“Mattaquason emergency services,” said a male voice. It sounded beautifully calm and sane, unlike everything else that had happened this morning. She took a deep breath before speaking and tried hard to keep from rushing her words.
“I live on Eldredge Point in Mattaquason, and just found two people—a man and his son—unconscious on my beach—that is, the son was unconscious—they were naked and cut up pretty badly. I don’t know who they are or how they got there, and the man doesn’t seem to remember what happened. They must have fallen off a boat or something….” She took another deep breath. “They need medical attention—I think maybe the man’s had a concussion, and the boy’s still out cold…”
There was silence on the other end of the phone.
“Hello?” she said.
“On your beach? Jesus, I—oh, God, you’re not joking, are you?”
The voice no longer sounded calm—instead, it sounded almost as flustered as she felt. She stopped halfway down the stairs. Something wasn’t right here. “Of course I’m not joking. I need help!”
There was a sound of unintelligible urgent speech, as if the dispatcher had covered his mouthpiece and was talking to another person in the room. “Hello?” she said again.
Another few seconds of muffled speech, and then a different voice replied. Though it was calmer than the first, it still sounded distinctly strained. “Your name and address, please?”
Garland told him. “Is there anything wrong?” she added.
“No, not at all. It’s just that we…we’ve had a lot of calls this morning and I don’t know when we’ll be able to get personnel out there, Mrs. Durrell—oh, there’s a call on my other line—”
The connection went dead.
Garland stifled a curse. What had that been all about? She punched the three digits again.
Nothing. Not even a ring tone. Only a weird, buzzing hum. She stared at the phone for a second, biting her lip, then shook her head and went back into the great room.
Alasdair hadn’t moved. “I brought you this,” she said softly, laying the robe across his knees. “Won’t you put it on?”
His eyes flew open as the fabric touched his skin, and he grabbed at the robe and huddled under it as if it were a blanket.
“No—you’re supposed to wear it—” She dropped to her knees and tried to show him, but he flinched away from her.
“Hey, I’m not trying to taking it from you,” she soothed. “Here—it goes over your shoulders—and your arms go through here—” Holy cow, had he forgotten how to put on clothes?
As the fabric covered his back and arms, he stopped struggling and stared down at it in wonder. “What is it?” he murmured, stroking the fabric of an appliqué with one hesitant finger. “I can feel it…the power…just like the other…”
“It’s just a robe I made for my husband.”
“You made it?” He stared at her. “You are a magic-wielder?”
Damn those people at 911! She had an unconscious child and a possibly delirious man on her hands. “Look, I’m going to try to get that, uh, healer, okay?”
She climbed to her feet and tucked the other blanket over Conn, then headed toward the kitchen, glancing back at him. He was crouched next to the boy again, staring at his arms in the sleeves of the robe. She shook her head and went to the desk in the kitchen. In the top drawer was a business card listing the office and home numbers of Dr. Robert Mowbray, one of the town’s newer physicians.
She’d met Dr. Mowbray at a couple of charity events for the Mattaquason Historical Society and the Friends of the Library and had liked him a lot. There was an aura of competence and integrity about him that was highly reassuring. She needed reassurance pretty badly just now, after that exchange with the 911 dispatcher.
The phone rang five, six, seven times. What if he’d gone away for the weekend or was tied up with whatever crisis seemed to be going on right now? Dr. Phelps, the town’s other MD that she knew, was close to eighty and saw very few patients anymore. Would he be willing to come to the house and help? And there was the hospital in Hyannis, but that was so far away—
Then Garland heard the soft click of the receiver being lifted. She just had time for an inarticulate sigh of relief before a pleasant male voice said, “Hello?”
“Dr. Mowbray? This is Garland Durrell, on Eldredge Point. We’ve met at a few Historical Society events…”
He didn’t pause more than half a second. “Mrs. Durrell—of course. Not another splinter, is it?”
Oh dear. She’d nearly forgotten about that incident two years ago, when she’d gotten an enormous splinter while going barefoot at a cocktail party on Amy Nickerson’s deck. He’d been there too and had removed it for her, using a splash of his gin and tonic as disinfectant.
“No, not a splinter. It’s—he’s—I—” She forced herself to stop and take a deep breath. “I’ve just moved in, and went for a walk on my beach, and found...” She repeated what she’d told the 911 dispatcher and what had happened afterward, hoping Dr. Mowbray wouldn’t have the same reaction.
He didn’t. “Jesus Christ! Eldredge Point Road, isn’t it? I’m leaving now. Keep them warm.” The phone clicked off.
Garland sagged against the kitchen counter in relief. Thank heavens someone was coming. She set the phone down and went back into the great room. “The doctor—the healer is coming,” she said, kneeling by Alasdair again. “Can I get you anything? Something hot to drink?”
He grimaced. “Hot? No.” He stared out the sliding doors they’d come through. “Can you see in through those from the water?”
What an odd question. “Not very well, during the day. Only at night when the lights are on. I usually close the curtains then, unless it’s summer.”
“Good.” He closed his eyes again and was silent. Garland felt awkward, sitting next to him doing nothing. She was afraid to touch any of Conn’s scratches or wounds, even to clean them, lest she hurt him. Surely Dr. Mowbray would be here soon—
“Let me wash some of that blood off your face,” she said to Alasdair, rising and going back to the kitchen.
She wrung out a few clean kitchen towels in warm water, then brought them back to the great room and carefully wiped the dried blood from his upper lip and cheeks. Darn, but he cleaned up well. Once those bruises faded and the swelling went down, he’d be gorgeous…those high cheekbones and that firm jaw with the little dimple in his chin. The long nose would be a little crooked now, it looked like, but it would only add a raffish charm to the symmetrical beauty of the rest of his face.
Alasdair sat quietly, eyes still closed, and let her work. “Thank you,” he murmured when she was done. “Your hands feel powerful.”
Garland was saved from having to reply by a knock at the front door. “That’s the healer. I’ll be right back.” She scrambled to her feet and hurried into the front hall to open the door.
Dr. Mowbray carried a large black medical bag and that air of quiet competence she’d remembered. “Where?” he said, without preamble.
“This way.” Garland led him back to the couch in the great room.
Alasdair clambered to his feet when he saw them and stood protectively over the still form on the couch, the robe hanging loosely around him. “Are you the healer?” he demanded.
Dr. Mowbray didn’t even blink. “I am. Will you let me help you and your son?”
Alasdair stared at him, swaying slightly, then turned and looked at Garland. She could feel the question in his eyes. “It’s all right,” she said, going to him and taking his arm. “He won’t hurt Conn. Sit down before you fall down, okay?”
He leaned on her for a second, then nodded and let her lead him to a chair, watching closely as Dr. Mowbray knelt beside the couch and felt the pulse at Conn’s throat, then retrieved a flashlight from his bag. He tensed as the doctor peeled back the boy’s eyelids and shined the light into them.
“Well, that’s good,” he muttered. “Let’s see what else we have here.” He pulled aw
ay the blankets and opened the shirt. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered, looking at the cuts crisscrossing the little body. “Can I have some more light here, Mrs. Durrell? And a big pot of water—hot but not too hot?”
Garland turned on the lamp by the couch and pulled the curtains all the way open, then hurried into the kitchen for the water. As she came back, trying not to slosh it on the floor from the soup pot she carried, she heard the beep of a thermometer and saw Dr. Mowbray staring at it, shaking his head. “Almost normal. For a small child who’s spent hours on the beach in March with no clothes on, that’s crazy. Oh, thanks. Let’s get some of this sand off him and see what needs doing.”
“Crazy” seemed to be the right word to describe everything she’d experienced that morning, except for Dr. Mowbray. She leaned over the back of the couch and watched him work. “Is it bad?” she murmured.
“It’s not pretty, but he’ll be all right. A couple of these might need suturing—I’ll know better once I’ve…” he trailed into silence, concentrating on blotting away as much sand and blood as he could. “What happened to him?” he asked, very quietly. “What did the father say?”
Garland glanced at Alasdair, gripping the arms of his chair as he watched them. “That he doesn’t remember—that it was dark. That’s about it. Someone did this to them, didn’t they? This wasn’t an accident.”
“No, it wasn’t. Whoever did it was a sadistic bastard—who could do this to a child? Look.”
With the worst of the blood and sand washed away, it was plain to see that the cuts on his body had been inflicted in a symmetrical pattern, from his collarbone down to the tops of his thighs. Not deep, but deep and frequent enough to hurt and bleed copiously. They were horrible in their cruel, surgical precision. She looked away, shivering. “I don’t want to know who did this.”
“And you found them like this on your beach? Lucky for them you were down for the weekend.”
“Oh, I’m not just here for the weekend. I’m moving down here.”
“Really?” His hands slowed ever so slightly. “Year round?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm.” He worked in silence for a moment. “No clothes, you said? No ID or anything?”
“Nothing. I found the boy first—he was lying face down in the sand. It had sort of drifted around him. I think they must have been caught in the storm last night and washed in on the tide. In fact they must have, because I walked there late yesterday afternoon after the movers left and they weren’t there.”
“Movers—so you really did just get here. Hell of a thing to find on your doorstep your first day here, Mrs. Durrell.” He paused and glanced up at her. His eyes were blue, and had nice smile crinkles at their corners. She’d forgotten about those.
“It was a bit of a shock,” she admitted. “But you don’t have to call me Mrs. Durrell. I’m Garland.”
“I know. And I’m Rob, okay?” More crinkles appeared. “Well, your driftwood theory might be right if they fell off a boat or were on one that went down in that storm last night. We’ll call the Coast Guard when I’m done and see if they know anything. More water, please?”
Garland brought him more water and watched as he closed a few of the deepest cuts with Steri-Strips. He worked swiftly but carefully, and Garland couldn’t help thinking that he would have made a deft quilter. “I’m amazed that he’s not waking up,” she whispered.
“I am too, even though I’ve given him a little topical anesthesia. He didn’t seem to be concussed, but I should check again.”
“What is it? What are you doing?” Alasdair demanded, wincing as he rose.
“It’s all right.” Garland hurried over and pressed him gently back down into the chair. “The doc—uh, healer is closing the deepest cuts so they’ll heal properly. Conn will be fine. Now sit still till he’s done, and then it’s your turn.”
Garland sat with Conn while Rob coaxed Alasdair to lie down on the floor to let him examine his injuries. It seemed wrong to leave the boy alone after what he had been through, and she fancied she could see some of the pain and distress lift from his sleeping features as she washed his face and stroked his salt-stiffened hair. Poor little thing—he wasn’t much more than a baby, was he? His mother must be frantic—if he had a mother. What had Alasdair said? That they had no family?
Not surprisingly, Alasdair flinched at Rob’s every touch. Something seemed to trouble him about Rob Mowbray despite the doctor’s gentleness and calm. Was it the questions Rob asked him about where they’d come from and how they’d come to be on Garland’s beach? Just as he had to her, Alasdair would only reply, in a monotone, I don’t remember. I don’t know.
“Well,” Rob said after cleaning and bandaging Alasdair as much as he would allow. He wouldn’t remove the robe she’d given him and seemed extremely dubious about the dressings Rob had put on his various wounds, including several deep and vicious ones on the bottoms of his feet. No wonder he’d had a hard time walking up to her house. “That’ll do for now till you get to Hyannis. I don’t know why 911 wasn’t working, Garland, but I’m going to find out. In the meanwhile, I’d be glad to give them a lift to the hospital—if you don’t mind coming with me, I can get them admitted pretty quickly—”
“We will not go anywhere,” Alasdair said, struggling to sit up and frowning at Rob. “We shall stay here.”
Rob blinked at his vehemence. “You and your son have, God knows how, just survived a horrific ordeal. I’ve done what I can for you here but you should both really go to the hospital for observation to make sure you don’t have any internal injuries—if all goes well you’ll be out of there by tonight, and that’s a promise. But if you can’t remember how you got into this condition or where you’re from, that tells me you need to be admitted at least overnight to check for neurological—”
“No. We stay here.”
“Have you discussed that with Mrs. Durrell?” Rob asked just as flatly.
“Hey,” Garland broke in. Rob and Alasdair were scowling at each other so hard that their hair should have been on fire. “Why don’t we bring Conn upstairs to the spare room and let you and him rest while the doctor and I think about what we can do to help you? You’re in no condition to make decisions right now, and maybe after a nap you’ll begin to remember something. Okay?”
“Garland,” Rob muttered.
“It’s okay.” She looked at him meaningfully. “Come on. Is it all right if the doctor carries Conn?”
Alasdair glared a moment longer, then nodded. He let them help him up and watched Rob closely as he lifted Conn off the couch, then followed behind, leaning on Garland’s arm. At the bottom of the stairs he paused and gazed up them. “So high,” he said under his breath.
Garland motioned Rob ahead of them. “Left at the top, last room on the right,” she directed. That was the room she’d planned on using for her quilting studio because of the splendid light from its east- and south-facing windows. It was also the only room with twin beds in it. Well, no matter. Alasdair and Conn would be long gone before she was ready to start work.
She turned to Alasdair. “I’ll help you,” she said, taking his arm. “I’m not surprised you’re feeling dizzy.”
Alasdair started to say something then closed his mouth again and let her lead him up the stairs. He climbed them one at a time like a small child, staring at his feet in concentration as he did. At the top he looked back down, blanched, and turned away.
Rob had already tucked Conn under the covers of one bed. They helped Alasdair ease down onto the other. He sighed, and she sensed the rigidity in his frame relax just a little bit. “Rest,” she said. “I’ll close the curtains, all right? Just shout if you need me.”
“Garland.” He stared up at her, and she got the feeling that he was actually seeing her, not just the person who’d found him. “You…” He fell silent and closed his eyes. Garland waited a few seconds but he didn’t open them again. She pulled down the shades and drew the curtains, then tiptoed down the stairs af
ter Rob.
“You make a very good surgical assistant, you know,” Rob said quietly as they descended. “Not everyone can face the sight of more than a drop or two of blood.”
“Oh, I didn’t do much…” Was she blushing?
“May I make one more request, Nurse?”
“Um, sure.”
He stopped on the bottom stair and grinned up at her. “Coffee, please?”
* * *
“So you found them lying on the beach like that?” Rob took a sip of coffee. “Ah, that hits the spot. What a great way to start your first day here.”
“It’s certainly not what I expected.” Garland leaned back in her kitchen chair and wrapped her hands around her mug. “What do you think happened to them?”
“I don’t know. But it’s obvious that it was intentional. Torture, maybe. Then dumping them in the water and letting them slowly bleed to death.” His voice was grim and controlled. “Did you see their wrists and ankles? They’d been tied up while this was done to them. Good thing they weren’t left bound or they probably would have drowned.”
“Dear God.” The few sips of coffee she’d taken turned sour in her stomach.
“I’m sorry.” He leaned forward and touched her arm. “You didn’t need this today, did you?”
“My problems seem pretty small compared to theirs.”
He smiled. “I’d forgotten how delightfully rational you are.”
And she’d forgotten how charming his smile was. And how good-looking in a boyish sort of way, with thick, straight brown hair that had an endearing habit of falling over his forehead and clean-cut features. It felt strange to be contemplating another man’s attractions.
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