Storm Surge

by Celia Ashley

  Dan tapped his fingers on the tabletop, considering, then snapped the photo up and returned it to the folder. “You stay in the cottage?”

  “I did.” He didn’t need to know about last night. She would be in the cottage tonight and every night thereafter until she left. Returning to stay with Liam would be a mistake. He’d become skittish and she’d developed a premature affection, and those things together were not a compatible combination.

  Dan rubbed his eyes. “I would feel better if—”

  “I don’t have anywhere else to go. I’m fine.”

  Dan subsided with a scowl. “Anything happens, you call. Anything you remember, you call.”

  “I will.” She stood up, assuming the interview finished.

  “Do you remember anything about your father’s associates?”

  Paige sat again. “Associates” was a strange term to use. “No. Not really. Why?”

  “Did this guy look familiar to you at all?”

  “A bit, but not like I knew him. I only saw him for a few seconds from the front, and then he walked away. Why on earth would someone my father had known be stalking me? Besides, he looked too young to have been a friend of my dad’s.”

  Dan spun the folder with his fingertip. “I said associate, not friend, but it doesn’t matter. I’m just trying to get a handle on why someone would zero in on you right after your arrival. You’ve been gone for quite some time.”

  “Look, Dan, I don’t know much about my father, but obviously you have some inkling. Why else would you be thinking a man who’d commit burglary—even if he only stole an object of no value—might be someone my father associated himself with?”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “Yes, it is. At least from where I’m sitting it is. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  “No. There isn’t.”

  She eyed his bland expression with distrust, yet to accuse him of outright lying seemed out of hand and, well, a teensy bit paranoid. He was a cop, after all, trying to help her. This whole business was making her anxious. With good reason. “You’d tell me if you found out something, wouldn’t you?”

  Dan shifted his body, his vest creaking beneath his shirt. “Paige, why would you think I wouldn’t?”

  “You know, you men in this town have an irritating habit of answering questions with questions.”

  His lip curled, a small puff of air escaping his nose in amusement. “How old do you think this fellow was?”

  Paige thought a moment. “I don’t know. It’s difficult to tell. Not even fifty? Looked like he had a rough life, as though he got into a lot of fights or something. I guess if I’d had my wits about me, I would have taken his picture with my cell phone.”

  “Don’t do that.”

  “Take his picture?”

  “Blame yourself for not thinking of something in the moment. Your head doesn’t go there. You’re not trained to it. And also, yes, don’t take his picture. Not if he’s standing right in front of you. An action like that could provoke an attack.”

  “You’re right, of course,” she said. The guy hadn’t been physically threatening, but she could understand how her snapping something as damning as a photo could cause a switch to flip. The guy had some serious psychological issues. He’d entered the cottage not to rob her of valuables, but to steal a memento, trail her, and then confront her with it. “Anything else you need to tell me? Did they find fingerprints on the bookmark?”

  Dan slid the folder off the table and tucked it close against his chest. “Nothing worth a damn. Yours, of course, and some smudges that couldn’t be lifted. Real investigations aren’t like the crime shows. There are more unsolved cases than you’d believe.” He rose. “Are you going to the fireworks Saturday night?”

  The abrupt change to chit-chat threw her for a second. Preceding him to the door, she answered as she passed him. “I’d forgotten about the Fourth, actually, but yes, I think I might.”

  “Alone?”

  She hesitated, wondering where he might be headed with the question. “If I go, that’s the likely scenario. As you pointed out, I don’t really know anyone around here anymore.”

  He reached past her to turn the doorknob. “Be careful, then. It’ll be dark, and there will be crowds. If you stay at the cottage, since you insist, and watch from the windows, you might be safer.”

  “Thanks for the warning. I can always hope the guy was a random sicko and he’s gone far away.” For good measure, she rapped her knuckles against the wooden doorframe as she passed.

  “Maybe,” she heard him say behind her in dubious agreement. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t usually work that way.”

  He didn’t walk her out, leaving her to find her way to the front of the building and outside. She descended the steps to her car, looking to either side as she did. She’d been careful to check the traffic on the road behind her and hadn’t noted anything suspicious, but she eyed the interior of her car before sliding behind the wheel.

  She sat a few minutes, contemplating all that Dan Stauffer had told her and, more importantly, what he did not. She had no real reason to suspect he hid anything. After all, if an officer of the law intended to safeguard somebody, wanted someone to be able to protect themselves, he’d arm them with the facts, plain and simple. She knew that.

  By the time she put the car into gear, she had considered the headway she’d made in her search for information about her father’s life. She hadn’t gotten far, that was for sure. She’d discovered more about her mother, and even that was limited. Paige didn’t like mysteries outside of a novel. She’d come to Alcina Cove with a purpose and had not only been unsuccessful in moving toward her goal, she’d been sidetracked by a lunatic with a fixation. Why was he obsessed with her?

  Unless he’d mistaken her for someone else. She wouldn’t wish this affliction on anyone, but if his behavior was meant for another, she wished he’d recognize his error and move on.

  Paige decided to continue her day with a visit to Mrs. Hunt. Although she stood to gain nothing from further conversation with Bea, she had promised to come back, and the poor lady did give the impression she was quite lonely. Paige could stop by for a quick tea and possibly get names of friends her mother had when she’d lived here—women her mother’s age and not Mrs. Hunt’s—thereby killing two birds with one stone.

  Beatrice Hunt, however, was not answering the door. Hearing a noise inside, Paige leaned over a bush and peered in through the lace-covered window. She found the woman standing behind the sofa, staring right back at her. Subduing her initial astonishment, Paige tapped on the glass.

  “Mrs. Hunt. Bea! It’s Paige. Paige Waters.”

  Paige wondered if the woman had experienced a medical trauma. Her eyes remained on Paige as if unseeing. Paige drummed the glass again.

  “Bea! May I come in?” Paige straightened. She yanked the screen door open again and applied her fist to the wood panel. “Mrs. Hunt, are you all right? Open the door so I can be sure.”

  After a minute she heard Bea’s shuffling steps on the other side, saw the doorknob wiggle as the woman fumbled with the lock. Bea opened the door a couple of inches. “Paige, dear, what is it? What do you want?”

  “I came to see if we could have our tea, but now I’m worried about you. Don’t you feel well?” Paige tried to peek around her and into the house.

  “I’m fine, dear,” the woman said breathlessly. “I’m just not up to company today.”

  A cold suspicion entered Paige’s mind and proceeded across her skin with a soft, glacial tread. “Bea, is someone in the house with you?” She reached for her cell phone as she asked the question, her other hand moving to the knob.

  “No. I’m alone, like I always am.”

  “Do you mind if I check?”

  “What? I don’t—”

  Careful not to knock the elderly woman over, Paige pushed the door open and stepped inside. She grabbed a heavy cer
amic duck off a nearby table. With enough of a swing, an object like that could yield some serious damage.

  “Paige, what are you doing with Charlie? My neighbor’s daughter made that for me.”

  Holding Charlie and her phone at the ready, Paige hurried through the house, announcing her intention to call the police. She realized she shouldn’t be broadcasting her objective, but performing it. By that time, though, she had determined the house was empty with the exception of herself and Beatrice Hunt. She returned to the living room and placed the duck back on the table. Bea watched her, thin arms folded.

  “Bea, why wouldn’t you answer the door?”

  “What is wrong with you, Paige?” The woman’s wheezing tones had taken on strength in her indignation. “How dare you burst in here?”

  “I’m sorry. I thought…I thought something was wrong. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Positive.”

  Paige sat in the nearest chair, the vanished rush of adrenaline leaving her drained. Bea eased over to the sofa and perched on a cushion. “I don’t really want to talk to you.”

  “Why not?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “You can’t say?” Paige thought about the manner in which their last discussion had gone so awry.

  “You have no intention of taking me seriously.”

  Paige briefly closed her eyes. Not this again. “Maybe we don’t talk about things like that. We can talk about the flowers lining the walkway. I’m rather envious of them, you know. Perhaps you can tell me your secret.”

  Bea bestowed a stony glare on her, lips tight.

  “So, no tea?” Paige said.

  “No tea.”

  Paige wondered at the absence of courtesy. Normally, women her age held decorum above hurt feelings. “Okay, then, if you don’t want me to visit, could I ask you a quick question? And then I’ll go.”

  The woman remained silent, saying neither yes nor no. Paige plunged ahead.

  “Do you know any of the names of my mother’s friends? Her other friends?” Paige added to avoid any further insult.

  Bea clenched her bony fingers together in her lap. “I really shouldn’t be talking to you.”

  “Why?”

  “It isn’t a wise thing to do.”

  Frowning, Paige leaned forward. “Once again, why?”

  The woman turned her head, studying Paige from the corner of her eye.

  “Bea?”

  “You have to go.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “This is my home, and I have every right to demand you leave.” Bea’s voice resumed its tremulous quality. Paige stood.

  “Just one,” she said. “Just one name of one friend, and then I’ll be on my way.” Watching the woman’s mouth work, Paige longed to yank the words out of it.

  Bea spoke with obvious reluctance. “Andrews. Felicia Andrews. Or that was her name a long time ago. I’m sure she’s been married since then, but I can’t help you any further.”

  Paige stepped closer to Bea, who flinched. Paige shook her head. “Bea. Mrs. Hunt. I apologize for upsetting you. I really would like to come back for tea if you’d consider asking me. I’m going to leave my number right here on your end table, and you can call me if you want, okay?” Pulling Dan Stauffer’s card out, she wrote her cell number under his name, with her own beside it. She’d saved his number to her phone, so didn’t need the card anymore, but if Bea might require a police officer’s number, Dan’s was a good one to have. “And thank you for the information. I’ll see if I can track down Felicia Andrews.”

  Bea remained mute. Paige exited the house, bewildered and concerned, and locked the doorknob before pulling the door shut. She wavered a minute or two on the walkway, pretending to admire the flowers, but her thoughts were on Beatrice Hunt’s strange behavior. The woman had acted afraid—not of Paige herself, perhaps, but possibly of being asked questions. Did Bea think Paige would blame her for anything discovered based on her reports? Damn, the residents of this town could be a strange lot.

  Chapter 14

  A trip to the library to check the high school yearbook for the year her mother had graduated garnered Paige more pertinent tidbits of data than she could have hoped for. She found her mother’s senior photo and shed a few tears over it, and nearby, the photo of Felicia Andrews. In a candid shot of students on Alcina High School’s grounds, she located a picture of the two friends again and a young man holding Felicia’s hand, identified as Billy Woodward. In a town like this, Paige suspected people often married their high school sweethearts, so she searched the files in the computer for the local paper, looking for older wedding announcements. Sure enough, Felicia Andrews and William Woodward held their nuptials right here in Alcina Cove. Whether they remained married to this day, Paige couldn’t ascertain, but she had a place to start.

  Woodward’s Garage lay right outside town. The owner was a William Woodward, Sr. Paige thought it more likely this William would be Felicia’s husband rather than a father-in-law, who should have retired long ago. Pulling into the lot, she passed two gas pumps, numerous cars jammed into parking spaces along the blacktop, and an open garage where a sedan hovered in the air on a lift. She parked the car and got out. She walked into the garage and waited while a man finished his task in a wheel well. Not William, Sr., surely. The fellow who turned and spotted her was about eighteen.

  “May I help you?”

  “Is Mr. Woodward about?”

  The young man wiped his hands on a rag from his pocket as he came toward her. “My name is Woodward. People around here don’t call me ‘mister,’ though. Chance you mean my dad?”

  He stood a moment, arching his spine backward as if it ached. Stuffing the oily rag back into his pocket, he faced her.

  “Probably,” she said. “Is he William Woodward, married to Felicia?”

  “Was. They split about five years back. Who are you?”

  “My name’s Paige Waters. My mother and your mother were friends back in high school, and probably after, I would think. I’ve come back for…for a visit, and I thought I’d look her up. My mother passed away, and I wanted to ask your mom a few things.”

  He studied her with a critical, narrowed eye. “All right.”

  “All right?”

  “She’s not far. I’ll give you her number and address. Won’t do you no good today, though. Not until next week. She went away visiting for the holiday.”

  Paige tamped down her frustration and thanked him, following him into the shop where he wrote the information on a blank receipt. Noticing some photos tacked to a corkboard, Paige pointed in that direction.

  He spoke before she did. “The bubbler? Help yourself.”

  Taking him to mean the water fountain directly beneath, Paige grabbed a cup and filled it halfway, using her time drinking to study the pictures on the wall. She glanced back at him before jerking her chin toward a picture of a woman who resembled the high school photos. “Is this your mom?”

  He came up beside her. “Yuh. That’s her there.” He pointed a stained finger. “And there. You never met her, then?”

  Paige shook her head. “Not that I can remember.”

  “She’s wicked funny, my mom. I think you’ll like her.”

  He handed her the paper with his mother’s contact information. At his words, Paige experienced a rush of affection for the young man and his “wicked funny” mother, as well as a certain amount of longing for a relationship she no longer possessed. She threw the cone-shaped paper cup into the trash pail and turned to shake his hand.

  He yanked his hand away from hers with a laugh. “Don’t think you want to be doing that. You’ll be marking everything you touch for the rest of the day.”

  She conceded his point and walked back outside. He followed to stand next to her.

  “My mom, she’s caretaker for Alcina Nature Center. The naturalist, I guess you’d call her. That got built about twelve years back
, I think. She lives there now in the little stone house. You’ve been there, to the nature center?”

  “No,” said Paige quietly. “I’ve been away a while. No nature center existed when I left.”

  “Some university professor uncovered a circle of standing stones, like they got in England, you know? Not as old or as big, I hear. Somebody’s idea of a joke, maybe, way back in the sixteen-hundreds. But that’s where Alcina Cove got its name originally, from those stones. Some legend or something. Anyway, the center got built up around them.”

  Paige arched her brows at him. “You’re a font of information, aren’t you? Thank you.”

  He waved away her gratitude. “You ought to check it out, even before Mom comes home. Nice day for exploring. Just stay on this road.”

  She thanked him again for his help and got back in her car. She found the idea of adventure solely for enjoyment very tempting. And like he’d said, it was a nice day for that type of excursion. By the time Paige left the parking lot, she’d made her decision and turned right rather than returning to town.

  The landscape to either side quickly turned wild, full of windblown pines, rocks, and scrub trees. Paige kept an eye on her rearview to make sure no one followed. The precaution struck her as surreal, like something from a movie, but she was determined not to be caught unaware again.

  Within a mile of the change in scenery, a wooden sign in burgundy with gold lettering announced the entrance to Alcina Cove Nature Preserve. She turned in and drove along the graveled road until she reached a parking lot with a dozen cars. She pulled her car into a space and got out. She opened the trunk and rummaged around. Locating her baseball bat, she yanked it out and hefted it in her hand. A group of women in matching shirts was exiting a nearby mini-van. She tossed the bat back in and walked in their direction. Safety in numbers and all that.

  At the far side of the lot, a broad sign beneath a narrow roof cover showed a map of different trails. The women headed in that direction, Paige close enough behind to read the inscription across their shirts: Lazy Day Ladies – Book Club and Hiking Group. Based on the name, she immediately wanted to become one.