Port Starbird (Storm Ketchum Adventures) (9 page)

He followed Mick at a discreet distance, just closely enough to keep him in sight most of the time. Just like a real detective, he thought. He didn't have to use his headlights since it wasn't dark yet, so that should also help him escape Mick's notice. They continued on up through Waves, through Rodanthe, and beyond toward Oregon Inlet. The next major settlement
on 12 after the inlet would be Nags Head. If it was a girl, he hoped she was worth the ride and the gas; if a job, ditto, but Mick might not have a choice in that case. The Nags Head area was more populous than where they'd come from, so naturally there'd be more work available there; and everyone has to eat.

As they
began crossing the elongated, elevated Oregon Inlet bridge, which was officially named the Bonner Bridge if Ketch recalled correctly, the sun was dropping lower in the sky and he was struck as always by the glorious, panoramic views of the inlet, the ocean, the sound, and the adjacent marshlands afforded by the bridge. This was a beautiful place, and it remained virtually pristine even in these modern times. The Pea Island marsh refuge precluded development on the sound side of the Hatteras Island terminus of the bridge, but there was also no development here on the ocean side because inlets were geologically an even more unstable environment than the barrier islands they separated.

T
he inlets of the Outer Banks of necessity had to be considered transitory formations. The beach erosion and migration that constantly occurred on barrier islands was exacerbated near inlets, since they provided a direct pathway for beach sand to travel from the ocean side to the estuarine side of the island, helping to more or less maintain the width of the island but significantly contributing to the island's inexorable creep toward the mainland; so shorelines and depths could fluctuate. A Banks inlet itself also gradually migrated south over time, this particular one on the order of about two feet a year.

On top of
all that, one good storm and everything could change quickly and sometimes drastically. New inlets could be created, and old ones could disappear. Oregon Inlet, for example, hadn't existed until 1846, when a powerful hurricane separated Bodie Island from Pea Island; and those 'islands' were no longer true islands, because other inlets had closed since then. The original Hatteras Inlet, south of the current one, had closed in the mid-seventeen hundreds, and the modern inlet had been formed by the same storm that formed Oregon Inlet.

But
the north side of the inlet was a different story, and all that hadn't stopped someone from building the Oregon Inlet Fishing Center, the marina he could now see from the north end of the bridge. Well, good luck to you folks, Ketch thought.

So, it looked like maybe
the Nags Head area. But then he saw Mick turn left onto 64 West at Whalebone Junction. So it might be Roanoke Island - he hoped anyway, rather than continuing on to the mainland. Roanoke was where Kari might be today, if her mother lived in Manteo or Wanchese. He considered trying to call her again, but he didn't have a dashboard cradle for his phone and he refused to use it otherwise while driving, and he couldn't afford to pull over right now - and besides, how would he explain where he was and what he was doing?

The road, and soon the bridge, they were on now was part of the Virginia Dare Trail. This route and the county as well were named after the first child born in America to English parents, in 1587 in the old Roanoke Colony, now popularly known as the Lost Colony. The disappearance of everyone in that colony between then and 1590 is still a mystery, and is the subject of a popular play perennially performed at an outdoor theater here for the tourists. Ketch hadn't so far managed to catch a performance himself
, but he'd read about it.

Once on the island t
hey soon turned left on 345 and started doubling back to the south. A little while longer and they'd be in Wanchese, a town whose main businesses were fishing, seafood, boat building, and related maritime pursuits. Ketch didn't know his way around this town or this island very well, but his phone had a GPS app if he needed directions on the way back. It was getting later now and he was getting hungry - and so must the dog be, he realized. He hoped they'd reach their destination soon.

When they
arrived in Wanchese they turned onto a street he didn't catch the name of, and Mick shortly pulled into the parking lot of a company called Tibbleson Construction. Ketch turned onto a nearby side street and parked his truck there.

"Jack, I'll be right back. You stay here," he told the dog as he rubbed its head. "I know you're hungry
, me too. Be a good boy, and I'll get you something to eat soon."

He rolled the windows down halfway for the dog.
Though he'd parked in the shade, he had to - it was later in the day, but it was still hot enough that it would be inhumane to lock the dog in the truck with no airflow. Hopefully he wouldn't start to bark; if he did, they might have to leave in a hurry - which put him in mind of his cell phone, which he took the time to silence before he got out of the truck.

He made his way back around the corner of the block on foot. He wasn't used to sneaking around like this, and he was nervous. Why hadn't he brought his binoculars with him? Then he wouldn't have to get as close to see what was going on. He decided he probably wouldn't make much of a detective after all.

Mick was pulling his truck around to the back of the building now. Ketch took a chance and followed on foot, his heart beating faster. He saw there was a dumpster back there not too far from the building, which could provide cover if he could reach it undetected. He took a chance and peeked around the corner of the building. There was Mick's truck, backed up to a loading dock, but no Mick; he must have gone inside. 'Tibbleson Construction' was again lettered on the wall above the open bay.

Okay, he thought, this obviously wasn't some girl's place
- so he could leave now, right? He wasn't going to see what he'd perversely hoped to see here and his mission was a bust, so he should just stop being silly and go on back home. That would be the logical thing for him to do, wouldn't it?
He chanced another quick peek and then sprinted for the dumpster. His heart pounding now, he steadied himself behind it and forced himself to breathe deeply.

There was some concrete rubble behind the dumpster, and Ketch discovered
that he could see over the top if he stood on a piece of it. When he did, he saw Mick come out and jump down from the loading dock, still in apparent conversation with a good-looking blond woman who remained on the dock. Ketch could hear their voices, but he couldn't make out what they were saying.

Well
, maybe there was something going on here after all. No, wait... Now another man was driving a forklift whose purpose appeared to be to transport large metal drums, probably 55-gallon drums from the looks of them. Ketch could see some writing on some of the drums and some official-looking stickers, and a skull-and-crossbones symbol on one of them. What was in the drums? Fuel? Some kind of solvent? Did Mick have a job that required something like that?

Ketch didn't know why, but h
is instincts told him he should take a picture. Isn't that what real detectives did, when they had to document the activities of some allegedly cheating spouse in a divorce case or whatever? Now that was truly silly, he told himself. This was not a game, and he was not a detective. A real detective probably wouldn't have brought his dog with him, he wryly reflected. He'd do well to just extricate himself from this potentially embarrassing situation and get the hell out of here.

Of course, just as with the binoculars, he hadn't brought his camera either
- however, his phone could take pictures, and it even had a zoom feature. The quality wouldn't be great in the diminishing light, and he certainly couldn't use the flash nor get close enough for it to help anyway, but he could give it a try. He activated the phone's camera mode, remembered to make sure it wouldn't flash, positioned himself as best he could under the circumstances, and managed to get a shot of the loading dock and all three people over the top of the dumpster as the forklift was loading some of the drums onto the truck.

Okay,
now that's it, he told himself. He looked around and saw that he could circle behind a neighboring building without being seen. He could then make his way back to his own truck from farther down the street.

He
succeeded in doing this. The dog finally did bark at his approach, but Ketch quickly opened the passenger side door and shushed him. He let out a long breath, hugged the dog, and tried to calm both of them down. "It's okay boy, you're a good boy," he murmured into the dog's furry neck. He probably had to go by now, he thought. "Want to go out?" Ketch stood back and let the dog hop out of the truck. After the dog had relieved himself, Ketch helped him back in. "Okay, all done now," he said. "Let's go find something to eat."

He
started the truck, turned it around, and began to proceed back the way he'd come - but at the intersection where he'd turned, he had to stop and wait as Mick's truck, the bed now weighed down by several steel drums, pulled out of the construction company's driveway ahead of him. It looked like Mick was alone. Ketch slumped in his seat so his face wouldn't be easily visible, then waited a bit before continuing on.

When he
reached the 345 intersection he looked left before making his intended right turn, and happened to catch a glimpse of what looked like the back end of Mick's truck. Why would he be going that way, Ketch wondered? He'd assumed everyone would be heading home now, wherever home was. He debated internally for a moment, then turned left. What the hell, he'd come this far, might as well satisfy his curiosity one more time before calling it quits. Again, some instinct was telling him that he wouldn't be sorry; though the thinking part of his brain was trying to tell him otherwise.

And so they continued south on 345, Ketch again hanging back behind Mick as far as possible and refraining from using his headlights despite the
gradually failing daylight. The road was now also called Mill Landing Road. Wanchese Harbor, a working commercial waterfront, was coming up on his left. They passed by the Fisherman's Wharf restaurant and soon thereafter the entrance to a fish processing plant, and then just kept on going, onto a section of the road that was now called Thicket Lump Drive. It seemed like this road might continue forever, or at least until it ran out of island.

When it was about to do just that,
Ketch saw Mick's brake lights come on, and Mick's truck turned left at a fork. Ketch stopped and idled, wondering what he should do next. He could backtrack to a small marina they'd passed not too far back, park the truck there, and retrace this route on foot - but he'd have to leave the dog behind, and if he started barking that could again become a problem. He decided to chance  taking the right fork and parking a little way down there. He probably wouldn't be noticed if he kept his lights off, and if Mick came back this way he'd be unlikely to take the same fork.

He reassured the dog again, again left the windows half-open, then started
walking cautiously down the jog Mick had turned onto. He saw there was a narrow channel ahead on the right with a small wooden building and parking lot nearby. There was also a patch of maritime forest by the road; Ketch stepped into it and crept closer, moving from one salt-stunted live oak to another for cover and wishing he'd worn trousers instead of shorts. He at least had his ball cap on, but his exposed legs and forearms might get scratched up if he wasn't careful. He'd have to remember to inspect them later for ticks, which unfortunately were fairly common in this part of the country.

He could see now that there was a boat dock on the channel
, behind the building. The building appeared to have been some kind of sightseeing cruise business at one time, but looked defunct now. Soon he could see a fishing boat tied up to the dock, and Mick's truck parked nearby. There were no more trees to hide behind, so he crept a little closer and crouched behind a dense clump of scrub where he could see the dock . He didn't dare proceed to the building; it was too close to the dock. It was officially dusk now, so if he didn't move much he shouldn't be spotted - he hoped.

Though he knew he was taking chances, h
e didn't feel quite as foolish now as he had earlier; maybe his instincts had been right after all. It looked like Mick and another man, whose voices he could again hear but not always clearly, were preparing to transfer the drums from the truck to the boat. It didn't look like the boat had a winch or hoist, but it appeared they had wood planks and a drum caddy. They could tilt and roll the drums if they had to. It looked like they weren't open-top, but rather welded-top drums with bungholes.

Still, it looked like it would be a project
. Ketch knew that a gallon of water weighed over eight pounds, so if those drums were full of water they'd weigh over four hundred pounds each. Maybe they weren't full, or maybe they contained a lighter liquid, or perhaps a powder of some kind. But they couldn't be light no matter what, and it would certainly be easier to do this at a commercial dock where they'd have better equipment to help them - but he doubted a legitimate harbormaster would approve of this particular activity. He'd initially wondered what these guys were doing here, but it hadn't taken him long to arrive at the obvious and odious conclusion.

Why would people transport drums containing apparently toxic materials by boat, when they could more easily be transported by truck?
Because they were being shipped overseas, obviously inapplicable here given this kind of boat, or maybe for a project on an island that was only accessible by boat - but why do it at night, and at an out-of-the-way location like this, and with less than optimal gear? And as for this old fishing boat, there were regulations to be observed regarding the type of vessel to be used for transporting such materials.