Storm Surge

by Celia Ashley

Paige pulled the shower curtain aside and leaned her head out. “Hello?” After a few seconds of listening, she turned off the water and stepped out onto the mat. Snatching the towel from the bar, she dried off as she went out into the main room, where she listened again at the window. Yes, they were voices she heard, quite a few, and a car door slamming.

  Yanking aside the curtain, Paige peered out toward Liam’s house—funny, how she had ceased thinking of it as her old home without any specific reminder—and glimpsed through the vegetation a police vehicle angled in the rough grass at the nearest side. Two uniformed men moved past.

  With an exclamation, Paige struggled to pull clothes on over her still-damp skin. Grabbing her keys, she locked the door behind her and hurried as fast as she could manage across the space between the two houses. As she rounded the corner, she heard two familiar voices speaking, recognizing at once Liam’s gravel tones and Dan’s authoritative manner in counterpoint, somewhat subdued.

  “You’re certain?”

  “Yes,” Liam stated. “Quite certain.”

  “And so you think he broke in here. This could only mean…well, is there something he would find?”

  “He didn’t.”

  “Good God, where did he look?”

  “Not here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Paige,” said Liam.

  “Paige? But she doesn’t—”

  “Paige is here,” said Liam.

  Paige strode up to the two men. Liam watched her approach with a bland look, but Dan’s expression was anything but calm.

  “What about me?” Paige asked. “And what happened here, Liam? Are you all right?”

  Dan cleared his throat. “Your boyfriend had a break-in last night.”

  She wished he’d stop calling Liam that. The grade school quality of Dan’s utterance irked her. True or not, the way Dan said ‘boyfriend’ made it sound as if the designation could somehow sum Liam up in his entirety.

  “Liam, are you all right?” she asked again. He nodded. She addressed Dan. “When I got out of bed last night, I saw a light in the living room over here. I thought it was the lamp on the timer.”

  “What time was that?”

  Paige glanced at Liam. She had no idea, but he’d checked his phone.

  “Just shy of four-thirty,” Liam answered. “Paige, why didn’t you say something?”

  “Because I thought it was the lamp on the timer,” she repeated.

  “That goes out around one.”

  He didn’t appear to be blaming her, but she felt responsible nevertheless. “Liam, it didn’t occur to me—well, yes, I suppose it did, right at first, but I decided it was the lamp.”

  “With everything else that’s going on,” Dan said.

  Paige ignored him. “First, there was that damned boat running without lights way too close to shore, and then when I came back inside—”

  “When were you outside?”

  Paige widened her eyes at Liam in a “you remember” look, but then she realized he probably didn’t know at all. He’d been sound asleep until she woke him. “When I let Shadow in, I stepped outside for two seconds. Two, that’s all.”

  “Long enough to see a boat running dark,” Dan said. “And you didn’t think to say anything about that either to your boy—”

  “Liam. His name is Liam. What we are to each other is our business and doesn’t need your sarcastic references.”

  To her astonishment, both men laughed. “Understood,” said Dan, with an enigmatic glance at Liam. Liam had the grace to look uncomfortable. Dan shrugged. “How long before you saw the light in the living room did you see the boat?”

  “Only a couple of minutes. I watched the boat until it was out of sight and then I came back inside. That’s when I went to the window. Liam, you woke up and found me there. I had already dismissed it.”

  “And then what?” prompted Dan.

  “And then nothing,” Liam answered for her.

  “Got it,” said Dan. “Anyway, your boyfr—Liam here believes it’s the same guy who went into your place.”

  “I gathered that from what I overheard. What is your opinion?”

  “I agree.”

  “Why would he break into Liam’s house? Because of his association with me?”

  Dan looked to Liam, who responded with a brief inclination of his head. “It would appear so. This time, though, we’re hoping he left usable prints.”

  “And if he has,” Paige said, “will that really get you any closer to finding him?”

  “I hope.”

  “In the meantime,” said Liam, “you need to clear out of here for a while. Not back to Tennessee, but maybe into town? There’s a bed and breakfast on Pine that might be able to accommodate you. Isn’t that right, Stauffer?”

  “Run by an ex-cop and his wife,” Dan said. “I think you’d be safe there.”

  Paige looked from one man to the other, studying expressions nearly identical in determination. The last thing she wanted to do was hinder the police department’s investigation, now that they were paying more attention to the case. She didn’t want to cause any further trouble for Liam, either. “Okay, that’s fine. If you’ll give me the number, I’ll call. If they’re full up, I’ll try somewhere else. I understand you need me out of here. Consider me gone.”

  Dan pulled a card from his pocket and wrote the number across the back. “Thank you, Paige.”

  His gratitude for her cooperation was genuine, which made Paige suffer more than a pang of guilt for her attitude earlier in their conversation. She took the card from him with acknowledgment of his concern and tucked it into her pocket.

  Liam stepped close, lowering his voice. “I’ll come by in a few minutes to see how you’re making out with those arrangements and to help you carry everything to your car.”

  “I can manage. I’m not that broken.”

  “Oh, come on, Paige, let a man be a man,” Dan said before walking away in response to one of the other officers calling his name.

  Paige bit her lip, raising her gaze to Liam’s. “He’s right. Thank you. I appreciate the help.”

  “I think you’ve been used to being on your own for a long time. We’ll have to work on that.”

  Why? By the end of the summer she’d be back home, needing her resilience.

  The same thought appeared to occur to him. His lips twisted into a closed, crooked smile. “A little change won’t hurt you. Won’t hurt me, either. No matter where we are.”

  Grabbing a fistful of shirt, Paige pulled him down and planted a kiss on his mouth, not caring who witnessed the action.

  Chapter 23

  The room at the bed and breakfast—owned by friends of Dan Stauffer’s, as it turned out—was the type of space designed for a romantic getaway from the world. Paige sat on a white, eyelet coverlet on the bed by herself, thumbing through a glossy monthly publication from the nightstand. When Liam departed, he told her to use his number frequently. She’d wanted to dial it within two minutes of him walking out the door.

  Instead, she’d called Billy Woodward’s mother, Felicia, and left her a message, hoping to meet up with her in a day or so. After noting the sky had taken on the look of an impending storm, she plugged her phone in to charge the low battery. God forbid the electricity went out and left her with a dead cell.

  The B&B was very quiet. The crisp flick of pages sounded loud in the room. Flip. Flip. An ad showing a lovely couple eating dinner at the charming, nearby Hideaway Restaurant. Flip, flip. A story about the stone circle at the nature preserve. Flip. Another attractive couple standing at the prow of a sailing ship, hair tossed by the wind, teeth white as snow, champagne glasses in hand. She didn’t bother reading the copy beneath. Flip.

  Across the room, her suitcase sat open on a low chest, the box of photos Liam had insisted she take beside it.

  Flip. An article about the benefits of an appointment with a local spa, accompanie
d by an image of river stones and water lilies. Flip. A double-page collage spread showing shop fronts, advertising the upcoming Fourth of July sales. Paige closed the periodical to glance at the date on the lower left-hand side. She didn’t bother to open the magazine again, but folded her hands over the cover and sat contemplating the box beside her case.

  Why had all these photos been in her father’s possession? There were many more than those she’d examined, possibly able to provide her with further revelations about her family’s life when she’d been a young girl. This was the reason she’d come to Alcina Cove, to address and understand the nuances of her parents’ relationship, her own with them, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to look in that box again.

  She cringed in self-reproach over her inability to be the brave woman her mother always exhorted her to be. Cowardice was an unbecoming trait. She hadn’t viewed herself as particularly spineless in the past, but she’d never quite been put to the test.

  Paige rose and stretched, tossing the magazine back where she’d found it. She thought of Liam’s break-in. If she’d left when he’d asked, that night in the hospital, it wouldn’t have happened. Liam had told Dan nothing was missing, but she’d thought the same thing. What might this psycho have stolen from Liam’s home that he would only find later? Had she left something behind? Not that it would matter. An outsider wouldn’t know. Which meant yes, he’d been singled out because of his association with her.

  Parting the curtains, Paige peered out at the street beyond. Located down a picturesque side street, the bed and breakfast had an English-style garden out front complete with a white picket fence, stepping stones, and a quaint wooden bench. The Dieters knew what they were about when they’d created the Timeless Inn from a rundown home. She’d seen transformation photos downstairs in the lobby.

  There was a lot to admire about Alcina Cove, most of which had been lost to her as a teenager. Directly across the road stood a stately Victorian, a huge house built by a wealthy captain at the turn of the last century. The lawn was impeccably tended, shaded by several old growth trees, gnarled and twisted by nature and weather. A man in a battered hat, likely the gardener, started to step out from behind the nearest tree, but paused. His head lifted, showing graying hair beneath the brim of his hat and what appeared to be redness, perhaps a birthmark on his face. Behind a pair of glasses, the man’s eyes found her with unerring accuracy in the window where she stood. Paige lifted her hand and waved. He did not return the gesture. Instead, he backed away, losing himself behind the huge trunk. A moment later, he disappeared through the rhododendron, vanishing completely in the flowering bushes.

  Paige frowned. In all likelihood, he hadn’t been able to see her at all behind the reflective glass. The man had looked familiar, though, in a way she couldn’t quite place. Perhaps the fellow was an old neighbor she’d known years ago. After all, she was bound to run into someone she could place other than Dan Stauffer. She hadn’t existed in a vacuum, although it certainly felt as if she had.

  Turning from the window, her gaze alighted on the box as if drawn there. Steeling herself, she crossed the room and plucked the container off the chest, dumping half the contents onto the bedspread. She set the box on the floor, then climbed up onto the mattress and sat, cross-legged, to contemplate the images.

  After a couple of minutes spent picking up photograph after photograph, a sense of hopelessness returned. Searching through old photos for glimpses from the past wouldn’t work. Sure, she’d get caught up in the excitement that prodded memories could bring about, but she’d already realized half the images meant nothing to her. Many photos showed other people, strangers, and some revealed faces she vaguely remembered, but whose names eluded her. The rest filled her with a burning need to know why and how her father had come to possess them. With no one to provide that answer, her curiosity would remain unsatisfied. She began to scoop the photos up again when one in particular caught her eye. She flipped it quickly for a name and found none, but she didn’t really require identification.

  “Dad.”

  The utterance sounded to her ears like a child’s plea. Her heart felt the echo of tone, hearkening back to a time when she’d known nothing but love for her father—a time she’d forgotten, pushed down, and left behind. It hurt her to recognize the emotion now. Hurt her to the point of physical pain. Her respiration became ragged in the battle against tears.

  “Daddy.”

  Damn you, damn you, damn you, she raged silently, gripping the photo between her fingers with the intent of ripping the print in half. Instead, she set it down again on her leg. Her jaw ached from the strain of holding back the noise that thundered in her head, demanding escape.

  She understood now why the gardener looked familiar. Though slight, there was a resemblance between that man and her father, the similarity one found in distant relatives where genetics managed to survive despite dilution. She’d been operating under the assumption she had no family except her mother’s sister in California. But did she know that to be true? It was information that had been fed to her by a parent who wanted nothing to do with the life she’d left behind.

  Swiping dampness from her cheeks, Paige stood and tucked the photo into her pocket. She grabbed her phone and the keys to the room. She pulled a hair from her brush on the way past and took a moment outside to wrap the curly strand around the lock’s plunger before pulling the door shut. A short length of the hair stuck out past the doorframe. With any luck, only she would know it was there. She’d seen this trick in a movie once. The only way the hair would disappear from that spot was if someone entered the room while she was gone.

  Clinging to a sense of security she recognized as altogether false, Paige left the Timeless Inn and hobbled across the street, intending to continue up to the huge double doors with a request to speak with the gardener or groundskeeper in order to show him the photo of her father. With any luck, the man wouldn’t be as clueless as she in terms of family ties and could tell her straightaway if any kinship existed. Even if he knew nothing about her parents, he would be family. Maybe that alone would be enough to make her feel a little less dispirited.

  As she reached the property, she saw that the landscape wasn’t quite as well maintained as it had appeared from her room at the bed and breakfast. Despite the vivid shining of the sun, a huge portion of the grounds remained shadowed and overgrown. Paige hesitated on the sidewalk, pacing back and forth in front of the long walkway leading up to the home. The perfect spot for an ambush. Less than a week ago, such a frightening thought would never have occurred to her.

  After a moment, she pulled out her phone and sent Liam a text, telling him she’d possibly found someone related to her father, and if he had the chance at some point, she’d appreciate the bolstering adjunct of a little company in tracking the man down. A few seconds later, she received a reply.

  I know you. You’ve left the B&B. Get back there until you hear differently.

  His written tone left something to be desired, but she appreciated the sentiment. Turning her back on the overgrown estate, she stepped off the curb to return to the Timeless. Movement in her peripheral vision jerked her back around.

  Nothing but a squirrel in a tree, attracted, no doubt, by the huge nut standing in the road. As she took another step, she again caught sight of movement. This time, however, she spotted someone in furtive retreat. “Hello?”

  Through the swaying of rhododendron blossoms from forced passage through the bushes, she finally glimpsed a battered green hat. “Look, I only wanted to talk to you.” The man stopped, nearly invisible in the greenery, but didn’t speak. Paige shifted her weight from foot to foot in indecision. After a moment, she backed away.

  No. She wasn’t some ingénue in a cheap horror movie making bad decisions left and right. Whoever this guy was, she had no desire to go in after him. She’d wait for Liam and they’d tackle him together. Frankly, she was getting a little tired of the eccentric behavior o
f the people she’d met in this town. They all couldn’t have been so peculiar when she lived here. Of course, she’d only interacted with a few residents since her return. The fates had not favored making this easy for her.

  Paige returned to the inn and climbed the stairs slowly to her room. At the door, she examined the knob to make certain the single hair remained in place before turning the key and going inside. On a hunch, she walked straight to the window and peeled back the curtains a couple of inches in order to see the yard across the street once more.

  Nothing.

  She let the curtain fall back into place. Returning to the bed, she gathered the photos she’d left spread across the coverlet and put them back in the box. Her phone rang. She answered without looking.

  “Liam, I’m back in the room safe and sound—”

  “I’m sorry, not anyone named Liam. Hope you’re not too disappointed. This is Felicia Woodward. Paige?”

  “Yes! God, I’m an idiot.” Paige sat on the floor beside the carton of photos, leaning her spine against the mattress. “Thank you for calling me back.”

  “Not a problem. You’ve got a hoot of an accent. Billy warned me about that. I love it.”

  Paige closed her eyes. The woman’s voice—no longer the stilted message on her voicemail, but her actual voice, filled with nuance and energy—came rushing at her through the years. Somewhere back in the days of early childhood, she had known this woman and liked her very much.

  * * * *

  “I’ve got tonic—‘pop’ I guess you’d call it down South?”

  Paige smiled. “I still call it soda.”

  A head taller than Paige with short salt-and-pepper hair, Felicia Woodward bent for another look in the refrigerator. “Wine? Too early, I guess. Water. Milk.” The woman wrinkled her nose, sticking her tongue out between her teeth. “That belongs to Billy. He likes it. It’s probably out of date.” She opened the container and sniffed. Her face contorted. She hurried with a comical leap to the sink and dumped the white liquid down the drain, then filled the plastic bottle with water to soak. “Or I could make us some coffee. How’s that sound?”