by Lisa Harris
Get a grip, Quinn, she thought, chastising herself. Again with Ian Wolfe? Why was he at the forefront of her mind? Why had he been able to push past all of the careful defenses she set up to ensure the emotional safety of herself and others?
Could it be that simply by believing in her, by giving her the benefit of the doubt without any strings attached or questionable glances, he had found a crack in her armor? She couldn’t deny that it had been unbelievably satisfying to have someone side with her without having to convince them or work past ingrained biases. It had been a long time since that happened.
Simon had never been one to have her back like that. He had always questioned everything, always thought there was a better way.
Always.
The combination of intelligence, self-confidence and ambition that initially drew her to the fit, six-foot-three blonde with icy-blue eyes, eventually proved to be one of the very things that drove them apart.
Well, that and my substance abuse.
At the end Simon was right to question her, to second-guess her, because she was out of control. But when it all finally came out, when the episode in the courtroom led to the revelation of everything she had been hiding, he simply gave up. She remembered with an ache how he had put it so detachedly.
“I’m too smart, too ambitious and too busy to tie my life to someone with your issues. I’m a doctor for crying out loud. I can’t be in a relationship with an addict. I love you, Quinn, I do, but love can’t fix this. And I don’t have it in me to sidetrack my life to try.”
His words were cold and cruel and decisive, spoken on the evening of the courtroom incident while she was still in the hospital for observation. After her release the next day, she was only home half an hour before there was a knock on the door. It was a messenger service, there to collect the engagement ring Simon had slipped on her finger six months earlier over shrimp linguini at La Trattino, their favorite restaurant. She had ripped the pear-shaped two-carat stone off her finger, thrown it at the brown-uniformed messenger standing in the hallway, and slammed the door in his face.
It seems like a lifetime ago. I can’t believe it’s only been six months.
The sad truth was she didn’t even really miss Simon, despite the fact that they had been together three years. Whatever they had when they started up must have died without either one of them noticing it, killed off slowly but surely by their respective long work hours and diverging paths, her poor choices and a relationship based on convenience more than commitment.
Quinn’s cell vibrated silently in her purse. She dug it out and lifted it to read the text.
how are you?
Her heart dropped five stories. The text was from a number she didn’t recognize, from an area code that did not belong to Seaglass Cove.
Who is this? she replied, her gut churning.
ian
Instantly her dread evaporated. He had been thinking about her too. A warm buzz spread through her as her thumbs flew over her virtual keyboard.
I’m okay, thx, she typed. How did you get my number?
small town.
So? she fired back.
i asked around.
Thought you didn’t approve of gossip, she replied.
this wasn’t gossip. this was fact gathering.
She stifled a chuckle as she typed. Ahh.
so where are you? he asked.
I’m in church. Where are you? The responses which had been flying back to her like lightning halted. She wondered why while she waited for his reply, which came about half a minute later.
tallahassee. visiting my dad in his senior home. my brother lives here. visit every week.
She felt a smile break over her face as affectionate admiration bubbled in her. This man cared about family, making the hour-long drive there and back to Tallahassee every Sunday for his dad. She liked that. A lot. Her parents were the two people who stuck by her through everything, no matter what, despite disappointment, fear and just plain exhaustion. Family mattered to her. She was glad to find it mattered to Ian too.
Her stomach dipped slightly as it occurred to her that he hadn’t mentioned last night that his dad and brother lived just an hour away. In fact, now that she thought about it, she realized she had done all the talking and hadn’t asked a single real question about him. Nothing about his family. Nothing about his life before Seaglass Cove, or how he ended up here. She would have to change that. Inspiration struck and she sent out, When will you be back?
not till tonight. around 5.
Quinn held her breath for a moment as an idea came to her. Should she? After all, the suggestion wouldn’t be completely off-the-wall. She did have news to tell him. Her thumbs flew again. Got plans?
just me and the tv.
Come over to my place instead. I’ve got news, she baited.
??? what?
You’ll have to wait. Rather tell you in person.
you’re killing me, he replied.
This time she did chuckle. Sorry. In person.
address?
She gave it to him, told him it was her turn to feed him, and not to eat before he came over. He promised he wouldn’t. It looked like she was going to finally have to make that trip to the grocery store after all.
But not before she made a couple of other stops first.
Chapter Sixteen
The day was gorgeous, a canvas of cheerful blue skies painted with puffy white clouds and the sweet smell of blooming wildflowers caught up in the breeze as Quinn pulled out of the church parking lot with a plan.
It was a perfect day to be on the water and she couldn’t wait to put her kayak into the Cove Springs River and follow it for miles, just her and the water. Even the thought of it slowed her heartbeat and deepened her breathing, which was a good thing. What she was planning on doing after the kayak excursion would definitely have the opposite effect. Shane came on duty at three o’clock, and if she timed it right, she could be at the sheriff’s department before he left for patrol and could confront him in person about the button.
“Confront” is the wrong word, Quinn.
Okay, so she would show him the button. Prove that she wasn’t imagining things. He might still argue the guy hadn’t been dead, but he wouldn’t be able to say that she imagined him. It would at least be a step in the right direction.
A check of the dashboard clock said it was twelve fifteen, which gave her a little over two hours. She had already changed in the bathroom at church so she wouldn’t have to go back home. A quick trip through the drive-thru of The Chick’n Salad Hut for a sandwich and a side of fruit made lunch easy, and she gobbled it down on the drive to the river. Once in the parking lot of the launch point, she only had to register with the excursion service for a return shuttle pickup at two fifteen before she was carting her kayak to the water.
As soon as she slipped the craft into the gentle, crystal-clear river, an intense peace washed over her, her mind truly clear for the first time in days. Her teal hull skimmed soundlessly through the water as she paddled rhythmically on one side, then the other. This section was shallow and thick with eel grass that lined the banks and swayed beneath the surface in the mild current, like performers in a synchronized routine with flashes of mullet darting in and out for added show.
She dragged her fingertips in the water, which remained at seventy-two degrees year-round, thanks to the deep underground springs that fed it. Gripping the paddle again, she sped on, passing banks dotted with palmettos and the white, fragrant blooms of spider lilies. Two turtles sunbathed on a fallen log, while a red-shouldered hawk soared above her, its wings outstretched, rising and falling on a draft.
The river wasn’t crowded today, which was surprising given the good weather and the fact that locals liked to squeeze in as many trips as possible before the touristy months. There were only a half dozen other paddlers within sight, and eventually they would spread out too, as each adopted their own pace. As for Quinn, she was only going three miles an
d had an hour and a half to do it, so she wasn’t in a hurry.
After about twenty minutes, the river transitioned, widening where several live oaks towered over the banks’ edges. The river bottom became less marshy green, as the eel grass tapered off until there was nothing but water, transparent to the bottom. In the varying sunlight and depths it appeared as shades of brilliant turquoise, white, sand, or all three at once, like a geode rock cut clean through and laid bare.
The waterway began to wind here, snaking back and forth under shady, overhead growth, creating a tunnel-like feel and decreasing visibility downriver. Most of the paddlers had passed her by this time, leaving only one within view behind her. She was almost alone on the water. Exactly how she liked it. Especially as she neared her favorite section.
She felt a smile break on her face as she spotted a trio of manatees in the water ahead, their massive forms fully visible in the glassy river. “Hello, beauties,” she whispered as she passed where they were lolling, six feet or so from her kayak. Unable to withstand colder sea temperatures during winter months, these giant, lumbering sea cows often sought out the consistent warmth of the underground spring-fed river, even at this time of year. Sometimes they followed it all the way to the head, several miles further inland. On another day she might slow to stay with them, see if they might approach her, as they were sometimes known to do. But there wasn’t time today and she gently dipped her oar in once more, the largest of the manatees turning toward her as she left them behind, almost as if bidding her farewell.
As she swiveled to watch them, she caught a glimpse of the kayaker behind her, his orange, rented craft a vibrant contrast to the blue-green waters. He seemed to barely spare the creatures a glance before pressing on, paddling more aggressively than Quinn would have advised in the vicinity of the manatees.
Must have a tight schedule, she thought, wondering if maybe he hadn’t allowed enough time to meet his return shuttle. But thoughts of him quickly left her as thirty yards ahead the entrance to the Magic Forest came into view.
She had dubbed this section by that name when she was eight years old, when her father used to take her on trips in a tandem kayak down this very river. More than twenty years later she still believed the name was well-deserved. The beginning of the passage was marked by a grouping of enormous bald cypress trees she had always thought of as the gatekeepers to this realm. These giants shot a hundred feet into the air from bases as wide as cars, the roots visible above the waterline like impossibly thick fingers digging for something on the river bottom. Once inside, more bald cypress trees dotted the narrowing river, their overhanging limbs creating a canopy of tightly compacted needles draped with curtains of ash-grey Spanish moss. The current picked up a bit, and Quinn’s spirits lifted as she worked to navigate the labyrinth, dodging trees and fallen trunks before the current slowed again. Here she let herself drift, mindlessly eyeing the gorgeous scenery as she pondered Ian Wolfe.
She had asked him to dinner. Sure, there was the button and all that, but there was no avoiding the reality that she had, in fact, asked him over for dinner.
Did I make a mistake?
Her failed relationship with Simon had left scars and now was fostering doubts. The echoes of the labels she often applied to herself reverberated in her mind. Would Ian even want to be with someone like her? But then, she had told him her stories and apparently he hadn’t been scared off. To the contrary, he was the one who reached out to her this morning. And he just agreed to what could conceivably be considered a dinner date. Or in his mind was it just a meeting with a new friend, with the goal of digging through a mystery together?
Which was it?
A sinking feeling curdled in the pit of her stomach. Was that all it was? Just a friend helping a friend?
Quinn breathed deeply, inhaling the musty scent of Spanish moss as somewhere to her left a bird called out, clicking and cawing. Her insides hummed at the realization that she was definitely interested in this being more than an opportunity to relay developments in the burglary situation.
The real question, then, was what was Ian thinking?
She remembered Meghan Carne and the way Ian had interacted with her at The Shed. A knot of disappointment tightened in her chest, as the memory left her fairly certain that, for Ian, dinner tonight was likely just two friends hashing through a puzzle.
But maybe that wasn’t so bad. She needed more friends in this town. People who truly had her back, and especially ones untainted by her history. Plus, romance invited drama, something she definitely didn’t need. In the end, “just friends” might be for the best all the way around.
Quinn arrived at the take-out point at exactly 2:13 p.m., leaving just a couple of minutes to spare before the shuttle was scheduled to leave. With the use of a cart, she towed her kayak to the shuttle van, where the driver helped her load it onto the trailer hitched to its rear. She was climbing in the van when she noticed that the kayaker who stayed with her for most of the journey was loading his rental kayak onto a cart at the water’s edge. The driver was hustling to meet him.
For the briefest of moments, the man’s eyes flashed to meet Quinn’s and a warning chill cut through her. Then he looked away and went back to fiddling with the kayak’s straps again. Her senses on high-alert, she climbed the rest of the way inside the van and slid over as far as possible on the first row until she was directly behind the driver’s seat. She watched as the man and the driver noisily dragged the cart through the gravel lot, unable to pinpoint exactly why she had been so triggered by his gaze. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that something about it just felt off.
They rolled the cart past the van to the trailer at the back, the man not sparing her a single glance. When they passed from view, Quinn faced forward, replaying the kayak trip in her mind, especially the fact that he had stayed with her the whole time even though her pace had been rather slow. Other kayakers had caught up to her and passed by, but not him.
But if they were on the same shuttle, his proximity was probably a harmless coincidence.
Or not.
Contempt welled in her. She despised this paranoia or whatever it was rearing its head again. Finding freedom from that feeling was one of the best parts of going through her rehabilitation program—coming out of the neurotic haze she had inflicted upon herself with her bad choices and self-medication. Now it was back. Only she wasn’t on anything.
The banging at the back of the truck from the loading of the kayak ceased, and Quinn steeled herself, expecting the man to hop into the van with her.
Hopefully he’ll keep moving to one of the other rows.
But when he didn’t climb in, she swiveled around to see him walking away from the trailer toward the back of the parking lot. Relief washed over her, and feeling a bit ridiculous for overreacting, she turned as the driver appeared at the door.
“Looks like it’s just you this run,” he said. “You good?”
“Yep,” Quinn replied, grateful they didn’t need to wait on a straggling kayaker, which happened sometimes. She really needed to get to the sheriff’s department by two forty-five.
As the engine started up, Quinn’s thoughts turned to meeting with Shane and she began running through exactly what she was going to say. The van circled around to the exit, giving her a direct view of the rear of the lot. What she saw made her heart freeze.
The kayaker was sitting in the passenger seat of a car parked in the last row—a grey Sonata driven by a man wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap.
Chapter Seventeen
“I don’t get it,” Quinn said, pointing at the button inside the clear baggie now held by Shane. “Why won’t you believe me?”
They sat across the table from each other in the drab eight-by-eight interview room Shane had taken her to. “Look, Quinn, it’s not a matter of believing you. It’s just that this button doesn’t prove anything. It could have come from anywhere. Could be your dad’s or from somebody who rented the place years ago
before your parents moved in.” His voice was firm, his face tight with frustration.
“No, it couldn’t be,” Quinn said. Her words were sharp despite the fact that she had promised herself she would remain calm no matter what. But she was finding that harder than anticipated because he had barely let her get her story out before dismissing it wholeheartedly. Her eyes flicked to the mirror on the wall across from her, which was clearly an observation window.
The whole department is probably watching on the other side—gathered to hear the crazy woman roll out her latest tale. “I told you,” she said, shoving aside those thoughts. “I cleaned that entire area just days ago. No one else has been in the house since then but me, you, your guys and whoever broke in.” She waved a hand at the baggie. “It even looks like the kind of button that would be on the shirt he was wearing. The only explanation is that it came from him, because the buttons on your uniforms don’t match,” she said, that fact obvious given the black buttons on the shirt he was wearing.
“No, that’s the only explanation you’re willing to accept,” Shane retorted, his voice rising slightly in volume, “because you’re determined to stick with this story about a corpse. But Quinn, nothing supports it and this,” he flipped the plastic bag onto the table so that it slid a little, stopping in front of her, “means nothing. It could be your button for all we know. I mean, did you check that?”
His tone was infuriating. Heat crept up in her center, like the slow rise of mercury in a thermometer. “I haven’t worn anything with a button like that, and you’re not even considering the whole situation with the guy I saw in the car watching me…following me! Twice!”