Deceived (15 page)

Chapter thirty-five

Sam had only one place to go: the public library. Not a regular there, he wondered why people bothered during the summer when the beach beckoned. He instantly knew the answer when he stepped inside: air conditioning so cold Sam instantly felt chilled.

The petite gray-haired librarian had her black sweater snuggly clasped around her. Adorned with bright neon beach umbrellas, the sweater reached well below her waist, which was cinched with a bright turquoise fabric belt that matched her dress. On her nose sat bifocals as if they were a permanent fixture, just as she must have been at that front desk for decades.

Looking up from her computer, the librarian gasped when she saw Sam. She reached for the phone.

Sam painfully lunged at her hand before she could press a button.

“Please. It’s not what you think.” Sam was breathless. “I swear I won’t hurt you or anyone in here! I’m a cop.”

Sam felt for his wallet. Gone. Toothless was thorough. But not quite thorough enough. Sam held himself as straight as he could.

“I need to get online.”

The librarian, whose name badge read Libby, cocked her head sideways, then shrugged. “Are you sure you shouldn’t be at the hospital?”

“I promise I will go there next. Right now, I just need a computer.”

Sam looked around, but he recognized none of the faces. They wouldn’t think to look in here. But then again, they probably had other places to go. Sam just needed to know where to look.

Libby the Librarian got up from her seat and walked slowly with Sam to the back of the library. Off to the left was a
Carolina Room
filled with bookcases of books, maps, charts, and other reference material about the state. To the right was a small glassed-in room with a row of ten computers sitting on long tables. They were situated back-to-back, cables jumbled and tumbling, and all attached to the same spot on the floor with matching blue cables.

Thank goodness for DSL
, Sam thought as he surveyed the other three computer users: a teenage boy with a really bad case of acne smeared on his face like grape jelly, a high school-aged mother with her sleeping baby close by in a stroller, and a man Sam tagged to be in his sixties, wearing what were probably his favorite clothes from his days in a hippie commune.

When Hippie looked up to see who had entered his presence, Sam felt the man’s eyes drinking him in from head to toe; then he coolly looked away as if Sam were just another patron, despite his ragged appearance.

Nobody except Libby the Librarian seemed to notice or care that Sam was battered.

Libby excused herself and soon returned with a wet rag for Sam’s face and a cup of tepid water.

Sam settled in a chair and familiarized himself with the login sheet taped to the frame of the monitor. In a few seconds, he was googling the United States Coast Guard. Two frames later, he was at the Vessel Documentation page.

The screen asked for “Vessel Name.” Sam typed in
Firefly
, one of the boat names from Lee’s matrix.
A long list of boat owners coveting the name as their own would be dismayed to see how unoriginal they were,
Sam thought.

In an easily read grid, each boat by that name had the owner’s registration information: name, address, port of record, and renewal information. Bingo.

Second search:
Moonglow
, the other boat listed on the matrix. Bingo, again.

One
Firefly
and one
Moonglow
in Carolina Beach. One belonging to Andrew J. Keller and the other to a Mister Michael E. Smith. And both boats without current documentation. Shame on them.

Sam hastily thanked Libby the Librarian and assured her he was on his way to a doc-in-a-box as he passed her desk on the way out.

Chapter thirty-six

The Coast Guard Station was not very far from the library. Nothing was far in Carolina Beach.

Sam’s lower backside was feeling a little less tender as he drove the short distance, silently hoping Libby the Librarian would forgive him for passing on the doctor visit at this moment.

Pulling into the parking lot, Sam paused.
How deep does it go, this mess? Are the Coasties in on it, too?
Only one way to find out.

Sam slowly climbed the building’s three steps, each one reminding his stiff, hurting legs how to work. Hesitating, he pulled open the glass door to the station.

Joshua Mattingly, a.k.a. Hoops, was leaning back in his chair throwing an orange Nerf basketball into a small plastic hoop on the room’s far wall. He closely resembled Cuba Gooding, Jr., and had on more than one occasion used his movie-star looks to hit on the ladies.

Finishing up his two-pointer shot, Joshua swung around in his chair to face Sam.

“Sam-Man, you’re a wreck. Somebody’s boyfriend find you?”

“Something like that, Hoops.” Sam didn’t want to go into the story. “I came across something I thought you might like to know about. Could earn you some recognition with the ladies and all.”

Joshua leaned forward. He was all about getting recognition and time with the ladies. He thought joining the Coast Guard would be his ticket for sweet mamas falling for a man-in-uniform and all that, but after six years, he was disappointed with the returns.

“Speak.”

“I saw these two really hot boats and was wondering who owned them.”

“You in the market for a new boat?” Hoops interrupted. He was known as the Deal Man around the beach, always buying and selling cars, boats, bikes.

“Well,” lied Sam, “I didn’t think I was. But these two boats were moored out near where I was one afternoon. Both of these boats…well, I guess I can tell you. There were hotties draping themselves all over both of these boats, man. I was hoping to get invited to the party, you know what I’m saying, but that didn’t work. So I came up with a plan. I’d meet the owners and get invited to their next gig. You know how boaters are. There’s always a party. I figured if the boats went out again, the babes would, too.”

Hoops grinned. “You’re gonna get you some, bro. May I come along to partake in the next part-ey?”

Got him.

“Sure. All we need to do is to find the owners. Both had Carolina Beach hailing ports. One was called
Moonglow
; the other was
Firefly
.”

“
Moonglow? Firefly
? What’s next,
Tinkerbell
?” Hoops tilted his computer screen so Sam could read it over his shoulder and motioned for Sam to come around the desk. “Let’s see what we see.”

Hoops did a quick search in his database, and within seconds, he had both files pulled up.

“I love days like today,” Hoops said with extreme satisfaction and a toothy smile to match.

“Why do you say that?” Sam played along.

“The two boats you saw. Their documentation is not current. Over here in this column, I can see they are not registered with the state, either. So that, my friend, is a big fat non-compliance fee per boat.”

“Really? I had no idea,” said Sam.

“Yep. So do yourself a favor, Sam-Man, and stay current.”

Hoops printed out a short report, including all the contact information on
Moonglow
and
Firefly
’s owners
.
As he looked at the names again, he screwed up his face.

“Andrew J. Keller and Michael E. Smith. Mike? Andy Keller? These guys are on your team, Sam-Man. What’s up with that?”

“I guess I wasn’t invited to their party. A pity, really. Sorry to hear they’re not staying current as law-abiding boaters.” Sam worked Hoops back on course. “Now what are you going to do about it?”

“Never had to mess with guys I know before.” Hoops scratched his head. “But in most other cases, we send them a warning letter, then go arrest them, if we can find them.”

“Oh. Well, maybe in this case, since they’re friends, you could go talk to them in person and see what happens,” Sam suggested. “I guess we won’t be partying anytime soon. See you later, Hoops.”

Sam walked as straight and steady toward the door as he could manage. A visit to an urgent care center might not be a bad idea after all.

“Just a minute, Sam-Man. You can come along for the ride. Maybe if you talk to them first, they’ll send in their documentation forms before I have to act.”

Hoops rose from his chair, called to an unseen person behind a door next to his basketball hoop affixed to the wall, and walked with Sam to the door.

Sam noted that Hoops had a radio on his belt. “No gun?”

“Don’t think we’ll be needing one for Mike and Andy; do you?” Hoops seemed sincere.

“I think I’ll take my car, Hoops. I’ll follow you.” Sam lagged a step behind.

“Suit yourself…. That your ride? Sweet, Sam-Man. Whenever you’re ready to sell that tasty-looking little blue ’Stang, you call me, hear?”

“Will do, Hoops. Will do.”

Sam followed Hoops’ aging pale blue Lincoln Continental with the Coast Guard decals all over it, a sure sign the government wasn’t funding this esteemed arm of law enforcement. At least not this station in Carolina Beach.

Ever since the 9/11 tragedy, the Guard’s duties had shifted. Debate raged locally about the providence of homeland security versus keeping Carolina Beach the quaint beach town it had always been, with Coasties just part of the scenery. Several of Hoops’ mates were reassigned to other stations, other duties, other cutters…wherever they were needed to fight terrorism. Such reassignments left Hoops’ station short-handed and short-funded.

For some unknown reason, Hoops had managed to stay attached to the local station for all these years. Sam guessed it was because of his dealing ability: he could get the station just about anything it needed or wanted. Plus, Hoops wasn’t afraid to chase a bad guy to play the hero role.

Sam was happy to oblige, allowing Hoops to take the lead in the quest for two
document
dodgers
.

Chapter thirty-seven

Carolina Shores is one of those neighborhoods you wouldn’t think existed. Turn off the main drag through town and onto Martin Drive and a canopy of shimmering leaves engulfs your car. Dappled sunlight plays on stately white stucco homes with red tiled roofs shaded by more pin oaks than you might expect to see in a beach town. Neon hibiscuses surround courtyards with gurgling fountains. Lawns of green give way to docks on canals that lead to the open water. And civility reigns supreme in Carolina Shores. Or at least appears to.

Carolina Shores was one of many annexations for the town proper, and it showed. It was one of the first neighborhoods to have underground utilities, all of them, and neat sidewalks, something few off-street neighborhoods had.

Mike Smith said he made a ton of money in real estate, thus he could afford to live in this neighborhood. His story was he’d gotten in before the prices went through the roof, before Carolina Beach had been discovered. Sam thought Mike must have bought when he was in diapers since the beach was the beach. Everyone wanted to live there.

Sam had been here a few times for cookouts, but he had not seen a boat before. That, he would have remembered. Perhaps it was a new acquisition. Sam was going to find out.

Sam parked behind Hoops, who parked behind Mike’s white patrol SUV. Sam slowly followed Hoops up the manicured walkway, then veered off to the right toward the canal side of the house. Hoops followed.

“What’s up?”

“Just seeing if the boat is here…. Maybe Mike sold it.” Sam stalled. “Go ring the bell. I’ll be right there.”

Hoops did as he was told and headed back to the walkway toward the front door.

Sam peered into every window along the canal side of the house. No occupants. Everything seemed to be in place, from the large screen television in the living room to the tidy kitchen complete with espresso machine on the counter. Espresso…now that should say something about the man’s tastes.

On the canal sat a ten-by-ten square foot dock complete with benches on either side of it. Under one bench was a yellow and white bait bucket and a small clear plastic case of fishing weights and hooks. Leaning up against the house, Sam saw a ribbed bottom dinghy, rough and battered, but inflated. Ready. There was no large boat at the dock.

“Nobody home, Homey,” Hoops called to Sam as he rounded the house. “Would you look at that view? Mikey’s got it made, Sam-Man. I didn’t think you guys made much more than us.”

Sam glanced briefly at the fluorescent yellow-green marsh grass lining the far side of the canal.
Good fishing in here
, he imagined.
Too bad I won’t have time to enjoy it
.

“We don’t, Hoops. At least not all of us do.” Sam walked toward the dinghy. “Hoops, if you were going to go sailing, wouldn’t you take your dink?”

“Depends on how far I planned on going. If I were to go a cruising, I would take it. If I were just out and about for a day sail, probably not. How about you? Do you have a dink?”

“I’m in need of one, actually. You think this would fit in your car?”

“Whoa, Sam-Man. I am not into borrowing like that.”

“Even if your ‘friend’ forgot to register his dink as well as his big boat?” Sam pointed to the inflated pontoons that were clear of any registration stickers. “I just need to borrow it to get back on board my own boat.”

“Small boats don’t need to be registered if there’s no motor involved.”

Sam pointed to the small outboard motor leaning up against the wall.

“You get the front,” Hoops conceded. “How come you can’t get to your boat? I thought you were in the town marina.”

“Long story. The short answer is I was out sailing and night came. I anchored and hitched a ride back in with a friend. Since then, I’ve been so busy I haven’t had a chance to get back aboard.” Sam felt sure his live-aboard status wasn’t known to Hoops.

“Well, as long as you’re just borrowing Mikey’s dink, I’m cool with that. Wonder where he is? I guess I’ll drive by Andy’s house. If he’s not there, I’ll start the paperwork.”

Sam and Hoops wrestled the dinghy on top of Hoops’ car and tied the inflatable fast. Sam went back for the motor, disregarding Hoops’ raised eyebrows. Sam gave him directions, and the two started for the Causeway Bridge in Wrightsville Beach. Sam hadn’t been back to his boat in three days. He hoped it was still there.