“Ah, there she is.” Bijoux waved Mer toward the room where dive classes were taught. “Why don’t we all go in here where we can sit and talk.”
The classroom held four tables, with chairs that faced a whiteboard. Here students learned the theory behind the skills they needed to dive safely. Posters of beaches and boats added color to the room. Mer stood in the back, her ankles crossed, shoulders pressed against the wall. The suit stood in the front. He picked up one of the dry erase markers and toyed with it while the other three ladies each sat at their own table.
The attorney cleared his throat. “Thank you all for coming. I’m Jason Squire.” He wrote “Jason E. Squire, Esquire” on the whiteboard. “My profession was a foregone conclusion.” He chuckled.
Amber’s head tilted and she glanced around the room.
The attorney straightened and cleared his throat a second time. “I represent Ms. Hatchet in the wrongful-death suit of Ishmael Styx.”
“I was unaware that Mr. Styx had been declared dead,” Bijoux said.
“He hasn’t,” Amber said. She turned toward Lindsey. “Has he?”
Lindsey shrugged. “As if there’s any doubt.”
Bijoux spoke again. “Mr. Squire, under the circumstances I think I’m being quite generous in agreeing to this meeting. As a lawsuit is premature, what, please, is your point in calling us together?” Her melodious voice held the incongruent edge of well-honed steel.
The attorney capped the pen and deliberately laid it on the rail below the whiteboard. “Quite simply stated, a wrongful-death lawsuit may proceed whenever a person dies due to the legal fault of another, whether it be a negligent act, a failure to act as a reasonable person would act, or by doing something on purpose that results in a person’s death.”
His gaze fell on Mer and pinned her in place. “Damages may be awarded on three levels: economic, non-economic, and punitive. This could result in an award that includes compensation for loss of earnings, the cost of funeral arrangements—”
“He’s not dead,” Amber muttered.
“—mental anguish,” he continued.
Lindsey drew a dramatic breath and blinked rapidly, as if to stave off tears.
“And damages assessed as punishment against the defendants.” He offered Lindsey his handkerchief, and when she refused he dragged it across his forehead. “Which can be quite substantial depending on experts and actuaries.”
“Mr. Squire, I’m not interested in your scare tactics,” Bijoux said. “I’m sure your client disclosed to you that everyone signs a liability waiver before diving with us. That’s the protocol for every dive shop across the globe.” She placed her pen on top of her unopened notepad. “And I’m not interested in a lesson on civil law.”
Lindsey stood. She held out her hand to the attorney, and he gave it an encouraging squeeze. “I’d like to propose that we forget the hard feelings that transpired between us and all work together to complete the documentary. A tribute to an intrepid explorer.” She lowered her eyes.
The mood in the room swung from annoyance to disbelief. Amber’s mouth dropped open. Bijoux sat back. Mer remained still, trying to comprehend the reversal.
Amber lifted her head and glared at Lindsey. “You didn’t want anything to do with the documentary.”
Lindsey stepped to the front of the room as if determined to forge ahead alone, a martyr for the greater good. “It’s what Ishmael would have wanted.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying for the past two days,” Amber said, then she gasped. “This isn’t about Ishmael. You spoke to the producer.”
“Of course I did. The business belongs to me now.”
“He’s not dead.” Amber crossed her arms in front of her chest and stared straight ahead.
“The recent media attention has spiked interest in the project,” Lindsey said. “We’d be foolish to squander this opportunity.” She appealed to Bijoux. “You’ve been a part of this from the beginning. Think of the publicity and business this will bring your shop.”
Mer unfolded her arms and legs and leaned forward. “I’ve heard enough. I have no intention of participating in this documentary, so if you’ll excuse me.”
Lindsey blocked the door. “I’m willing to forgo any future lawsuit if you agree to help complete the documentary.” She hadn’t moved. Large diamonds sparkled on her ears, and she wore a short-skirted suit. She even smelled powerful, her perfume crushing the subtler scents around her. It made Mer dizzy. Or perhaps that was just the realization that if she succumbed to Lindsey’s offer it was no better than admitting that she’d made a mistake, one that had been swept under the rug but never really went away.
“I’ll take my chances in a court of law—if it ever gets to that point,” Mer said. She tried to sidestep Lindsey.
Lindsey barred the door with her arm. “Are you willing to stand by while your name is besmirched? What about your precious reputation, Doctor Cavallo? Think it’s hard to get a research gig now? Just wait. Oh, and how deep are your pockets? Lawsuits are expensive propositions. Can you afford one?”
Bijoux slid between the two women. “Threats are no way to gain our cooperation.”
Lindsey took a step back and ran her hands across the front of her skirt. “Let me see if I can put it in words you’ll understand.”
“No. Let me,” Mer interjected. “I will not be a part of your sham.”
Lindsey arched one eyebrow. “That makes me sad.” She focused on Bijoux. “It’s unfortunate that your hiring practices resulted in the selection of such an incompetent employee. I’m quite certain you understand vicarious liability? Considering this whole unsavory incident occurred on your vessel, that means you, your captain, your divemaster, and your shop all bear responsibility.” She sighed dramatically. “Waivers mean nothing when pitted against gross negligence. How will your business survive?”
Mer watched Bijoux closely. Her boss’s expression never wavered, but her fingers twitched ever so slightly, and in that twitch Mer saw all the tension, all the pent-up worry, all the anxiety that weighed on her friend because of Ishmael’s disappearance. Yes, Mer had been the one in the water, but that one twitch revealed that she was not the only one touched by the incident.
Bijoux raised her chin. “I believe Mer has spoken for us all.”
A rush of warmth for her boss flooded through Mer.
Lindsey drew the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “Fools,” she spat, then faced Bijoux. “I thought you were a smarter businesswoman. Such a shame, really.”
After everything Bijoux had done for her, Mer couldn’t let her risk the shop. “Wait.” The word stuck in Mer’s throat, and she had to clear it in order to speak louder. “I’ll do it.”
“Yay!” Amber jumped up and threw her arms around Mer. “Ishie will be so pleased.”
“Mer?” Bijoux waited while Mer untangled herself from the exuberance of the younger blonde. “We should talk.”
Mer shook her head. “No.” She stepped up to the attorney and held out her hand. “Let me see the papers.”
A broad smile broke out across his face. “It’s a very simple hold-harmless agreement. I spell it out quite clearly.”
Mer sat at the table and read each line of the two-page document. It did seem straightforward. How unusual for anything legal.
“You should have your attorney review the language,” Squire said.
Bijoux sat next to her and read another agreement that had her name at the top. “I’ll give these to my attorney,” she said. “There’s always something that needs modifying.”
Lindsey swooped in. “Wonderful. In the meantime, since we’re agreed, Wendy Wheeler is waiting downstairs. I’ve granted her an exclusive. Care to join me?”
The papers fluttered to the table and Mer opened her mouth to retort but found herself without words. Her phone rang, and she accepted the call without reading the screen.
“Oh, thank the goddess, you’re all right.” Her mother. She sounded distant
, but maybe that was because Lindsey’s words still crowded out everything else.
“Don’t let Franky hear you invoke a lesser deity.” The chair furrowed the carpet as Mer pushed away from the table.
“At least Franky doesn’t dodge my calls.”
Seeking a quiet spot, Mer ducked into the office. Whirling to shut the door, she collided with Amber.
“Sorry,” Amber stage-whispered.
Mer continued talking into the phone. “Mom, if I were trying to avoid your calls, I wouldn’t have answered.”
“I’ve left three messages since yesterday.”
“Four, but who’s counting?”
“All I’m asking for is your palm print,” her mother continued.
Amber straddled the threshold of the office, prancing between the two spaces and offering Mer no chance to sneak away.
“I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to have a live person in front of you if you want to read their palm.”
Her mother seized the opportunity. “When should I expect you?”
Mer pried apart two slats in the blinds and stared out the window. The wind had picked up again. “I was just there two months ago.”
“Nine weeks.”
“So now you can count?”
“Francis and Victor never sass me like you do.”
“You got lucky with Vito. I’m pretty sure Franky’s just trying not to break a commandment.” The office window overlooked the parking lot. Wendy stepped out of the van and fluffed her hair. “Mom, you know I can’t leave right now. Especially now,” Mer added.
“That’s why I need your palm print.”
The blinds clattered against each other as Mer withdrew her fingers. “Fine.”
“Really?”
Mer motioned Amber into the room, then grabbed her hand and pressed it on the photocopier. A green bar of light rolled the length of the glass, capturing the image.
“Done.” Mer yanked the copy from the tray.
“You won’t regret this, honey. Just fax it to your father’s office. I’ll get to it right away.”
Mer studied the lines in the photocopy. Rendered in black and white, they made distinct trails across the plains of Amber’s skin. “Don’t hurry on my account.”
“You know, someday you’ll thank me.”
Mer raised her gaze and watched the others file out of the classroom. The suit walked out first, ignoring his gentlemanly duty to hold the door for the others. Lindsey followed. Bijoux exited last. She shut the door and leaned briefly against it, as if trapping all the ugliness and uncertainty behind her.
Maybe her mother was right. Maybe someday Mer would thank her, but, all things considered, today wasn’t that day.
Chapter 16
The non-skid coating on the deck tickled the bottoms of Mer’s bare feet. The dive shop had wasted no time getting back to business after a flurry of communiqués, several contract modifications, and a couple of signatures. As soon as the afternoon charter came in, the Aquarius crew had prepped the boat to take the Spirited Divers out and capitalize on the last few hours of daylight.
Now the LunaSea rocked to the tune of the waves, and Mer shut her eyes to better hear the music. The rush of wind, the slap of the bow against the waves, Leroy’s grousing—it all combined like a sea shanty, slightly out of tune, usually off-color, and always capable of lightening her mood.
Even today.
Lindsey, as the newly dubbed leader of the Spirited Divers Paranormal Scuba Team, had spent the majority of the afternoon ordering people to do tasks they had already undertaken. Now, with the LunaSea under way, the team attended to their own needs. Echo sat on the deck surrounded by his electronic equipment. Rabbit attached one of the bulky video cameras to the front of one of the two diver propulsion vehicles on board. A small GoPro camera was already mounted on top of the second DPV.
Amber braced herself with her back to the ladder that accessed the bridge. A camera hung from her neck, but her hands held a sketchpad and her pencil moved fast and certain across the page.
Lindsey kept to herself. Since reviving the documentary, the two women had circled each other like lionesses, refusing to get too close for fear of biting remarks and unsheathed claws. The team had fractured. Without Ishmael to bind them together, how long would it be before the group disintegrated?
Mer moved to the bow. The combination of warm sun and cool breeze felt good on her skin. Despite the drama on deck, this was where she wanted to be. Where she belonged. Not cooped up in a shop but on the ocean, challenging herself. This was where she felt alive.
Rabbit joined her at the front of the boat. “It seems strange to be here without Ishmael.”
Mer nodded. “You okay to dive?”
He rolled a coin across the knuckles of his right hand. “I’m glad it’s daylight. You?”
She swallowed. The panic attack on Monday had shaken her. She always had to steel herself before jumping into the water, but she hadn’t had a full-blown meltdown since she learned to dive. Her fit in front of Selkie had been debilitating, not to mention embarrassing.
She rubbed her hand across her pendant. “I have no evidence that ghosts exist, let alone that they’re nocturnal,” she answered.
He flipped his hand and splayed his fingers. The coin was gone. “Even after what happened?”
She leaned her elbows against the railing. “Even after.”
Rabbit settled in next to her. “Amber’s convincing.”
The deck rumbled as the engines slowed. “So you’re a believer now?” Mer asked.
He jammed his hands into the pockets of his shorts. “I filmed Amber earlier today as she recounted the dive. It’s hard not to believe a weeping woman.”
“I fail to see how tears add to a statement’s veracity.”
He bumped his shoulders forward in a modified shrug. “Guess I’m just a sucker for a damsel in distress. Of course, I suppose there’s always the possibility she’s neither a damsel nor in distress.”
“What on earth do you mean?”
He jerked his chin toward the stern of the boat. “Not exactly the grieving fiancée.”
Amber and Echo stood together, bent over her sketchpad. Amber tilted her head and smiled. It looked like an invitation. Echo broke eye contact, but the corner of his lips moved upward in shy imitation.
Mer shook her head. “You weren’t down there. Amber had nothing to do with Ishmael’s disappearance.”
They watched as Echo reached over and brushed a wayward strand of hair out of Amber’s face.
Rabbit pushed himself away from the rail and squeezed past Mer. “I don’t know for sure, but that kind of looks like motive.”
Leroy bellowed at Mer from the bridgedeck, startling her from her contemplation of the couple. “You don’t connect us to that ball and it’ll be zero-dark-thirty before we get home.”
The engines had quieted into an idle and the LunaSea drifted above the Spiegel.
“Can’t you just say ‘Hey’ like everyone else?” She dipped the hook into the water to trap the mooring line and tied them off.
“Sure as rats run the rafters, but why?”
“Indeed,” she muttered, and stowed the hook.
Leroy left the helm and joined the crew congregated on the rear deck. He cleared his throat. “Gather round. I’ve got some words to say.”
Echo stood, bumping the DPV, but he caught it before it fell.
They all moved closer, although Lindsey hung back from the crowd slightly.
“Anyone who works on the sea knows that the day may come when not everyone makes it back to port. It is a risk we knowingly take, even as we tell ourselves that nothing bad will ever happen. On Saturday the sea demanded tribute, and Ishmael answered her demand, but it could just as easily have been any one of us.”
Amber sniffled and ran her hand under her nose like a little girl.
“The sea is a jealous mistress and we may never know where she’s hidden Ishmael, but for those who hold him dear he
lives on. Regardless of your beliefs, please join me and bow your head.”
Mer stared downward. The whiteness of the deck contrasted with her tanned toes.
Leroy continued, “I’d like to finish up with the Breton Fisherman’s Prayer. It’s only a sentence long, but it puts things into perspective pretty well when you contemplate our place in life. O God, thy sea is so great and my boat is so small.”
“Amen,” Rabbit whispered.
“Mer?”
She raised her head.
Leroy pointed to the ship’s bell. Usually the crew rang the bell when they received a tip from a guest. Today it had a more solemn duty. The short braided rope rasped against Mer’s palm. With a flick of her wrist, she rapped the clapper against the brass sound rim. The peal of the bell reverberated through her fingers and raised goosebumps along her arms. Tradition dictated that she ring it seven more times. Each peal faded like a sigh into the waves.
“So ends Ishmael’s watch,” Leroy intoned. “May the ocean cradle his body even as his soul ascends to heaven.”
“I don’t think that was his final destination,” Lindsey said.
Leroy flushed. “You can be respectful or you can swim home. Choice is yours.”
Amber gritted her teeth. “Ishmael is not dead.” She quickly laid her hand on Leroy’s arm. “That was a very nice speech, though.”
“Oh, please.” Lindsey stepped into her wetsuit. “Get ready. We have a documentary to film.”
The Spirited Divers scattered.
Rabbit leaned over his underwater scooter. “Who turned on my camera?”
“No one touched your precious video camera,” Lindsey snapped.
He crouched down next to the diver propulsion vehicle and looked through the viewfinder. “Well, someone decided to film this little tribute. Ghosts?” He narrowed his eyes at Echo. “You did it, didn’t you?” He jerked his thumb at Amber. “Making a memento to remind your little shiksa that her fiancé isn’t coming back? That you—”
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