Murder at Fire Bay by Ron Hess Page B

anxious to see the contents of the box. As might be expected, the prop was covered with good old foam peanuts, full of static. I personally hate the stuff, but it works. There was an empty trashcan nearby, so I carefully began to pour out the peanuts.
    The prop was there all right, as was a six-inch square plastic container of a white powdery substance. It didn’t take long for everyone to guess it wasn’t talcum powder.
    “Do you know what this is, Bill?” Wattle asked softly and pointed to it lying alongside the prop on top of the peanuts.
    Bill sighed and shook his head from side to side. “No, I don’t,” he said, and started to reach for it.
    “Don’t touch it!” Wattle yelled, “there may be fingerprints on it!”  
    Stevens withdrew his fingers as they’d been burnt.
    I took a deep breath. Stevens was not going to like what I had to say next. “I’m afraid I can’t let you have the prop.”
    “What? Why in hell not?” he said, giving me a look of disbelief.
    “I have to ship it north to Anchorage for them to have a look for fingerprints.”
    Stevens looked like he could strangle me. “But I need to get going on some late halibut fishing!”
    “Sorry,” I answered, “but this is on federal property, and since it is, the feds have to find out what this white stuff is. It’s probably cocaine, but it could be anything.”  
    I decided not to mention the “A” word. That would really start rumor mills going around town. “Yeah, did you hear they found anthrax in Bill Stevens’ box at the P.O?” The next thing would be CNN unloading camera equipment at the airport.
    “Really, it’s for your own protection, Bill,” I added. “I know it puts a crimp in your fishing, but that’s the way it has to be. Have you ordered a new prop?”
    Bill swiped at his forehead and looked at Wattle. “Yeah, but when I heard the package was here I called and cancelled it! Son-of-a-bitch! What the hell, Wattle! Can’t you do anything about this?”
    “I wish I could, Bill, but the postmaster’s right, this is on federal property. I have no authority here. I doubt you’re part of a drug ring, but we have to play it straight. Okay?”
    Wattle actually backed me up. I could not believe it. Without further word, with the plastic gloves still on, I began putting the peanuts, prop, and cocaine back into the same box they came in.
    ‘Listen,” I said as I worked. “I’ll get this sent off on the afternoon plane. And I’ll call ahead to make sure it gets special treatment. I wish I could promise when you’ll get your prop back, but I can’t.”
    Stevens, with a worried look on his face, could only nod. “Am I free to go?” he asked.
    Wattle jumped in before I could answer. “Sure you are, Bill. How about me buying you a cup of coffee and a roll at the Eat More?”
    “Yeah, but I gotta make a phone call first to the prop dealer. Can I use your phone?” he asked, looking at me.  
    I nodded. It was the least I could do. “But do not tell him about the white substance. He may be part of this.”
    “No, I won’t tell him, even though I’d like to give him a piece of my mind,” he said, and strode over to my phone.  
    I looked over at Wattle still in his shades. He returned my look with a slight shrug.  
    To make everything neat and tidy, I put the old box and its contents inside a new box and taped it shut. I handed it to Ashley who had been standing there all the time, her mouth a straight line.
    “Would you put this in the outgoing mail?”
    “Of course.” And she moved off, box in hand.
    Wattle coughed behind me. “Some fine looking help you have here, Bronski.”

 
    Chapter 15
     
    “Boss?”
    “Yeah, Bronski, what you got?”
    “A box with a prop and a six-inch square clear plastic container filled with a white substance.”
    The Boss’s chair let out a mighty squeak. I could imagine he was reaching forward for the unlit cigar balanced on the edge of a modified coffee can. He would stow