by Kim Allred
“Anytime.”
Riding down the elevator, Ethan leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. His self-control had slipped for only an instant, but Adam had noticed. He should have been more prepared. But finding AJ mixed up in the middle of his investigation had put him off his game. He dared not speculate how she could impact the situation.
His task had been simple. Track the route the stone had taken. Now he had brought more attention to his investigation than he planned. He had no way of knowing AJ would select the Westcliffe, of all places, for her next article—a series that he had innocently suggested. And now he had unwittingly aroused Adam’s interest, and Ethan didn’t think the man would leave it alone. It was going to put them all in danger.
28
AJ stood on the knoll, overlooking the Daphne Marie. The indigo bay sparkled with the conviction of another beautiful day. The gulls circled, searching for their morning feast, swooping down for some morsel before again rising high, the cackle of their voices easily heard as if in celebration for their string of good weather. Spring days grew longer, warming the ground and urging new growth, the promise of new things to come. Yet just as quickly, it could turn on you like some vengeful beast, enveloping the days in dismal downpours or continuous drizzles, shadowing the landscape in never-ending pewter. As any Pacific Northwesterner would do, she simply took advantage of spring’s good nature and didn’t ask questions.
Her morning climb had invigorated her, even if it left a small ache in her muscles. The price paid for taking a couple of days off. She was disappointed when Ethan hadn’t come out to greet her. He had either decided to give her privacy, or he simply wasn’t home. When he didn’t appear, she missed the illusion of him being near, watching out for her, her own invisible bodyguard. It had been a long time since she had someone to look out for her, and it was comforting.
But nothing was going to spoil her day. She looked down at the ship and spoke to the ghosts of the inn in a light Irish brogue. “Not even Finn Murphy.”
AJ hadn’t planned on visiting the ship again so soon, but she had nothing else to do except work on her next article. The Westcliffe story was finished. Her next story sat floating at the Westcliffe’s dock. She had made the assumption Finn would be there, working on the ship, whatever it was one did on a ship. What else did he do with his days?
She sauntered along the path with only her notepad and pen stuck in the back of her pants. AJ was confident, her homework on the ship complete. She was in her element, her smile contagious. The day too perfect for anything less.
“There’s nothing finer than to find a smiling lass at your door on such a beautiful morn.” Finn called out from the side of the ship, his brogue heavier than normal.
“And aren’t we laying it on thick this morning.” AJ looked up, hands on hips, her infectious smile in place.
“Aye, I couldn’t help myself.” Finn strolled to the gangplank, wearing his trademark slanted grin. His light blue shirt was open halfway down his chest, as if he had thrown it on before becoming aware of her arrival. A silver chain lay against his sun-darkened skin, a small pendant hanging from it. He buttoned his shirt enough to cover the medallion. “You’re welcome to come aboard.”
AJ wasn’t sure if he was being polite at the intrusion or if he was truly pleased to see her. Striding onto the deck, she surveyed the ship as if seeing it for the first time. Her legs swayed with the slight undulation of the deck, the light waves rolling the ship. She hadn’t noticed the nuances of the ship on her first visit, as she had been so uptight at the time, but today, she sensed each movement—the ship was alive beneath her feet. Turning away from Finn, she moved to the mast, laying her hand on it, working her hand over the hard wood warmed by the morning sun. AJ peered up, trying to make out the top so high above her.
“Would you call this a sloop? It was the closest type of sailing vessel I could find.”
“Close enough.”
“And I noticed four gunports on your port side, so that makes a total of eight guns?” AJ looked back at Finn, her face earnest.
“Aye, you’ve done your homework.” Finn walked past her, close enough to brush the edge of her shirt with his own. “And this over here is the rigging to hoist the sails. The main sail here runs aft of the mast. There’s also canvas on the bowsprit. Fully rigged, she can outrun any ship, even against the wind.” Finn’s pride was evident, master of his small kingdom. His gaze roamed the ship before it fell back on AJ.
“And do you have guns on board?”
“You are a thorough one.” Leaning back against the hull, Finn cut to the chase. “She’s been leaned down in order to run fast, as much weight as possible removed. Just enough cargo for me. As I mentioned when you toured the ship earlier with Mr. Jackson.” When AJ didn’t respond, Finn moved to the doorway that led belowdecks. “You said navigation was of interest. Do you want to see how it’s done?”
He hadn’t answered her question, but she was eager for another look below deck. The stairs were narrower than she remembered, and she was relieved when they opened to the large room. The old brass lamp still sat on the table, emanating a low glow, lighting the room in soft amber tones. Finn stood at the chart table, where he had lit another lamp and spread new charts over the top of the one that had been open—the chart AJ had wanted a better look at.
Hiding her disappointment, AJ joined Finn at the table and looked at the charts. She had expected old charts, tattered corners, aged-stained paper, but the charts in front of her were modern and looked new. She had been sure the one on the table a few days ago had been older than what lay in front of her now. Light reflected from the instruments lying on the charts. They too looked new, like something purchased in the last few years, but AJ wasn’t fooled. She marveled at how well the antiques had been preserved through the years.
“What a magnificent compass. How old is it?” AJ moved it around to watch the ball tilt. The casing was made of silver filigree. Interlaced curves and lines ran along all four sides, and when AJ closed the lid, she saw the small fine threads form an elaborate “M” in the center. She reopened the box, turning around the room, watching the needle move as she did.
“Old enough. You could say it’s been kept in the family.”
Setting down the compass, AJ picked up the sextant, a larger metal object. Its shape formed an odd triangle, with mirrors and a moving arm. She turned it around in her hands, unsure how to properly hold it. “I know this is used for navigation but never understood how.”
“That’s easy enough.” Finn slid behind her, his arms reaching around her. The sudden move made AJ squirm, but Finn stepped in closer, trapping her next to the table. “You wanted to learn. Hold still and I’ll show you.”
AJ went still. He stood behind her, encircling her, moving her hands to more appropriate positions on the sextant. This time, she caught the smell of pine, the scent strong from a hot summer day. She refocused her mind as Finn raised her arms to eye level.
“You hold it like this so you can look through this line. You want the horizon in line with this lower mirror.” Finn moved AJ’s hand to a crosspiece. “You move this arm so you can capture an object in this second mirror, until it lays over the top of the horizon on the first mirror. It can be any point in the sky. During the day, it would be the sun. At night, it could be the moon or a particular star. The final step is to look at the number at this mark.”
AJ looked through the mirror, trying to stay focused on the lesson, but the room was too dark. Her body swayed back as she lined up an imaginary sun. Her back pressed against Finn.
“Are you paying attention?”
Realizing she was daydreaming, AJ stood straighter, bumping her head on Finn’s chin. “Of course, but I’m sure it’s easier to demonstrate outside.”
Finn laid the instrument back on the table and stepped away. As he did, the coolness of the room returned, and she missed the heat and spice emanating from him. The room went quiet. AJ allowed time to expand, wai
ting for Finn to say something, but he was busy looking for something in the chart storage boxes—maybe some old charts rather than the new ones he’d sprawled on the table. Other than some of the food stores, the charts were the only modern objects on the entire ship. Looking at the table, she touched what looked like a simple ruler, also very old.
“Where did you get all these antiques? They look new, but I know they can’t be. They have marks from the original makers.” AJ’s voice sounded loud as it broke the silence.
“Why all the interest in some old gadgets? I thought you were interested in the ship.” Finn plopped a few charts on the table but didn’t open them.
“Yes, but navigation is part of the history. Besides, I’m an antique collector of sorts, and I can usually tell original from fake. These are what we would call gently used rather than new, but it’s pretty obvious to me these are old.” AJ ran her hands over the compass again, as if she had some connection to it.
Finn said nothing for a while, and AJ didn’t have to look to know he was assessing her again, as if seeing her in a different light. When he responded, his voice became deeper. “Now I understand the interest. I didn’t know I was talking to an expert.” He moved close, the distance he had put between them instantly gone, his arm touching hers. “Do you want a lesson on reading the chart?”
AJ stepped back. For the first time, what she saw wasn’t the captain of a ship or the jaunty Irishman. She saw a man in every sense of the word, and she wasn’t scared or intimidated by it. Instead, she was drawn to it. “Maybe another time.” Her voice came out like a squeak. She cleared her throat. “It’s all interesting, but you’re right, the story should stay focused on the ship.” She turned away, looking around the room for another topic. She moved away from the table—and Finn—and took a last fleeting look at the edge of the chart that lay under the others. She could swear it looked much older. She was touched with disappointment and assumed it was the loss of not seeing the older chart.
Finn guided AJ back to the stairs. “You’ve seen most things of interest on your last trip here. The best part of the ship is on her deck.”
AJ followed Finn and drank in the sunshine, allowing the fresh air to clear her senses. When she looked back to Finn, she knew they had crossed some line, but she didn’t know how it happened or what it meant.
“What else can I show you?”
She had danced around it enough. It was time to get to the point of it all. “I could use something more about you. And a little more about what you know about the ship’s background. I have more than enough about the basics of the ship, but there’s no real story without the history.”
Finn leaned against the railing and studied her, then glanced toward the open sea. He exhaled long and slow before turning back to her, his voice reluctant. “Aye, all right. It’s a story you want, there’s a story I can tell.” He paused. “But it comes at a price.”
AJ sighed. She had been waiting for his response after two days of failed attempts, but she wasn’t expecting another foray into her personal space. She refused to be daunted by his tactics. In fact, she was growing accustomed to them. There was a slight edge to her response. “And what price this time?”
Finn laughed. “That’s the spirit.” His hand moved in slow motion as it touched the tip of her shirt collar. “Nothing so dire. Dinner.”
AJ blinked. “Dinner?”
“You do eat on occasion, don’t you? I mean, you are skinny, but I assume you must eat eventually.”
“We prefer to call it trim, and I eat at least every other day.” AJ strolled to the gangplank, not wanting to appear rushed. She turned before leaving. “Tomorrow night. There’s a place in town called Joe’s. Think you can find it?”
“I’ll manage.”
“Is seven okay?”
“Aye.” Finn’s slanted grin returned to his face.
The grin shifted them to their old routine. “You’re not squirreling out of this one. I expect a story. Even trade.”
“So I assume this means you’re paying.”
AJ shared her most withering smile before turning away. She could still hear his warm laughter as she walked to the path. A smile rested on her lips, and she told herself she wasn’t giddy, just happy to get her story.
For the third time in almost as many days, Finn leaned against the rail of the deck and watched her walk away. Each time she left, he found himself more curious, although he knew it would come to no good—he had enough intrigue in his life. But now, of all things, he wasn’t only being investigated by a reporter, but one who also knew her history and antiques. If that wasn’t risky enough, he still wasn’t sure how she was connected with her brother. If she had an ulterior motive, or if they had some game of their own, he couldn’t see it. While it appeared to be coincidental on the surface, he needed to confirm it.
He wished he’d had met her sooner. Her interest in antiques could create a new avenue in his search. He went back to work, his mood light from his short break. When he passed by the mast, his hand touch the hard wood, rubbing up and down as AJ had done less than an hour earlier. A small twitch played at his lips. Giving the mast one last pat, Finn grabbed a bucket, “Looks as if you could use a rubdown mate.”
29
Far above the Daphne Maire, a man watched two figures exchange their goodbyes from a point of land that jutted out over the small inlet, where the ship sat tied to the dock. The point was unreachable by road. A narrow walking path revealed the secluded spot, which dropped into a spectacular view of the coast, if you knew it was there or if you had searched for one, as Ethan had done.
After his brief meeting at Adam’s office, and with the address to the Westcliffe tucked in his pocket, Ethan drove to the coast. He couldn’t drive straight to the inn as it wasn’t visible from the road, and he didn’t know the layout of the place. Unsure of who might be there and not ready to make his presence known, he looked for a vantage point. He had driven the road several times in search of a place, but the area was heavily wooded. On his fourth pass, inching along the road in his Escalade, he caught sight of a small path at the edge of the woods and decided it was his best and only option.
He parked a small distance away in a small patch of dirt, as he had seen others do, then searched for the path. Ethan had trouble spotting it at first, as the trailhead was small and partially covered by bushes, but once found, he slid easily onto it, disappearing from view.
The path meandered through thick firs, occasionally opening into small sections of knee-high grass, forming tiny meadows before being swallowed once again by the trees. The path was worn and led to the coast, and at first he wasn’t sure if it would be close enough to glimpse the inn. But the path was more direct than Ethan expected, turning only a couple of times to work its way around small sections of tiny ponds that collected the spring rains.
The trail remained in the forest to the end of the path where, a few feet from the point, it opened to a small patch of barren ground, a perfect setting for catching sunsets. The spot revealed an unencumbered expanse of the rugged coastline, both north and south. He looked down from the point, following a line of pelicans, dark shadows hugging the waves, directing Ethan’s sight to what he came for. From here, he had a bird’s-eye view of the Westcliffe and the small inlet to the south of the inn, where the Daphne Marie rolled along the dock.
From where he stood, Ethan could make out the two figures walking onto the deck. He recognized AJ—her lithe figure and brown tresses easy to spot—but he didn’t recognize the man who followed her from below deck. He didn’t need to. He knew everything he needed to know by looking at the ship—one he had caught mere glimpses of before, the eighteenth-century sloop that arrived either before him or shortly after, as if they had been chasing each other through the centuries.
Ethan frowned when the tall man reached out for AJ’s collar, the move all too intimate. If he remembered correctly, AJ had said the ship had been there only a few days. She left the boat, the partin
g not as personal, so perhaps Ethan had misread the earlier gesture. He hoped so. He didn’t want AJ involved in this, not any more than she already was.
Retracing his earlier steps, his return to the car was quick. He waited by the road, in the darkness of the forest, until enough time had passed for AJ to have driven away.
The inn’s condition surprised him considering how long it had sat empty. He couldn’t remember what AJ and Stella had said about the upkeep, if they mentioned it at all. He had been so shocked to hear the Westcliffe name that he had stopped listening, and now it seemed as if a crucial part of the conversation had been missed. He did, however, remember the discussion about the tidal pools.
The rocky path dumped its visitors into the lap of the pools. The tide was either half-in or half-out, Ethan wasn’t sure which, leaving enough of the rocks and puddles in view to know this was the place. The cove wasn’t large. Dark emerald firs dotted the shoreline, intermixed with large rocks, leaving a spotty path of sandy shoreline here and there, the gentle surf mixed with the cries of circling gulls. If you looked from the right spot, you could catch a glimpse of the northern-most point of the inn’s dormer, the only sign of civilization. Small shore birds hopped among the rocks, darting away as a wave rolled in and stirred the pools, dancing back to see what treasures remained behind. Beyond the pools, the rest was all ocean. When Ethan arrived, with the sun high in the sky and no clouds in view, the water was more blue than gray.