Dangerous Tidings

by Dana Mentink

  His existence since Carrie’s death had been about rescuing victims. Rescue deployments usually resulted in a quick black-or-white outcome. He got them out alive, or he didn’t. Though some victims stayed with him, stuck in his gut, Donna was another story entirely. He could not seem to pry her from his thoughts, and the ferocious need to protect her baffled him.

  “Brent,” Donna yelled, her stricken face appearing over the side of the dock. “Are you hurt?”

  “Only my pride,” he called up. He swam easily to the nearest ladder and hauled himself out of the water onto the dock, where he stood gushing all over the planking. “What about you?”

  “Me? I’m not hurt.”

  “Let me see your wrist,” he demanded.

  Chagrined, she held out her arm.

  He ran wet fingertips over the smooth surface, feeling the pulse ticking there.

  “This is a little ridiculous, considering you’re the one who got yanked into the bay.” She peered closely. “Your forehead is bruised.”

  Brent wiped water from his face. “He got off a lucky kick. Won’t happen again. Gonna go see if the guy in the shop is okay.”

  He was grateful that the visitors to the marina were so engrossed in the festivities that they did not pay much attention to a dripping-wet man slogging through the parking lot.

  They reentered the shop the way they had the first time. “Everybody okay?” Brent called as they returned to the front office. The man he assumed was Darius Fields sat on a chair now. A small woman with long dark hair held an ice pack on his face. She let out a scream and grabbed the can of pepper spray. “Get away,” she rasped.

  “Easy, we’re the good guys,” he said.

  Her features were pinched in fear. She had a long nose, dark eyes, small mouth; she was probably in her midthirties. “Who are you?”

  Brent made the introductions and explained what had happened. The pepper spray in her hand wavered. He liked to think it was his friendly charm, but it was more likely Donna’s encouraging smile.

  “Thank you for helping Darius,” she finally said, lowering the spray. “I’m Fran Mercer, his fiancée. Did you come to book a whale-watching trip?” she said.

  “No.” Brent bobbed his chin at Darius. “We wanted to ask him a few questions and found some guy beating up on him. We should call the police. My phone’s waterlogged.”

  Donna reached for her bag.

  “No,” Darius said. “It was just some thug, looking to rob us. Happens all the time and I don’t need the bad publicity now, at Christmastime.”

  Brent frowned. “I’m not comfortable with that. He came after us, too.”

  Darius shrugged. “Look, I can’t stop you if you want to bring in the cops, but as a small business owner, I’m asking you for a favor. The economy’s rough. I need all the visitors I can get. What did you come here for, anyway?”

  “I’m Pauline Mitchell’s brother. Do you know her?” He watched their expressions carefully. Maybe he imagined it, but he thought Fran’s lips tightened a hair.

  “Pauline?” Darius considered while gently probing the lump on his temple. “Oh, yeah. She booked a whale-watching trip here for a group home, I think.”

  “In November,” Fran said. “I do the books, so I remember the name.” She fingered her hair. “Why are you asking about her?”

  “She’s disappeared.”

  Again the slight ripple of unease crossed Fran’s face. He wondered if Donna saw it, too.

  “Man,” Darius said. “That’s too bad. I haven’t seen her since that day. She was a nice gal. Had a dog, I remember. The tour group seemed to like her. Sorry I can’t help you find her, but I got my own problems.”

  “Please,” Donna said, and Brent wished she didn’t have to look so beautiful when she approached Darius. “We think her disappearance is related to my father’s murder.”

  “What?” Fran gasped.

  “His name was Bruce Gallagher. He was a private detective. Someone caused his car to crash and it killed him and nearly killed my sister, who was driving.” Donna took a gulping swallow. “She’s in the hospital in a coma.”

  Fran pressed her fingers to her mouth and looked away. “That’s horrible.”

  “Hey, I’m sorry about that. Don’t know your dad,” Darius said.

  “We’re going to find out what happened,” Brent said, “and we’re going to find my sister. We would appreciate anything you could tell us.”

  He threw down the ice pack. “Wish I could, but I only met her the day she came to book the trip. I stick to boats and try and stay out of people’s personal lives.” There was something bold in his tone, almost as if he was daring them to contradict him.

  Fran picked up the ice pack. “You should sit and keep this on until the swelling goes down.”

  Darius laughed and cocked an eyebrow at Brent. “See what happens when you get yourself a fiancée? They start to think they own you.”

  “She’s right,” Brent said. “You should keep the ice on.”

  He shrugged. “I’d love to take the day off and coddle myself, but I have to go pick up a part and rig up our boat with some lights. It’s Christmastime, you know.”

  “Aren’t you afraid the guy will come back?” Donna said.

  “I’ll be ready next time,” Darius said.

  “But what about Fran?” Donna blurted.

  He laughed. “She’s tougher than I am, aren’t you, Frannie?”

  She looked down. Darius gave her a hug and pressed a kiss to her temple. “I’m joking, baby. Everything is going to be fine. I’ll be back in an hour. Call me if you’re scared about anything.”

  The door slammed shut behind him.

  Brent looked at the small woman. “Do you know something about my sister?”

  “No, nothing.” Fran wiped at a bead of moisture on the counter. “Listen, I’ve got so much to do today it’s mind-boggling, so I really need to get started.”

  “Are you sure you want to stay here alone?” Donna said.

  Fran darted a look at her and then out the window to the departing Darius.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “I’m used to it.”

  Brent grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil and wrote down his number. “When my phone’s back up and running, you can reach me on my cell.” He hesitated. “Fran, it’s not my business, but are you worried about Darius?”

  She blinked and stepped back, shoving the paper in her pocket. “That is none of your business but for the record, Darius is right. I am tougher than he is.”

  She turned her back on them. Brent and Donna left the shop.

  “Do you think he’s lying?” Donna said.

  “Yes, maybe her, too.”

  “Is she afraid of him?” Donna stared at the boats and the milling crowd.

  He touched her shoulder. “What’s on your mind?”

  “I feel like I’m missing something.”

  “Me, too.”

  A truck passed, Darius at the wheel. He turned his head, giving Donna a long look and a smile that made her shiver.

  “He creeps me out.”

  He continued on, waving to some people on the dock.

  A lightbulb flashed in Brent’s head. “His truck. I recognize it now. He was the one following Jeff Kinsey after he went after you on the beach. Could be that it was Darius’s truck at the office the night you were attacked, too.”

  Her face paled. “Why would Darius attack me in the first place? I’ve never even met him.”

  “I have no idea, but I’m going to find out.”

  TEN

  Brent agreed to drop Donna at the hospital. On the way, her muscles tensed with each passing mile. She couldn’t get Darius’s smile out of her mind. She again felt the memory of that knife pressed
to her throat.

  Little girls who think they’re tough like men. You know what happens to them? She swallowed, fighting her way back to the present.

  “I’m going to tell Ridley to check out Darius’s truck. I’m going to tell him about the guy at Darius’s office, too, no matter what he says,” Brent was saying.

  She nodded. “Good idea.”

  He pulled up at the hospital. The tension tightened her stomach into a tight fist.

  “Are you gonna be okay?”

  “Yes.” She blinked hard against the pressure of tears. “No. I don’t know.”

  His hand found hers. “Tell me.”

  She fought for breath. “They’re going to wake Sarah up today and it’s likely that she doesn’t know how...how things turned out in the crash.” Her throat convulsed.

  “You’re going to have to tell her that her father is dead.” His tone was gentle.

  “Yes. And even worse than that, she was the driver.” She closed her eyes and sagged against the headrest. “I can’t stand the thought of telling her.”

  Brent sighed. “That’s rough.”

  “It’s like reliving the whole thing over again.” Tears fell now, coursing down her cheeks.

  He handed her a tissue.

  She clutched it. “Just when I finally stopped crying every moment of the day.”

  “I’ll come with you, if that will help.”

  His brown eyes were soft with compassion and it almost loosed another flood of tears. She realized with everything in her that she did want him to come, to hold her hand, to stand steadily beside her against the storm front she knew was coming. She craved his company...as she had with Nate?

  He reached up and gently wiped the tears from her cheek. “I hate to see you grieving.”

  Her senses surged into a rising tide of longing. She wanted him to be there in that hospital room, but it was not the time to seek comfort from a man. Not now, when she had her head back on straight, and not now, when her battered family was about to fall apart once more. She caressed his hand against her cheek for a moment and then inched away, reaching for the door handle.

  “I really appreciate that offer, but it’s better if I go alone.”

  He nodded. “I understand.”

  “Feel free to put Radar in my backyard. He won’t like driving around all day and there’s a lot of room for him to run. I watched my neighbor’s dog last week, so there’s a bowl next to the garage. Be sure he has some water. Let’s wait awhile on offering food to be sure his nausea is gone.”

  Brent smiled. Again her pulse ticked up a beat. “Always thinking like a veterinarian.”

  “It’s what I do.” She shook her head. “It’s the only thing I have to offer.”

  His face went serious. “You’re wrong there, Donna,” he said. With one finger, he traced the trail of a tear from the corner of her eye around the swell of her cheek to her chin. His touch left a path of warmth that bubbled through her.

  Face hot, she got out and closed the door. The strange mixture of feelings followed her up to the third floor, where her mother and sisters were already gathered. She saw at once she was too late. Sarah’s eyes were wide, red rimmed, her face blotchy. Angela held one of her hands and their mother held the other. Candace stood at the foot of the bed, her own face twisted with grief.

  “Oh, no,” Donna murmured.

  Sarah’s eyes riveted on hers, dazed “They told me,” she gulped. “I know he’s dead. After... When I was trying to unbuckle my belt... I could tel... I killed him. I killed him.”

  Donna drew close, touching Sarah’s knee. “No, honey,” she whispered. “Don’t say that.”

  Sarah did not appear to hear, nor did she react to the reassurance from the women gathered around her. “He wanted to go visit a beach up north to check something out. I laughed and said yes, but only if I could drive.” She stared at the wall somewhere above Donna’s head. “Dad is...was...such an aggressive driver.”

  It was true. Their father drove with all the intensity of a heat-seeking missile.

  Donna waited, breath bottled up inside.

  “I...was driving up Highway 1. There was a car,” Her eyes clouded with grief and pain. “It sped up and rammed into us from behind. I couldn’t keep the car on the road.”

  “Don’t think of it,” Candace cried. “It’s over. It was an accident. Don’t torture yourself.”

  “She needs to remember,” Angela said quietly.

  Candace bit her lip.

  Their mother gripped Sarah’s hand. “You listen to me, Sarah Cassidy Gallagher. You grieve, you rage if you must, you cry your heart out, but you are never to blame yourself for your father’s death. It just happened and we have to live with it, to live through it.” She bent her head and started to pray, but tears choked off her words.

  Angela finished the prayer.

  Donna offered her own grief in a prayer, imagining it circling upward. There was comfort in knowing her father was already with God, but comfort did not mean the anguish was any easier to bear. She added one more request. “Lord, help me find out the truth.” The truth might be the only way her family would ever heal completely.

  Sarah fastened burning eyes on Donna. “I heard Mom on the phone.” She swallowed and JeanBeth held a cup of water for her to sip. After a moment she resumed. “You are going to find out who hit us and why. Is that right?”

  Donna nodded. “I’m trying.”

  “Do better than try,” Sarah said, voice low. “You have to find out.”

  Doubts assailed Donna fast and furious. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m floundering. I’m not a detective.

  “Find out. Please.” Sarah closed her eyes and began to sob again.

  “I will,” Donna said with more confidence than she felt.

  Candace and Angela were looking at her now.

  “We will,” Candace said.

  And that was when Donna felt the brush of the Lord’s comfort. She hugged and kissed her mother and sisters and stroked Sarah’s hair, and they cried for a good long while together. When Sarah fell into an exhausted sleep, Donna, Angela and Candace stepped out into the hallway. Her sisters looked as wrung out as she felt. She filled them in on the day’s events.

  “We have to find out what Dad was looking into,” Angela said.

  Candace fingered a strand of her curly hair. “When Sarah is calmer, the police will want a description of the car that hit them. That might help.”

  A thought wormed its way through Donna’s haze. “Why the beach?”

  Her sisters stared at her.

  “Why would Dad suddenly want to go to some beach? He wasn’t a ‘hang out on the beach’ kind of guy. What was his interest in doing that?”

  Angela raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure, but here’s something that might help.” She held up a phone. “It’s Dad’s. The police returned it to us today. I know he kept notes on his phone sometimes.”

  Donna’s heart thudded. Her father had been the tech king. Every new phone or gadget sent him into little-kid excitement. She remembered standing in line with him for hours to secure the newest version of his smartphone. The smile had never left his face. Her throat was suddenly clogged with unshed tears.

  Candace gripped her arm. “We’ll check out the phone. You and Brent see what you can find out on your end about Pauline.”

  Donna nodded, not trusting her voice.

  “Invite Brent to my house tomorrow night,” Candace said. “I’m going to try my best to give Tracy some Christmas cheer. She’s been begging to decorate a gingerbread house. We could use a dinner guest.”

  The thought of bringing Brent along, almost as if he was a date, gave her a tickle inside. “I can see the wheels turning in your head, Candace. He’s looking for his sister. There’s no
thing between us, nothing personal.”

  “Of course,” she said in an innocent tone that irritated Donna to no end.

  “What should we do about Sarah?” Donna finally managed.

  “We’ll take shifts and stay as long as they’ll let us,” Candace said. “I’ll do the first one. You go take a look at the phone, Angela. Dad’s...” She cleared her throat. “Dad’s charger is at the office.”

  Angela sighed. “You know, I never imagined I would be a private investigator.”

  “Neither did I,” Candace said. “But then again, I never imagined I’d lose my dad five years after I lost my husband.” Her expression was so bleak that Donna engulfed her in a hug, her heart breaking all over again.

  Angela wrapped her arms around them both and Donna realized how thin her sister had gotten. Together, the sisters clung to one another, holding tight, their grief mingling along with their strength.

  “We’re going to get through this,” Donna said fiercely. “I promise.”

  With God’s help, the Gallagher sisters would find some answers.

  * * *

  Brent clutched the bushy poinsettia plant as he regarded Donna’s front door. What was he doing? She’d think him too forward or a fool. He was undoubtedly both. He couldn’t even explain to himself why he’d bought the thing.

  Just leave it and go.

  There was no need to tell her who it was from.

  A secret-Santa gift, his sister used to call them. How had he managed to become Santa?

  He put the plant down and picked up the dead one. Then he put that one down so he could adjust the new plant into a slightly more pleasing spot on the doorstep. Did poinsettias like sunlight or shade? Would Donna come home to find the scorched remains?

  “The more sunlight the better for poinsettias.” Brent jerked to find an elderly man walking a well-groomed corgi.

  “Is that right?” he said stupidly.

  “Yes. They’re natives to Mexico, so the sun will do nicely.”