Death in Dutch Harbor by D. MacNeill Parker

Author:D. MacNeill Parker [Parker, D. MacNeill]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, General
ISBN: 9781509252244
Google: 5trbEAAAQBAJ
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press Inc
Published: 2023-10-17T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 17

Maureen’s hand hung over the side of the bed. Sleep had not been a stranger. She rolled over and looked at the shepherd knowing the dog, not the gun, was the reason she’d slept. Warm blood, she knew, was better than cold steel.

The Cape Kiska had made it back to town during the night and, according to the harbormaster’s office, was tied-up at the ISI dock. Maureen stood on the dock, admiring the fresh snow that sparkled in the sunlight. She wore sunglasses and a cockeyed grin. The sea air smelled crisp, as if the storm had washed it clean and hung it out to dry. Oh what magic a good night’s sleep can do, she thought.

The dog ran in circles and rolled in the fluffy white stuff. When it came to new snow, her police training pretty much went out the window. Maureen packed the snow into a ball and hurled it down the dock as if it were a line drive to first base. The shepherd took it down. “Out!” cried Maureen. Behind the dog, crystal peaks poked the sapphire sky.

“A perfect day!” she said to CoCo, who was begging for another ball. “But what about Casey Elliot and this skate survey shit?”

Dozens of boats were bound to the dock with long lines tied fore and aft. Some boats were as long as football fields, others a third that size, but all large enough to battle the Bering Sea. The harbormaster’s office had told her the Cape Kiska was tied up at the eastern end of the dock. Her pace quickened. She couldn’t wait to see Arlo. She couldn’t wait to see that all the guys were safe.

As she approached, she saw a skiff pull away from the outer side of the boat. She thought it might be the harbormaster’s boat. It looked like Marcus, and someone else was aboard. She doubted it was Arlo. He’d use a truck to get around. Hey, maybe I know him better than I thought! She was feeling good.

It was high tide, so easy to climb over the railing onto the boat. CoCo made it in a single leap. The back deck was littered with a half dozen bent and broken crab pots that hadn’t been unloaded yet. In contrast, all the lines were neatly coiled. Alongside the house door, garbage bags were piled high. Inside, it was quiet, save for the rhythmic squeaking of the boat as it gently strained against the lines.

CoCo sniffed her way around the galley table and along the benches. She seemed to accept the rank odor of smoke and diesel fuel. Whatever garbage had been strewn about in the carnage had been picked up and packed into bags stacked on deck. Even the bench cushions were hanging out to dry. The Cape Kiska was as shipshape as circumstances would allow.

Maureen headed up the stairs toward the wheelhouse. CoCo’s hind legs pushed her upward, the front leg rebalancing the shepherd’s weight along the way.

The wheelhouse looked war weary.

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