Mermaids of Bodega Bay

by Mary Birk

  Tonight had been their first fight.

  Maybe fight wasn’t the right word. Argument, maybe. Certainly nothing on the scale of the arguments she and Terrence used to have.

  Anne stretched out and turned to lie on her back. Beside her, Andrew’s steady quiet breathing provided soft background noise to her thoughts. She looked toward the window. Andrew’s bedroom had no window coverings. No one could see in so there was no reason not to indulge in the luxury of keeping the view unobstructed. Tonight, though, the view was cold and wet and forbidding.

  Tomorrow morning she’d be seeing Terrence. His return text confirming their breakfast meeting had injected her with such a fever of anticipation that it had been all she could do to go through the motions of helping Andrew host the Valentine’s Day Gala, the culminating event of the Colony’s renowned Resident Artists Conference. As much as she’d wanted to drop everything to see Terrence when he’d called, this was Andrew’s time in the spotlight and he’d needed her there with him.

  Andrew had grown up in a family of successful artists, and although he had achieved considerable artistic recognition early on, he had an aching ambition for more. With the powerfully elegant “Marisol Series,” everything had come together for him spectacularly. His talent and commercial success was erupting into a shining display of fireworks that illuminated the entire Colony.

  As expected, the excited buzz over the sale of the Marisol Series had been the overriding topic of discussion at the party. A hundred million dollars was an incredible price for a living artist’s work—even considering that there had been twenty canvasses included in the sale. He was excited, and Anne was thrilled for him.

  She smoothed her hand along Andrew’s bare back. Why had Terrence come? He said business, but he was already in the airport when he called. So he was coming from somewhere. Why hadn’t he called her beforehand? And what business did he have in California?

  She ran their conversation back through her mind, examining it for any indication he’d changed his mind. He hadn’t sounded exactly warm, but it seemed like he really wanted to see her.

  No, she could not let herself hope. That was what had undone her before. She’d almost not survived their break-up, and she could not let herself slide back into that black abyss.

  Doubtless Terrence was coming to talk to her about the details of annulment. Because he was a devout Catholic, he wanted a religious annulment, and that meant a long, drawn-out, complicated process. But on the phone last night, he said he hadn’t done anything yet, even though it had been months. Instantly, the niggling little seed of hope had started germinating in her heart. Then she thought she heard him say he missed her, and like a weed, the seed had exploded into full growth, the roots and vines of insidious hope invading her whole body. But she’d misheard him.

  That’s the kind of trick hope played on you.

  His coming here to talk now, and that it was to be a breakfast meeting, had to mean that he’d finally decided to get the legalities out of the way.

  Maybe Andrew was right. Maybe Terrence’s coming was what she needed to finally accept that their marriage was over so she could move on. Maybe then she could make a decision about Andrew’s proposal. Maybe it was time.

  From the bed, Anne glanced over at the full, fat yellow roses visible in the moonlight from the window on the night table beside her, their extravagant fragrance sucking the oxygen out of the air. Her Valentine’s Day flowers from Andrew. The stems and heavy blooms fell artistically, almost erotically, over the sides of the graceful mercury glass vase. They probably would get ruined being taken out to her car in this weather, if the wind was as bad as it sounded. But Andrew’s feelings would be hurt if she left them behind.

  She should get going. Despite how brave she felt right now about seeing Terrence, she knew by the time she got to the café in the morning she’d be a wreck. Staying with Andrew tonight when she’d wanted to go home and brood about Terrence had taken an enormous amount of discipline, but she could not leave Andrew to sleep alone on Valentine’s Day, much less when she knew he’d be concerned that her leaving had to do with Terrence’s call.

  She gazed out the window. Bodega Bay could be so dismal in winter. California was supposed to be the land of sunny days and warm beaches. But not northern California and certainly not in the winter. Here the wind whipped the cold rain and spray from the ocean and hit you in the face like a sheet of stinging icy needles.

  Where was Terrence staying tonight? In the city or somewhere here in town? She wondered if he’d finally told his family that their whirlwind marriage had spun itself out. That she’d failed to meet expectations, and he’d dropped her like a bad investment. She ran her finger down Andrew’s arm. Why not accept the easy and accepting love Andrew offered? Although he was Terrence’s age, with Andrew the more than ten year age difference didn’t seem to cause problems. She curled up against Andrew’s back and let herself sink into the comfort and security he embodied.

  Andrew stirred. “You’re awake?” His voice, slurred with sleep, was tinged with a combination of worry and wanting.

  “Just watching it rain.”

  He glanced at the red light on the intercom that sat on the bedside table. “You didn’t hear anything from Lenore’s room, did you? I hope the storm didn’t wake her.”

  “No, nothing. She’s sleeping. You should be, too.”

  He rubbed his face. “She was cute tonight, wasn’t she? Almost like before she got sick.”

  Anne smiled. “She loved dancing with you. Me, too.”

  “You looked beautiful.” He turned over reached for her, his leg moving between her legs, edging them apart. “Does he know about us?”

  She didn’t have to ask who he was talking about. Terrence had invaded their world before he even arrived. A world that had been comfortable, safe—a haven.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Are you going to tell him?”

  She shrugged, closed her eyes.

  “Would he care? He’s the one who ended things.”

  “Probably not.” Logically, Anne knew Terrence shouldn’t, but still, she didn’t want him to know.

  “Babe, he’s going to find out sooner or later.”

  Not wanting to fight again, she said, “I should probably go home.”

  “Don’t go, it’s just one-thirty. What time did you set your alarm for?”

  “Three.” She never stayed at Andrew’s all night, not comfortable being there in the morning when his little girl woke up.

  “So we have time.” His fingers trailed down her stomach and between her thighs.

  She wished Terrence was back in Scotland and not hovering over them like dark clouds over the sea. But if she told Andrew no, he’d know it was because of Terrence and be hurt.

  She kissed him, then gently pushed at his chest. “Go lock the door.”

  Andrew scrambled out of bed to the door, turned the lock, and slid back under the covers, enveloping her with his body. Afterwards, she went back to sleep, listening to the wind and his soft, steady breathing.

  When she woke up to the vibration of her cell phone alarm, the rain was still coming down. Resigned that she could not wait out the storm and still get home and into her own bed before dawn, she extricated herself from the bedcovers, removed Andrew’s arm from its resting place across her waist and quietly left the warm bed. She dressed in the jeans and sweater she had stowed in her overnight bag, and zipped up her new party dress into a garment bag. When she’d gone to the city to shop for the dress with her mother, she’d thought only about the future, not realizing her past was lurking so close, ready to drag her back to face it.

  She covered her roses with a plastic bag she found in the cabinet under the bathroom sink, draped the garment bag over her arm, grabbed her overnight bag, and slipped out of the room to go to her car, stealing one last glance at her sleeping lover.

  DAY TWO - SUNDAY

  FEBRUARY 15

  Chapter 5

  RE
ID DROVE THROUGH the Sonoma Valley, passing acres of dormant vineyards with beautifully aligned rows of vines, their pathways filled with wild mustard plants flowering a vibrant yellow. Cold rain started coming down in torrents and Reid turned the wipers to full speed. The rental car almost skated along on the sheer sheets of water quickly building up on the highway but Reid kept a firm hand on the steering wheel. Eventually, the rain let up, but a fine mist remained, and he kept the wipers on. Along the edges of the hills, the mist softened the landscape, making the countryside look like a chalk drawing that had been lightly rubbed, blurring away any hard edges.

  The rain blessedly stopped just as he arrived in Bodega Bay, and just after he’d ignored the third call that morning from his office back in Scotland. He wound past the familiar shops and pulled up in front of the small café at exactly nine, the time they’d set to meet. He looked around to see if one of the cars in the parking lot was Anne’s, but then realized he had no idea what kind of a car she drove anymore.

  He checked inside the café, but she wasn’t there, so he went back to the car and leaned against it to wait. She wasn’t late enough for him to give up yet. Anne was generally at least fifteen minutes behind.

  A dark blue SUV drove up and he saw the familiar golden head. Her tires crunched on the gravel, her eyes, focusing on parking the car not two spaces from where he stood, had not yet spotted him. Her long hair was pulled back in a hairband, headband? What were those things called?

  Her door flung open, and long legs clad in jeans and brown riding boots swung out on to the ground. She turned and stretched across the seat to the passenger side to grab her purse. A glimpse of bare back showed where her white sweater rode up.

  He crossed the space to her, his longing overtaking his usual reserve.

  “Anne?”

  Her head came around and surprised eyes found his face. A mobile phone was ringing and he realized she was fishing in her purse to find the phone. She plucked the mobile out of her bag and held up a finger to indicate she had to take the call.

  He nodded, took a deep breath and tried to relax his jaw out of the clench it seemed to freeze in whenever he dealt with his wife. Did she really have to take a phone call right now?

  Her forehead puckered as she concentrated. She spoke quickly, and although he couldn’t understand her words, he could hear the urgency and worry in her tone. A problem on the job? On Sunday? Damn, he didn’t want their meeting, like their marriage, to be derailed because of her blasted job.

  She raised her voice to a level where Terrence could catch the words, “Call the police.”

  Reid tensed, strained to hear more. She was arguing with whoever she was talking to. Finally, she seemed to give up.

  “I’ll be right there. We can talk about it then.”

  She listened again, then said, “I’ll bring Terrence with me. He’ll know what to do.”

  Reid mouthed the words, what’s wrong, but she shook her head while she listened.

  “Just stay calm. We’ll be right there.” She clicked off her call. “We need to go. Follow me.”

  “Where?”

  “The Grainger Art Colony. Right now.”

  Reid squeezed back the urge to say no bloody way was he going to go there with her, but her worried face stopped him. He took her chin in his hand, saw the tremble that fluttered around her eyes.

  “What, lassie? What’s wrong?”

  Her hand grabbed his arm hard, jerking his hand from her face, erecting a rigid don’t-cross barrier between them. “We have to hurry.”

  Reid forced his face not to show hurt at her rejection of his touch. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

  She was already back in her car, turning the key. “Something’s happened to Andrew Grainger’s little girl.”

  “What?”

  Anne’s eyes met his, anxiety vibrating from her. “She’s been kidnapped.”

  Chapter 6

  REID’S CAR SWERVED wildly as he followed Anne. She blew through every stop sign on the way, then flew into a right turn off of Old Bay Road and down the unpaved road that went to her family’s house, and, he remembered, to the Grainger Artist Colony.

  His brain tried to process what was going on. Would she take him to help Grainger if they were lovers?

  A stone hit his windscreen and a small ding appeared. Instantly cracks radiated from its center like the tentacles of an octopus at the same time the memory of her hand waving around flashed through his mind. He realized what had been bothering him.

  She hadn’t been wearing her wedding ring.

  He made himself concentrate on his driving. Periodically from the road, the ocean was visible, the surf rising so high it almost hit the tops of the rocks along the cliffs. Even away from the immediate vicinity of the ocean, the air was thick with salt water and his windscreen was wet from the ocean spray being hurled around by the wind. He set the wipers on intermittent and kept his eyes on the dark blue beacon bouncing along in front of him.

  They passed the turn-off to the Mermaids of Bodega Bay, Anne’s family’s seaside home, and suddenly a massive gray stone mansion, the centerpiece of the Grainger Art Colony, rose majestically above the cliff, perching over the sea. The area surrounding the house was encircled by an imposing stone wall joined at the road with immense Gothic-style iron gates.

  Anne’s car whipped through the open gates and around to the side of the house, then came to an abrupt stop. Lord, the woman could drive. Briefly, he remembered his frustration when trying to teach her how to drive on the left side of the road in Scotland and wanted to smile. No question she could do a more than respectable job driving on the right side of the road.

  She spun out of the car and over to him, grabbed his arm and started running toward the house. He ran with her, just for a moment not letting himself think about what Andrew Grainger was to her.

  Anne pulled open a door that led into an almost commercial-sized kitchen. The room boasted industrial quality appliances finished with a dark cherry wood veneer to blend in with the cabinetry. Chandeliers of varying sizes illuminated both the table and a large granite island that was overhung by a black iron rack full of gleaming copper pots. Reid took a deep breath. The room smelled of strong coffee, copper, and tension. The smell of copper instantly made him taste blood and he suppressed a shudder. There’d been too much of that taste in his life.

  The man Reid recognized from the magazine photograph as Andrew Grainger sat at a long wooden table staring at a piece of paper. Grainger looked up in relief at Anne, then over at Reid. The man’s gaze fixed again on Anne, and he frowned. She instantly dropped her hand from Reid’s arm. A dead, icy feeling hovered over Reid, then landed, settling into his bones.

  Anne introduced them, her voice tentative. “Andrew, this is Terrence Reid. Terrence, Andrew Grainger.”

  Reid crossed the expanse of black and white tiled floor and extended his hand to the man who was probably sleeping with his wife. Grainger shook his hand, but did not meet his eyes.

  Grainger, was, Reid supposed, a man women might consider good looking. He was about Reid’s age, somewhere in his late thirties, fit, and had an unmistakable aura of success and competence about him. Reid’s gaze flickered over to Anne. He could tell that if he hadn’t been here, Anne would have run into Grainger’s arms to comfort him.

  As it was, Anne went to Grainger, took his hand, and lowered him back into his chair. She took the chair next to him. “Tell us everything.”

  Grainger hesitated, looked at Reid with a wary distrust.

  “It’s okay.” Her voice was comforting, reassuring. “Terrence knows about these kinds of things. He’ll know what to do.”

  Reid made himself go into automatic pilot. He was used to this role—law enforcement giving advice. He could do this, he thought, no matter who the man was. He’d not look at her hand on the other man’s. Her putting her hand on Grainger’s didn’t necessarily mean they were lovers. Maybe they were just good friends.

 
He nodded to Grainger. “Tell me what happened.”

  “My daughter’s been kidnapped. They say if I call the authorities, they’ll kill her.” Grainger paused, catching his breath. “I just want to pay the money and get her back.”

  “Bringing in the FBI is your best bet for getting her back.” Reid kept his voice steady.

  Grainger shook his head. “What if the kidnappers find out? They’ll kill her.” He spread his fingers, dropping Anne’s hand. “She’s only six.” His eyes flashed with pain. “And she’s very sick. She needs her doctors.”

  Reid gestured to a piece of paper on the table. “Is that the note?”

  Grainger nodded with a hesitancy Reid could tell did not come naturally.

  Reid went around to the other side of the table so he could read the note. Anne stood and moved next to him as she studied the note. The words were all in block capital letters, neatly printed, no erasures.

  WE HAVE YOUR DAUGHTER. YOU WILL NOT SEE HER AGAIN UNTIL YOU WIRE TEN MILLION DOLLARS TO THE ACCOUNT WE TELL YOU. WE WILL BE IN CONTACT BY TELEPHONE AT SEVEN O’CLOCK TONIGHT. STAY BY THE PHONE. GO TO THE POLICE OR THE FBI AND WE WILL KILL HER.

  Reid looked over to Grainger. “Just this one page?”

  “Yes.”

  Using a paper napkin from a shallow wooden bowl that sat on the table, Reid gingerly lifted the note up to check the other side, moving his body away from Anne’s at the same time.

  “You need to call the FBI right now. The sooner they get involved, the better your chances are of getting her back.” Reid gave Grainger a moment to consider what he’d said and agree.

  “The note says not to.”

  “You must if you want your daughter back safely. I know the agent who heads up the FBI’s anti-kidnapping unit for this area. Let me call him.”

  “I don’t want to take any chances with my daughter’s life.”

  “You’ll be taking an unconscionable chance with her life if you try to do this alone.” Reid tried to keep the frustration out of his voice.