Deep Into The Night (Hartz Island Series) (4 page)

Chapter Five

T
he cool early morning air felt good when she exited the motel office. Her stomach growled, but the grime and aches she felt from the sofa beat out her hunger. Cassie headed to her room for a hot shower, quick cup of pick-me-up coffee, and then she’d locate a place for breakfast.

Feeling revived, she revved up Old Blue and meandered in the direction of the docks in search of an open diner. From growing up around water, fishing equaled early morning risers and tucked away cafes. With Morro Bay’s fishing industry, she figured it couldn’t be much different. A block away from the wharf, the bright lights of an open sign blinked continuously, beckoning her. Cassie parked and headed on in. The smell of coffee, toast, and bacon greeted her.

“Find a seat anywhere,” called a waitress. “Over there is good if you want a view.” She pointed to the empty tables next to the window.

A couple of men at the counter noticed her, but otherwise, everyone else seemed preoccupied with the food and newspapers in front of them. A constant low level buzz filled the air.

Cassie chose a table in the far corner where she could spread the fax out and study it. Before she settled in, the waitress stood next to her.

“Coffee this morning?” she asked, with a full pot and cup in hand. Her blond beehive hairdo and very pink lipstick fit the café.

“Yes, and a lot, please.”

“You know what you want?” She poured Cassie a cup.

Cassie looked around for the menu and saw they were stuck between the salt and pepper shaker. Quickly, she glanced at the menu.

“Crab omelet with sourdough toast?”

“Yep. One of my favorites. Do you want hash browns with that?”

“Why not.” It was going to be a long day, and she needed all the fuel she could get. Besides, no one was going to be hiring her for any acting job soon, especially with her ex-boyfriend stealing millions of dollars in profits from DVDs.

Cassie ate her food, read the various fax pages, and formulated a plan. From what she could tell, she was good to go with the account in the Caymans. It was just a matter of someone legally verifying her. Sandy at the bank could do that. From there, she would go to the library and transfer the monies. A pang of guilt needled her for a moment, but then she thought about her calculations from the night before. Sergei was getting off easy.

“More coffee?”

“Ah yes.” Casually, Cassie folded the fax pages and tucked them away. “Um, you wouldn’t happen to know where I could get a Los Angeles Times, do you?”

“Well sure, honey, right here.” Beehive Hairdo grinned and pointed to the counter. “Curtis’s son Tony works for the Times and has it delivered every day. Complimentary. That’s what the men are reading.” She turned and yelled, “Curtis, get me an extra one of those Times. The young lady wants to read it.” She turned back to Cassie. “We get it here first, then it’s delivered elsewhere. Curtis likes to read it with his breakfast every morning. Tony’s a good son.”

“I guess so.” Cassie gladly accepted the newspaper from the so-called Curtis, who quickly retreated back to his spot.

“I’ll let you get to your newspaper. Holler if you need anything.”

Cassie flipped through the Times, hoping for any article about Sergei. She found one toward the back of the first section with a picture and the text reading, “Sergei Koslov also known as, Yuri Sergslov, and his longtime girlfriend, Sashay, an artist and sculptor, leaving the courthouse.”

“What the hell!” She was his girlfriend, not some dimwitted artist.

“Everything okay, hon?” called the waitress.

All the men at the counter were turned, looking at her. The buzz of conversation had halted. If a pin dropped, it would have echoed in the silence.

She swallowed hard, trying not to reveal her anger. “Everything is fine. I was just reading about…um…the price of gasoline going up.”

The men nodded and went back to their reading.

Cassie took a closer look at the photo and recognized the woman. She’d been to their house for a New Year’s Eve party. This had to be why Sergei kept lugging home god-awful paintings and putting them up on the walls. Shaking her head, Cassie wondered what bubble-wrapped world she’d been living in. Obviously, one with a lot of excrement. When she finished reading the Times, she was still livid.

Never underestimate a pissed off woman
, thought Cassie.
You owe me big-time asshole
. She pulled out her fax and studied the pages. Then she read the banking pamphlets Sandy had given her. Previously, she hadn’t understood the significance of Sergei’s account balances, but now she did. By law, banks had to report to the banking police if the account was over ten thousand dollars. Sergei was just under the red flag of legality, but he wouldn’t be when she got through with him.

Cassie handed back the newspaper when she paid for her breakfast.

“Honey, you can keep that. We have a lot more,” said Miss Beehive.

“Thanks.” She tucked it up under her arm.

“You have a nice day now,” she said.

“You know, I think I will.”

It took about five seconds at the bank to notarize her. Cassie headed back to the motel office to see if she could use the fax machine.

“Hello?” She stood at the counter looking around. Again, the office seemed empty. Previously she hadn’t noticed a manager’s sign on the back wall, but she did now. Betty Wilson. “Betty?”

“Is that you, Alexa?”

How had she signed her note? “Yes, it’s me.”

“I can’t thank you enough.” Betty came through the back office door, smiling. “I don’t know what you did to that thing, but it works better than ever.”

“I’m glad I could be of help. Sometimes it’s just a matter of hitting a few buttons. Real quick question, do you know where there’s a fax machine I can use?” Cassie smiled.

“I have one you can use. If it’s long distance, I’ll have to charge you for the call.”

“It is, but I have a phone card.”

“Good. Come on back then.” She lifted the counter gate and Cassie walked through, following her to the back office. “Do you know how to use those things?”

“I think so. They’re pretty much all the same.”

“You go ahead and use it while I finish up the computer work.”

“Great.”

Cassie keyed in the phone card number and then the Cayman’s bank number. She waited for the signal before feeding the fax. According to the information she’d received previously, it was just a matter of time for the bank to activate the account. This information she could get at the library. Keeping her back to Betty, Cassie keyed in a couple of false fax numbers to erase her original destination.

“That thing not working properly?”

“No, it’s fine. I’m just finishing up.” She turned and smiled.

“Got your note about spending another night. So far we haven’t had a cancellation. You can check later if you want. Sorry you can’t spend the weekend. The Art Fair is wonderful, but we are totally full. You might be able to see some of the booths who set up early.”

Cassie thanked her and headed out.

With time to kill waiting for the library to open, she parked the truck in the library parking lot and went in search of coffee. The early morning cups had worn off, and she yearned for her daily double shot of espresso. It didn’t take long to find it. All she had to do was look for the steady stream of people heading into a shop and leaving with a coffee.

Cassie took her time and window-shopped. She enjoyed the hubbub of activity on the street. The morning sun glistened in an art gallery window, reflecting off a beautiful mosaic glass structure. She stopped and admired the creation. A man in the gallery waved and smiled, and she did the same. The gallery lights lit, allowing a much better view of the inside of the store. Her heart skipped a few beats when she recognized a god-awful painting, similar to the ones that graced Sergei’s office. Her mouth dropped open, and her eyes practically popped out of her head when she saw the price tag. Sergei not only hid his money, he had it tied up in Sashay’s butt ugly paintings.

At five after nine, Cassie strolled through the library, heading toward the computers. A few keystrokes later and the Cayman’s bank website popped up. She keyed in her account number from the fax and held her breath. Relief flooded her looking at the screen—she was in. It was time to get to work.

After reading the banking guidelines from the pamphlet, the government monitored large amounts of monies transferred in and out of accounts and also unusual activity. It initiated red flags. Cassie transferred in the first ninety-five hundred from one account, then another and another, until all nineteen were sitting in Sergei’s account at Eduardo’s bank. After waiting what she felt a reasonable amount of time, she checked his balance. All of the ninety-five hundred dollars had been noted, bringing the balance to one hundred eighty thousand five hundred dollars. The amount she’d lost and then some. The red flags had to be flapping in the wind, signaling the officials at all ends. A few keystrokes later, she transferred it into her new untraceable account in the Caymans.

Sergei Koslov, you have a nice day.

The relaxed atmosphere of Morro Bay had enticed her, so she wandered back toward the motel to see if Betty had a cancellation. The gallery doors now stood propped open with a copper sculpture; she paused and looked in, admiring most of the art.

“Entre, darling.” The perfectly coiffed blond man with a stunning suit smiled and waved her in. “I know you.”

She froze.

“You were here earlier window gazing. I never forget a face.”

Relief shot through her. “I was.” Cassie smiled and nodded. “I’m curious about all the paintings.” She pointed. “Are those paintings by Sashay?”

“A fan!” He clapped his hands together.

“Not exactly,” she mumbled.

“Wonderful eye. Extraordinary taste, darling. Not everyone recognizes her talent. She will be the next Picasso. I’m certain. In fact, what are you doing this evening?”

“I’m not sure.”

“To start off the gala weekend, we are hosting a cocktail hour with the luscious Sashay. She’ll be mingling with her fans. And oh, that wonderful ruffian Russian of hers is coming too. Oh, I just wish…I just wish he wasn’t so darn straight.” His eyes glowed with a savage inner fire.

It took every ounce of self-control to remain calm and not bolt out of the gallery. After the initial shock, her sense of humor took over.

“Are you sure? Are you one hundred percent positive he’s straight? I think you should just go for it. It’s obvious to me you care very deeply about the wonderful ruffian Russian. So often in life we never have the opportunity to let someone know exactly how we feel. You have this chance tonight. I say let him know what you’re really feeling. There is no time like the present.”

“Oh, merci.”

“Oui.” Cassie looked at her watch. “Ah, I must go. Let me get back to you about this evening.” She walked straight out the door, kept her head down, and hurried down the street.

So much for spending another night.

Chapter Six

"M
a’am, you’ve got to move this truck. You’re blocking traffic. I gotta load this ferry.”

“I don’t know what to do. It won’t start.”

Cassie turned the key again. Nothing. Not even a whir or a gurgle. She had been waiting for two hours in Anacortes for the ferry to Hartz Island. Not every ferry leaving Anacortes, Washington, stopped at the island. The next one wouldn’t be until four, pulling into Hartz at six p.m.

“You’re going to have to move this thing. Put it in neutral, we will give you a push. Let it roll over to the side over there. You’ll be out of the way. We’ll deal with this after the ferry departs.”

Obviously, she wasn’t getting on this ferry. Her heart sank. Like Alexa had said, the truck was old. Maybe the trip had been too much.

“Come on, Blue, don’t let me down now.”

She put the truck in neutral. Between the gentle slope and the men pushing, Cassie steered it to the area the man had pointed. Completely out of everyone’s way, she heaved a sigh of relief and then collapsed against the steering wheel, staring out the window. Exhausted and emotionally spent, she just wanted to cry. Instead, she blinked away the tears.

Tired from sitting, Cassie got out of the pick-up. She leaned against the door, watching the vehicles stream onto the ferry. A couple of the cars slowed, with the drivers staring. Some had sympathetic looks. A dark SUV with tinted windows almost stopped, but then the car behind it tapped its horn. Her nerves tensed.
What the hell was that all about
, she wondered?

The gray misty day set the tone for how she felt. The water was dark and murky. Had she made an error coming back? The weather alone might drive her insane. She reminded herself it wasn’t forever, just for now.

With the last car on, the ferry pulled away. Just like the man had said, he’d deal with it after the ferry departed. He walked briskly toward her.

“Okay, let’s see if we can get you started. Were you having any problems when you pulled in?”

“No, not that I can think of.”

“Unlatch the hood, and let me take a look. You wouldn’t have something simple like a dead battery would you?” He frowned when Cassie turned on the headlights.

She joined him and peered under the hood. He wiggled a few wires, pushed a few hoses, and then pulled out the oil stick. He snorted, his mouth turned down.

“Do you have something I can wipe this thing off with? I need to check it.”

She went in search of something and came back with an old oil stained rag she’d found stuffed behind the seat. José had mentioned something about oil. What had it been? The man wiped off the oil stick and inserted it back in. He did this twice. His face went grim.

“Here’s your problem. Your engine froze up. You’re out of oil.”

“I have some in the back of the truck. Let me get it.”

Now she remembered. José had told her to check the oil. She smiled and sighed, relieved the solution was so easy.

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“No. I have a box.” Cassie pointed to the back of the truck.

“Lady, it’s too late for oil. You should have put oil in miles ago. It’s dead. You’re going to need a new engine, or a rebuilt one. Where do you want this thing towed?”

“What do you mean?” Cassie asked. “Towed where?”

“Wherever you want. Your truck can’t stay here.”

He meant it. A queasy, cramped feeling settled in her stomach. Cassie blinked fast to stop the tearing, but it didn’t help. They rolled down her cheeks. She wiped them away with the back of her hand.

“You’re not from around here, are you? Do you have anyone you can call?”

“No.” Her shoulders slumped.

“Okay, let me see what I can do.” He adjusted the microphone on his headset, turned away and spoke into it. After a few minutes, he turned back around to her. “Bill’s Mechanics and Towing is good. They can come and get the truck. Is that okay?”

“Do you know anyone who goes there?”

“They work on my mother’s car.”

“Thanks. That would be nice.”

“Then wait here. It’ll take about thirty minutes for them to get here.” The man started walking away and stopped. He turned around and looked at her. “You do realize they can’t fix this in an hour? Right? You’re going to have to leave the truck with them. It might take a couple of weeks.”

Well, maybe she
had
thought it was like a Jiffy Lube, in and out in an hour. Auto mechanics had never been one of her strong points.

“Why don’t you get everything out of the pick-up you’ll need and be a walk-on. After the tow truck leaves, you can wait in the terminal until it’s time to catch your ferry.”

A heaviness centered in her chest watching Old Blue being towed away. It had been her fault. José had warned her to check the oil, and she hadn’t. The tow truck driver, which turned out to be the owner’s son, said to call in a couple of days. They had work scheduled ahead of her. If she wanted to keep the truck, he recommended a rebuilt engine, otherwise she should junk it. Alexa’s attachment to the old truck had gotten to her too. Blue deserved better than this. After all, he’d gotten her this far. Junk it? She thought not.

The ferry approached the Hartz Island terminal. Walk-ons were off first, then vehicles, so she joined the small crowd waiting to exit. Nothing looked familiar. Not even the terrain. Everything was surrounded by woods of tall evergreens and firs. What happened to the big wide beach next to the ferry dock? In eight years, things couldn’t have changed this much.

She turned to the bland looking blond man and asked, “This is Hartz Island, isn’t it?”

The man stared at her, and then nodded.

“It looks different.”

“Don’t know what to tell you.” He turned his back on her.

Taken aback by his brusqueness, she stepped away. Another man stood near the rude guy, but he also turned his back on her. So much for local hospitality. She turned to ask someone else, but the only other two people seemed busy with their own agenda. The ferry man motioned for them to exit, so Cassie hoisted her duffel and followed Mr. Rude and what appeared to be his shadow off the ferry. She headed toward the kiosk in the small holding area in hopes of finding help. A woman locked the door and started walking away.

“Excuse me,” Cassie called.

The woman turned around. “Can I help you?”

“I hope so. I just got off the ferry, and frankly, I don’t recognize anything. I don’t have a clue where I am.”

“You’re on Hartz Island.”

“I know that.”

“Have you been here before?”

“Yes, but it’s been a while.” The woman nodded, waiting for her to continue. “Eight years.”

“That explains it. They moved the landing. It used to be at the other end of the island.”

“You mean we’re at the opposite end?” Screams of frustration were about to explode from her. She’d planned on walking to the beach house. “Is there someone I can call for a ride? A taxi service?”

“Yeah, there’s the Van Man if he’s working. There’s a phone over on the next block at the laundromat. I think his card is up on the bulletin board next to the phone, along with a bunch of others.”

“That’s just great,” she muttered, but then added, “thanks.”

The woman headed to her car, obviously not interested in offering a ride. By now, all the cars had departed, the ferry reloaded, and pulled away. The empty lot looked desolate. Once again, Cassie grabbed her stuff and headed in the direction the woman had pointed.

From the end of the street, Cassie saw fluorescent lights inside the laundromat. No other lights shined. Everything else was closed for the evening. The laundromat door stood propped open with a brick, and a couple dryers clanged with their loads. Someone had to be about; it couldn’t be totally dead.

Like the woman said, the bulletin board next to the pay phone had all sorts of notes and business cards tacked onto it; there was even a map of the island. Finally, she spotted the Van Man’s card. Fishing through her purse, Cassie found a quarter, fed the phone, and then listened to a message stating the Van Man could be anywhere on the island in fifteen minutes. After the beep, she left a SOS message and her location.

With nothing to do but wait, she stood in the doorway, looking up and down the street, hoping for some sign of activity, or better yet, the so-called Van Man.
Where was everyone?
Her memories didn’t jive with what she saw now, but then she’d never been on the island in the fall. She shivered from the chill and stepped back inside. October. That meant the sun would be down shortly. Tired of waiting, Cassie gave up on the Van Man. She calculated she had about an hour left of light, and since she’d left her flashlight in truck, she’d better start walking.