Saving Sindia (Samantha Jamison Mystery Book 10)

by Peggy A. Edelheit

  We had a hammock strung between two of the many big oak trees in our yard. I would swing under them in the summer, listening as the wind ruffled the leaves, while the sun peeked in and out. The birds chirped high among the branches, and squirrels raced up and down the rough tree bark right alongside the numerous large black ants that had important places to go. Now and then an inchworm would swing by, hanging from an invisible web to say hello.

  I would lie back in the hammock, my arms folded behind my head then close my eyes and listen. A dog or two barked in the distance, as well as neighbors’ muffled voices and children’s laughter fading in and out in the background.

  I distinctly remember telling myself as I opened my eyes to memorize the sights and sounds, hoping never to forget. I was a young child then, but was profoundly moved by all the beauty. Now, sharply attuned to the moment, I felt like I was still swinging in that hammock. I knew I must remember this striated sky of hues and how I felt, realizing those unique perspectives had always stayed with me.

  I tore my eyes away from the horizon, packed up my journal and headed south, picking up my pace. Before leaving the house I had made sure every door was locked and the alarm was set. I didn’t want another lapse in my security happening, possibly with different results, and I was relieved no one was privy to my foolish oversight.

  I approached a plaque on a pole that I had passed many times before, but had never bothered to slow down to read. It apparently was an historical marker. Curiously, I walked over to it. It noted the site of the Sindia shipwreck back in 1901 right off the beach where I stood.

  It read on the left side of the sign:

  Sindia

  Owned by Anglo American Oil

  Captain Allen McKenzie

  Built in 1887 by Harland & Wolf, Belfast, Ireland

  Four masted steel bark

  Length 329 feet Depth of hold 26 feet

  Breadth 45 feet Tonnage 2920

  On the right side of the sign:

  This site has been listed on the National Register of historic places by the United States Department of the Interior

  Underneath them both was what happened:

  The Sindia en route from Kobe, Japan to New York City was stranded in Ocean City during a southeast storm on December 15, 1901 just northeast of this site. She lies broadside to the boardwalk with her bow pointing south. Carrying cargo of porcelain, fine china, bamboo matting, camphor oil, manganese ore, and wax, the ship broke in half and flooded on the third day and much of the cargo was lost. There was no loss of life due to the heroic efforts of the Ocean City life saving station under the command of Captain J M Corson, which is still located on the corner of Fourth Street and Bay Avenue. Artifacts and a video story of the Sindia can be seen at the Ocean City Historic Museum located at the Cultural Arts Center 18th Street and Simpson Avenue.

  Underneath this was a white etched engraving of what the ship had looked like. I stared out at the ocean and tried to picture the massive ship stranded just off the beach. It must have been an impressive sight for people standing where I was standing. I’ve always been a fan of history. When I had the time I would look into this.

  I noticed a rectangular-shaped beach gazebo several feet away had a nameplate attached to its railing: Sindia. It was dedicated to the great sailing cargo ship.

  This stop was an interesting sidebar worth adding to my journal. The last time I was here, I had heard from my realtor there were numerous myths about this shipwreck. She’d figured I’d love its mystery, but I was caught up with all the chaos that happened back then to pursue it further. I had more time this trip to follow up, if my journal note-taking ran dry and I became bored. I laughed. I was already caught up in something, but wasn’t sure what. I then turned and continued my walk, thinking. Maybe I should make the time to check that shipwreck mystery out.

  Journal lesson learned?

  Stop. Take note of what’s around you.

  You could overlook what could be significant later on.

  Chapter 16

  Walking The Boards

  After my leisurely stroll and a quick snack of cheese and crackers, I freshened up and headed out. It was well after dark by this time, and I was ready for that ice cream cone Evan had promised me. I hadn’t done that (walking the boards) since the last time I was here in Ocean City when I was inundated by my sleuthing entourage and friends.

  I waited for a break in the masses heading north toward the commercial end of the boardwalk and then merged in smoothly. Crime was almost nonexistent here, compared to the other places I’ve traveled to over the years, so being alone didn’t bother me one bit.

  I was glad that I was wearing a light sweater to ward off a cool breeze blowing in from the ocean. I walked among the clusters of people, entertaining myself, watching little kids jumping up and down, antsy to get to the rides, while haggling about which ones to go on first. Ice cream cones were mentioned as an afterthought because they were a given on the boardwalk at night in the summer. To a little kid this place was sensory overload.

  Come to think of it, it was for the adults too.

  Several minutes later, I paused at the old large carousel spinning around in circles while the organ music played. The ride was packed. Suddenly I could see my younger self weaving in and out of the horses, racing to grab one that moved up and down. I always thought back then, as a youth, what’s the purpose of riding a horse that stood still?

  I began laughing, seeing an instant replay of that as two small children repeated the same moves I made when I was their age decades earlier. You expect things to change, but some never did. I liked that link to the past, continuity.

  “You sure smile a lot when you are all alone.”

  Startled, I pivoted to the familiar voice behind me.

  Evan.

  I checked his hand. “What? Not offering any pennies?”

  “No, I’m here to repay a small debt I owe.”

  I arched a brow, playing along. “A debt? To whom?”

  “Why to you, of course!”

  “How so?” I asked, enjoying our playful banter.

  “You were kind enough to share your shade at the beach and so I must repay my debt with that offer of ice cream.”

  I smiled, studying him. I really didn’t know anything about him, except that he was acquainted with that mysterious girl from the beach, which intrigued me. I wanted more facts on her and possibly some information about their chummy relationship.

  I swear, my inquisitive mind was my enemy sometimes. I felt a potential backstory sitting out there about this young woman, and possibly him too, and I wanted to know it. How did he know her? Would he confide in me?

  He was still regarding me, waiting.

  “This is not a difficult decision. It involves ice cream only, I swear,” he said, grinning in puzzlement.

  My face tinged pink at having briefly zoned out.

  “Sorry, I have a lot on my mind lately.”

  “Well, how about it? Are you game for a cone?”

  I hesitated, like I was considering it.

  “And of course some great conversation,” he added.

  “Sure, why not? That’s why I’m here, for ice cream.”

  He arched his brow, grinning. “Me too, of course.”

  I squinted one eye. “So I guess as long as you weren’t following me, we’re good to go on the ice cream front.”

  He paused ever so briefly. “...Why would I follow you?” But then he winked slyly. “Then again, maybe I was.”

  I suspected he was playing me too. The big question? Where was this conversational dance between us leading?

  He knew exactly what I was thinking and said, “Don’t even try. My mother gave up years ago. I color outside the lines and am very spontaneous, as you can plainly see.”

  I gazed around us. The crowds were now bumping into us as we stood there talking. I certainly needed more than conversational leapfrog if I was to discover more about that girl and Evan.

  “Ic
e cream it is. Lead the way, big guy.”

  Chapter 17

  Secret Repartee

  We waited in a long line at Kohr’s, a popular ice cream vendor. They had several more sites along the boardwalk, each just as busy. I felt like a kid deciding, but already knowing which flavor and topping I would get.

  “So what’s it to be, Samantha?” he asked.

  “Vanilla with chocolate sprinkles on top. And you?”

  “Chocolate and vanilla swirl dunked in chocolate.”

  I smiled. “I guess we both know what we like.”

  He leaned in and whispered, “And what we don’t like.”

  I found that an odd answer and frowned.

  He noticed my reaction and quickly added, “Long lines, ditherers who can’t decide what flavor, wimps who don’t dunk with any toppings at all. I could go on and on, but you get the point, right?”

  I broke up laughing. In spite of my reservations, I really liked him. “Amen to that!”

  After we got our ice cream we gravitated to a bench to enjoy our cones without fear of someone knocking them from our hands accidentally, a constant sight on the boardwalk. But I couldn’t rule out all the seagulls overhead still swooping in and out. So I kept close guard of mine.

  We were peacefully licking away when Evan asked, “I was wondering, what’s the purpose of you renting alone?”

  I paused mid-lick. “I told you about my journal, right?”

  “So there is no jilted lover scenario going on?” he asked.

  My intention for coming here alone was to keep a low profile. Having ice cream was one thing, talking about my personal life, something else entirely. I kept it semi-truthful and lighthearted without giving much away.

  “Not that I’m aware of,” I said casually.

  “Ah, she’s playing it close to the vest,” he said lightly.

  I grinned. “Very. And you?” I asked, turning the tables.

  He gave a subtle flinch, not expecting me to counter so directly and paused. “...What about me?”

  I grinned again. “That sounds like a guarded retort,” I stated matter-of-factly, intrigued by his evasiveness.

  “It’s such a broad question.”

  I clarified further. “A jilted lover scenario at your end?”

  He relaxed. “A legitimate inquiry, since I just asked you that very question myself.”

  “That’s exactly what I thought,” I responded, grinning.

  He paused, then replied dryly, “Not that I’m aware of.”

  I threw my head back and laughed. “Touché.”

  “You speak French?”

  “I also speak ambiguity too,” I retorted.

  He licked his cone. “A language I’ve never perfected.”

  “I disagree, I think you’re doing quite well.”

  “I see you’ve got it down to a fine art.”

  “Being anonymous has its advantages,” I countered.

  “How so?” he asked, turning to me, looking curious.

  “It’s hard to pinpoint one’s true intentions that way.”

  Chapter 18

  Pinpointing One’s True Intentions

  Evan gave me a questioning look, which morphed into being unreadable. What was he thinking? What were his true intentions toward me and his relationship regarding that girl at the beach? He was almost as difficult to probe as I was when I wanted to be impenetrable. He turned away to stare out at the boardwalk. With the exception of that possible fan on the bike, I still hedged about truth-telling.

  Or was I too naïve? Had I been recognized by him too?

  Even so, I’d keep that facade for a bit longer until I had a better handle on exactly what might, or might not, be going on around me. It wasn’t clear yet. Until then...

  Like I said, I tend to be paranoid and play on instinct.

  My instincts were telling me to be careful what I did and what I said to anyone. If Evan was hung up on that girl at the beach, then what was the purpose of coming onto me? Was it innocent flirting? Or was there something more going on? Time to gently push harder. This conversation wasn’t getting me anywhere.

  “Can I ask you a straightforward question?” I said.

  Finishing up his cone, he nodded. “Shoot.”

  “Who was the girl at the beach earlier?”

  He swiped his napkin across his mouth and was about to toss it into the trashcan next to us and paused. “Who?”

  “The girl with the light brown, long, glossy hair.”

  He laughed lightly. “There’s so many out there.”

  I tossed my napkin too. “But not with that leg scar.”

  He scrutinized me, then said, “I’m trying to protect her.”

  “Why?” I asked simply.

  “I’m afraid that deep-water incident left its mark.”

  I recalled her comment at the beach and shivered.

  He scowled in anger. “She still has nightmares.”

  So these emotional issues affected both of them.

  I was about to ask him another follow-up, but he stood after checking his watch, abruptly saying, “It’s late. I have to get back.”

  I was prying, but asked anyway. “Back where?”

  “Home,” he said.

  If I had something to hide, I’d give a vague answer too.

  He’d perfected evasiveness like I did to protect myself.

  “Hey, it’s been a pleasure and very interesting,” he said.

  “To say the least,” I replied, nodding in agreement.

  He smiled then. “Glad we could share this downtime.”

  “I guard it, like my secrets. Sounds like you do too.”

  Our conversation was filled with evasion. I guess, like me, Evan didn’t want any of his boundaries of self-privacy crossed any more than I did mine. In these ways we were similar, more similar than either one of us were willing to admit, while circling each other and verbally dancing with precision to perceptive tunes only we heard.

  What was Evan hiding?

  Why the evasion after seeking me out for ice cream?

  What was the point behind that verbal chess game?

  When he didn’t respond to my matter-of-fact statement, I held out my hand to say goodnight. Even though chilly air still blew in from the ocean, his hand felt sweaty.

  Nerves?

  “Maybe we’ll meet up again,” he said, evenly.

  Dying to know more about that young woman and Evan, but knowing it would go nowhere, I said, “I’d like that.”

  But then he held onto my hand, as though he wanted to say more, but for some odd reason he held off, hesitating, looked all around us, then back to me. What did he want to say? I waited, but it vanished in the blink of an eye.

  All he did was shrug, lean in, and whisper, “Bye, Sam.”

  He went north and I headed south. I turned briefly about a hundred feet away. He was gazing back at me, the hordes of people weaved in and around him. He waved, turned, and continued on, fading into that sea of humanity.

  I continued on, too, but then stopped cold in my tracks.

  How did he know my nickname was Sam? A guess?

  As I walked on, I wondered if he would ever confide what was bothering him. Obviously, something was, but he seemed reluctant to say what. I felt it so strongly, I tasted it, like the sea salt drifting in the air. He and that girl were an enigma I wanted to solve. I just had to figure out how to begin unraveling it next time I saw either one of them.

  One thing was a given. My journal would keep me up for sure. Too many questions left unanswered. I recognized his discipline of being guarded, myself having experienced a past filled with overwhelming secrets.

  I was an expert at evasion and secrecy.

  Journal lesson learned?

  Secrets get heavier the longer you carry them.

  Chapter 19

  Who, What, When?

  I was still going over the conversation Evan and I had the night before as I sat out on my upper kitchen deck at the high-top tab
le, sipping my morning coffee under the shade of its striped umbrella, grateful for my semi-privacy of the half wall surrounding me.

  I watched the crashing waves as they hit the shoreline. Beachgoers, out in force, were dragging coolers, umbrellas, lawn chairs, and towels across the sand, hurriedly snagging their favorite spot where they would spend the day sunning themselves: a ritual, I noticed, they never grew tired of.

  I was humming along to the music system hidden in the faux clay flowerpots on the deck, when I thought I heard the front doorbell ring. I got up, opened the screen, stuck my head inside and listened. Sure enough, it rang again, so I headed downstairs.

  Through the cream-colored, translucent shirred curtains covering the front door, I saw someone standing outside waiting, but I couldn’t tell who. I was about to peek out, but hesitated. If I could see them then they could see me as well in the brightly sunlit foyer. So I unlocked the deadbolt and swung the door open.

  My jaw dropped. It was the woman from the beach.

  What was she doing on my doorstep?

  When I realized I was gaping, I shut my mouth.

  Anxiously straining to see beyond me into the house, her eyes kept roaming. “Where is he?” she challenged.

  Caught off guard, I asked, “Where is who?”

  Her anger flared momentarily then dissipated. “Evan.”

  “Why would he be here?” I asked, bewildered.

  “I saw you two on the boardwalk last night, having ice cream, talking, and laughing on a bench. He must be here.”

  I didn’t like her accusatory inference and my defenses rose in annoyance. Was jealousy playing its card here?

  “Is there a law against that? Having ice cream, I mean.”

  She flinched at my quick sarcastic comeback. Then out of nowhere she deflated and her shoulders sagged.

  “He never came home last night. I’m worried sick.”

  She genuinely looked concerned for Evan’s safety so I softened my tone. “Trust me, we said goodbye after having ice cream and went our separate ways.”