Bimini Twist Page 4

  After shaking my hand, the other half of the cabbie couple pushed aviator-style sunglasses onto her head, holding back some fairly wild bangs and exposing a rosy, flawless complexion. Dolly appeared to be in her fifties, but could easily pass for forty, I thought as she tucked spears of dark hair behind ears whose lobes sported dangly earrings that jingled when she moved. I explained that a young woman employed at the resort had been reported missing. “Bianca Chiriac,” I said as I showed her Bianca’s profile picture that was once again displayed on my phone.

  “Oh dear! I drove Bianca to the waterfront park last night! The college kids who work here are all great. Really good kids, and very serious about making money for school. No monkey business. Not like the local crowd.”

  Dolly had already answered my next line of questions with her first reply. “Do you recall what time you left her at the park?” I asked. “And did she mention anything about who she was meeting?”

  “Let’s see … I left her at the southwest entrance at about five thirty,” she said. “Bianca was meeting a girlfriend from home she goes to school with. She didn’t mention her friend’s name, though. They are both entering their fourth year at the University of Bucharest.”

  “Did Bianca mention the name of the cruise ship, or what their plans were for the night?” I asked, still convinced that I was following up on a false alarm, and therefore wasting time.

  “No, but there are only two ships in yesterday—Princess of the Seas and Carnival Allure. I didn’t get any details for her plans with her friend because I was really more interested in her homeland. She comes from Romania.”

  “Okay, thank you,” I said hoping to curtail the incoming recitation of the Travel Channel. “If you think of anything that might help me locate Bianca, please give me a call,” I said as I handed Dolly my contact information. “I am hopeful that she is simply MIA, and will return to her job soon. Maybe she and her girlfriend partied too hard, and are sleeping it off somewhere. Maybe aboard the ship,” I suggested.

  Dolly’s handheld came to life with her husband’s voice asking her to help with an airport pickup. She excused herself to get back to work, and I did the same. I figured that as long as I was this close, I should check out the cruise ships. Maybe someone had seen the two women or knew of their whereabouts, I thought as I followed signs to the waterfront.

  Bar Harbor was bustling. Storefronts were full of brightly colored displays, parking spots were full, and pedestrians wandered sidewalks with heads on swivels admiring all that Bar Harbor had to offer. Traffic moved slowly and stopped frequently to allow tourists to cross Main Street from side to side where they poked in and out of restaurants and gift shops. Even the trees and flowers were ahead of Green Haven’s, I thought as I admired how meticulously manicured this downtown section was. The kids weren’t even out of school, and tourist season was well underway.

  I swung into a town lot and miraculously grabbed the last free spot (free both of occupancy and charge). As I walked toward the water that I could now see in the narrow gaps between buildings that lined the east side of Main Street, I took a deep breath and enjoyed the sun-warmed salt air. Yup, summer was indeed upon us! I would force myself to enjoy the season, even in the absence of any real crime fighting. Hey, maybe the break in scouring Down East Maine of drugs would do me some good, I thought as I made my way toward the waterfront park, made clear with signs marking the number of steps that remained to the entrance. When was the last time I strolled through a park on the clock? Sure beats most of the locales that compose my usual stomping grounds in the line of duty, I thought as I stopped to admire the view from a grassy knoll just inside the park’s entrance.

  From this vantage point, the harbor itself appeared as a punch bowl at the end of a long, narrow sound hemmed on either side by landmasses that began as steep ledges jutting from thick stands of spruce trees that gave way to mountainous terrain that explained the Mount in Mount Desert Island. I scanned the harbor from east to west. Two cruise ships were anchored out on the perimeter of the harbor and away from the docks. The Princess of the Seas and Carnival Allure both appeared to be mid-range cruise liners in terms of size, probably around seven hundred feet in length and with approximately 1,200 passenger capacity, according to my estimate from the distance. The area closer to the docks was speckled with moorings occupied by work skiffs and dinghies. There were a few sailboats anchored out, and a couple of commercial lobster boats remaining on moorings.

  I could see two very distinct piers. One was clearly for commercial use only; the wooden planks on its deck were lined with empty lobster crates, fish boxes, bait bins, and a set of electronic scales. The ramp leading to some rickety floats looked a little wobbly and well-worn. The parking area adjacent to this wharf was filled with an assortment of pickup trucks. The other pier was likely off-limits to the fishermen, I thought. A pristine concrete surface lined with kiosks selling trinkets, tickets to local tours, and information seemed rather deserted in light of the foot traffic everywhere else. Two shiny aluminum gangways led to large floats where I assumed cruise ship passengers landed to come ashore from ships when anchored out. Three beautiful launches cleated at bow and stern were protected by oversized fenders that kept the boats from chafing against the floats. I gathered that these sea-going shuttles were owned and operated by the Town of Bar Harbor, and a service to cruise ships that scheduled stops here, accommodating passengers from ship to shore and back to ship.

  I wandered down to the top of a shared area where both piers shot off from the land, forming a forty-five degree angle, and watched a lobster boat approach from the mooring field. Well, I might get a bit of information about where to find launch captains who might remember a pretty young woman, I thought as I started down the shaky commercial ramp, anticipating the boat to land at the fishermen’s floats. Partway down, it looked as though I had been mistaken. The lobster boat was closing in on the pleasure boaters’ territory. So I climbed back up and headed down the aluminum gangway to greet the incoming vessel and perhaps catch a line.

  I hustled and beat the boat to the float. As the bow turned its cheek, narrowly missing the float, bold red lettering announced Ragged But Right. The captain backed her down hard, swinging the boat’s stern gently against the chafing gear lining the float and coming to a complete stop. “Ahoy,” said the captain, his black eyes and white teeth both gleaming under a long visor.

  “Hi,” I answered, returning his smile. “I thought I’d help, but it doesn’t appear that you need any.” With this, the man handed me the bitter end of a short line that was secured with a clove hitch to the base of the boat’s davit.

  “Never turn down help from a pretty lady,” he said casually as he watched me quickly lace a cleat with the line. “Looks like you’ve done that before.”

  “Yeah, a couple of times,” I said. The cleanliness of the boat did not escape me, nor did the good looks and confidence of its captain. “You don’t strike me as a Deadhead,” I said, acknowledging the boat’s name, which I knew only as a Grateful Dead song.

  “I have been known to wear tie-dyes,” he said with a chuckle.

  Was I flirting? I didn’t think so. I really could not go any further with this particular exchange as the closest I had been to being a Deadhead was in choice of ice cream—Cherry Garcia. But I did know boats enough to hold up my end of that conversation, so I jumped into my comfort zone. “Nice boat. Really clean. You fish?”

  “Yup. Haul a few lobster traps and fish for halibut. My other gig is pilot boat, which is why I’m here. I am waiting for the ship’s pilot to come. I need to put him aboard The Princess,” he said, pointing over his shoulder at the cruise ships. “She’s weighing anchor in thirty minutes. And the Allure just dropped anchor.” Well, that was helpful, I thought. If the Allure had just arrived this morning, she could be eliminated as a possibility. But Dolly had stated that there were two ships in port when she left Bianca here last evening.

  This seemed like the right time to
introduce myself and my reason for being here, I thought. “I’m Jane Bunker, Hancock County deputy sheriff.” I extended for a handshake, and was delighted when he took my hand in both of his and held gently rather than doing the macho squeeze. “I am chasing down a missing person report, and that has led me here—to the cruise ships. I was hoping to speak with the launch captains. Do you know them?”

  He released my hand slowly and said, “Hello, Deputy Sheriff Jane Bunker. Pete, the pilot boat captain, fisherman extraordinaire at your service. Yes, I know the launch guys. But they won’t be back here until the Allure passengers want to be shuttled back and forth. All of the Princess passengers are aboard now, otherwise the departures would be delayed. It’s not good for business to leave behind paying customers!”

  I wanted to kick myself for checking his ring finger. And held back a secret swoon when I saw that it was unoccupied. This guy was indeed exceptional, I thought. Age appropriate, polite, confident … Stick to business! “No, not a passenger. I am looking for an employee of the Bar Harbor Resort. A young woman from Romania,” I said and quickly ran through the few details I had including the taxi ride here to meet a friend who reportedly worked in the galley of one of the cruise ships. “Did a cruise ship depart earlier today? I was told that there were two here yesterday, and if the Allure just got here, I can cross her off of the search list.” I resisted the urge to defend my status by telling him that I am a decorated detective on light duty for the sake of tourism. I bit my tongue rather than admit that this was likely a wild-goose chase, as I was unwilling to leave his presence that quickly.

  “That’s good detective work,” he said. “Yes, the Radiance departed late last night. I’m not sure what time because I was not on duty. I share the pilot boat job with another guy. The Radiance is a quantum-class ship—fifty-four hundred passengers! That line has top-notch security and is super organized. I guess they all are, but I can’t imagine keeping track of all of those people plus employees.”

  My heart sunk with the possibility that Bianca might have been aboard the Radiance when it left. That would certainly explain how a good, dependable girl went missing. Maybe she had a better opportunity aboard the ship, I wondered. But Bianca would have called her roomie so that she wouldn’t worry or report her missing, wouldn’t she? “What’s her next port of call?” I asked, hoping Pete would know.

  “I believe she was southbound. Next stop Cuba.” I filed this information in my head and knew that verifying this was a job for Deloris. I hoped that Deloris could also find employee lists for the Radiance and The Princess.

  “Here comes the pilot,” Pete said, nodding to someone approaching from behind me. “If you’d like, you can ride out and spend a few minutes at the boarding door of The Princess while they prepare to get underway. We are always greeted by the head steward of the ship. They know everything and everyone aboard their vessel.”

  While I considered this invitation, Pete welcomed the pilot aboard, introduced me to him, and explained my mission. The pilot seemed impatient. Definitely all business, I thought, which was all the persuasion I needed to climb aboard. And I did so with help from a hand of the captain. I stood at the starboard rail and watched Pete unweave the line from the cleat, put the boat in gear, and steer away from the pier.

  This was about all I could do, I thought. I didn’t have much to go on in tracking Bianca down. I had a picture on my phone, though. How very fortuitous to happen upon Pete! He could get me aboard The Princess, eliminating that possibility, and allow me to feel as though I had put in appropriate effort. And I would at least have an opportunity to ask a question or two before going back ashore and looking into my other missing person. Not exactly exhausting every avenue, I knew. But at least enough to justify the trip to Bar Harbor.

  In less than a minute, we were in the shade of The Princess. Pete pulled right up to a boarding door near the stern, leaving the boat in gear, and pressed against the ship’s hull to allow the pilot easy transfer. A man in a white uniform welcomed the pilot in a manner that indicated familiarity. As they chatted, I turned to Pete and asked, “What’s with the pilot? Is he always so unfriendly?” Pete smiled and held his reply until the pilot disappeared up a long set of stairs, I assumed to find the bridge.

  “The pilots have quite a racket going. They get paid cash, which I assume goes unclaimed. And they receive gifts—mostly top-shelf liquor. The presence of the law probably made him nervous.” Pete waved at the man in uniform to come close, and spoke loudly to be heard over the various noises associated with a large ship. After an abbreviated explanation, I handed my phone, which was open to Bianca’s Facebook portrait, to him and waited.

  The steward took a long and thoughtful look, shrugged, and handed the phone back to me. “Sorry, detective,” he said. “I don’t recall seeing her. We don’t allow employees to bring guests to the ship unless it’s an open-house situation, which hasn’t happened this trip. Do you know the name of the friend employed here? I am happy to find her for you.”

  “All I know is that she is from Romania,” I answered.

  “Yup. That fits about fifty percent of the kids in housekeeping and scullery. Frankly, I am shocked that you are looking for a foreign worker,” he said. “And if push came to shove, you wouldn’t be allowed aboard to investigate due to the fact that The Princess is flagged in Bimini.”

  “What? What does that have to do with anything?” I asked as I pushed my phone back into my hip pocket.

  “Most cruise lines register their ships in Bermuda or Africa for tax advantages. And with the foreign flag comes other rules. No US law enforcement, not even the FBI, has jurisdiction aboard this vessel unless investigating a crime involving a US citizen,” he said as if from rote memorization. Something suggested that he had had this conversation before, which caused me to bristle a bit. “And seeing as you are looking for someone other than a US citizen, you’re out of luck. And so is she, I guess.”

  “Wow, that’s cold,” I said. I pulled a business card from my bag and handed it to him. “If you find a stowaway, I’d appreciate a call.”

  “I can do that,” he said with a smile. “I don’t mean to sound callous. But a missing college girl in Bar Harbor, Maine? This isn’t exactly a den of iniquity. Maybe she ate too many fried clams.” He tucked my card into his shirt pocket. “Some of our other ports of call are another story. That’s why we don’t allow anyone other than paying passengers aboard. The students who come from Eastern Europe on visas are good kids. My guess is that your girl will surface before the end of the work day.”

  A voice barked over a loudspeaker announcing the ship’s departure and ordering all crew to man stations for weighing anchor. This was our cue to exit. I grabbed a handrail and braced myself as Pete pulled away from the ship. Although the ride out to the ship had proven fruitless, I had at least been able to cross a t and dot an i by following up on the only information I had regarding Bianca’s no-show. I loved getting out on a boat for any reason. And Pete was a bonus. “Thanks for getting me out to The Princess,” I said. “I guess the only thing more I can do here is speak with the launch boat captains. Maybe one of them recalls Bianca. Maybe she is headed to Cuba!”

  “Maybe.” Pete nodded. “Even with the good reputation, kids that age can be so impulsive and pretty thoughtless. It’s not unusual for the J-1s—that’s the student visa—to job hop. They secure any position to get a visa, then once they arrive, they get better offers. There’s a limited number of visas issued, and lots of jobs to fill. The foreign kids will do work for a lot less money than the locals. Doesn’t make them very popular with anyone except the business owners.”

  “Understood,” I said. “Can you tell me how and where to find the launch captains?”

  Before Pete could answer, the VHF radio blared—“Mayday, Mayday! This is the Elizabeth. I am taking on water. Just east of Porcupine.”

  Pete turned the wheel hard to starboard and pushed the throttle ahead to full. He grabbed the VHF’s mic
and said, “Hey Ron, this is Pete on Ragged But Right. Headed your way.”

  “She’s going down! Going down fast!” The voice was loud and urgent, but not hysterical at all. “About a half mile off the Thunder Ledge.”

  The Coast Guard came on next. “Elizabeth, Elizabeth, this is US Coast Guard Southwest Harbor, Maine group. Channel one six, come in please.” There was no reply. “Elizabeth, Elizabeth, this is US Coast Guard Southwest Harbor, Maine group. What is the nature of your emergency?” Silence. The Coast Guard called the vessel in distress many times, asking how many people were on board, if they had donned life jackets, if they were taking on water, and what their latitude and longitude was. Each question was followed by an eerie silence.

  “Sorry about this. But I’ll get to Ron before the Coast Guard leaves the dock,” he yelled over the roar of the diesel engine. “I fish around Ron. I know where he is, and we can be there in fifteen minutes.” Pete clenched his teeth, which caused a muscle to twitch in his jaw, pulsing in and out as he scanned the horizon with his black eyes. The GPS displayed our speed at twenty-six knots. I grabbed a handrail and hung on tight as we crossed wakes of working boats in their endless circles around traps and short sprints to the next buoy. The Coast Guard continued to try to raise the captain of the sinking boat on the radio, to no avail, which made the back of my neck prickle.

  A black ledge jutted from the surface off to our starboard bow. I looked at the chart plotter and saw that it was indeed Thunder Ledge, so I assumed we were within a couple minutes of the Elizabeth. Visibility was excellent. But the only vessel within range ahead of us was steaming north at a good clip, coming from the south as if they too were responding to the Mayday call. Pete slowly pulled the throttle back and kept his eyes moving, desperately searching. “How many people are we looking for?” I asked.