Vane Pursuit Page 10

  Helen was quite sure they hadn’t seen her. As soon as she’d realized what was going on, she’d ducked back down into the pit. The narrow cabin windows were filmed with oil and salt. She and Cat had shut the cabin door behind them when they went in, the natural reaction of two averagely modest, middle-aged women in close quarters with a boatload of strange young men. Crewcut had probably counted on their doing so. The automatic gesture might have saved their lives, at least for the moment, but it had certainly provided an opportunity for Eustace to be robbed of his.

  Now what to do? Stall for time and pray, was the best plan Helen could come up with. Say nothing to Cat or Iduna, assuming the latter had actually managed to sleep through a murder that was being committed practically under her nose.

  If Crewcut had meant to kill her and her friends right off, surely he’d have kept the weapon with which he’d struck Eustace. Maybe he was planning to take them hostage, though Helen couldn’t imagine why.

  Well, there was only one way to find out. Helen waited till Catriona emerged from the cuddy, then opened the cabin door and walked ahead of her into the cockpit.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Naturally Catriona McBogle was surprised to find one of the passengers at the wheel. “Where’s Eustace?” she asked him.

  “Up front looking for whales,” he grunted.

  “What front? You mean that dinky little foredeck? In this weather? He must be crazy. Eustace! Ahoy! Come back here, you old coot.”

  She craned her neck forward into the gray mist that wasn’t yet opaque but was thick enough to coat everything with slippery wetness. “Where is he? I don’t see him.”

  “Then perhaps you’d like to go look for him.”

  That was the man with the crewcut. Without losing his amiable smile, he got up from the bench and grabbed Catriona by the wrists. The man who’d been sitting next to him snatched her ankles. Seeming to enjoy the woman’s struggles and yells of outrage, they swept her off her feet and began swinging her back and forth like a couple of teenage rowdies clowning at the beach.

  There was no time left to play it cool. Helen flew at the men, kicking, screaming, beating at them with her fists. Not to be left out of the fun, the remaining two sprang up and gave Helen the same treatment. Counting in unison, “One… two… three,” the two hoodlums gave their captives three last, mighty swings and sent them flying over the side, into the ice-cold water.

  Helen and Catriona came up close together, sputtering and gasping. Something else hurtled toward them, came down, and bobbed on the water. It was, incredibly, the picnic hamper. Then came a splash like the breaching of a whale, and Iduna was beside them.

  “I heaved the hamper overboard and jumped in after it,” she told her friends calmly. “Thought I might as well save those hooligans a hernia, not that they deserve any consideration after the way they treated you. Here, girls, take hold of me. I’m good as a lifeboat any day.”

  It was true. Iduna’s weight kept her bobbing on the surface like an inflated balloon. “Undo my sash, one of you. We’ll tie ourselves and the hamper together the way mountain climbers do. That way we won’t get separated.”

  That way they’d make an easier target, Helen thought. Rifle bullets were hitting the water all too near them. Then she realized the men weren’t shooting at them, but at a whale that was coming up fast astern.

  “They’re trying to get that whale angry so it will come after us,” she gurgled as she struggled with the wet knot at Iduna’s waist.

  “Damned fools.” Catriona had captured the picnic basket and brought it up to their human raft. “Do they think whales are stupid?”

  This one certainly wasn’t. Sweeping past the pathetic little flotilla without a sideward look, the great beast headed straight for the Ethelbert Nevin. They could hear the yells, more shots, and a burst of speed as the murderous quintet tried to outrun a whale. The water that had gone dead calm with the onset of the fog was in a roil from the wakes of the boat and its dire pursuer. Iduna and the hamper floated with the waves; Helen and Catriona perforce went along for the ride.

  They wouldn’t be able to stay alive for long. Maine waters were too cold, Helen was thinking quite dispassionately as she tied one end of the long sash to Iduna’s wrist, passed it through the handle of the picnic basket and then around Catriona’s arm. Already her fingers were stiffening. She had a hard time making the knots secure. She saved her own till last because she, as the smallest and slimmest, would be first to go. They could untie her and let her sink. She didn’t want Peter to see her all bloated and waterlogged. He’d be upset enough without that.

  “Okay, Marsh, I’ll do you.”

  Catriona had taken the sash from her. Helen could feel it going around her wrist, being pulled tight. Too tight. The circulation would be cut off. What difference did it make?

  “Come on, Marsh! Kick your legs, move your arms. Get the old corpuscles racing.”

  Cat must be noticing what was happening to her, trying to make it not happen. Good old Cat. Helen attempted a few kicks. Her wet sneakers felt like divers’ weights. The arms worked a little better, for a while.

  She didn’t remember giving up. She didn’t remember much of anything until she began to feel her feet. They hurt like pins and needles, only much worse than when she sat at home reading with Jane Austen sleeping on her feet till the feet went to sleep also and had to be waked up again.

  Her face hurt, too. That was because somebody was slapping it, shouting at her.

  “Marsh! Come on, Marsh, wake up!”

  “Umh.” Helen turned her head to avoid another blow. “Stop it, Cat. I’m all right.”

  “You could have fooled us there a few minutes ago. Here, drink this.”

  That was Iduna, holding something to her lips. Whisky? Bourbon? Spiced rum? Helen didn’t know and she didn’t care. It burned and she could feel it, really feel it all the way down. She tried to sit up and realized she could.

  “All better. I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t cause you too much trouble.”

  “Oh, shut up, you old idiot.”

  Cat was hugging her. Cat’s arms were soaking wet. They were all wet, and cold, and no doubt slightly hysterical. Except Iduna. Iduna was passing out paper napkins from the picnic basket to dry their hands on, and sandwiches still appetizing in their individual ziplocked plastic bags.

  “The quicker we eat, the better. The calories will warm us up. Helen, I know you don’t like sugar in your coffee but I’m giving it to you anyway. You need it.”

  “If you say so, Iduna.” Helen drank meekly from the plastic cup, then bit into her sandwich. Ham and cheese. Lots of body-building protein. “Where are we?” she asked with her mouth full, “and how did we get here?”

  “Same answer to both questions,” Catriona replied. “Damned if I know. That nice whale saved us, making all those waves. We were just lucky enough to get washed up on one of the islands. It would, of course, have made a better story if the whale had carried us here on its back.”

  “I was the nice whale. Nothing like a few extra inches of blubber in a pinch.” Iduna complacently helped herself to another sandwich. “My, these taste good, Cat. Good thing that hamper has a plastic lining. I was scared stiff the water would get in, but everything stayed dry as a bone, which I sure wish I was, myself, right now. I think what we’d better do is rig my raincoat for a lean-to, if we can find anything to hang it on, and scout ourselves up some driftwood for a fire. The sooner we get warmed up and dried out, the better we’ll feel in the morning.”

  “Whatever you say, Captain.” Helen’s voice was choked. She realized to her surprise that she’d been crying all the time she’d been eating. “Sorry I’m being such a sissy.”

  “Oh, shut up,” said Catriona. “It’s just delayed reaction from the shock of getting pitched overboard into ice water.”

  “And not having meat enough on your bones to grease a griddle with,” Iduna added just a bit smugly.

  “I think it’s mostly fro
m having watched those men murder Eustace and throw him overboard while you were in the John, Cat, and Iduna was asleep.”

  Helen was surprised she could say it so calmly, but after what had subsequently happened to herself and the others, she didn’t suppose any of them could be much affected by the boatman’s gruesome death. Iduna went on eating her sandwich. Catriona expressed only professional interest.

  “How did they do it?”

  “The smiley one with the crewcut hit him over the head from behind. I’m not sure what with—it looked like a short stick or a piece of pipe.”

  “Billy club with a lead weight, maybe. Then what?”

  “Then he grabbed Eustace around the chest and that one who had you by the ankles took his feet and they chucked him overboard. Just the way they did you and me, only not so—playfully.”

  She took another fit of shuddering. Iduna poured her a little more coffee.

  “Get this into you, Helen, then I think we’d better find that driftwood before everything gets too damp to burn. I wonder how big a place we’re on? There might even be a house.”

  There wasn’t. Their haven was only an islet, not more than an acre overall, if that. They found not a single tree, but there were a few scrubby bushes that might serve after a fashion for their shelter. At least there was no scarcity of driftwood, nor were matches a problem. Cat’s slicker pocket yielded a waterproof matchsafe as well as a jackknife they could use to trim back the shrubs into a shape that would accommodate Iduna’s raincoat.

  “Guthrie Fingal gave me these,” she told them. “He says nobody should ever go anywhere without a knife and some matches. I thought he was being funny, but he swore there’d come a time when I’d be darned glad I had them. That’s the one thing I can’t stand about Guthrie, he always winds up being right.”

  “If he’s so smart, how come he didn’t give you a folding canoe?” What with the food, the exercise, the fire warming her bones and drying her clothes, Helen was getting her spirits back. “Has it occurred to either of you to wonder how we’ll ever get off this rock?”

  “Not to worry, Marsh. Another kindly whale will befriend us. Maybe that one who was giving Iduna the eye while we were on the boat will come back. Darn, I wish I hadn’t mentioned the boat. It makes me remember poor old Eustace. “

  Iduna hadn’t abandoned her role as chief comforter. “Maybe he was only stunned, and the water brought him to.”

  “To where, for instance? Eustace had no picnic basket to lean on, and I doubt very much whether he’d ever swum a stroke in his life. You’d be surprised how many fishermen can’t. They get enough of the water just being on top of it. I feel I ought to apologize for landing you two in this mess.”

  “How could you possibly have known it was going to turn out like this?” Helen retorted. “We were just as keen on coming as you were. And we did get to see some whales. I didn’t mean to sound pessimistic just now. Surely somebody will come looking for us sooner or later.”

  “Oh, yes. Once the fog lifts, word will get around that the Ethelbert Nevin hasn’t come back and the Coast Guard will begin searching the channels. What concerns me, I have to say, is whether those birds who stole the boat might come back to make sure we really drowned.”

  “They won’t,” Iduna reassured her. “They’re in a big hurry to get to Paraguay.”

  “Paraguay? In that old tub of Eustace’s?”

  “That’s what they stole it for.”

  “Do you mean they joined the whale watch on purpose to hijack the Ethelbert Nevin?”

  “Of course. Why do you think they brought all that luggage with them?”

  “But that’s totally insane. Who do they think they are, the Owl and the Pussycat? And why Paraguay? Paraguay isn’t even reachable by water. Is it?”

  “Down around the coast of Brazil to Uruguay, then up the Paraná River through quite a lot of Argentina,” said Helen. “They must be out of their minds. How did you get on to Paraguay, Iduna?”

  “Easy enough. Do you remember Mr. Bjornstern, who had my downstairs bedroom?”

  “That sweet old man with the big white mustache he used to tie up in his napkin so it wouldn’t drag in his soup? How could we forget? What about Mr. Bjornstern?”

  “He was deaf, you know.”

  “Yes, I remember. We all paralyzed our larynxes screaming at him, then we discovered we could communicate just as well by simply mouthing the words and letting him read our lips.”

  “That’s right. After you two left, I taught some of my other boarders the same trick. I had so much fun watching those conversations with everybody talking and nobody making any noise that I got pretty good at reading lips myself. So when I happened to notice what that fellow with the map was talking about, I decided I’d better go on making believe I was asleep and keep watch on what they were saying. Did you know you’ve been kept under surveillance for the past two months, Helen?”

  “Me? You’re joking. Whatever for?”

  “On account of the weather vanes. That’s what they’re going to Paraguay for. As far as I could make out, they’ve got some crazy billionaire down there who collects antique weather vanes, and they’re on their way to deliver a few that they’ve stolen.”

  “Praxiteles Lumpkin’s weather vanes? I can’t believe this! Where do they have them cached, did they say?”

  “Right on the boat. That’s why they had those big cases with them.”

  “But how could they?”

  “Easily enough, I should think,” said Catriona. “They’d have dismantled them and just packed the design part and the crisscross thing with the letters on it. The hardware that held them on to the roofs wouldn’t be all that important to a collector, I shouldn’t think.”

  “I suppose you’re right. My God! That might have been a piece from one of the weather vanes he killed Eustace with. But this means we may still have a fighting chance of getting the weather vanes back. Surely the Coast Guard shouldn’t have any trouble picking up the Ethelbert Nevin.”

  “Unless the whale caught up with her first.”

  Catriona realized she’d been tactless again. “What’s far more likely is that they’ve piled up on another of these little islands in the fog. They’ll be picked up like sitting ducks, weather vanes and all. You’ll be a heroine, Marsh.”

  “A poor apology for one,” Helen retorted. “You two are the heroines.”

  “Blah. Tell you what, let’s all be heroines. I wouldn’t mind another slurp of that coffee, but I expect we’d better save it for tomorrow’s breakfast. Likewise the rest of the sandwiches. It may be a while before we’re picked up, and there’s no sense going hungry in the meantime. What else do you have in the basket, Iduna?”

  “There’s that lemonade you and I never got around to drinking yesterday, Helen. I forgot to empty out the other thermos. No reason why it shouldn’t be fit to drink. Too bad we haven’t a pan to heat it in, we could have hot lemonade and cookies for a bedtime snack. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. I’m just darn glad to be where I am instead of—”

  She got control of her voice and went on briskly. “I left those oatmeal cookies in on purpose. I thought they might go kind of good on the boat. Here, Cat, try one of these, and a little lemonade. You’ll have to use the same cup, we’ve only got three. Too bad I didn’t think about bringing a jug of drinking water, but we’ve got oranges and grapes. They ought to help some.”

  Catriona put another piece of driftwood on the fire. It blazed up with magical blue and emerald and crimson and scarlet glints among the orange-yellow flames. Orange, Helen thought, the color of Hestia, goddess of the hearth. Home was where you hung your raincoat.

  She sat between her two friends, watching the fire, nibbling at Iduna’s wholesome cookie, sipping her small tot of lukewarm lemonade. After a while, Catriona began to sing another one of her old songs, a tune she’d found first in a John Buchan thriller and later in one of her grandmother’s gospel music books.

  “ ‘On the oth
er side of Jordan in the sweet fields of Eden, where the tree of life is blooming, there is rest for you.’”

  Helen joined in, then Iduna. “ ‘There is rest for the weary, there is rest for the weary, there is rest for the weary, there is rest for you.’”

  Such is the resilience of the human spirit. They were having a singalong, here on an unknown lump of rock in the middle of nowhere. The fog was thick enough by now to cut with a knife, but who cared? They were snug, huddled under their bush with Iduna’s raincoat bouncing the heat from the fire back to warm them all over and make them forget their clothes still hadn’t dried. And probably never would, until they could get back where there was fresh water to rinse the salt out.

  They were sheltered, they were fed, they were together, they were alive. For now, that was enough. They sang on and on: sweet songs, funny songs, rousing songs, college songs, silly songs. No sad songs, they’d had misery enough for one day. Iduna was a really good mezzo-soprano; she’d been soloist in her church choir back in South Dakota. Cat’s voice wasn’t much, but her repertoire was tremendous. Helen could at least carry a tune. Their attempts at harmonizing might not have struck all that euphoniously on a trained ear, but there was nobody to listen except perhaps for a whale or two.

  And a flickering gray wraith that stole up toward their rainbow-colored campfire and stood watching them through the leaping flames.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN