Bodega Bay Blues (Part Three of Six)

In the last episode: I turned my mind to the case Will was working. Betty said Will called it a "smuggling" case. The only other thing about the case she recalled him saying was that his client was some rich guy in San Francisco.

The first question that meager description of Will's case brought to mind was how come somebody hired him to investigate a crime that rightfully belonged to the federal government? The only answer I could come up with was the rich guy in San Francisco had some special interest in the smuggling and didn't think the government investigators, if there were any, were getting the answers he needed. Maybe.

A particularly large wave kicked up a column of spray that darn near reached the top of the cliff. I watched the rain it created fall back to splatter on the rocks and decided to go back to what I'd been doing when I found Will's car, looking around, only this time I would try the east side of the bay.

I retraced my route past Spud Point and around the top of the bay to rejoin California Route One. It took me south through the little village where I'd stopped for coffee and on to a turnoff labeled Doran Point. I turned and followed a gravel road that wandered around in a more or less westerly direction before eventually bringing me to the tip of a curving spit of land that formed one of the two jetties at the entrance to Bodega Bay.

A wide spot in the gravel road was littered with more Cypress trees and a sign announcing my arrival at "Doran Point Campground. Use fee $1.00/per night." I got out of my Chrysler to take a look around.

No more than a few hundred feet across, the wide spot in the spit was unique in that it's northern edge was a beach on the bay, and its southern edge was an ocean beach. Both were kind of gravely and not very inviting as beaches go, which might explain why I had this paradise all to myself. Well, almost to myself.

A small harbor occupied a tiny cove west of the campground. That harbor consisted of one pier extending some distance into the bay so as to accommodate boats that drew more than three-inches of water. One such boat was docked there.

Even though I'm a city boy, I know a little something about boats. My seafaring credentials were earned during the summers of my teens as a deckhand on the Lizzy S, a harbor tug named for my mother and skippered by my dad out of San Pedro. Based on that experience, I identified the forty-foot boat at Doran Point as some sort of workboat. Its steering station was inside a small deckhouse that extended forward to provide space for crew quarters.

I also took note of a large fellow in a striped T-shirt and dungarees lounging against the aft railing of the boat. Even though I couldn't prove it from where I stood, I was willing to bet money he had anchors or mermaids or some such maritime designs tattooed on both arms. He was definitely the tattoo type.

To Be Continued

This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locations, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Story, design, and Bodega Bay images © Steve Eitzen
Header Graphic & HPO Logo © HPO Productions
Johnny Spicer fictional character © Mysteries In History