by Susie Gayle
It feels like it takes forever for us to get to the hospital, but once we finally do I throw the truck into park just outside the doors to the emergency room and hurry inside to find someone to help. Two nurses rush out with a wheeled gurney and, with Sarah’s help, heft the man onto it.
We walk as far as we can with him into the ER, until they take him through the double doors to the rear treating area. As we do, he starts to come around, opening his eyes to just narrow slits. He looks fairly young, early thirties maybe, with a thick head of brown hair and a clean-shaven face. His head lolls slightly to face Sarah and he mumbles a few words.
“What?” she asks him.
He reaches out weakly and tries to grab her hand.
“Brenda…” he murmurs. “I’m sorry, Brenda.” As the nurses push him through the doors, he chokes out, “Please forgive me…”
Sarah and I just look at each other, confused. The little black and white cat mewls again, his head peeking out from the zipper of Sarah’s coat.
“What do we do with her?” she asks.
“I’m not sure. It’s a safe bet she belongs to that man.”
“We could take her back to the store, keep her safe and warm until we know something,” Sarah suggests.
I nod. “Alright, I’ll drop you two off on my way back then.”
Sarah balks. “You’re going back to the pier? You’re soaking wet!”
“I have to. It’s only Sammy and Patty there; if anything happened to them, I’d feel responsible. Besides, I keep a change of clothes at the shop.”
“I understand,” she says softly. “We should go then.”
Before we go I leave my information with the nurse at the ER desk to contact me when the man wakes up. As we’re walking out the sliding doors, I notice a bike propped up against a wall of the waiting room—a blue mountain bike, covered in melting ice and dripping all over the floor.
I pause and glance around the waiting room. There are only a few people, and none of them wear the same parka as the figure I saw earlier. I feel a pang of guilt for not going out into the sleet to chase after the person on the bike; if they were hurt and their hurry was to get to the hospital, I could have gotten them there faster.
“You okay?” Sarah asks.
“Yeah, just fine. Let’s go.”
***
It should only take me about fifteen minutes to get from the hospital to the shop and then to the pier, but in the treacherous conditions it takes nearly an hour. When I arrive, and park the truck in the Runside’s lot, I see a new truck there, a shiny red pickup backing a boat trailer into the water at the launch.
I hurry over to find that two familiar faces have joined the rescue efforts: Holly, the proprietor of the Runside, and her eldest son Nick, who wears rubber waders that reach his thighs as he stands in knee-deep water, guiding the twelve-foot fishing boat off the trailer.
Holly flashes me a crooked smile. “What a day this is turning out to be, huh?” She wears a wool sweater and boots.
“You’re going to freeze out here!” I tell her.
“Nah. I’ve lived here all fifty-six of my years. This is nothing new.” She winks. In case you haven’t guessed it, Holly is tough as nails. The Runside has never needed security, because it’s always had her.
Chief Mayhew claps a hand on my shoulder. “Nick’s going to let us use his boat to get out there. The motor’s not very powerful, but it should be fine if we’re careful.”
“Us?” I gulp a little. “We?”
“You and Sammy are reserves. You’re trained, at least enough to be helpful. I don’t know what we’ll find out there—”
“It’s my boat,” Nick protests. “I should drive.” He wades ashore, holding the end of a rope to keep the boat from drifting off.
“No offense, kid,” Patty tells him, “but I’ve been driving boats since you were in diapers. Besides, there’s no way I’m sending you out there.”
Nick rolls his eyes—I’m sure guys in their twenties don’t appreciate being called “kid”—but he knows better than to argue with her. Instead he tugs the rope closer to the pier so that the three of us can climb in without stepping into the frigid waters.
Patty takes the stern so she can pilot, and I take the bow. (Look at me, talking like a sailor. Though I still get starboard and port mixed up.) Sammy sits in the middle bench seat. The motor whines as the little boat slowly trudges against the choppy current, parallel to the pier. I clench the aluminum side in a white-knuckled grip as the boat rocks and jolts with each small wave. A couple of times we swing dangerously close to the pier, but Patty cuts the tiller handle hard and expertly steers us back on track.
“Hey, Will!” Sammy calls out over the motor and the wind. “Don’t tell anyone I said this, but… this is pretty exciting!”
“Sammy Boy, you and I have very different ideas of exciting.” The boat jolts and I grip the sides harder, fairly certain I’m going to leave indentations in the metal and desperately wishing I was at home with a mug of hot chocolate and watching a show about jungle cats.
Finally, we clear the pier and Patty turns us parallel to the current, towards the wrecked boat. As we near it, I can see that it’s something of a small yacht; sleek, all white, with dark tinted glass around the cockpit. It looks very expensive, unlike any boat I’ve seen in Seaview Rock.
Patty eases back on the throttle as we near it. “Will,” she says, “grab the side railing and secure a rope to—”
Before she can finish, a wave hits the side of our small craft and sends us crashing up onto the jetty.
CHAPTER 4
* * *
I hold my breath as the boat hits the jetty, careening up a particularly large flat rock. The metal underbelly groans in protest, a horrible scraping noise, and I pitch forward slightly, but manage to keep my hold on the sides of the boat.
No one speaks for a long moment after we come to a stop; the only sounds are the pelting ice and wind howling in our ears.
“We’re okay,” Patty says finally. “We’re alright. Doesn’t look we’re taking on any water. Will, you’ll have to climb up over the jetty. Think you can handle that?”
“This day keeps getting better,” I mutter. Crouching, I swing one leg over the side of the boat and onto the wet, icy rocks. Once I’m on the jetty, I lower myself to all fours, cursing myself for lacking the foresight to bring gloves as my hands ache with the cold. The ocean spray from waves crashing against the opposite side of the rocks stings my face.
Behind me, Sammy climbs out of the boat, and then Patty. Luckily we don’t have far to go, as we crash-landed right next to the larger boat. As I get closer, I can see the jagged rocks holding the small yacht in place. It doesn’t look like they tore the hull, but it also doesn’t look like the boat is going anywhere anytime soon.
“Be extra careful when you’re up there,” Patty warns. “The deck is going to be slick.”
“What do you think we’ll find?” I can’t help but ask. “Given how this day is going so far, I’m guessing pirates.”
“Likely a scared out-of-towner that doesn’t know when to get off the water. But like I said, be careful.”
There’s a steel-rung ladder bolted to the side of the yacht facing us (the port side. Wait, no—starboard) and I climb up, my fingers stinging against the brutal chill of the metal. Once topside, I grip the railing tight and help Sammy and the chief up onto the deck. Patty’s right; the shiny white surface is slick. Even my rubber-soled boots have trouble gaining purchase.
The three of us do a slow check of the outer deck, which wraps around the perimeter of the cabin. The rear of the ship has a low platform, almost at water level, for divers to climb up and down. But that’s not what catches my eye.
“Chief, take a look.” I pick up the end of a length of thick rope tied around an eyelet. The other end is neatly severed, only a few feet left trailing.
“This line was cut,” she says slowly. “Come on, let’s keep loo
king.” Behind us, a set of stairs facing the stern of the boat leads up to a cockpit, while another leads down into the cabin. Patty tells us, “I’ll go up. You two go down. Give a shout if you find anything.”
“What if that guy we found was the only one onboard?” I suggest.
“I really hope that’s true,” she sighs, and then she climbs the stairs up.
Sammy and I peer down into the cabin. “After you,” he says.
“Such a gentleman.” I start down and let out a whistle. The interior of the cabin is nicer than my house. Everything is done in dark, polished wood with brass fittings and fixtures. We enter a small kitchenette, pass by a narrow bathroom, and then into what appears to be a living area-slash-bedroom with comfortable-looking furniture, a white carpet, round porthole windows…
And a pair of legs on the floor jutting from behind a bed.
I grab Sammy’s shoulder and point. He swallows hard and together we peer around the bed to find a brunette woman lying there, wearing a downy vest, black leggings and alpaca boots.
Her skin is pale as a ghost, and the white carpet beneath her head is soaked in blood.
“Good grief,” Sammy murmurs. I’ve never known him to be an overly religious man, but in that moment, he crosses himself. Me, I’ve seen a body or two in my day—and by that, I mean one, exactly one, which wasn’t actually that long ago, and it does nothing to make the sudden nausea any better.
“Chief!” I call out. “Patty, get down here!”
A few seconds later she enters, one hand on her hip where her gun is holstered. When she sees the woman on the floor she quickly checks for a pulse, but then shakes her head sadly. “She’s gone.”
“What do you think happened?” Sammy asks. “Maybe she hit her head on something when the boat crashed into the jetty?”
“Hard to say. I don’t see blood on anything else around here.” Patty peers around at the fixtures on the walls, hoping for some clue. “All I know is, this whole boat is now a crime scene. You guys didn’t touch anything, did you?”
We both shake our heads, no.
“Okay. We have to leave her here for now, until I can get the Coast Guard out here to get the boat off the rocks and bring it ashore.” She shakes her head again. “Such a shame.”
I try not to look at the body, but it’s very much the elephant in the room and I find it hard to look anywhere else.
“Come on, guys,” Patty says. “Let’s get back to shore and call this in—”
“Wait a sec,” I say suddenly. “I know this woman.” I don’t personally know her, but I’ve seen her before—on television. “That’s Brenda Hanes!”
“Who?” Sammy asks. Patty shrugs.
“Brenda Hanes… the TV star? She was on that show about the detective that could read animals’ minds?”
They both just shake their heads slowly.
“I don’t watch a lot of TV,” Sammy says.
“I avoid anything about cops or detectives,” Patty admits.
“Okay, well, she’s kind of a big deal.”
Or at least she was.
CHAPTER 5
* * *
By the next morning, the storm is over, the roads are salted and cleared, and all of Seaview Rock is blanketed in a few inches of wet, heavy snow topped with a fine coating of ice. The sun shines brilliantly, bringing with it the hope of melting all this nastiness and keeping it away until December.
Yet despite the sunshine and beauty of the morning after a snowstorm, I feel anything but cheerful.
Before we went back ashore yesterday, Patty made both Sammy and I promise that we wouldn’t say a word about Brenda Hanes. She wanted to keep it under wraps as long as possible, not only out of respect but also to keep any media vultures away until they could properly investigate.
Of course, I told Sarah about it. She wouldn’t say a word anyway.
That morning Rowdy and I open the shop. I set about feeding the animals, changing bedding, and cleaning up here and there when Sarah comes in with the cat.
“Hey, good morning. I wasn’t expecting you until noon.”
“I know, but I wasn’t sure what to do with this gal.” She unzips her coat to reveal the little black and white cat nestled beneath it. To my arched eyebrow, she adds, “What can I say? She really likes it in there.” The night before, Sarah took the cat home with her; she couldn’t bear the thought of it spending the night alone and scared, even though she’s not supposed to have pets in her building.
“Well, I’m sure the guy from the boat is still in the hospital,” I tell her. “Maybe you could…”
As if on cue, my cell phone buzzes in my pocket, startling me. After yesterday’s debacle, I decided to keep it on vibrate, in case I’m needed somewhere.
I don’t recognize the number, but I answer anyway. It turns out to be a nurse from the hospital.
“Mr. Sullivan? You left your information with me yesterday regarding one of our patients, Mr. Dickey.”
“Mr. Dickey?” I repeat.
“Yes, the man you brought in with hypothermia? He’s awake now, and asking to see you.”
“Me?” I know, what a scintillating conversationalist I am.
“Yes, sir. Well, he asked for the person who brought him here.”
“Uh, okay… but maybe you should contact the police first. That guy was involved in a boating accident yesterday.”
“We already have,” the nurse tells me. “Chief Mayhew told us she’d be by to see him after they recover the boat. But he’s asking for you specifically.”
“Sure. I’ll be by shortly.” I hang up and ask Sarah, “Do you mind watching the shop for a short while?”
***
At the hospital, a nurse refers me to a post-care unit, a wide expansive room with curtains that pull around each individual bed. I have to admit, I’m a little bit nervous—not only because I don’t know this guy or what happened to him, but I don’t know what he knows about what happened. Patty has her hands full with bringing that boat ashore and investigating Brenda Hanes’ death… and since she hasn’t yet talked to him, I decide I should try my very best to avoid that topic. Yikes.
As I approach the closed curtain, behind which is Mr. Dickey’s bed, I hear a female voice from the other side of it. My first thought is that maybe Patty did come by already this morning to question the man; but the voice definitely does not belong to her. It’s higher-pitched, inquisitive with a note of demanding.
“Can you tell me how the boat ran up onto the jetty?” the female voice asks.
“Look, I told you, I don’t want to answer any questions—” says a man.
“And what about Brenda Hanes? Was she injured in the crash? Was it negligence? Was there alcohol involved?”
“Come on, I just woke up. Just leave me be…”
I push aside the curtain and step through. Both heads turn to me—one belonging to a surprised blonde woman in a knee-length beige peacoat, and the other the man in the bed. The first thing I notice is the man’s face—yesterday it was paler than pale, practically translucent, but today there’s color in his cheeks and a light in his eyes.
“Can I help you?” the woman asks curtly. In her hands is a pen and a small spiral-bound notepad. A reporter.
“No,” I tell her, “but you can help yourself out. Clearly he doesn’t want to be interviewed right now.”
“And who are you? Do you know anything about the crash?”
I shake my head no, but I can tell by the way she scrutinizes me that she knows I’m lying.
“You give me something, and I’ll leave,” she challenges.
“Okay,” I tell her. “There’s a barber shop downtown, on Third Street. Ask for Sammy. Tell him Will sent you. He’ll tell you what you want to know.”
She narrows her eyes at me and snaps her little notebook shut. In the moment before she puts it in her handbag I can see it has the letters NYSA inscribed on its cover. Without another word, she leaves, her heels clacking a
gainst the floor.
I almost chuckle to myself. Sammy won’t tell her a thing, but he’s smart enough to keep her busy for a little while.
As I close the curtain, the man in the bed says, “Thanks for that. You must be Will Sullivan. I’m Dan. Dan Dickey.” He shifts from beneath the electric warming blanket over him to shake my hand. “They tell me you saved my life.”
“Uh, it wasn’t just me,” I tell him. “But I brought you here.”
“Well, thank you,” he says, and I can tell he means it. “Without you and whoever else, I might be dead.”
“Is… is that why you called me?” I ask him. “To thank me?”
“Partially,” he admits. “I, uh… I lost my cell phone when I went overboard. I don’t have anyone else’s number.” He chuckles a little. “Right now, you’re my only friend in the world, Will.”
“Then as your friend, Dan, I’m not going to bother you with a lot of questions about what happened. The police will be by eventually for that. But I do have your cat, and she’s just fine.”
Dan’s face scrunches up in concern and confusion. “You have Taffy? How?”
“She was with you when we found you.” I don’t tell him the part about the cat using his body as a life raft.
“Strange. I don’t remember her being with me when I went overboard. Well, at least she’s safe. She’s not actually my cat; she belongs to my girlfriend.”
“Brenda?”
His eyes light up again at the mention of her name and he sits up straighter. “Yeah, Brenda. The nurse tells me she’s not here in the hospital, so I assume she came out of it okay. Have you seen her? Was she by to see me while I was unconscious?”
As much as I was hoping to avoid the topic, I can’t look Dan in the eye and lie to him.
“Dan, I’m really sorry to be the one to have to tell you this, but… Brenda is gone.”
CHAPTER 6
* * *