Some People Die Quick Read online

At last count, there were over a hundred and thirty boats docked at the Broadwater Marina. A lot of them have owners and/or Captains who would not miss the six o'clock parade. There are some lovely lasses that make their way around the marina, and some not so lovely. It is a parade that in some ways has always seemed sad to me, but it happens, and I have participated in it on more than one occasion.

  Guy looked at me, frowned, and shrugged. "I've got to go, Mildred's waiting. You need anything?"

  "Everything you can find out about Vickey Fourche. Use all the influence you've got on this coast to dig into her background. Call W.W., get his help."

  "What about George?"

  "You and I grew up with Randolph. We've known the kid since he was born. What do you think?"

  "I'll run him, too."

  "Good, every step he's made since high school."

  "What are you going to do?" Guy asked, swinging up on the finger pier next to Picaroon.

  "Look into Susan Weems and the scientists who worked on the island, especially those involved with the shark repellent experiments."

  "Good luck."

  "Thanks. Tell my girlfriend hello."

  "She's going to want to know when you're coming for dinner."

  "Tell her soon."

  Guy smiled and walked away.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The parade had thinned. The stragglers were too depressing to watch, so I went below, opened a bottle of Freixenet-Gorgon Negro-brut, and studied the tiny bubbles as they raced to the surface of the flute-shaped glass. A print by famed artist, Rockwell Kent titled, 'Invitation to a Tea,' came to mind.

  Picking up the phone, I dialed Susan Weems. She answered on the second ring.

  "Yes? Who is it, please?" She had a deep, sexy voice.

  "Miss Weems," I said with great officialdom. "My name is Jay Leicester. I'm with the Mississippi State Marine Fisheries. I'd like to talk with you about your tenure with our lab on Cat Island."

  "That was over two years ago. Who did you say you were? What's this about?"

  With continued pomp, I said, "Our records show that you left rather suddenly. We'd like to know if there was some trouble. The state and federal funding is coming up next month and we don't want any problem to surface that will endanger us getting the grants. I'm sure you understand."

  "No, I do not understand. I don't know who you are and I will not talk about this over the phone."

  "There's no need to get angry, Miss Weems. I have to be in Houston tomorrow on other business. Is it possible for you to meet me at the Intercontinental airport, say around ten a.m.? We could discuss this in person."

  "No, it is not possible. If you want to talk with me, I'll be at the research lab in Galveston." She hung up. I didn't have time to ask where on the island the lab was located.

  A commuter airline out of Gulfport could get me to New Orleans by six a.m., and a connection with Southwest Airlines would put me into Houston by eight-thirty. I reserved a rent-a-car at the airport. Meeting Susan Weems was something I looked forward too.

  Finishing off the champagne, I battened down the hatches and crawled into the forward vee-birth. It was time to study all the papers from Anna and Guy.

  Two hours later, I lay listening to the noise of the marina. The boat next door had a loud party going on, probably from the fruits of the afternoon parade. The gentle swaying of Picaroon on her mooring, the sound of female laughter, the tinkle of glass, and the pleasant smells of the sea put me to sleep.

  Sometime before daylight, I woke with a start, confused for a moment at being in a strange place. The boat moved and there was a scrapping noise. Maybe it was the wind? No, there it was again; someone was trying the companionway door. Easing up the hatch directly over my head in order to peek out caused a loud squeaking noise. Whoever was in the cockpit made a hasty retreat.

  Grabbing my trusty magnum, I leapt through the hatch, but the intruder was already gone. A car engine started in the distance, tires squealing as it sped away. Probably a local hood hoping to steal a radio or microwave. It happens all the time, even with the added security employed by the new casino and marina. From now on, I'd be more careful.

  It was false daylight, so I dressed and walked over to the marina office. When told about my visitor, the night attendant didn't seem concerned. He said the new security patrols had cut way down on the break-ins on the boats, but there was no way to stop them all.

  The attendant was kind enough to call me a cab for the airport. The flight to New Orleans on the commuter airline was flown by a young man who didn't look old enough to be out of high school, much less the Captain of an airplane carrying ten passengers, all who were, except for me, military personnel from Keesler Air Force Base at Biloxi. Maybe I'm just getting old.

  The flight from New Orleans to Houston was without incident. It was over an hour's drive to Galveston. I spent the time going over questions for Susan Weems.

  * * *

  Houston was at one time the fastest growing city in the United States, but that was before the oil boom went bust and the Oilers went to Nashville. Maybe the new expansion team, the Texans, will help with the revival. Passing by Hobby airport brought back a lot of good memories. I made many a landing there during my flying career. There was an old friend who had worked at a weather service at the airport. His name is B.W., and he's now a sheriff up in Dallas. We had worked a couple of rough cases together. His wife, Pat and daughter, Steph are like family. It's been a long time since I've seen them.

  The marine lab was not hard to find. It was out on the west end of the island, close to the water. For no one in the state capital to know of its existence, it was a huge operation. This place covered half a square mile under roof.

  A door marked Executive Director's Office looked a good place to start. A pretty young secretary, looking up at me, said, "Oh, another reporter. This freshwater shrimp thing is taking off. You're number five this morning."

  "No, I'm not here for the shrimp. Susan Weems is expecting me. We have an appointment."

  "I'll check for you, sir. Your name?"

  "Leicester, from the Mississippi State Fisheries."

  She went through a side door, and was gone for about five minutes. Upon returning, she said, "Follow me, Mr. Leicester. Miss Weems is waiting in the conference room."

  Susan Weems was seated at a long table. She did not acknowledge my presence; instead she studied a sheet of paper lying on the table. Guy was right, she was a strikingly beautiful woman. Her reddish brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Her face had the sharp features of the western Indians, the skin deeply tanned, and she had wide, deep-set, green eyes.

  "Miss Weems?"

  There was a silence, deep and oppressive, then I watched her raise her chin – that smug movement which expressed her right to make her own judgment about the man standing before her. She looked through me, like I wasn't there. Then she stared directly into my eyes. Vickey and Guy were correct; this woman had a pair of truly evil eyes. But I had dealt with evil eyes before.

  "Sit down, Mr. Leicester. I'm curious as to what it is that you really want?"

  "We'd like to know why you left the lab on Cat Island. It isn't reflected in our paperwork and, as I've said, our funding is coming up. We want to insure that we have the answers to any questions that may be raised by members of the committee. I'm sure you understand."

  The beginning of a movement rippled through her body; for a moment I thought she might reach across the table and slap me. A slight smile formed on the right side of her face. It was one of those partial smiles that said a hundred things.

  She placed both hands on the table, fingers splayed, nails changing color from pink to white. "I understand this, you're no more working for the State Fisheries than I'm working for Fidel Castro. You've got ten seconds before I call security."

  Continuing the bluff, I said, "I assure you that I'm working for…"

  "That's enough." She stood, slammed her right hand on the table. Her eyes narrowed
and I could not define their expression. It was both veiled and purposeful, the look of something hidden that defied detection. "I called the fisheries this morning. They have never heard of you."

  It was time to play it straight. A primary characteristic of successful women is their ability to deal quickly with the lingering stupidities of men. The brilliant ones can accomplish it so unctuously that they could sever your head without bruising the ego. But not this lady, she went straight for the heart with a serrated blade.

  When it comes to women, there are two kinds of men. Those who talk about women, and those who talk to women. I detest the former. Through hard experience, I've learned straight conversation erases the differences between the sexes and results in an equal exchange of information.

  "I'm a private investigator working for Anna Yillah. Her life's been threatened again."

  Susan sat down hard in the chair. "Is she alright?"

  It was concern, genuine concern, and it surprised me.

  "Yes, she's fine, for the moment."

  "Tell me everything. I'll help any way that I can."

  She could shift from hot to cold, from hard anger to pitiable sweet concern. I wanted to get her away from this room, to a place of common ground. "Is there some place we can have lunch and talk?"

  "Give me half an hour. I'll meet you in the lobby."

  We sat in the restaurant overlooking the Gulf of Mexico. The wind was calm, the ocean flat and smooth, but with an oily, milky look. The bright sun glinted off microscopic particles of glass in the sand, making the beach seem strewn with millions of tiny diamonds.

  I looked across the table at her – handsome face, ponytail spilling over the back of a turtleneck sweater. She rested her chin on folded fingers. The eyes had lessened their dangerous stare to one of careful examination. Reticent to talk about why she left Cat Island, she kept turning the conversation toward Anna. How was she doing? How were her looks? Had she started plastic surgery?

  "Susan, someone has threatened to kill Anna. I take that seriously. Unless you convince me otherwise, you're at the head of my list of suspects."

  Watching her face intently, I saw no sign of pain in the sharp stoic features of her expression. It was evident that whatever was between Susan Weems and Anna Yillah had been hard on her. The evil, lanceolate eyes had lost a lifetime of light.

  "Why do you think I would want to kill her?"

  "You worked on the shark repellent project with her, for her. Maybe you were jealous because she would get all the recognition if the repellent proved successful. Maybe you two had men trouble. You were there, you left under suspicious and untimely circumstances, and you're dodging my questions like a guilty person."

  She took a deep breath, sank down in the booth, looked deep into my eyes, probing, deciding. Then she told me. Susan Weems was in love with Anna Yillah, had been since college. It got to the point she could no longer hold it in. Anna responded by saying that she was sorry, but she could never be that way. After it had been said, there was no way Susan could continue on the island. Anna tried to get her to stay, saying they could forget what happened, continue working together. But Susan couldn't stay that close to Anna. It was too embarrassing. She took the first opening that presented itself, here in Galveston. She still loved Anna, but resigned herself to the way things were. She could not bring herself to go see Anna in the hospital, and that was hard.

  We talked for over an hour about their work on Cat Island, the experiments with the toxin, and other scientist who had worked with them. Susan seemed at a loss as to why Anna thought that the shark attack had been purposeful. It was too outrageous. Nor could she think of anyone who would want to harm her.

  Dropping Susan off at the research lab, I said that she might be able to help me with the scientific material. She gave me numbers where she could be reached. She watched me drive away, the expression on her face was held to the soft hint of a smile, set and suggested, like the hopelessness of her love for Anna Yillah. She was a nice person, not the eerie ogre she pretended to be. But still…

  * * *

  The five o'clock shuttle to New Orleans was like sardines in a can. It is hard to believe designers can get six seats across in a Boeing 737. If one was taller than five foot five or weighted over a hundred and twenty pounds, it was a miserable ride.

  Back in Gulfport, I called Guy from the airport and asked if he'd pick me up. He arrived shortly and we went back to Picaroon. I told him about Susan Weems and her attraction for Anna. He was astounded. He had no inkling.

  We sat in the cockpit and shared a bottle of Freixenet. The wind was calm, the tide out, and a putrid odor of decaying fish permeated the air in the marina. Laughter and cigarette smoke drifted over from the casino boat.

  "I'm glad Susan Weems was not responsible for the threats," Guy said, leaning on the combing. "You got any other ideas?"

  "Not at the moment."

  "I've got an early court date. Let me know if there's anything I can do."

  Watching Guy drive away, I thought that I was not entirely sure about Susan Weems.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  After Guy left, I sat in the cockpit sipping on the wine, listening to the muffled sounds of the marina. The night was dark, the wind calm. Breathing deeply of the stale, oily air, I thought about the meeting with Susan Weems. She had sent my mind spinning into a murky whirlpool, forming the concepts of yin and yang, good and evil, crime and punishment, life and death.

  Susan Weems had motive, knew the layout of the island, and was eccentric enough to be a little out of balance with reason. Yet the premise of somehow causing a shark to attack a specific target in the open ocean was incomprehensible.

  As a judge of people, I have always been pretty good. Susan seemed genuinely concerned about Anna, though not enough to visit her after the near fatal attack. Her story of unrequited love was believable up to a point. She was a strange lady, and I needed to get to know her a lot better. Doing that would be the problem.

  Keeping my promise to call Anna via radio tonight, I went below and tuned the single-sideband to channel sixteen. Anna answered on the first call. We switched to a discrete frequency, and I explained about the papers Guy had brought to the boat. She wanted to know if I had been in contact with Susan. I answered truthfully, telling her we would discuss it tomorrow when I came out to the island. She insisted on knowing what took place, but I said goodnight and switched off the radio.

  Pulling the half-empty bottle of Freixenet from the cooler, I poured myself another glass. Scanning the ship's library, I thought to read something, anything to take my mind off this whole Anna Yillah thing for awhile. Guy was a voracious reader, and kept the boat well stocked with the usual nautical texts, plus a good cross-section of American literature. Glancing at some of the titles, I saw Alone Around the World, by Slocum; Incredible Voyage, by Jones; Blue Water, by Griffith; Kon-Tiki, by Heyerdahl; Survive the Savage Sea, by Robertson. A collection of worn paperbacks by Faulkner, Hemingway, Steinbeck, and Fitzgerald. A book of poetry by Robert Frost. A few contemporary authors, Majure, McGuane, Harrison, Foote, Hanna, Welty, and a small volume of short stories by a local writer, who I had heard of, but not read. I thumbed through the small book, titled, The Old Guitarist and Collected Stories.

  Taking the champagne and small volume of short stories topside, I sat in the cockpit with my back to the finger pier that ran alongside Picaroon. The light from the pole at the end of the dock gave off enough illumination by which to read. In doing so, I made a rookie mistake. With my back to the pier, anyone could walk up without me seeing them, and they did.

  The voice startled me. Jumping and turning at the same time, I caught sight of a pair of blue deck shoes. My champagne glass careened over the side, making a dull plop as it hit the water.

  "I'm sorry," a familiar voice said. "I didn't mean to scare you."

  It was Susan Weems.

  "It's okay," I said, willing the adrenaline from by bloodstream. "What are you doing here?"
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  "After you left this afternoon, I thought there should be some way I could help you solve whatever is going on with Anna."

  "How did you find me?"

  "Guy Robbins."

  "I see." Mr. Robbins had some explaining to do.

  "I took the next flight to New Orleans, then had to drive over from there. Are you going to invite me aboard?"

  Reaching out a hand, I helped her into the cockpit. She jumped on deck with the litheness of a panther. She had my attention. I would make no more mistakes with her.

  "Would you like something to drink?"

  "Yes, that would be wonderful," she said looking around at the boat for the first time. "A Colvin Archer design, forty feet, I'd guess."

  "Right on both counts."

  Handing her a glass of champagne, we settled into the cockpit. My back was not to the finger pier.

  "Did you and Anna go to high school together?"

  "No, we met at Stanford, quite by accident when we were assigned to room together. Her family was of Polynesian descent; I'm of European extraction. The two groups didn't mix well in the Bay area; each thought they owned the Pacific Ocean. I guess the college thought it would be good for us to get to know each other."

  This was the same story Anna told me. Susan Weems was not lying, at least so far.

  "You've made a long trip, Susan. Your concern for Anna and the offer to help is appreciated. However, I work alone. It's an old habit acquired a long time ago."

  She looked at me with blazing eyes. Tension stretched the shape of her mouth on her motionless face, a sensual shape drawn in lines of anger. "You asked for my help."

  "On scientific matters, yes. But your assistance could have been done via e-mail, or over the phone. Now, I question your motive. You might be using this as an excuse to get close to Anna again. It's not going to work, not with me, at any rate."

  She threw her champagne glass at my head. It caught the side of my ear, tumbled into the harbor. Tears welled up in her eyes. There was no evil in them now. She stood with fists clinched, trembling, looking at me silently and it was an odd look, as if from a great distance. Then she sat down, put her face in her hands, the long reddish hair flowed over her head and shook like a rippling flag in a stiff breeze as sobs racked her body. I waited for her to cry it out.