Page 26 of Hook, Line and Mystery

“No. They’re too big; too expensive; and not legal.”

The sight of the foreign traps, with their intricate make and design, set off a silent alarm inside her. There was a story unfolding before them, a narrative written in the language of clandestine activity and whispered secrets.

“Who would go to such lengths to hide these here?” Her mind was racing with possibilities that neither named nor acknowledged the dread that accompanied them.

“Someone who doesn’t want them to be found.” Kit’s jaw clenched as he examined the traps further. “Look, they've been cut loose from a buoy line. Somebody left them, thinking they’d get taken out to sea. It looks like they got jammed up.”

“We have to find who’s responsible.” Abby felt a surge of determination threading through her words like steel.

They followed the trail of empty traps. The evidence before them was a silent testament to the deeper undercurrents of Badger’s Drift. Neither spoke of the implications, but suspicions passed between them, as tangible as the spray of the sea against their skin. Following the trail of traps, the watery alcove widened and expanded, leading them into a well-sheltered sea cave.

Kit looked down the deep rivulet of water that led back to the sea. “If someone knew where this was and knew what they were doing, they could use a shallow-draft skiff to transport lobsters from here out to a boat. Or take them to somewhere they parked a truck.”

Close to the wall of the cave, a black tarp caught their eye; Kit lifted it back. A stash of lobster tanks between the boulders—live lobsters, their claws rubber banded together, were packed in so tightly they could barely move. The pungent tang of brine and sea life wafted from the hoard. Packaging materials and scales were scattered about, evidence of hasty preparations for shipping.

"What are you thinking?" she asked.

"I’m thinking we found ourselves a lead," he replied, his voice low and intense. "Could be the break we’ve been searching for." Kit took a step back as if in shock, his eyes widening at the sight. “This is no ordinary catch.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, leaning over and picking up a small, sharp knife.

“They’re specialized. They’re oversized—lobsters with a carapace have to be between three and a quarter and five inches.”

Abby held up her hand. “Carapace?”

He grinned at her. “The body. The part before the tail. Anything outside of that size is supposed to be thrown back. Those three are females and they have eggs or roe. Again, illegal to harvest.”

“What would they want with illegal lobster?”

“It looks like they were getting ready to sell these on the black market.”

Abby swallowed, her throat tightening. “This is big, Kit. Much bigger than we imagined.”

There was a distinctive click from a handgun being cocked behind them.

“It’s only illegal if you get caught,” came a gruff voice. “You can’t sell them here in the States or Canada, but some folks will pay big bucks for them. We had to leave in a hurry just before dawn because of you two, but the boss had one of those Russian oligarchs pay upfront for delivery of these beauties for his daughter’s wedding.”

She and Kit turned around slowly, both of their eyes fixed on the deadly weapon pointed at them.

“The boss said we needed to get them and get them flown out today. I think the buyer is part of the Russian mob and those boys don’t kid around. You piss them off, they don’t just kill you, they kill everyone in your family.”

“So, is that what you’re going to do?” Kit asked, stepping forward and pushing Abby behind him.

“You haven’t left me much choice, now, have you?”

Abby looked down, spotting a knife the poachers had left behind. Surreptitiously she maneuvered the knife so that she was holding it like a dart for use on a dart board. She knew knives had a tendency to roll end-over-end when thrown, but she figured the guy was close enough that if she hit him with any force, it would be enough of a distraction to allow Kit to tackle him.

Stepping from behind Kit, Abby threw the knife with every ounce of strength she possessed. The knife did revolve, but as she’d hoped, she was close enough that when it hit him on the hand, he was sufficiently surprised and dropped the gun. Both he and Kit dove for it, and Kit came up the winner.

“Good throw.”

“I made money when I was in college playing darts.”

Kit chuckled. “How are you with a handgun?”

“Never missed a bullseye since I learned. I like to go to the shooting range to blow off steam,” she said, stepping up behind him and taking the gun from his hand. “You,” she said to the poacher, “on your knees, fingers laced behind your head.”

“Did you date a cop?” quipped Kit.

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