" she stage-whispered.

"What?" I asked, watching the sunlight on the soft fuzz of her cheek and ear.

"I think it was that bookstore guy. Mysterious background. Seems to know everyone involved in the case. Always asking questions. Think we should haul him in?"

"You did that already."

"Oh yeah." She leaned back. So did I, reluctantly.

"By the way," I said, returning some portion of my concentration to the task at hand, "I figured we'd head toward that little island over there." I pointed at Half-Acre Island, which is just that. It's a tiny little island made mostly of rock but covered with enough dirt to grow a bunch of grass and a couple of big trees. There's a wooden dock someone built a long time ago and a few picnic tables. 

Our destination was directly into the wind, so we had to tack back and forth and it took a while. We had to come about two or three times and she was a quick learner, minding the jib line and shifting her weight as I did.

"So," I said, "What do you think of Hulman? Is he a suspect?"

"We sure haven't ruled him out. He's certainly looney enough, but whether his obsession with Mrs. Brinckman drove him to these crimes is another matter entirely and frankly I doubt it."

"Why?"

"Because I think he's a harmless obsessive, not a violent one."

"Thank you Dr. Jung."

"Hey, it's just my opinion -- and that of the State Police Serial Crime Unit. It's not as good as the Jack Durham Intuition Meter perhaps, but we have to base our work on something don't we?"

"What about Chad's ex-wife?"

"Well she had motive I suppose, but not much opportunity. I can't picture her sneaking up here from Cincinnati to plant bombs in other locations for two weeks just so she could snag her ex on the last one. And besides, if she was going to kill him she'd probably have done it a few years ago don't you think?"

"I agree,"
I said. "I saw her coming out of the Winter's Bank branch on the peninsula yesterday."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Kinda wondered why she was still in town."

"Hmm. Could be something involving her husband's estate. I'm surprised you didn't arrange to bump into her."

"Crossed my mind," I said. "But I agree with you -- she's not a very likely suspect." We came about again and were close enough to the island to sail right into the little dock. I dropped the sails and tied up to the dock. We both climbed out and carried our picnic lunch over to one of the two picnic tables. We had the island to ourselves.

"It's beautiful out here," she said, looking back across the water to the shore. Her smile seemed to take up half her face and she was more relaxed than I'd seen her. The sky was completely clear and the sun lit up everything around but it wasn't too hot or too humid. The water was breathtakingly blue and dozens of other sailboats flitted about on the water, undisturbed by obnoxious powerboaters, who all seemed to have taken the day off.

We sat across from each other on the weathered picnic table and ate in silence for a few minutes. I tried not to look at her too much, but in that light she was hard to resist. The sun on her hair made a color I don't think I'd ever seen before, except maybe in a sugar maple in autumn.

"What is going on in that devious mind of yours?" she asked. I started to reply but she said, "I'll bet you're still thinking about the case. You have some wacko theory you're about to reveal to me."

"Well, that's not really what I was thinking," I said. "It had more to do with that constellation of freckles on your shoulder there."

"Now now," she warned, wagging a finger at me. "Don't you start flirting."

"I know, I know. You're unavailable."

There was a pause which threatened to become uncomfortable, but she rescued us. "You do have a new theory, don't you?"

"As a matter of fact I do. But you'll think it's silly."

"Probably. Is it your alien pod-people theory? You never did tell me that one you know."

I shook my head. "No, I'm saving that one. This one is almost as good though."

"Oh goodie. I could use a good laugh."

So I went ahead and started telling her. I got about three sentences into it and she was laughing, which I expected. But I didn't get to explain it much further because that's when we heard the explosion. It came from the mainland and there was little question what it was. On the shore a plume of smoke appeared just south of the university.

We left our food on the picnic table and ran back to the boat. I knew she'd want her cell phone so I unfastened the storage bin and handed her the bag. She whipped out the phone and dialed in with a programmed shortcut. I pushed the boat out into the water and pulled up the sails.

Fortunately the way back was with the wind all the way so we could go at a run with both sails out full. Even so, McCain found the pace too slow. "Don't you have an outboard motor?"

"Actually no," I admitted. "Lots of people have them for maneuvering in and out of the docks, but I don't."

"Is that some sailing macho thing? Not needing a motor?"

"No, the boat just didn't come with one and I'm generally not in a big hurry. But if it makes you feel any better, we wouldn't be going much faster with an outboard. *We're actually moving pretty fast, but it's kind of an illusion. You don't perceive the speed because you're going with the wind and so you don't feel it. Like hot air ballooning."

"I haven't done that either," she said, sounding unconvinced. "What I have done is drive really fast with my siren on. "

"Well if I had a siren on this boat I'd turn it on so you'd feel better," I said. "So what exactly is this that we're hurrying back for?"

"Two bombs at the high school. No one hurt, but they don't know if that's all there is. Kinda wrecks your latest theory though. So are we at all closer to the shore or is that an illusion too?"

She was punching in another number as she talked and before I could reply she was on the phone again.

I stayed with the wind and aimed for a sandy stretch of reeds and beach just to the left of the dock. Normally I navigate close to the dock, drop the sails and paddle the rest of the way, but I knew today that would take too much time. "Hey McCain," I said.

"What?" She was still on the phone.

"Time to brace yourself. We're gonna run up on the beach just ahead. "

She held the phone away from her ear. "Pardon?"

"We're going to run up onto the beach instead of docking. To save time."

She hung up. "We're going to do what?"

"It'll be fine. We'll go through those reeds and skiff up onto the beach. It's the quickest way. That's what you want, isn't it?"

"Well I was hoping to still be able to walk to my car."

"You'll be fine. I'm pulling up the keel now. Just brace yourself."

The shore was coming up quickly now. Part of the illusion. For so long you seem to be out in the middle of the bay and then suddenly there you are on shore.

"You've done this before, haven't you?" she called back.

I shook my head. "What the hell for?"

We hit the reeds and tore through them. I released the cleats on the sails, but couldn't stand to take them down. I just held on and we hit the shore with a thud and skidded up onto the dry sand more or less the way I'd pictured it. We were slowing down and I was feeling pretty clever, but then the wind twisted us sideways and the sails filled with wind suddenly and slapped us onto our side, cracking the mast and slamming us both hard onto the sand.