by Leona Karr
“It’s just too awful,” Ellen sighed.
In the weighted silence, Clayton Langdon cleared his throat. Then he barked, “Prepare a room for Miss Ashley. She will be our guest.”
Mrs. Mertz shot Jonathan a questioning look. At his nod, she turned on her ugly shoes and left the room like a soldier with marching orders.
Brad made a mental note to interrogate Mrs. Mertz again. In her position, the housekeeper was bound to know a hell of a lot more about what went on in the house than she had admitted.
“I’ll bring in your suitcase and check back with you in the morning,” he told Ashley as he prepared to leave.
She cleared her voice and took a deep breath. “You need to ask for help,” she said bluntly as her trembling hands held the fragile tea cup. “Surely the Portland police should take some responsibility. They could send someone.”
“Like a rookie cop?” he suggested curtly. It rankled him that she had clearly classified him as a local yokel who couldn’t find his own dog tied to a post. Without another word, he turned and left the room.
THE BEDROOM the housekeeper had prepared for Ashley was on the ocean side of the house. The sound of the surf assaulting the rocky cliffs could be heard above wailing gusts of wind. By the time Ashley had followed Mrs. Mertz through a complex of halls and curved staircases leading to the second floor, she was totally disoriented. The rambling mansion seemed to be a weird maze of rooms and additions to the main structure throughout the years. The housekeeper stopped at the far end of a long hall and opened a bedroom door.
“We’ve already closed up this side of the house for the winter,” Mrs. Mertz informed Ashley without any hint of an apology for the cold and musty smell inside the room.
A large bed with a massive wooden frame stood against one wall, and an old-fashioned chiffonnier matched a free-standing wardrobe and vanity. Even though the furniture was rather massive, there was an air of youth about the faded decor on the walls and the feminine furnishings.
In addition to the overhead light, there was a bedside lamp. Ashley’s small suitcase sat in the middle of a faded, fringed rug; she assumed that a servant must have brought it up earlier.
“Would you like me to turn down the bed?” Mrs. Mertz asked with a glint of amusement in her eyes.
Yes, please, and bring a hot water bottle to warm the covers, Ashley retorted silently. She wished she had the courage to play the spoiled socialite guest and order a housekeeper around.
“I put out an extra comforter and turned on the heater in the bathroom. Is there anything else?”
“Where does that door lead?” Ashley asked, pointing to a door flanked by two tall windows on the ocean side of the room.
“The widow’s walk. It’s a long narrow balcony that runs the length of the original section of the house. Amelia Langdon, the first mistress of the house, is reported to have paced it night and day, hoping for some sign of her husband’s clipper ship coming back from trade in the Indies. This was the master bedroom then.”
“I see.”
The housekeeper’s thin lips curved in a faint smile. “Amelia’s lonely watch never brought him back that last time. His ship was wrecked at sea. Some say she’s still waiting and watching. Sometimes on moonless, stormy nights, the poor lady’s ghostly form has been seen walking right outside that door.”
“Really? How exciting. All these old mansions have their own delightful ghost stories, don’t they?” Not for all the world would Ashley let the housekeeper spook her. “Thank you for your help, Mrs. Mertz. I appreciate it.”
“Good night, then,” she replied in a tone as crisp as burnt toast.
Ashley closed the door after her and then leaned against it, struggling to control her emotions. She wanted to cry and scream and throw things. Never had she felt so close to being totally out of control. Slightly panicked, she drew in long, shaky breaths to steady herself. It wouldn’t do herself or her sister any good if she fell apart.
She bit her lip, straightened her shoulders and went into the small adjoining bathroom. It had obviously been renovated; the fixtures were modern, and the tile was an expensive mosaic pattern.
She stripped off her damp clothes, turned on the shower and held her breath until the spray changed from cold to a satisfying warm temperature. Grateful for scented soap and shampoo, she showered and washed her hair. As she dried herself, she caught her reflection in a gold-framed mirror above an oval-shaped sink. Worry and fear were etched in her face. Yesterday she’d been immersed in the challenges of her business. Now the success of Hollywood Boutique seemed hollow.
Lorrie. Her sister’s name caught in her throat. Tears eased out of the corners of her eyes. I’m here, Lorrie. I’m here.
THE STORM passed over during the night. Ashley thought she must have slept a bit, even though she had twisted and turned restlessly. She was aware that sometime in the night, the rain had stopped and the wind had died down. Darkness outside the door and windows began to lighten to a dull gray. She got out of bed and dressed quickly in designer jeans, a cotton blouse and a jacket.
Despite Brad Taylor’s assurance that he’d put out information on her sister’s disappearance, Ashley decided she wasn’t going to sit and wait for him or anyone else to respond. Her pent-up emotions demanded release. She was convinced that somebody on the island knew what had happened to Lorrie. She’d brave the chilly, foggy morning and walk down to the wharf. People might feel freer talking to her. She really didn’t care whether Officer Brad Taylor liked it or not.
Cautiously she opened her door. With only a vague idea of how to find her way out of the house, she began walking down the gloomy hall. All of the doors along the corridor were closed and there was no hint of anyone occupying the rooms. She must have covered the entire length of the wing the housekeeper had said was closed before she came to a narrow staircase that descended rather steeply to a closed door at the bottom.
She hesitated. Were these the same stairs she’d climbed last night? No, they were too narrow and steep. Was it going to take her half the morning to find her way out of the house? She knew it was early. The only sound she heard was the whisper of her steps and the creaking of the dark planked floorboards. High, gabled windows let in rays of feeble early sun. Maybe the household would not be stirring for hours.
When she came to a carpeted hall that widened, she sensed a difference in the surroundings. The musty smells disappeared as she hurried forward. When she came to another staircase, she thought it was probably the one she’d climbed the night before.
She peered over the banister and searched for a glimpse of something familiar in the hall below. When she reached the bottom of the steps, her ears picked up a clatter of kitchen noises and her nose sensed the odor of cooking.
She turned in the opposite direction. Her choice turned out to be the right one. She found herself in the front foyer. The heavy front door echoed loudly in the early morning hush as it closed behind her.
Drawing her jacket closely around her, she headed down the narrow road through a dark tunnel of trees that had hugged Brad’s car on both sides last night as they had driven up from the wharf. Wisps of gray fog rose from needled spruce branches drooping heavily with moisture. The road followed the rugged shoreline, and salty moist air bathed her face.
Slowly, the wooded area gave way to ground vegetation, and as the road descended from the high point of the island, she could see scattered weathered buildings near the wharf. There was a bustle of movement along the pier. Men were loading their boats for a day’s fishing and hauling on the water.
Ashley hurried to the small, whitewashed Wharf Café. Once inside the door, she was assaulted by the warmth of bodies, a clamor of loud voices and stares from the male customers.
She was out of her element and she knew it. Approaching these strangers was a far cry from relating to city merchandise buyers, but she was desperate. Moistening her dry lips, she began to circulate through the crowded tables. As she explained who she was a
nd pleaded for any information about her missing sister, a ripple of quiet began to descend on the café.
“My sister was working for the Langdons. She’s a blonde, small and—”
“We know,” an older man with gray whiskers interrupted.
A rough-looking fisherman nodded. “Nice gal. Came in here once in a while for lunch, she did.”
“Heard about her disappearance,” offered a woman in work clothes sitting at one of the tables.
Ashley’s anxious gaze traveled around the room. “If anyone has any idea about what could have happened to my sister, please tell me. Anything…anything, at all.”
“Officer Taylor’s been all over the island,” a gruff man boomed.
At that point, a young waitress hurried over to Ashley. “I’m so sorry about your sister. Lorrie’s always so friendly and nice. I just love waiting on her.” She pressed Ashley’s hand. “She has to be all right…she just has to be! I can’t believe—” She broke off as someone came into the café. “Brad! Any news?”
“Not yet, Betsy.” Brad’s eyes settled on Ashley. “You’re out early, Miss Davis.”
“Yes, I am,” she replied, keeping her head erect and squarely meeting his eyes. “I thought I’d meet a few people on my own. Just in case—”
“I missed something?”
“I just want to help.”
“Good. I’m just heading to the office to make radio contact with as many boats in the area as I can. Would you like to come along?”
The invitation surprised her. Being at the heart of the investigation was better than letting her imagination run wild.
“Yes, I would. Thank you. I’ll call the Langdons and let them know where I’ll be.”
“Have you had breakfast?” When she shook her head, he turned to the waitress. “Betsy, send a couple of breakfast specials and coffee over to the station.”
BRAD WAS SILENT as they walked a short distance to a municipal building that also housed a volunteer department and the island’s post office.
He had no idea why he had impulsively invited Ashley Davis to come to the office with him. Something in her dogged manner had surprised and rather pleased him. He wouldn’t have expected her to have that kind of determination and self-sacrifice. His annoyance at her lack of faith in his abilities had been tempered by a begrudging admiration. He wasn’t used to having a woman challenge him on any level, but as she matched his step and walking rhythm, he suspected he might have found one.
“This is it,” he said as he ushered her inside. He wasn’t about to make apologies for its stark ugliness. The Greystone police station amounted to two rooms: an office and a small, windowless back room that served as a temporary jail. More often than not, the cell was occupied by someone needing a place to sleep off a hangover. The boatman, Jenkins, had been a guest more than once.
“Sorry, the place is a mess.” He quickly cleared a chair of a pile of folders. “I was attempting to clean the files when the Langdons called about your sister. Have a seat. Coffee and breakfast will be here soon.”
She surprised him with an apology. “I’m sorry if I was out of line going to the café like that. I just couldn’t stay at the house and wait.”
“No harm done. I’ll get started on the radio calls.” He turned his back to her and sat down at an old desk.
“Isn’t there something I can do to help?” she asked, still standing.
“Not at the moment.”
She fell silent as she sat down in a chair behind him. She picked at the breakfast order when it arrived, but Brad barely touched his, only pausing for hurried sips of black coffee.
He kept on the radio, referring to a record of various craft that had listed call numbers with the Portland authorities. He asked each commercial and private pilot to relay any information that might help locate the missing woman.
As the minutes ticked by, he could sense Ashley’s frustration as she began to move restlessly around the small office.
Welcome to police work. Tedious, boring and exacting.
His own exasperation was at a high level when an urgent call came in from a fishing boat heading out into deep Atlantic waters.
“We weren’t sure what we were seeing,” the captain said after giving his location. “Looked like something floating loose and the closer we got, we could tell it was an old rowboat. We weren’t equipped to chase and snag it, but we got close enough to plainly see it. I’ll be danged if there wasn’t a woman lying in the bottom of it.”
“We’re on it!” Brad signed off and hurriedly paged his deputy. “Get the patrol boat ready to go out, Bill. We’ve got a lead.”
He’d forgotten all about Ashley, until he swung around and saw her standing behind him with a face as white as an Easter lily.
“Is it—?”
“Maybe. Let’s go!”
He grabbed her hand as they raced to the pier.
Chapter Three
Brad was at the wheel of the police cruiser, and Ashley and the deputy at the bow of the boat when they headed down the western coast of the island and out into the open waters of the Atlantic.
Stocky, round-faced Bill Hunskut kept a pair of binoculars focused on the water ahead as he firmly planted his thick, muscular legs on the rolling deck. Ashley guessed him to be a little older than Brad.
Ashley was oblivious to the cold mist of water spraying her face as she clutched the railing with both hands. Her body was rigid and her pulse rapid as they searched the rising and falling waves for a drifting rowboat.
The sky was clearing after last night’s storm. Patches of glistening sunlight reflected in the rising and falling gray-blue water were creating illusions. Her heart leaped into her throat when she saw a floating object in the water.
She pointed and cried excitedly, “There! There!”
Deputy Bill gently touched her arm. “It’s only a floating porpoise, miss.”
Sometimes it was floating debris or a weathered log that made her chest tighten. With every tortured minute, the hopelessness of finding a tiny boat in a vast sea grew greater and greater.
Lorrie. Lorrie. Her sister’s name was a mantra on her moist lips when the deputy suddenly yelled.
“Starboard! Starboard!”
As Brad quickly swung the boat in that direction, Ashley squinted but couldn’t see anything.
“Where? Where?”
Bill pointed, and her breath caught as a rolling wave brought the floating object into view.
“There it is!” Brad quickly slowed the cruiser’s speed. “Get the hook ready.” With exacting patience, he began to maneuver the cruiser close enough for Bill to try to snag the rowboat.
Ashley clenched the railing with white-knuckled hands. The motion of the police boat kept moving the floating boat away.
Finally, after several frustrating tries, Brad succeeded in bringing the old boat alongside.
Ashley hung over the railing. When she saw her sister’s crumpled, still body lying in the bottom of the rowboat, knife-like pains shot through her.
No, no! She can’t be dead.
Both men moved with quiet competence. They lowered a rope ladder so that Brad could descend into the rocking boat. With his strong arms, he put the inert body into a carrier sling fastened to a pulley from above. Ashley realized what a well-trained team they were to handle such an emergency.
At Brad’s signal, Deputy Bill raised the sling to deck level. Once it had been lowered onto deck, both men instantly knelt beside the litter. Blond hair was matted with blood from a swelling at the back of the young woman’s head, and her arms and legs were motionless.
“Is she…?” Ashley choked.
Brad checked for vital signs, searching for a pulse in the limp wrist and laying his head on her chest to detect any faint movement.
“She’s alive. Get the oxygen ready, Bill. Only a very faint pulse, but we may have a chance.”
He carried her into the cabin, which had been equipped with first aid emergency supplies, and q
uickly laid her on a stretcher-like cot.
“We’ve got to get her warm.” He turned to Ashley. “Get some blankets out of that cupboard. Bill, set up the oxygen tent. I’ll radio the Portland stationmaster to have an ambulance ready. We can get her to the mainland quicker than returning to Greystone and summoning a helicopter to pick her up.”
The trip was the longest one Ashley had ever made. The minutes crept by as she kept her eyes glued on Lorrie, watching for any sign of consciousness. Almost imperceptibly, Lorrie’s deathly color began to change in the oxygen tent. The feeble sound of air moving in and out of her chest told Ashley she was breathing deeper.
“Reckon we found her in time,” Deputy Bill encouraged in his calm, homespun way. “She’ll be fit as a fiddle, you wait and see.”
An ambulance was waiting on the wharf when Brad eased the patrol cruiser into its assigned berth on the mainland. Immediately, two male paramedics came aboard, took charge, and transferred Lorrie to the ambulance.
“We’ll follow in my car,” Brad told Ashley. “I keep one in a nearby parking area for use when I’m on the mainland.” He told Bill to arrange for the rowboat to be examined for forensic evidence. “You catch the afternoon ferry back to the island, Bill, and I’ll call in as soon as we know something.”
ASHLEY SANK BACK in the seat of Brad’s compact car and stared ahead as he drove in silence to the community hospital. She was grateful he didn’t try to engage her in conversation. Apprehensive and emotionally drained, she was functioning at a precarious level. His firm, solid and unruffled manner helped steady a hurricane of feelings whirling within her.
When they reached the hospital, they hurried into the emergency room. Brad used his official status to gain assurances that as soon as any news was available, he would be immediately advised.