“C’mon, guys. You’re too big for this. How many times do I have to tell you?” He snapped his fingers and pointed to the floor, and, to their credit, they jumped off without complaint, though their ears were pinned back and tails curled up between their legs. After giving his face a quick scouring with his hands, Clancy rolled over to check his cell phone—five thirty-two a.m., Sunday of festival week, Island Day—and it was raining like a son of a bitch.
But that wasn’t his biggest problem. Today was the day he had to deal with Evie.
Just then it dawned on him—he’d dreamed of her. Clancy let his head fall on the pillow and allowed the images to take him back. Evie was running down the beach, her laughter clear and joyous in the wind. Her little nephew giggled as Tripod and Earl nudged and licked him. And that was pretty much the whole dream—no plot, no Freudian symbols, no screaming for help, nothing even remotely sexual. It was simply Clancy being aware of that moment and how good it felt to share it with Evie and Chris. He felt lucky in the dream. He actually felt happy—and lucky in love.
He’d had enough of these dreams. He didn’t have the spare brain energy to deal with them right now.
He jumped up, made coffee, and got dressed. He was out the door by six—both skittish dogs in tow—and at his desk by six fifteen, pools of water forming by his feet. It never failed—at least one day during the Mermaid Festival was a partial washout, but if it happened on Island Day it was a major problem.
Two hundred craftspeople, artists, and food vendors descended on Main Street on Island Day, and carnival attractions occupied the dock and museum lot. In decent weather, Island Day would be the most crowded and popular of all festival week events. Thousands of day-trippers arrived in the morning and left in the evening, exhausted, stuffed with lobster rolls and fried blueberry pies, and holding their just-purchased watercolor painting, carved jade necklace, or giant origami dolphin. But if a storm front moved in and didn’t blow over, a lot of people would lose a lot of money today. And the Bayberry municipal government would miss out on a crap-ton of tax revenue.
Clancy’s head pounded. He turned on his preferred early-morning TV news, deciding he would listen in while he finished paperwork.
“Morning, Chief.” Chip stood just outside the office door, soaked through to the skin. “What are you doing here so early?”
He pointed to Tripod and Earl spooning together in their dog bed in the corner. “My alarm clocks went off early.”
Chip laughed. “Poor fellas. Yeah, it’s a loud one—that’s for sure.”
Clancy started in on the stacks of work on his desk. Though a lot of the police station’s reporting was now completed digitally, they were still slaves to a variety of forms, charts, and reports—all of which required his signature. “So what’s happening, Chip? Busy night?”
He shook his head. “Pretty quiet, but the evening shift had to break up a party on a private yacht down at the marina—bunch of investment bankers.”
“Naturally.”
“We think they tossed the evidence overboard before we got there, you know, the standard rock-in-a-baggie trick.”
“Gotcha.” Clancy kept at his paperwork.
Chip continued. “The rain kept people off the beach and streets and sent them into the taverns, so it was a controlled chaos.”
“Sounds good.”
That’s when Clancy’s brain nudged him, telling him to pay attention to something that had just been said—not by Chip, but by someone on the news. He looked up to see a Massachusetts congressman by the name of Richard Wahlman in tears on live TV, talking about his kidnapped daughter. Clancy turned up the volume.
“My heartbreak is that I only just met her. Tragically, her mother was killed by a drunk driver, and that’s when I learned she left a child behind. DNA testing shows she’s mine. And now I have lost her before I had a chance to show her how much I love her.”
“Oh, crap!” Chip started for the door. “I forgot about that alert!”
“All I ask is that if anyone, anywhere, has seen Evelyn McGuinness with my precious and innocent daughter, please contact the FBI immediately.”
“Uh, Chief?”
Clancy held his palm toward Chip. “I gotta hear this. Hold on just a second.”
The news host laid it on thick. “First let me say that we are keeping you and Christina in our thoughts and prayers and hope the suspect is found soon.”
“Thank you.” The politician touched his wife’s leg as if asking for support.
“I know this is an indelicate question, Congressman, and forgive me, Mrs. Wahlman, but do you worry about how this will affect your reelection bid? Your opponent has been trailing significantly in the polls, but with this kind of shocking revelation about your sexual relationship with a—”
“I’d prefer not to talk about my campaign right now and instead focus on finding my daughter.”
The congressman’s wife grabbed his hand with both of hers and broke the awkward silence. “As you know, Richard has recently undergone open-heart surgery. Finding out he had a daughter and then having that child abducted . . . well, that would be extremely difficult for anyone, let alone someone who has charged back from the brink of death.”
“So you are abandoning your reelection plans?”
“I didn’t say that,” Richard snapped. “I said I’m not here this morning to talk about politics. I’m here because my little girl has been taken across state lines by someone with absolutely no right to do so. I want her home safely.”
“But your campaign . . .”
“That’s it. I’m done.” The congressman tore off his mic and left the set, his wife following behind.
Clancy turned off the TV, heavy dread already lodged in the pit of his stomach. He had a bad feeling—nauseatingly bad.
“You need to see this!”
Clancy had known Chip a long time, and he was a reliable sort. When Chip’s voice got squeaky, it meant something really important was going on, and his voice just went up a full octave.
“This FBI alert came in about twenty minutes ago, specifically for Nantucket, the Vineyard, and Bayberry. I can’t remember the last time we’ve been included in one of these.”
Clancy knew what was coming.
“The congressman’s kid! The child-custody BOLO out of Maine. They think she might be here!” Chip handed him a printout.
Before he read the first word, it was obvious. Maine. Child. Secrets. Lies.
Evie’s a kidnapper.
His eyes raced over the alert, immediately drawn to the photos. First, there was the suspect, with those pale green eyes, lovely lips, and the soft brown hair. Evelyn H. McGuinness, age thirty-two, of Bridgton, Maine was described as Caucasian, five foot nine, one hundred twenty-eight pounds, no identifying tattoos or scars. They’d used a post-race photo from the New York Marathon for identification, both a close-up of her face and a full-body shot. She looked exhausted but triumphant in that picture. And she wore the exact same model of running shoe he’d seen on “Cricket.”
Next, he looked at the photo of the victim. Chris was no pirate boy with a buzz cut. She was a girl with wispy brown curls pulled back with barrettes. Christina G. McGuinness, age four, of Bridgton, Maine, was Evelyn’s niece. She also was Caucasian, and three feet four inches tall, about forty-three pounds.
Clancy’s chest burned with confusion. He didn’t want to read any more, but he did, hitting only on the words that jumped out at him: violation of court-ordered custody ruling . . . car recovered . . . Logan remote parking lot . . . dummy plate and tag . . . security video footage . . . altered appearance . . . short blond hair . . . facial and body recognition software identified the suspect . . .
Clancy jumped to his feet and spun around, not sure what he was looking for, but aware that it sure as hell wasn’t in his office. Dummy plate and tag? That was awfully sophistic
ated.
“You okay, Chief?”
Fuck, no, he wasn’t okay.
He continued reading. Additional video . . . boarding the MBTA red line train with the girl . . . exiting at South Station . . . may have boarded a Peter Pan bus to Woods Hole, Massachusetts . . . possibly intending to travel via ferry . . . current location unknown . . . may be traveling under the alias “Cricket Dickinson.”
Clancy raised his eyes from the paper and stared at Chip, his thoughts circling around his next step. What would it be and how would he do it?
“Wouldn’t it be wild if she’s here?” Chip’s face lit up and his voice went even higher. “I mean, think about it. What better place to hide? Just put on some costumes and run around with all the other whacky people—who’s gonna notice? I bet you she and the girl are here, right under our noses!”
Clancy’s brain spun too fast for his mouth to catch up, but Chip was absolutely correct. Right under our noses. There had to be a back door out of this situation, a hidden exit, some way he wouldn’t have to do what had to be done, but he didn’t see it. Clancy was a police officer, sworn to uphold the laws of the State of Massachusetts and the municipality of Bayberry Island, and bound to standards of mutual assistance and cooperation with all federal agencies. He had no choice but to take Evie into custody. And why was that concept such a big deal, anyway? Clancy might have been crazy about her years ago, but he barely knew her now. And a warrant was a warrant, right?
And yet . . .
“What time is it, Chip?”
He checked his phone. “Six forty-four.”
“Are the ferries running on schedule?”
“We haven’t received notice of delays on any of the lines.”
“Good. Good.” Clancy sorted it out in his head—if the first ferry Evie could possibly catch pulled in at seven thirty and left at eight, that meant he had just over an hour to figure out what he was going to do. With Evie. With his duties. With his principles.
His heart told him the sweet, fun, and affectionate girl he met eighteen years ago must have her reasons, and might very well have done nothing wrong. But that wasn’t his call. Guilt or innocence was determined by a judge or jury. His only responsibility was to accept that some judge, somewhere, believed there was enough evidence to support a felony warrant. His sworn obligation was to arrest and detain the subject of that warrant.
But, damn. He had an unshakable feeling that taking her into custody would be the absolute wrong thing to do. Why, he couldn’t say, but he knew that failing to help her would be the biggest mistake of his life.
But the evidence . . .
“A felony criminal arrest warrant has been issued by the State of Maine for McGuinness, the child’s maternal aunt . . .”
Clancy wanted to scream. So what if he had a hunch there was more to the story? This wasn’t the first time he’d wrestled with finding a balance between intuition and reason, and it wouldn’t be the last. All cops went through this—good cops, anyway. Balancing evidence with gut feeling was part of the investigation process. In Clancy’s experience, evidence always mattered most, but whenever he completely ignored his gut he got himself in trouble.
But this? His intuition wasn’t just whispering to him—it was screaming at the top of its lungs.
He closed his eyes. Ah, God, it was obvious Evie took the girl because she didn’t want to give her to the congressman. And her actions were clearly premeditated. The plate and tags. The zigzag modes of transportation. The haircuts and dye job. The fake ID, the false Internet presence, and the motel switcheroo. He didn’t know how all the strings were tied together but it was certainly a tangled mess. So where did all this leave him?
Only one thing was certain—aiding and abetting a fugitive wouldn’t be a wise career move.
“Chief? Are you sure you’re all right?”
Clancy opened his eyes, looked at his friend, and laughed in a way that sounded a bit unbalanced, even to his own ears. “Our first priority is helping the vendors set up and deal with the weather in whatever way we can. Please remind both soundstages not to plug in while it’s raining.”
“Will do.”
“Latest forecast?”
“Reports say it’s supposed to clear by ten a.m., but you know how that goes.”
“Yep, things don’t go as expected sometimes.” He patted Chip on the shoulder. “All right. I have a few things I need to do before I head down to greet the ferry.” He checked his dogs, both in the corner together, sound asleep.
“We’ll keep an eye on them here, Chief. No problem.”
“Thanks. And as far as this goes”—he held up the FBI alert—“do not make a move unless I am present. If you think you see this woman and little girl, observe only, and notify me immediately of her location. Do not approach the suspect or the child, or take either into custody without my okay. Do not process the suspect. Most importantly, do not contact the FBI until I give you the go-ahead. I am very serious about this. Please tell me you understand.”
Chip frowned with the gravity of his duty. “Of course, Chief. This would be the biggest arrest in Bayberry’s history, and all eyes of the world would be on our little island. This has to be executed with perfection.”
“Yes! That’s right!” God, he loved Chip.
“I’ll give everyone else the same instructions, Chief.”
“Thank you.”
Just then, the old building shook with a deep growl of thunder and the dogs began to howl.
“Well.” Chip shoved his hands in the pockets of his uniform shorts, his voice squeaking with excitement. “This is sure shaping up to be an interesting day!”
Chapter Nine
The sun was trying to show itself through the rain clouds. Clancy took the turn onto Idlewilde Lane so quickly that arcs of mud went shooting out from the Jeep’s back tires. He ran through the rain to the front door and pounded. “Ma! Hello?”
Mona answered her door. Clearly, he’d caught her in the middle of dressing for the festival. Everything from the waist down was Grand Poobah mermaid. Everything from the waist up was early-morning mom—she wore an old T-shirt, her hair was sticking up every which way, and she was still working on her first cup of coffee.
“Well, this is a surprise!” She opened the door while trying to smooth down her hair. Suddenly, she narrowed her eyes. “Is everything all right? Is it Duncan?”
He hugged her. Of course she would think that. The family cookout was four days away and no one had heard a peep from him. “Everything’s fine, Ma. No crisis. I haven’t heard anything from Duncan. I came over because I have a favor to ask. I kind of need your help.”
“Coffee?” She toddled off into the kitchen, her mermaid tail flapping around her ankles with each step.
“I’m good, Ma.” He took off his damp ball cap.
His mother replaced the coffee carafe and leaned her elbows on the kitchen island. She studied Clancy carefully while she blew over the top of her mug. The thorough going-over he was getting made him feel uncomfortable.
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing! I just have a favor to ask. It’s important, but before I get into it, I need to be sure you won’t hit me with a lot of questions and please, please—promise me you’ll keep this to yourself.”
She popped up, her back going ramrod straight.
Clancy answered before she asked. “Nuh-uh. Not even the Mermaid Society. Nobody.”
Her eyebrows arched.
“I know it’s a lot to ask. If you can’t do it, tell me now, and I’ll be on my way. I’ll understand and get someone else to help me.”
“This is about a woman, isn’t it?”
Clancy replaced his ball cap and headed to the front door. “Well, obviously, this isn’t going to work.”
His mother blocked his progress and pointed to her sofa. “
Sit.” He did, and she joined him.
“Of course you can trust me,” she said. “I understand this is just between the two of us and you have my word. I also understand that you are here for help, but not advice, so I’ll try my best not to give any.”
He took off his hat again. “Thanks, Ma.”
Mona patted his hand. “You know I’ll do whatever I can do, my wonderful son. Whatever you need, if it’s in my power to give it to you, I will. I love you with all my heart and I’m so proud of you. You are an exceptionally good man.”
Clancy nodded and gave her a quick kiss on her cheek. “Thanks.”
“What can I do for you?”
“Well, I need a mermaid costume for an adult woman—five nine, one twenty-eight, size small to medium. I want the whole thing—hair, shells, accessories.”
His mother looked temporarily stunned.
“And I need a really over-the-top pirate costume for a four-year-old, a tricorner hat, eye patch, sword, white puffy shirt, whatever you can scrape up. I want the works.”
“Oh, my. You really are in trouble.”
He laughed, raking a hand over his face to make sure he wasn’t having another nightmare. “Not yet, though things might get interesting in the next couple days. Can you stop with the questions, now?”
Mona nodded.
“So do you have any of that crap here? Or would it all be in storage in the museum warehouse? I’m kinda in a hurry.”
“I’ll be right back.” She set her coffee mug on a side table and disappeared into the cottage’s only bedroom. She came out with her giant key ring, which probably unlocked every damn door on the island. She removed an irregularly shaped brass key. “This is for the warehouse loading dock door. It might be a big mess in there since the parade was just yesterday and most of the floats are in some stage of disassembly. You know where the costume section is? Where we keep the stuff for the reenactment and the children’s play?”
“Yeah.”
“There’s a combination lock on the big metal doors. The combination is forty-two, twenty-eight, thirty-eight, and, yes, your father came up with that. The kids’ sizes are on the right and the adults’ on the left. But”—she placed the key in his palm—“you know what? Hold on. Let me check on something.”
The Sweetest Summer: A Bayberry Island Novel Page 13