Unexpected Event at Catalina Island: Mystery Solved

Unexpected Event at Catalina Island

Mystery Solved

R.J. Poliquin

Brighton Publishing LLC

435 N. Harris Drive

Mesa, AZ 85203

www.BrightonPublishing.com

ISBN13: 978-1-62183-503-5

Copyright © 2018

eBook

SMASHWORDS EDITION

Cover Design: Tom Rodriguez

All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. The characters in this book are fictitious and the creation of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to other characters or persons living or dead is purely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher or copyright owner.

Acknowledgements

Thanks to Laura Tardy for her unexpected insights. A special thank you to Judi Honeychurch for her critical progress reviews and knowledge of Catalina.

***

Dedication

This story is dedicated to my wife, whose critiquing and encouragement kept me on track, and my good friend, Don Reed, who loved to read a good mystery.

Chapter One

From the left side of the new and ever-widening riverbed, a man’s size twelve shoes began to emerge from the bank. The normally dry wash was now alive with brown torrents of raging water. Categorized as a Gust Front, the severe rainstorm wreaked havoc on the high desert. Less than an hour ago, the Gust Front was generating winds more than seventy miles an hour. The sky had opened up with epic proportions, viciously throwing down rain. Over two inches of rain and grape-sized hail had slammed into the ground. Every few years, the deserts of the western United States are subjected to extremely violent weather. Normally, the rainfall in this area of the Mojave is less than five inches a year. Therefore, when the monsoon season is in effect from July to August, thunderstorms can drop a large portion of that amount.

As the thumb-sized drops began to subside into a gentle mist, the tops of the shoes began to protrude from the upper lip of the enlarged wash. The heavy pounding of rain and hail had effectively chiseled away a foot of dirt and rock from both sides of the riverbed. The unrelenting deluge had eroded away enough soil to partially reveal legs attached to the shoes.

***

There was no rain, hail or wind for the last hour. Emily Ratcliff, avoiding the puddled water, walked gingerly across the street toward the group mailboxes in their gated townhouse complex. She had waited patiently for the rain to stop, not wanting to take any chances of her newly purple streaked hair getting wet. To earn her allowance, one of her chores was to retrieve the mail each day.

The seventeen-year-old honor student lived with her younger brother Dan, Danny, and father Shane, in Lancaster, California. This growing city of nearly 200,000 is located in Antelope Valley, in the high desert of Northern Los Angeles County. Their mother died from an overdose of methamphetamine when Emily was three. Emily was a tomboy and loved exploring the desert with her dad, especially searching for Paiute and Cahuilla artifacts. Over the years they had unearthed several small woven baskets, four spear tips, hundreds of beads, countless arrowheads and a partial sandal made from a Yucca plant. One of their most prized discoveries was a two-inch-long bone pipe with decorative carvings. They had also found ancient petroglyphs, but these were photographed and logged in their location. It was always best to keep these carvings secret so opportunist looters wouldn’t remove them to sell.

Red-haired Danny, sixteen years old, was also an honor student. He was busy earning his allowance by making dinner for the very close-knit family. Their father, nicknamed Spark because he was an electrician, would be home in less than thirty minutes. Over a simple, but tasty meal of sloppy joes, corn on the cob and barbeque beans, they would be discussing tomorrow’s excursion into the desert.

***

Lane Rolt, thirty-five with a master’s degree in Marine Biology, taught at Santa Monica College. After graduation from University of California Santa Barbara, she put family over career. Lane chose to be close to her husband in Santa Monica instead of pursuing a doctorate in Santa Barbara. Off for the summer, she was busy running errands for dry cleaning and groceries. Now, she was stopped at a red light and trying to decide what to bring home for dinner. Green light… "Salmon burritos it will be!"

Her husband, Dillon, was the athletic director at Santa Monica College. At dinner, they would be putting the finishing touches on their plans for a weeklong vacation/second honeymoon on Catalina Island. Ten years ago, they were married on the Mediterranean-like Island, with plans to honeymoon on Lane’s uncle’s boat in Mission Bay, San Diego. However, their plans went awry when they were suddenly stranded for a few days on San Clemente Island. This channel island is owned and operated by the United States Navy. When their ordeal on the island was over, Dillion and Lane later admitted it was exciting to be marooned together.

Their getaway plan (second honeymoon) was to take the Express boat from Long Beach to Catalina Island, only twenty-six miles from the mainland and less than a two-hour trip. Once on the island, they would check into their hotel. The following morning, Saturday, they would rent a small skiff in Avalon and head to the virtually uninhabited west side. There, they would camp and attempt to live off of the land/water as they had ten years ago. Only this time, they would have a tent, sleeping bags, fresh water and some supplies, including dive gear and a spear gun. After six days, they would head back to Avalon. There, they would spend Friday and Saturday evening in a hotel. On Saturday night, they would be attending the inaugural Catalina 1970’s Rock & Roll Cover-Bands Festival, to be held in the famous Casino building. The Festival would be starting with minor groups on Friday afternoon in several locations around Avalon, culminating with the major bands performing on Saturday night. On Sunday morning, Lane and Dillon would catch the early boat home.

Almost simultaneously, husband and wife arrived home. Dillon used his remote to open the double garage door, and as he was closing the driver’s-side door. Lane zipped into the garage next to him. Her beloved Honda Element and his Jeep Cherokee were parked side by side like best buddies.

Hey sweetie, will you give me a hand with the groceries?

Sure thing, how was your day? Dillon asked as he lifted the tailgate and removed the two cases of cat food.

A quick kiss and she began, I am pleased to report that our camping permit came today. I was beginning to have my doubts about the Island Conservancy coming through for us. With a week to spare, this should be a terrific time away. I’m really looking forward to it.

Dillon unlocked the front door of their West Los Angeles condominium while juggling the flats of cans. Lane carried the dry-cleaning and dinner.

Something smells good, what did you get? No… wait, let me guess… Fish Tacos?

Lane shook her head and said, You’ll just have to wait and see before putting the savory bag on the kitchen table. Dillon set the cat food on the kitchen floor and promptly grabbed a beer for himself as he saw Lane was drinking a bottle of water before sitting down. The older of their two cats, Oliver, a Siamese, was ready to jump in his master’s lap, hopeful of a taste.

Mr. Rolt, you are spoiling that feline and she is becoming a real beggar. I am surprised she eats any of her food.

Oh, come on, a little spoiling won’t hurt. Don’t be so stuffy!

STUFFY, am I? Lane no sooner finished asking the rhetorical question than she tossed a piece of her burrito at her husband. The small chunk of fish hit him squarely in the chest before landing on the floor. Oliver did not need any coaxing to gobble up the treat. Tigger, a rescue Tabby, watched the goings-on from a safe distance. He did not like any sort of commotion. When the doorbell rang or someone knocked on the door, his reaction was to hide under the bed.

Sorry, you know I didn’t mean anything. Let’s sit on the couch and review our list of supplies. I would like to see that permit you worked so hard to get.

Please remember that I sent six emails and three letters to various people at the Catalina Island Conservancy. I think we were fortunate to make contact with someone that was understanding of our story of getting married in the Casino and then stranded on San Clemente. It’s highly unusual for them to let someone camp in an undesignated area. I would suspect their decision was swayed when reading about my research and my two summers teaching at the Catalina Marine Institute five years ago. Also, I told them I would be free diving and monitoring the numbers of Pink and Green abalone that I might be fortunate to see. We will share our observations with the Institute of these varieties have been over harvested, and large ones are harder to find. At any rate, they granted us permission, but we do have strict guidelines.

Dillon looked up from his burrito and with a mouth full mumbled, Like what?

Oh, no trash, no camp fires, no smoking, no loud music, clean up all evidence that we were there. And I almost forgot, bury all number two; basically, we become ghosts. I agreed and signed our acceptance.

Now at full attention, incredulously he asked, Let me get this straight. You just agreed to no hot meals for the entire time we’re camping?

More or less. However, I think we would be okay if we used our small Sterno stove for dinners. Other than that, raw, cold or packaged. Sounds great, don’t you think?

Sorry, I’m not one with nature like you. I just can’t go for a swim and come back with a meal like you. I’ll make sure we have plenty of granola bars, beef jerky and peanut butter.

Don’t be such a baby! You’ll be in a tent and have a sleeping bag. Remember, our first night will be in a comfortable hotel. And don’t forget that our last two will be in the hotel so you can lounge in the bathtub. I think it will romantic to camp out and live off of what nature will provide us. Besides, we’ll have an ice chest with Blue Ice and if we’re careful, that should keep our milk and juice cold for –three to four days. I can’t wait. Now, the best for last. I’ve secured us two tickets for a 70’s Cover Bands concert at the Casino. I understand they are expecting ’The Eagles, Fleetwood Mac, Journey, Kiss, Led Zeppelin, Queen’ and your favorite, ’Pink Floyd‘. Even though these groups aren’t the real thing, these babies were much more difficult to obtain than the camping pass, but that’s another story.

Dillon shook his head and said nothing as he got up from the table. He made his way to the TV room where he plopped down on the sofa.

A slight smirk on her face, Lane with her water and a cold beer in hand for Dillon, joined her husband. Cuddled together, they watched an Indiana Jones movie. For the remainder of the evening, neither of them brought up the subject of their vacation meals.

Actually, Dillon was very pleased about the Rock & Roll tickets but enjoyed playing the woe-is-me card.

***

While his children were inside preparing their modest dinner, Shane Radcliff parked his Ford pickup in the driveway. RADCLIFF ELECTRIC was emblazoned in crimson on the side doors. Exiting the four-wheel drive vehicle, Shane’s eyes were focused on the silver hood. Littered about in the metallic paint were ten to fifteen knuckle sized dings, caused by hailstones from the horrific downpour that happened two hours ago. Upset, he cursed to himself and wondered how his windshield hadn’t broken. During the majority of the fast-moving storm, he was inside a new commercial tilt-up. He was meeting with a city inspector and hopeful for a final sign-off of his just completed work.

Shane had arrived for the meeting fifteen minutes early. Exiting his truck, he noticed the air was unusually still. Menacing black storm clouds approached slowly. The morning’s news forecast had the chance of rain at eighty percent, with wind gusting to fifty miles per hour.

The city building inspector also came early, only minutes behind. Last week, the two had hooked up to review and sign off on the rough electrical, thus granting Radcliff Electrical permission to proceed with the balance of work. However, once they started their review of the finished electrical, the wind began to howl. When windows rattled, the two men looked out the second story balcony glass doors. Trees were bending, hail was starting to pelt the ground. The sound became deafening. The violent storm had surprised them with its suddenness and intensity. It quickly became apparent that this was no ordinary storm, as the Gust Front was producing winds well in excess of fifty miles per hour. It did not take a meteorologist to explain what was happening. The two men were transfixed watching the ever-growing hail stones accumulate on the ground. The middle-aged inspector remarked, If we were in Connecticut, I’d say this is a Nor’easter. But since we’re in California, I don’t know what to call this thing.

Let’s just be glad we’re inside and pray the damage to the city won’t be too great. Without looking at each other, they nodded in agreement. The electrician continued, We certainly can use the rain. It’s unfortunate that it has to come all at once.

Shane was expressing his concern for damage when a bright flash of lightning and a simultaneous crack of thunder boomed. The building shook. The marquee sign marking the new building was hit, shattering the plastic letters and exposing the interior of the twenty-foot high structure to the pounding elements. The repair would be a change order for Radcliff Electric, but Shane was not thinking about business. Shane, as the dad, was concerned about his family and his house. He was confident Emily and Danny were okay, as they knew how to take of themselves in the outdoors. However, their house was twenty-five years old and in need of a new roof. Every year, Shane told himself that in summer, he’d hire someone. But each year, something always came up with the kids, braces, karate lessons, new computer, etc. There was always …

With a successful inspection completed, the two men made their way outside. The worst was over, with only mild rain coming down. But the effects of the storm were all around. Built up hail on the ground looked like snow. Everywhere, there were bent trees, torrents of water running down the streets, overwhelmed storm drains, flooded intersections, and debris in unusual places. And this was late July!

The drive home presented few obstacles for the elevated body of the four-wheel drive, late model pickup. However, what should have been a twenty-minute drive turned out to be an hour-long journey. The most direct route warranted taking side streets, of which the majority offered flooded intersections. In the desert cities of the Western United States, most have very little rainfall. Consequently, there are limited storm drains along the roadways. Blown over trees, broken branches, single lanes and bumper-to-bumper traffic were just a few of the issues Shane had to deal with.

Less than ten minutes to the house and the phone rang. He touched his Bluetooth, Hello?

Hey Dad, just checking in. Are you okay? We were expecting you a while ago, said a concerned Emily.

Happy to hear his daughter’s voice, Shane replied, I’m close, maybe five minutes. You can take the food off of the stove. He couldn’t contain his anxiety any longer and had to ask, How does the house look, any leaks? Shane was protective of his children and did not want them worrying about the house or the bills. He figured they had plenty to concern themselves with, school, grades, peer pressure, and the other worries of being teenagers.

Not that we can find. We knew you would be anxious about the roof, so as soon as we got home, we checked all of the ceilings, and we can’t find any leaks.

Bless you! That’s great.

The only damage we have seen is a couple of your prize rose bushes broken from the hail. Other than that, some ice on the ground, all minor stuff…

Love you, be there in a minute. Bye.

Shane didn’t bother to look at his beloved plants in the backyard. He was relieved his roof had appeared to have survived the vicious storm. He washed up and sat down to dinner. There would be plenty of time after they ate to inspect the house and assess any damage. Now, it was more important to bond with the kids and enjoy some chili flavored corn. Danny served, and Emily plated their father’s meal first. Two sloppy joes, one ear of corn and a healthy spoonful of barbeque beans were set on his plate.

Danny asked, What’s the plan for tomorrow? I think we should walk along the river bed because I’m sure the sides have been thoroughly washed away.

While their Dad ate, Emily gave her opinion, I say, let’s start where we found the bead necklace and partial arrow. There are more discoveries to be made at that site. I like Danny’s idea, but let’s start there. Do you remember where it is? It is by the downed Joshua tree, where we found that broken arrow shaft. It is amazing we could find an Apache Plum shaft after being buried for who knows how long? One hundred, two hundred years? Emily was glowing with enthusiasm.

Wiping the remains of his second sandwich from his chin, Shane replied, I like both of your plans. However, if we are going to scout both areas we need to get an early start, so we need to pack the truck tonight. Danny glanced over at his sister, who did not object. How about two hours at Danny’s site and then we go to Emily’s place by the riverbed? Two hours there, and then we play it by ear. Agreed? Both kids nodded in approval.

Danny volunteered to get their digging gear ready, while Emily agreed to gas up the truck. Shane was responsible for the first aid box, granola bars and drinks.

***

It was 5:38 a.m. Saturday morning, the three family explorers were fortified with oatmeal, coffee and hot chocolate. They loaded their gear and piled into the company pickup truck. The sun was just beginning to smile over the mountain tops. Fresh air and expected mild weather should make for an enjoyable expedition into the upper Mojave Desert.

Emily sat behind the wheel, as she liked nothing better than to off-road and search for Indian artifacts. Ever since their mother had died, Shane had tried to find an activity that would help bind them together. He was truly thankful for having discovered this simple, inexpensive but rewarding pastime.

***

Oscar Salazar-Olivia and Lorenzo Olivia were cousins on their father’s side of the family. For the last twelve years, they operated a successful charter boat service in Ensenada. Oscar & Lorenzo Sport Fishing offered whale watching, harbor cruises and one or two-day fishing charters. Lorenzo, the older of the cousins, was in their dockside office reviewing the week’s proceeds. Oscar was overseeing three deck hands that were busy cleaning and securing their fleet of boats for the evening.

Standing outside the office, the shorter of the two men knocked on the glass window of the locked and distressed front door. We are closed Señor, please come back manaña! Lorenzo shouted without much of a glance.

This time, the knocks were more deliberate. Lorenzo took off his glasses and walked to the door. The cousins didn’t have so much business as to turn customers away, but this had been a very busy week, and Lorenzo was tired. Speaking through the door, he asked, Yes sir, what do you want?

We want to book a charter a week from next Saturday. Just so we’re clear, that’s two weeks from tomorrow. It will be an overnight fishing trip for one passenger to Islas Todos los Santos. We have cash and would like to arrange the trip now. He said in a persuasive friendly tone, We wish to pay all expenses for our friend, as we are flying home in the morning. Islas Todos los Santos consists of two small islands located twelve miles from Ensenada and is most famous for their monstrous surf, the largest in North America.

Never one to turn easy money down, Lorenzo opened the door and waved the two olive-skinned men inside. He thought these guys did not look like outdoorsmen and definitely weren’t fishermen. They seemed fit but dressed more like city folk. The men were in their thirties, well dressed and each had manicured nails.

Lorenzo offered his hand, but neither accepted. The taller and older of the two turned and faced the door while the other spoke. We want to charter a boat for an overnight fishing trip to the islands. I see on your placard the rate is twenty-five hundred American. That’s okay, but my offer is this, our friend will arrive on Saturday morning between six and seven a.m. The charter should be under the name of Mr. Smith. As he spoke, he handed Lorenzo a white sealed envelope, with $2,500 scribbled in pencil on the outside. The stranger introduced himself as Paulo. He was freshly shaven, very well groomed and smelled of expensive cologne. Paulo said he and his partner were from Brazil.

There is something else. Before continuing, Paulo looked at the front door where his accomplice seemed to turn around and give an all-clear/no one around nod. Okay, we want you to pick up two guys at Islas Todos los Santos. When they are on board, your charter heads back to Ensenada.

Señor, what do you mean?

Let me explain. I want you personally to captain the boat. I want a twenty-five-footer, something that is fast and reliable. On Saturday, we fish, then you wait for another boat to come alongside and my friends will board. You pick them up, then head straight back to the dock in Ensenada. No stops, and no talking to anyone on the radio. Paulo paused to make sure Lorenzo comprehended the instructions. Easy money, my friend!

I don’t understand, this sounds illegal. We are not smugglers, our business is clean.

Another envelope emerged from the stranger’s back pocket, this one without any monetary amount. Nothing wrong with giving a couple of guys a lift to port, is there? He asked rhetorically. Besides, this little ride pays five grand, cash. He offered the second envelope, this one much fatter and not sealed. Clearly visible inside were sequential United States hundred-dollar bills.

Lorenzo did not move and said nothing, hoping his cousin would come through the door. He stood frozen, trying his best to understand any repercussions of accepting such an offer.

I know what you’re thinking, that we’re transporting drugs or something else illegal. I can assure you this is not the case. My two friends only have some passport issues with the United States, that’s all. So, do we have a deal?

Señor, your offer is most generous, but I must speak with my cousin. We’re partners and share all important decisions.

Starting to become agitated, he countered, I don’t think you understand. This is not a request, you will do this and say nothing. We know all about you, your cousin Oscar, your families, and where you live. This time the speech was direct. Comprende, amigo?

Even though Lorenzo was larger than the man threatening him, there was something about the stranger’s eyes that bothered him. They were cold and uncaring, an intimidating feature that