Drowning Tides

by Karen Harper

  The middle shawl was labeled Colleen Taylor and the note read: Stay there. Ada.

  Claire gasped aloud to see her own name on the third shawl with the words Beware. Ada.

  And behind the shawls lay a full-page letter, this one addressed to Jimmie Cypress and written in smaller printing.

  Holding her breath, Claire leaned over to read it.

  I should not have let you meet her in this house. I fear you hurt her but won’t tell. I bless the sacred tribal waters but won’t be here to tell of that either. Not in their public place with all eyes and ears like pointed swords. Bury me on our land and do not be sad for many of my years were good.

  Claire staggered back. These read like farewell notes, or worse.

  She scrambled to get her cell phone out of her purse. She had to call Nick. When only his voice mail picked up, she glanced out the door at the back of Maggie and Haze’s place. She could get help there.

  As she ran toward the Hazelton house, she saw the door to the old tabby building over the cistern was open. Maybe Maggie had gone in for some reason, or Haze had come home. They would help her. They would know what to do, for ageless Ada surely meant to kill herself.

  26

  Claire didn’t have a light. It would be pitch-black in the cistern without one. Surely, Maggie or Haze were down there, but what if only Ada was? Did she have a key to the cistern all these years the Hazeltons didn’t know about? They had thought she’d bathed or drunk the runoff rainwater from the spring, but what if...

  Not wanting to take the time to find a flashlight, Claire rushed into the outbuilding over the waters. Yes, the door down to the water was open too!

  At the top of the spiral stairs, she saw wan, wavering light reflected from below. Someone was surely down there with a flashlight or lantern.

  Gripping the rusty banister, she called down, “Maggie? Haze? Are you there? I need your help to find Ada!”

  No sound but the clank of her feet on the metal steps and the whispered shifting of the waters below. As she descended, silvery patterns danced even brighter on the rough rock. She could imagine Ada coming down here to reflect, even to worship the sacred tribal waters. She pictured her sitting in silence, not responding to Claire’s shout, saying farewell to the spring that years of myth had called a fountain.

  Claire peered over the waters she’d seen only once before. A bright, electric lantern sat on a rocky ledge by the edge of the spring. But no one was in the small grotto area.

  Had she been lured down here, set up to be locked in from above? No one would hear her scream from here, nor would her cell work under all this rock. What if Ada or even Maggie was the murderer and needed to get her out of the way?

  Terrified anew, she started to go back up the steps, but glanced down once more.

  And saw floating just under the surface, drifting slowly away from being hidden on this side of the rocky rim a body, faceup, buoyed by brightly colored skirts looking like a flower.

  Claire screamed, and it echoed. She wanted to flee but what if Ada was still alive? She looked so—so peaceful.

  Her pulse pounding, Claire went down to the spring level and knelt to peer closely at Ada. Not moving. Drowned. No doubt a suicide.

  But she looked alive, only sleeping. How long would these waters preserve her like this? And if it got out that Ames’s Youth water had a dead body floating in it, there would be hell to pay. Maybe Ada had done this here to get back at those who profited off the water.

  Claire prayed she’d had no part in driving Ada to this. Wide-eyed, stunned, she stared at the old woman. The memory of her nightmare leaped at her where she herself was the dead woman, faceup, on the floor of the yacht.

  Ada looked lost, but somehow found, with a little smile on her face, looking younger than ever.

  Claire hated to admit it, even to herself, but she suddenly believed in the power of this water, at least for Ada.

  Claire sucked in a sob and fled up the stairs to get help.

  * * *

  Time became a blur for Claire, but just over an hour later, the tiny grotto was crowded with people. After they had explained they knew nothing of this and had not unlocked the door, Haze and Maggie had been sent upstairs by the sheriff. The Naples-based Collier County medical examiner and an assistant were still here as well as a police photographer and two medics. Claire had only been allowed to stay to reenact for them exactly how she’d found Ada, and Nick had arrived at breakneck speed to be with her, claiming to be Claire’s lawyer as well as Haze’s. The flash from the photographs exploded in the rough rock grotto and in Claire’s brain.

  Ada had finally been removed from the water and lay in a body bag that had not yet been zipped up. A puddle had formed around her from her hair and clothes. In the stark police lights, that water and her wet form looked silvery—unearthly.

  “All right, then,” Sheriff Scott said, “I think we’re about done here. None of the media gets in, and I’ll make the only statement when this gets out. You boys need help with getting the body bag up out of here on those twisty stairs, let me know. We’re gonna go seal off her house, but according to what Ms. Markwood says is there, it’s an open-and-shut case of suicide. Ms. Markwood, Counselor, you two want to come along?” he said, pointing at Nick. “I’ll need the photographer too,” he said over his shoulder, and gestured for Claire to go first up the stairs.

  Nick turned back to the sheriff. “No autopsy needed, I hope. It’s obvious what happened, and that would be an indignity to her and her people.”

  “She sure looks calm and peaceful, doesn’t she? Untouched. But it’s up to the ME there. I’ve called her closest relative, and he’ll be here soon.”

  The ME, a woman Claire had met before, spoke up. “I concur no autopsy, unless we find some unusual bruise or a wound on her.”

  “Man,” Sheriff Scott said, “that’s all we need here, considering an arrest warrant is already in the offing for your client who owns this site, Counselor, and Ms. Markwood here says she found the door unlocked they supposedly had the only key to open. Far as we can tell, there’s no key on the body or lying here. Let’s go now.”

  From four steps up, Claire glanced down at the scene once more, but everything had changed from the way she wanted to remember it. The two bright klieg lights, balanced precariously on the narrow rock ledge, soaked the usually silent, dim area with stark colors.

  The ME’s assistant was finally zipping up the body bag, so Ada disappeared slowly. Her calm, unlined face and the single strand of beads around her smooth neck reminded Claire of something she’d read about Seminole women. Throughout their lives, they wore many strands of bright beads that signified life events and special times, but they took them off over their later years or gave them away until they were buried with just one string—their life beads, the very first strand given to them as a child. Today Ada had worn that single string of beads.

  So many questions, ones more important than that. In Ada’s note to Jimmie Cypress—whom Claire now believed must be her grandson or even great-grandson—who had Jimmie been meeting in Ada’s house? Even in her dazed state, it seemed clear to Claire: Sondra McMillan. But would the police figure that out and question Jimmie again? And would they question Claire or the other two women for whom Ada had left the shawls and the notes? Again, Claire hoped she had not done or said anything to encourage Ada to take her life.

  * * *

  “I know you’re distraught,” Nick said when they were back on the yacht. “That was tough, finding her like that. I realize she fascinated you.”

  They were eating an early dinner on the stern deck, but Claire hadn’t touched her food. She’d sat with Lexi until the child had gone to sleep and Nita took over. The poor child had evidently come down with chicken pox. Nick had phoned a doctor friend who would come here to check on her tomorrow.
r />   “You can’t blame yourself for Ada’s death,” Nick insisted when she didn’t answer.

  “I just wish the sheriff had let me have that shawl with my name on it right now. I may not see it again, and it’s—it’s her legacy to me.”

  “I’m sure you’ll get it back. Sheriff Scott needed the other two to question Maggie and Colleen about the cryptic notes too. But, Claire, her legacy to you is the message to beware, and that’s not good. It’s like some curse from the grave.”

  “Not from her. She accepted me. We had a kind of understanding.” She blew her nose, though she wasn’t crying. “But she was afraid you or the prosecution in Haze’s trial would drag her into court.”

  “Did you ever stop to think that she might have been approached by one of Ames’s lackeys? They’re thick as thieves around here lately. Maybe they insisted she go into court as exhibit A on the power of the youth waters. Maybe that put her over the edge. She didn’t want to be the one to commercialize her people’s sacred water even more. Or she had a personal fear of having to go public and become a laughingstock or bizarre example. Maybe we’re not to blame at all.”

  Claire smacked her full iced tea glass on the table so hard the tea sloshed out clear toward Nick. “Maybe, maybe, maybe! If so, Ames not only runs but ruins everything again! Of course he’d want to put her on display! As grieved as I am, as afraid of him as I am, I’d do anything to get back at him!”

  “Shh. Even though Heck’s been teaching Bronco how to sweep the yacht for listening devices, you never know. But are you game to go with me to a place I know Ames’s bugs are ready and waiting for us? To help me assure him we’re doing what he wants right down the line, even if we aren’t?”

  “Where?” she whispered, wiping up her tea from the table with her napkin. “Now?”

  “I haven’t been back to my house in days, but I’m thinking I should go. And that we should plan a little drama for him to overhear. Also, since my house is on a cul-de-sac, we can lie low there and see if we’re followed, as we must have been when we went to the murder scene and rushed out into the Glades. What do you say? We can write the script together in the car on the way into Naples. Hey, you haven’t eaten your lunch but I understand. I think I have some PB&J in my refrigerator at home and your choice, madam, of either wine or beer.”

  Her anger ebbed, and she sighed. “Anything to confuse him, stop him. And your mention of us maybe being followed reminds me of something important I have to tell you about Maggie today. Ada’s death put it out of my head.”

  “Shoot. Well, maybe I shouldn’t put it that way,” he said, reaching over the table to gently grasp her wrist with his big, warm hand.

  “I saw Maggie pay off a young man who came to her place on a WaveRunner today, a man she seemed really nervous around. She walked him far away from the house, I think, so I couldn’t see him or overhear what they were saying. She said he came for money for the owl cause, Nick. Nick?” she said when he just stared at her and didn’t answer.

  Finally, he said, “You know that old saying, ‘Absolute power corrupts absolutely.’ Well, big money does too. It’s as far-out of an idea as Jace riding a WaveRunner and stalking us, but—”

  “But what if Maggie has something to do with Mark Stirling’s death?” Claire finished his thought. “Or wants us to think someone besides Haze did? Should we confront her?”

  “Not yet. It could blow everything up, and I’m pretty sure the sheriff is going to arrest Haze soon. Ames will have a fit if we get Maggie under suspicion too. Since they have no children—I’m just thinking out loud now—who would get control of the Youth water fortune if they were in collusion for Mark’s death or were set up for it? I’d better ask Haze about a will, if they have named heirs. Because that could open up another whole number of possible suspects. If someone gets rid of Haze and Maggie—voilà, someone’s filthy rich if they have the fountain. I can’t believe I haven’t thought of that before. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  He tugged her around the table, shoved his chair out and pulled her onto his lap.

  “Without me, you’d still be the playboy of the Western world,” she whispered, putting her arms around his shoulders and leaning her forehead against his. “And you’d have to find another forensic psychologist to hire, hopefully one with benefits, as they say these days about bed partners.”

  “As bad as this all is, I love you, Claire. And as much as I’d like one of your ‘benefits’ right now, let’s buy ourselves some insurance while we sort this out. Let’s assure Ames we’re on board. You know, let’s not even plan the conversation we want him to overhear in the rental car, just in case he’s got that bugged. Let’s just sit on the end of the dock and talk it out, then improvise from that at the house.”

  “All right, Counselor. You know, I’ll bet I’m the first wife to ever marry a man without being in his house once—or since.”

  They stood and hugged. He kissed her hard. Claire felt a little stronger, a little better. Still, it haunted her that poor Ada had felt she must escape. No way were she and Nick going to do anything but stay and fight.

  27

  As Nick and Claire drove their rental car into Naples, he kept checking in his rearview mirror to see if they were being followed. Traffic on the Trail was so thick he couldn’t tell. And all he needed was to have an accident of his own making right now, so he had to be careful.

  In the seat beside him, Claire had gone quiet, but not really calm. Still he felt he’d steadied her a bit. He was used to doing that for himself but he was still getting the feel of her.

  And he’d like to have the feel of her again, make love to her. He’d almost taken her to bed right before they’d left the yacht. Why did things keep getting in the way of intimacy? If only they could chuck the burden of this case, go off together, have a real honeymoon.

  He shifted his weight in the seat, remembering the soft, scented feel of her against him, under him. He cleared his throat and changed positions yet again. It would be private at his house, but if there were mics to pick up sounds—or worse, cameras—he’d have to control himself, go with the phony program they’d planned. That mirror on the ceiling of the yacht’s master bedroom, which he’d hated at first, he really liked now, but he didn’t need another viewer, especially not Ames and his lackeys.

  “You okay, sweetheart?” he asked, with another quick glance in the rearview mirror. Absolutely no way to know if the male driver almost tailgating him—and on his phone—could be following. He didn’t look that young, and Claire had said Maggie’s friend was around twenty.

  “Just thinking,” she said.

  “Uh-oh!”

  “Very funny,” she said and punched his arm. “Just missing Ada. Can you believe that? I really didn’t know her well and I miss her. I feel that way about Colleen too—close when I’ve not spent that much time with her. No more lectures about that, please,” she insisted, raising both hands. “I’ve learned my lesson not to let my feelings control my head in this. You were right about that.”

  “I’m guilty of that too. I feel really let down with Maggie for either meddling at best, lying at worst—and what that might mean.”

  Claire nodded and sighed, turning away. But he saw she was only turning her head to check who pulled up next to them at stoplights. At least they were almost at the turnoff.

  As for trying to bolster Claire’s mood, whenever he’d been depressed over his father’s death, his mother’s grief or his own troubles in life, planning to get even with Ames always got him going again. Just as in his past, there was no time for Claire—for either of them—to mourn their losses. It only sapped their strength.

  But he was deeply disturbed by the possibility of Maggie’s treachery. If she’d paid some young punk to nearly hit them in the water at the murder scene, she must have known exactly where that place was. It
was as upsetting as his earlier suspicion that Jace might have been the guy on the WaveRunner. If Jace turned out to be a liar, it would really take a toll on Claire.

  Unfortunately, when Nick had asked Lexi yesterday if her daddy had a gun, she’d said, No. Just a big rifle he hunts with. Like for bears in the Glades. But it’s not loaded in the house so it doesn’t hurt anyone. ’Specially me, even if we don’t have that house anymore. If Claire knew he’d been quizzing her child, and about Jace, Nick knew he’d be toast.

  But she’d been right to mention earlier the screwed-up way Ames had forced them to marry. He felt bad that she had never been inside his home. Even now, he was taking her there to see it for the wrong reason. He didn’t really know her family; she would only meet his law team two days from now. And strangest of all in their version of a shotgun marriage, Nick had been forced by Ames to become an instant father to little Lexi despite the fact her own father hovered—and Nick now suspected him even more of working for the enemy since he’d obviously flown those water experts in. He’d find out soon, because he’d made a secret, important phone call to have someone settle things with Jace once and for all. He hated to be back to keeping things from Claire, but on this, he just couldn’t share.

  He parked the car in his driveway on 21st Avenue South. The front yard grass had a big yellow patch where apparently one of the automatic lawn sprinklers wasn’t working. The beige stucco ranch house had its backyard on the waterway called the Egret Channel where he still kept his small motorboat. One glance through the front picture window and the Florida room showed it was still in its place, tied along the breakwall and covered with a well-worn tarp.

  “Aqualane Shores is a beautiful area,” Claire observed, looking around, up and down the dead-end street from the front porch. At least they’d lost the tailgater he’d been watching, and no car seemed to be following or passing by. “Not one of the newest areas, but classic,” she went on. “I read it was a mangrove swamp years ago. Look at all these new mansions here and there, dwarfing some of the original places!”