Lost in Long Cove

By Suzanne Ouimet

Tom and Marybeth partners in a Rural Auxiliary police unit, search for two lost children. During their investigations they encounter, among others, an injured postmaster with an interesting past, a dead dog, an angry, abusive lodge owner who has a challenging health problem, the pilot of a little red airplane and too many identical boats. Will Marybeth and Tom find the children before it's too late and will they be able to hide how they feel about each other?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Suzanne Ouimet
• Release date: Jan 7, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466113381

Suzanne Ouimet

Suzanne grew up in the Toronto area of Ontario. She moved to Vancouver Island, B.C. in 1988 with her husband Ron. They have a beautiful home on the side of a mountain overlooking the Salish Sea over to Lasquiti Island.

Book preview

Lost in Long Cove

Suzanne Ouimet

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Suzanne Ouimet

My books are also available in print at most online retailers

Both Lost in Long Cove and Smoke Screen

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DAY ONE

Chapter One

Obviously shaken, a tall, longhaired boy stood with the policewoman, Marybeth Laughlin, next to the gas docks at Long Cove Marina. She studied the young man before her, guessing him to be about eighteen years old. She couldn’t help but notice his beautiful dark eyes, now reddened from unshed tears.

I know, I shouldn’t have let them take the boat but they both know how to run it and they were just going over to the other side of the marina to our dock. How could something happen to them on such a short trip?

Marybeth was puzzled. The marina was enclosed and protected from the ocean outside by high, rocky breakwaters. She knew several other boaters had seen the young boy and girl leave the gas jetty and noticed the boat heading in the direction of their designated dock. However, no one had seen them actually land there and no one had seen them on any of the other docks, either.

You say the boat is red, about 15 feet long? What type of motor does it have? asked Marybeth, looking at her notebook. She had already established he was Peter Kelly, brother to the missing children, boy and girl twins, eight years old.

It has a 3 hp Johnson, Peter answered, his eyes wandering, scanning, trying to spot his missing brother and sister. They were supposed to tie up at our dock, then come directly back here and wait for Mom. When they didn’t come and they didn’t come, I asked Pat, my boss, if I could go and look for them but I couldn’t find them anywhere.

Another officer, Tom North, approached. Tanned, very tall with a wide, pleasant face and vivid blue eyes, he took Marybeth aside. No sign of any red boat anywhere in the marina, he told her. We’ve searched all the docks, talked to a few boat owners and no one has seen any sign of either the boat or the kids. Mind you, there aren’t that many people around this time of year. Has anyone searched upriver?

The boy spoke up. We live upriver. I called my Mom. Terry’s bringing her. The two police officers turned and looked in the direction of the mouth of the Long River just in time to see a white speedboat approaching.

Looks like this may be them coming in now, Tom North observed. Two or three other people standing by looked toward the approaching craft, which slowed down as it came into the marina steering toward the gas docks. That’s Terry Sloane, the real estate guy, one of them said.

A young blonde woman stood in the back of the cabin cruiser. As it landed, she called out anxiously, Anything yet? They didn’t come home and we didn’t see any sign of them, all the way down from The Falls. She climbed onto the dock and went over to her son. You shouldn’t have let them go, Peter. You shouldn’t have let them go. Where can they be? She began to cry.

Mom, Peter said, patting his mother’s shoulder, they’ve got Whiskers. He’ll look after them. You know how protective he is. Nobody will hurt them while he’s around.

Whiskers? That would be your dog? Marybeth asked the mother, who nodded, still crying.

I’m Terry Sloane, the driver of the white boat introduced himself. He approached the group and put his arm around Lisa’s shoulders. We’ll find them, Lisa, he told her. They’ll be all right. Anybody search over at the old government wharf yet? he asked the police officers.

Across a narrow channel from the gas docks was the old government wharf, hardly used except at high tide. Only larger boats were able to tie up to its high deck, which was very wide in order for vehicles to come right to the edge for loading and off-loading. There were no larger craft tied up at the wharf this day. Underneath the wharf was very dark and inaccessible except in a few narrow places.

I’ll go check with Jacobson, said Tom North. Have to go over there anyway. We had a call earlier he wasn’t in and the door was locked.

Who in his right mind would want to ask that crank Jacobson anything? Terry Sloane remarked.

Jacobson was the surly, hunch-backed postmaster, whose office stood at the end of the wharf on a little island accessible only by a footbridge. He knew almost everyone in the area, but wasn’t generally liked. Still, he would probably have noticed any strangers in the area and might even have seen the children that morning.

I’ll go ask him and check around back while I’m at it. Tom said as he untied and stepped into the small police skiff. He started up the engine and was across the channel in less than a minute.

Everyone watched as Tom climbed up a ladder to the wharf and strode off in the direction of the post office. He crossed the footbridge, walked up the narrow boardwalk to the building and turned the handle. The door didn’t open. He jiggled the knob. Still it didn’t open, so he bent down to read the sign giving the hours of operation. Supposed to be open! he shouted across the water. He jiggled the handle again then lifted up what appeared to be a mailbag lying by the door. Mail bag! he shouted. Putting the bag down, he started around the back of the small building, climbed up and over the rocks, then disappeared.

Those waiting on the other side of the water were just as puzzled as Tom by the post office being closed. Jacobson usually opened early, then rarely closed until 9 o’clock at night and was even open on Sundays. Jacobson sold candy, cigarettes and magazines in the little building in addition to stamps and post cards. He could usually be found sitting in his battered easy chair staring at the snowy black and white image on the TV in the corner. Regardless of what time of day it was, he groaned and complained when anyone came in needing service. He barely tolerated those who wanted to make a purchase. And it was very strange, totally out of character, for him to leave the mailbag out in the open.

Something’s wrong if old Jacobson ain’t at his TV, remarked one of the bystanders.

And there’s something wrong with him leaving the bag of mail outside, too!

That’s illegal! someone else added. He should be fired.

Let’s not get too excited, now. Marybeth said to the increasing crowd of spectators. Where had they all come from all of a sudden? Could be the old fellow is sick or something. I’ll call his house and see what Naomi says.

She turned and went into the hut adjacent to the gas pumps and picked up the phone. Get off the line, Murph, she spoke into the mouthpiece. It was an old- fashioned party-line system and one of ten or so people might be on the line at any given time, listening to others’ conversations.

We’ve got an emergency here! Never mind, you’ll hear soon enough. Thanks, Murph. She then pumped the hook on the phone and said, Get me Naomi Jacobson, please, Wilma. Wilma was the telephone operator who sat at a switchboard at the local telephone company office located in her home.

After a minute or so, Naomi answered the phone and Marybeth explained the problem. Those standing outside could hear her responses. Okay, Naomi, thanks. No, we’ll get back to you if we hear anything. You stay right there in case he calls, she said, then added, Oh. Well I guess you’re right. See you soon.

She put the phone back on the hook and came out of the building, a puzzled look on her face. Well, she said, it seems Jacobson has been gone all morning and Naomi hasn’t heard a word from him. He left early as usual to pick up the mail. She said it’s strange the door’s still locked and now she’s worried, too. She’s coming down to open up and sort the mail. Wonder where he got to?

Everyone was watching across the water for Tom to reappear. It seemed to be taking him an awfully long time to check the tiny island.

Suddenly he reappeared, climbing over the rocks from behind the building. When he reached the top of the rocky outcrop, he straightened up and waved. They could hear him shouting. Call an ambulance! Somebody get over here and help me!

***

Chapter Two

When Lisa Kelly awoke early that morning, the twins were already up and had finished their breakfast. She went immediately to get Peter out of bed so he could be on time for his summer job at the marina. Peter was a typical teenager and Lisa had to shake him several times then shout at him before he finally opened his eyes and slowly got up.

Raring to go, the twins begged Peter to take them to the marina with him. He agreed readily enough, loved having them around, but suggested they first clear it with mom. As a full morning of housework awaited her, Lisa thought it would be good to get those two rapscallions out of her hair for a few hours. Insisting Jack and Sami put on their life jackets and keep them on all day, she saw the three off in the little red skiff, promising to meet them for lunch down at the marina café with her friend, Terry Sloane.

She had just finished washing the kitchen floor at about nine-thirty when the telephone rang. It was Peter. Mom, I can’t find the kids.

What? She suddenly felt sick to her stomach. Dread, like the feeling she’d had when hearing her beloved Alex had been killed, came over her. She asked Peter if anyone had searched the marina. Pat and I looked around, he told her.

You mean Pat, your boss? she asked, trying to keep her voice calm. Peter, I’ll call Terry and get him to pick me up. We’ll be there shortly. Don’t worry, hon, we’ll find them. Keep looking around though. Maybe they’re up visiting the rabbits. Feeling a lot less confident than she let her son think, she got Wilma on the line and asked her to find Terry.

He’s over at his office, Lisa. Shall I ring there?

Yes, please, Wilma, it’s an emergency. When Terry answered the telephone, she explained to him what was wrong. I have no way to get down there, Terry. I know you’re busy, but could you?

Be right there, he answered. Ten minutes.

She was waiting on the dock for him and climbed immediately into his boat. He put his arm around her. Don’t worry, we’ll find them! he assured her. "Now let’s get a move on. By the way, I’ve called the police