“Friday it is.” I was holding onto the picture and thought to ask before we hung up, “Should I text this photo to you?”
“If you knew my caseload right now?” He blew out a frustrated breath. “I think it can wait until Friday.”
What could be more important than finding two young people who’d vanished without a trace? I was tempted to take the photo to Brooks for a look.
Then Daniel said, as if following my thought process, “Let’s keep this between you and me, okay?”
When I didn’t respond, he added, “Definitely text it, but the image quality might be better on the original. I’ll pick it up on Friday.”
That should have placated my concerns. Why hadn’t it? I had a sick, nudging feeling he was losing interest in finding Vince and Ashley.
17
Two weeks following the disappearance
We were lying on my bed, entangled in Egyptian cotton, damp from the swelter of passion. It was Friday night. No, scratch that, it was Saturday morning and our second date was going exceedingly well. It had started at the Café Muse in P-town, and hours later we’d barely walked through the door before tumbling into the sheets.
“I don’t know what got into me,” I confessed.
“You don’t? Then I’m a failure.” Daniel bit my bare shoulder playfully.
“You know what I mean. I’ll blame it on the Bloody French Martini.”
“Martinis. Plural.”
“But they were so yum, I couldn’t resist.”
“That’s not all you couldn’t resist.”
“I have no willpower. What’s your excuse? The oysters mignonette?”
“That’s possible. But it could also be”—he made a roguish face—“the shaky beef?”
“Definitely the shaky beef.” I laughed and rolled on top of him, making it clear I was still willing.
He pushed the hair away from my face and kissed me gently. “Give a guy a moment. Don’t forget, I’ve got a few years on you.”
“I don’t believe the subject of your age has come up.” I slowly rolled back to the side. “So, how old are you?”
“Is that a polite question?”
“It is when asking an FBI agent who already knows all the personal details of my life.” I pulled at a hair on his chest.
“Ouch!” He grabbed my hand in self-defense. “Let’s put it in practical terms. When you were graduating high school I was a first-year field agent.”
“Excuse me, but I’ve had two Bloody French Martinis.”
He held up three fingers.
I should have felt ashamed, but the alcohol had numbed that part of my brain. “Even more reason for you to do the math for me.”
“I’m forty-four.” Seven years older than I was.
“Okay, ancient one. Let’s take a break.” I rested my head on his shoulder.
“It doesn’t seem possible I’ll be retiring next year.”
“At forty-five? That seems young for retirement.”
“I’ll have my twenty years in. It’s mandatory.”
“What will you do?” I didn’t know Daniel well enough to be sleeping with him, let alone to understand his ambitions and aspirations.
“I’ll probably take a year off before deciding about the next phase of my career.”
“You could write a book.”
He chuckled. “I have to write a lot of reports, and it’s a part of my job I detest. So I’ll be taking a vacation from writing.”
I assumed the subject was closed, which didn’t surprise me since Daniel was much more comfortable asking questions than answering them. But after a thoughtful pause he responded. “I’ve often thought about buying a sailboat, exploring the Caribbean for a while. Have you ever been?”
“My sister and I went on a cruise of the islands.” I didn’t admit it was the only time I’d traveled outside the country, lest he think me provincial, which of course I was.
“Is that where you got this?” My skin tingled at his touch as he gently traced the tattooed image of the phoenix’s outstretched wings, fiery red and purple plumage, surrounded by dancing flames.
I shook my head.
“It’s beautiful. What is it?”
“Out of the ashes the phoenix will rise,” I whispered, unsure if he even heard.
“It must have some significance.”
He took my silence as the signal it was and directed the conversation elsewhere. “Have you had any more late-night visitors?”
Having convinced myself it had been Brooks, I’d put the incident out of my mind. “Not that I’m aware of. And Whistler would let me know if there had been. Why?”
Daniel gave a half shrug since I had his other arm pinned to the bed.
I raised myself up on my elbow. “Do you have an idea who it was?”
“I always have ideas. That’s part of what I do. Contemplate the possibilities and narrow down to the probabilities.”
“Well, since you bring it up, I was wondering about a certain possibility and where it stood.”
“The rope?”
“Uh-huh.”
His chest rose from taking in a deep breath. “So far our decoding guys haven’t come up with anything. It very well could be nothing more than a rope your friends grabbed when they needed something to secure the basket to the bicycle.”
I slumped down in defeat and rolled onto my back. I’d been researching knots all week and hadn’t come up with anything concrete either.
“Hey, I know it’s not the answer you wanted to hear. But we’ve got another expert looking at it this week. Fresh eyes so to speak.”
“What about the receipt you found in their room that first day?”
He frowned. “Oh, that. We haven’t turned up anything tangible yet.”
“And the photo?”
“Still examining it. There might be a solid lead there.”
I felt he was humoring me, so I sought his eyes. “Be honest. Is that a possibility or a probability?”
“I’d like to say the case is solvable, but right now?” His tone was flat. “This is one of the tough ones, Cassie. I wish I could be more optimistic.”
We didn’t say anything for quite a long time, though he caressed my arm while I played with his chest hair, gently now.
“You’re sad.” He kissed the top of my head.
I nodded as a tear escaped down into my hair.
He wiped it away with his thumb, then kissed the corner of my eye. “Salty tears wash away your fears.”
Daniel did not strike me as the sentimental type, and I was taken aback by the sweet gesture. “What’s that from?”
“Nothing.” But I could see the shadow of a smile.
“What?” I prodded, threatening to torture his chest hairs again.
He laid my hand flat against his chest where I could feel the thumping of his heart. “My grandmother used to say it to me when I was little.”
“You were close?”
“She raised me. My mother worked two jobs to keep us sheltered and fed. A hard worker but not around much. It was my grandmother who kept me on the straight and narrow, and more importantly, out of the system.”
“What about your dad?”
“Left before I could walk.”
There was much to learn about this Daniel Benjamin, but tonight was not a time for delving too deeply. We had the luxury of time. I jerked upright at the thread of a memory.
“What is it?”
“Something Vince said.” But I couldn’t put my finger on it. The thought had ricocheted in and out of my brain too quickly to grasp hold. “It’s gone. Is this what happens when you get old?”
“Seriously? Abusing me already.” He shook his head.
“I’ll be good.”
He pulled me back down. “That’s not exactly what I had in mind.”
* * *
The fire was roaring and the sirens screaming. But where was the fire engine? I should be able to see it by now. Please, please hurry!
; Somebody had ahold of me, but I couldn’t see through the flames. “Cassie, wake up.”
My eyes shot open. “What’s happening?” I gasped.
“Just a bad dream.”
“Daniel?”
“Yeah, it’s me.” He began rocking me gently.
“Oh, thank God.” I collapsed against him, breathing hard and my heart pounding so fast my eardrums were vibrating. “It was a fire. There’s always a fire. The sirens were sounding.”
“That was your phone ringing.”
“What?”
“Your ringtone sounds like a fire alarm.”
“Damn it, Percy,” I whispered.
“Who?” Daniel cocked his head.
“Nobody. Somebody keeps messing with me by changing my phone options.”
Percy—or maybe Celeste—had apparently taken an interest in modern technology, driving me crazy with their recent techno-shenanigans. This was the third time I’d had to change my ringtone back. Yesterday it was my laptop that kept powering on.
“Sounds like a case for the FBI,” he said affably.
The siren sounded again. I silenced the phone but was unable to suppress a reflexive groan when I saw who was calling.
“Problem?”
“No. Just my sister on the West Coast.”
Daniel picked up his watch from the bedside table and frowned. “Ten o’clock already?”
I checked the incoming call history. “Third time she’s called.”
“Could it be urgent?”
“To Zoe, any opportunity to get under my skin is urgent.” I chewed on my thumb, considering whether I should call her back or let her stew a bit. I glanced about the room. “Hey, where’s Whistler?”
“Dunno. Haven’t seen him.”
I jumped from the bed in a panic. “I did bring him in last night, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Daniel disentangled himself from the bedding and quickly pulled on his jeans. “I’m pretty sure you did.”
But his look of concern had me doubting his memory and wondering how many drinks he’d had last night.
“Damn those Bloody French Martinis,” I said rushing toward the bedroom door, Daniel at my heels. As we made our way down the hallway toward the stairs, a soft whimpering came from the guest room.
“Oh, poor baby.” We found him in the corner of the closet. I kneeled down to stroke his head, and Daniel crouched beside me to inspect.
“Hey there, buddy.” He gently checked the dog’s legs and joints. “He doesn’t appear to be hurt.”
Whistler responded to our attentions with an appreciative wag, and after feeling relatively assured he wasn’t injured, I stood and clapped my hands. “Outside?”
The dog leaped up and wiggled happily, filling me with relief. It was only then I remembered his fear of sirens and realized my phone was probably the culprit for sending him cowering to the closet.
I brewed a pot of coffee while Daniel supervised Whistler in the yard. When he came back inside, I poured us each a mug and gestured for him to follow me back upstairs to the sleeping porch off my bedroom.
“Nice view.” Daniel settled himself on the ancient but comfy overstuffed loveseat and escaped into a caffeine moment. But peace was short-lived.
“Persistent, isn’t she?” he asked when my cell phone began sounding the alarm again. “Maybe you should answer that, and I’ll grab a quick shower.”
“Make yourself at home,” I deadpanned.
“I believe I did that last night.” He dodged the pillow I threw at him.
“Hey, can you bring me a couple Advil from the medicine cabinet?”
“Bloody French Martini hangover?” He tossed me the bottle.
“Among other things,” I murmured, but the shower water was already drowning me out. I sucked in a breath before tapping in Zoe’s number.
“Finally,” my sister snapped.
“A good early morning to you too, Zo-Zo.”
“It’s not so early on the Cape.”
I tried to stifle a yawn but failed.
“Late night?”
“What? No.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
Who could she have been talking to now? The only familiar faces I’d seen last night at Café Muse were Edgar Faust and Jimmy Collins, and it seemed highly unlikely they would’ve tattled. Although Zoe probably knew of Edgar, I doubted she’d ever met him. He’d written the Cape Cod Times article Ashley had shown me that first day, and he’d dedicated an entire chapter of his book, The Enduring Mysteries of Cape Cod, to the story of the legendary haunting of my family home. He and his husband, Jimmy, had made a quick stop at our table to say hello on their way out, but I deftly steered the conversation away from any discussions about Battersea Bluffs. I was still leery of Daniel hearing whisperings about the spirits with whom I shared my home.
Could I have missed any other informants? The restaurant hadn’t been crowded, and after several visual sweeps of the room, I’d felt confident nobody else from Whale Rock was there. Unless it had been one of Brooks’s minions whom I hadn’t recognized.
“It wasn’t Brooks.”
Damn, I hated it when she did that. “Okay, so—what? Did you peer into your crystal ball?”
“Lu was hosting a small exhibit for one of her clients in Provincetown last night at Café Muse. They were enjoying drinks on the terrace when she spied you.”
“Interesting choice of words, don’t you think? Spy?”
Zoe ignored the jab. “She said you appeared to be enamored with a tall, dark handsome stranger.”
“I was having dinner with Agent Benjamin.”
“Another business dinner?” Her chuckle carried the telltale undertones of a cynic. “Any developments in the case?”
“No.” My response was clipped.
“Sorry.”
“Me too.”
“Look, I didn’t call to pry into your personal life.”
Yeah, right.
“I received a copy of your letter from the bank yesterday.”
Crap. I began a mental inventory of all the Seamen’s Bank employees, trying to determine who was my saboteur.
“Hello?”
“Yeah, so?”
“So, do you have a plan?”
“Steve should be done soon and I’ve put fliers around. There’s an ad going into the Penny Saver next week. Brooks said his niece might be interested in renting it for the winter.” Actually, I was pretty pleased with my plan.
“And what about this payment? Do you have the funds?”
The construction costs had surpassed my original estimate. It was painful to admit I’d depleted Zoe’s loan, so I said nothing.
“I didn’t think so.”
I prepared for a lecture, but surprisingly one didn’t come.
“Lu and I have come up with an idea.”
Daniel came from the bathroom, a towel wrapped round his waist, his dark hair slicked back, and looking irresistible.
“Could it wait?” I asked hopefully.
“This is important, Cassandra. You act as if you don’t understand that your future in Whale Rock is at stake.”
“I’m only asking for an hour.”
There was a pause before she asked, “That Agent Benjamin’s still there, isn’t he?’
“Um. That would be correct.”
I’m surprised Daniel didn’t hear Zoe groan from ten feet away.
“One hour. I’ll expect your call.” At least she had the courtesy not to mention my resemblance to the spineless Raggedy Ann.
* * *
Slightly more than an hour later, after Daniel and I had a lingering goodbye, I found myself racing through the house. When I called Zoe back, she’d informed me that Lu was coming over to take a look at the carriage house, which they were proposing I market as an artist’s retreat. “Creative types would love the chance for weeks of solitude. And the location is ideal.” I had to admit, the idea held promise. There would be plenty of artists, especially seas
cape painters, salivating at the prospect. The Bluffs had the best views of the upper shoreline down to Whale Rock Harbor.
Hung over after a night of little sleep, the last thing I needed was to run around picking up the remnants of late night passion, let alone whipping up a batch of scones and making myself presentable. Still, I accomplished all but the latter. With my hair hanging damp and limp from the all-too-quick shower, and sporting ragged jeans, Converse sneakers, and a Patriots hoodie, I was quite a contrast to the always-impeccable Lu Ketchner when she arrived in her chic taupe sweater dress, colorful scarf, and treacherously high heeled pumps.
Lu reached down to pet Whistler, who’d settled contentedly between us on the porch, where we sipped our afternoon tea. “I already know of someone who would snap it up this fall if it’s ready.”
“October should be fine, but if the barn’s going to serve as a studio for these visiting artists, I’d have to install a heating system for the winter months.” I lifted my hands in helpless appeal, implying the lack of funds.
“What about writers?”
“That’s a thought.” Authors wouldn’t need the studio, and they’d find the magnificent views from the carriage house inspiring. We were isolated enough to provide the solitude, but close enough to town and people for maintaining one’s sanity.
“The library hosts a writers group, and they often invite guest speakers.” The Mitchell Free Library was one of Granny Fi’s legacies. I suppose in an indirect way, they should be obliged to help me. “Talk to George.”
Not only did Evelyn’s husband George own Hilliard House B&B, but he also served as chairperson of the Library Board of Trustees.
“You don’t think he and Evelyn will consider me competition?”
“When do they ever have a vacancy?” She waved away the thought. “Besides, they’re always referring people to other inns, and I’m certain they’d be delighted to help you.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Evelyn had always offered their help if I ever needed it. I’d just been too proud to ask.
“How about we take a look at that carriage house?” Lu suggested.
After Lu gave her endorsement to the renovations, I took her to see the barn as well. When I pulled open the doors, light spilled into the large open space and onto my canvases.
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