by Dani Pettrey
Piper laid the book open on the counter. “Whenever you’re ready, Sheriff.”
He relayed the serial number.
“Got it. Twenty tanks rented out on the twenty-ninth. Due back day after tomorrow.” Piper’s eyes scanned the page. “She was so young.”
“How young?” Slidell asked.
“Eighteen, nineteen.”
“So you remember her?”
“Yeah. She was really sweet.” Piper retrieved the corresponding card from the file box and handed it to Slidell.
“Liz Johnson,” he said. “What else can you tell me about her?”
“Not much. She was friendly, like I said, but kind of . . .”
“Kind of . . . ?” Slidell prodded.
“Evasive, I guess you could say. Private. We get a lot of people like that.”
“Who was she with?”
Piper shrugged. “No one.”
Slidell arched a brow. “The young lady rented twenty tanks for herself?”
“Said she was meeting up with friends. It was her job to get the tanks.”
“She give any names?”
Piper shook her head. “Nope.”
“Mention where she was from?”
“Said the West Coast.”
“Say why she was diving?” Slidell’s tone grew more clipped with each question.
“A pleasure trip, if I remember right.”
“Twenty tanks’ worth? That’s a lot of diving.” Slidell snorted.
“For all we knew, she had nine friends,” Jake said. “We don’t grill our customers.”
Slidell hitched up his pants. “Maybe you should.”
“We try making conversation,” Cole explained. “Some like to talk. Others don’t. That’s their prerogative.”
“I see.” Slidell flipped to a clean page. “You got a credit card slip?”
Piper looked at the ledger and shook her head. “She paid cash.”
“Cash? Didn’t you find that a little suspicious?”
“A lot of divers prefer to work in cash,” Cole said. “To not be tied down with credit cards. Gives you a certain level of anonymity.”
Slidell’s lips thinned. “Makes you harder to trace.”
“It fits the lifestyle,” Kayden said.
“What lifestyle is that?” Slidell pinned his gaze on Jake. “Drifter?”
Landon cleared his throat. “You’d think one of her friends would have reported her missing.” His chest tightened. “What if she wasn’t the only one? Maybe we should be sending out a search party.”
Slidell frowned. “For who? We don’t even know for sure anyone was with her.”
“You said yourself it’s highly unlikely twenty tanks were for one person,” Landon pointed out, trying to keep his tone respectful. It was a difficult position to be in when you respected the office but not the man.
Slidell turned to Piper. “You didn’t see anyone else around?”
“No.”
“How’d she carry all the tanks?”
“I helped her load them into the back of a pickup,” Jake said.
“Don’t suppose you got the license plate?”
“It was out of state.”
“Which one?”
“Washington.”
Slidell’s eyes narrowed. “Interesting you remember.”
“I’m observant.”
“Right.” Slidell drummed his pen against the pad. “Well, I guess that solves where she’s from.”
“Not necessarily.” Jake leaned against the counter. “It could have been a rental.”
“Why don’t you leave police work to the professionals,” Slidell scoffed.
“He’s right,” Kayden said, and everyone’s shocked gaze flashed to her. “What?” she snapped. “I’m just saying they could have rented it.”
Slidell smiled at her. “I’ll check into it.” He closed his notepad. “I suppose that’s all I need.” He glared at Jake. “For now.”
As Jake approached Kayden, Landon wondered how heated a discussion was about to unfold.
Jake offered a smile of truce. “Thanks.”
She looked up, surprised. “For what?”
He slid his hands in his jean pockets. “For backing me up on the license-plate thing.”
Kayden leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. “I was just pointing out the obvious.”
The sheltered expression settled back on Jake’s face.
Cole leaned in to Landon and whispered, “I love my sister, but I sure wish she didn’t always have to be hard as nails.”
Landon nodded. Kayden and Piper were such opposites.
“Forget I said anything,” Jake said.
She turned her back. “Already forgotten.”
Following their rescheduled family dinner, Cole followed the familiar creak of the front porch swing to find Kayden stargazing, just as their mom had done every night until her last. When the pain had so contorted their mother’s body that her legs failed her, Cole would carry her out bundled in her favorite quilt. As she had stared up at God’s handiwork—the shimmering canopy of stars overhead—peace would fill her face. Peace despite the pain.
He wondered if Kayden sought such peace, returning every night as she did to the porch swing—picking up where their mother had left off.
Since they were young, the rhythmic creak of the swing had been their lullaby, the music they drifted off to sleep by. Even now it brought an inexplicable soothing to Cole’s soul.
He took a step back, content to let Kayden enjoy her nightly ritual a bit longer, but a weathered plank groaned beneath his movement.
Kayden turned with a start.
“Sorry.” He shrugged.
“It’s fine.” She pulled her knees to her chest.
He sank down beside her.
“Nice night.” The moon was so full and bright it seemed but a handsbreadth away.
“Yeah, but I’m guessing that’s not what brought you out here.”
She knew him too well. He took a deep breath, bolstering for a fight. The sugary scent of lilac filled his lungs, and he savored the sweet smell of summer before responding. “I wanted to talk to you about Jake.”
Her shoulders stiffened. “What about him?”
“You were pretty quick to assume the worst about him.”
Her lips pursed a moment before she spoke. “We don’t know anything about him.”
“I know he’s not tampering with our equipment, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Sheriff Slidell seems interested in him.”
“Slidell doesn’t like competition.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Everyone in town knows Slidell has a thing for you, and evidently he thinks Jake’s competition.”
“Then he’s crazy. I feel nothing for Jake but indifference.”
“That’s obvious. But why do you have to be so hard on him?”
“You think I should be like you, inviting a perfect stranger into our family, no questions asked?”
“He’s not a stranger. I’ve seen him every day for close to a year.”
“He showed up in Yancey with nothing but a duffel bag. He has no family that we know of, no past. He’s a drifter.”
“And that’s so bad?”
“He could be a serial killer for all we know.”
Cole chuckled. “You’ve been reading too many Patterson novels.”
“I’m serious.”
He inclined his head, his eyes meeting hers—they were always so full of fire. “When are you anything but?”
Piper stepped onto the porch, a bowl in hand. “Anything but what?”
“Nothing,” Kayden said. Then her eyes narrowed. “What are you eating?”
“Hot fudge sundae with gummy bears.”
“Uh. That’s so bad for you.”
Piper got a big spoonful and danced it around. “Afraid it will make you sweet?”
A smile cracked on Kayden’s face. “You’re a mess.”
“Who’s a mess?” Gage asked as he joined them on the porch.
“Piper,” Kayden said with a sigh.
“Kayden’s on her high, healthy horse again.” Piper took another bite.
Gage mocked surprise. “Well, that’s a first.”
Kayden stood. “I’m going for a run before it gets too late.”
“I’ll go with you,” Gage offered.
“Fine. I’ll go change.” She disappeared into the house.
“So.” Gage squatted on the porch step. “I forgot to tell you, I saw Bailey Craig today.”
Cole’s heart fluttered. “How was she?”
“Didn’t get a chance to find out. She bolted out of the general store and back to the Trading Post before I could cross the street. Gus said the funeral’s tomorrow morning.”
“Yeah.”
Gage arched an assessing brow. “You going?”
“I am.” He’d planned on paying his respects to Agnes all along, but God had laid another reason on his heart. Tomorrow would be one of the hardest of Bailey’s life—laying her aunt to rest beneath the entire town’s scrutiny.
He’d go and be a friendly face, though he doubted she’d consider him as such.
And he’d make sure Tom and Thoreau behaved if they showed. He wouldn’t put a lewd advance past them, even at a funeral.
“I’m going too.” Piper’s hand rested on his shoulder. “I want to say good-bye to Lady Grey.”
Cole clapped his hand atop hers. “That’ll be nice. I’m sure Bailey can use the support.”
Gage leaned against the railing. “I doubt she’ll find much in Yancey.”
Cole swallowed. “I’m sorry to say I think you’re right.”
“Then it’ll be our job to befriend her,” Piper said, forever the optimist.
Cole rubbed the back of his neck. He’d tried that once and it had nearly killed him.
“Befriend who?” Kayden asked, now clad in running attire.
“Bailey Craig,” Piper said. “She’s back for Agnes’s funeral.”
Kayden rose onto her toes, stretching her calf muscles. “Bailey Craig . . . I’d forgotten all about her.”
Cole sighed. He hadn’t.
8
Bailey yanked off the gray skirt and slipped the black trousers back on. The temperature had dropped nearly fifteen degrees overnight, and she hopped with jacket in hand to the pink shag rug in front of the full-length mirror.
She slid her arms in the cropped suit jacket and studied her reflection, wondering if the sleek black ensemble and a pair of sensible pumps would convince everyone in Yancey she was no longer the wild and reckless girl who left town right after graduation.
She smoothed the French twist she’d fashioned and slid another bobby pin in to secure it.
Her shoulders slumped, and she sighed. Who was she kidding? The proper hairstyle and attire wouldn’t be enough to dispel her tarnished image. She’d forever be the town tramp in their eyes.
On her lone venture outside the shop to grab a bottle of OJ, she’d run smack into her past. Tom Murphy had been quick to invite her over for a drink, the leer in his eyes evidence of where he expected it to lead.
She’d promptly refused amidst the curious glances and whispered murmurings of the other customers.
Her heart hammering in her throat, she’d bolted back to the Post and hadn’t left since.
She stared at her reflection. Dark shadows pooled beneath her puffy eyes and she dotted concealer on. It would do no good to let anyone see how much she was hurting. It never had.
She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
A few more days, a week at most, and she’d be back in her own comfy bed, not tossing and turning all night on the sofa—she couldn’t face sleeping in her old bedroom, or Agnes’s—her thigh littered with black-and-blue splotches from the sofa’s prodding spring.
Back in Oregon she’d be surrounded by university colleagues and neighbors who knew she was a no-nonsense gal, devout in her faith, ordered and proper, an upstanding citizen with high moral standards.
Her bottom lip quivered.
None of that mattered today.
Her knees giving way beneath her, she retrieved the music box from the vanity table and sank on the edge of the bed.
Today was for Agnes.
Her tears bounced off the spray of roses donning the enameled lid.
Wrapping her arms about her waist, she rocked back and forth, her chest heaving with sobs.
Oh, Agnes. I miss you so much.
A cool summer breeze riffled through the dandelions smattered among the gravestones behind New Creation Church.
Pastor John spoke of God’s gift of redemption through Jesus Christ and of His grace. Of Agnes being with the angels and in Christ’s arms.
Bailey stiffened, wondering what would happen when she got to heaven. Christ had forgiven her. But would He embrace her?
The wind mingled sea air with the sweet scent of tulips donning the casket.
Bailey tugged at her jacket sleeves, rubbing the material until a warm friction ensued—anything to keep her distracted and the tears at bay.
The morning tide sloshed against the shore, leaving white foam bubbling on the sand. Spray billowed through the tufts of sea grass.
Agnes loved the sea. Always had. It seemed almost fitting her life had ended there.
A gull’s cry echoed over the crashing waves, and Bailey followed its flight until it faded into the horizon, before casting her attention back on Pastor John.
He’d aged over the years. His hair and moustache were now a silvery gray, his dark eyes dimmer than she recalled.
His gaze met hers, and she sensed a new level of humility, or was it pity?
She supposed anything was better than the stern, disapproving glares she used to receive. Perhaps old age had softened him.
The dip in his voice reined her attention in tighter.
“Agnes requested in her will that we close her funeral by singing her favorite hymn.”
Bailey fought to remain erect, willing her knees not to buckle as they swayed beneath her and the burgeoning tears not to fall. No one in Yancey would see her cry. Ever. No matter how much she hurt. She’d promised herself years ago and she wouldn’t break it now.
Pastor John cleared his throat. “ ‘Amazing Grace . . .’ ”
A myriad of voices joined in. “ ‘. . . how sweet the sound . . .’ ”
Just sing. Sing and breathe. You won’t cry. Not in front of them. Her hands shook and her body trembled as the words left her mouth. “ ‘That saved a wretch like me.’ ” The words hit home with a bolt that shook her, always did. “ ‘I once was lost, but now am found . . .’ ”
Thank you, Jesus, for finding me. For saving me. I know Agnes is with you now and that brings me peace despite the heartache. “Peace I leave with you; My peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.”
The song concluded and after a closing prayer, Pastor John excused everyone assembled.
Bailey kept her gaze downcast as people shuffled past. So many pairs of shoes moving by. So many who loved Agnes.
In a few minutes they’d all be gone and she could say a proper good-bye, without anyone peering on. She’d tell her aunt how much she loved her and how desperately she’d miss hearing that gravelly voice coming over the phone line, encouraging her, prodding her on . . . even chastising her when she needed a good kick in the pants.
“Bailey.” A hand rested on her shoulder.
She flinched, her heart nearly stopping.
It wasn’t Pastor John, but she knew the voice. It haunted her often in her dreams.
Her heart sank as she gazed up into those eyes—the same seafoam green ones that first filled her with joy and then with shame.
It’d been futile thinking she could avoid him in a town Yancey’s size. He was as much a part of the place as tides were the ocean. Every memory of Yancey was wrapped u
p in him. Her best and worst.
“Sorry.” Cole offered a weak smile. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She blinked. It was all she was capable of.
He extended a hand. “It’s Cole . . . McKenna.”
She prayed the tumultuous emotions reeling through her didn’t show on her face. “I remember.” Her voice sounded weak, pathetic.
He held his hand in the air a moment and then slid it in his trouser pocket. “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about Agnes.”
She nodded, the words too thick in her throat to speak.
The boy she’d once loved had grown into a man—a tall, muscular, heartbreakingly handsome man.
“Are you planning to be in town long?” he asked.
She shook her head. Please, go away. I’m not strong enough for this. Not now.
The fresh, woodsy scent of his aftershave carried on the breeze, followed closely by the scent of . . . honeysuckle?
A petite brunette slid from behind Cole and linked her arm with his.
Perfect. Now I get to meet his wife.
The woman smiled gently, and Bailey fought the urge to wither from sight. Of course she’d be lovely and sweet and everything perfect. She was Cole’s. He deserved no less.
“Not sure if you remember my baby sister, Piper.” Cole squeezed the woman’s shoulder.
Bailey schooled her features, hoping not to reveal any hint of the strange relief sweeping through her.
Piper rested her hand on Bailey’s arm. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Our town potlucks won’t be the same without Miss Agnes’s sourdough fruitcakes.” Her eyes glistened with tears. “Yancey won’t be the same without her.”
“Thank you,” Bailey managed. If they didn’t leave soon, they’d witness her burst into tears, and that couldn’t happen. Not here. Not in front of him. “I should . . .” She pointed to the casket.
“Of course.” Piper stepped back. “Sorry to have kept you.”
“Thank you for coming.” She turned to stride away, working to keep her breathing even.
Cole grasped hold of her arm, and she shuddered.
He let go. “Sorry.” His eyes held hers, boring into her. “I just wanted to say if you need anything, anything at all, while you’re in Yancey, give me a call. I’m in the book.”
“That goes for us all,” Piper said. “Kayden and I are in the book too.”