A Shroud of Tattered Sails: An Oregon Coast Mystery (Garrison Gage Series Book 4)

by Scott William Carter

  Gage wasn't sure what to say to this. She ran a finger down the edge of her water glass, staring at the trail her finger left behind.

  "After I graduated," she said, "I decided to tell him the truth. That I did not love him. I told myself I was doing this because it was the right thing to do, but I know that's not true. I did it because I no longer needed him."

  "How did he take it?"

  Her eyes misted, and she blinked a few times. "He was a sweet man. He deserved better than me. He said he didn't care. He said he could love enough for the both of us."

  "Wow."

  "Yes. He was trying to convince me to stay, but it only made me feel much worse about what I had done. I told him I would pay back every penny he had spent on me. He would not hear of it. He said I could leave at any time. He only hoped I would return someday."

  The waiter refilled their water glasses. Tatyana stared at the tablecloth, not meeting his eyes. Gage thought she was being too hard on herself, but who was he to judge? He was the king of guilt and self-blame. It certainly was not a kind thing she had done, but abuse? Marriages were often full of manipulations and hidden motives, sometimes small and innocuous, other times large and life-changing.

  "I don't know why I tell you this," Tatyana said softly. "I have not told anyone before now."

  "Is that why you came to Barnacle Bluffs? Because you wanted to get as far away from that past life as possible?"

  "Yes."

  "Me too."

  "Maybe that is why I felt I could tell you," she said. "Maybe I thought you would understand. Or at least, that you would not judge me too harshly."

  "My dear, if I judged you too harshly, then how could I have enough judgment left over for myself? Can I ask you something? That necklace you're wearing, did he give it to you?"

  Her hand fluttered to the necklace, as if she needed reassurance that it was still there.

  "Oh," she said.

  "I've noticed you're almost always wearing it."

  "Yes. It didn't come from him. It was given ... It is a reminder of life in Ukraine, the life I left behind."

  "Have you been back?"

  She shook her head. "There is nothing for me there now."

  "But the necklace. I would think—"

  "I don't wish to talk about it."

  "Oh."

  She reached for his hand, her fingers cool and moist from holding the water glass. "I apologize. I'm just tired. I have said so much already."

  "It's all right. I didn't mean to pry."

  "You are not prying. You are being kind. Let's talk of something else for a while. Tell me about Miranda. What are you going to do now? Do you have ideas?"

  There wasn't much to tell, but he told her anyway. He told her the few tantalizing glimpses into her past that Miranda had revealed, about the drawing, about how he was certain something else had happened on that boat other than her shooting Marcus Koura. He felt his frustration mounting, and he wished he could talk about something else, but Tatyana, even as she listened attentively, seemed to have retreated into herself and he was hoping that if he talked long enough, she would come back to him. If anything, though, she retreated even more, looking at him but not really seeing him. They finished their meals, and, as she had insisted, split the check.

  On the drive back to her place, the night sky was clear enough to see the stars and the highway shined like black glass under the crescent moon. They listened to the rumble of the Volkswagen engine and the whistle of wind against the windows. He was trying to think of something to say when Tatyana beat him to it.

  "There is a beach just past the casino," she said. "Do you know it?"

  "Starfish Point," he said.

  "Yes. Would you like to go there for a few minutes? I think—I think the ocean would be very pretty. It's not often we have nights like this."

  "Your wish is my command," he said.

  He parked the van in the big lot behind Golden Eagle Casino, the ones mostly full of motor homes and trailers. The lot was well lit, and the path to Starfish Point was marked with a sign. A copse of Douglas firs lined the west side, blocking their view of the ocean, but the persistent murmur of the waves served as a reminder that the vast stretch of water was barely more than a stone's throw away. Already, the air smelled both saltier and brinier, but more invigorating, too. After they'd taken a few steps away from the van, she stopped and looked at him.

  "What about your cane?"

  "I'm okay."

  She raised her eyebrows, but did not object. Perhaps because he had left his cane, she took his arm after a few steps, but he liked to think she would have done so anyway. Even the first part of the path, inside the trees, was lit well enough by the moon and the stars that no flashlight was necessary. Gage feared they would find a bunch of drunken casino goers belting out show tunes around a bonfire, but he was surprised to find an empty beach. Driftwood and kelp littered the rough sand nearest them; down below, where the sand was smooth and dark, the partial moon cast a trail of bone-yellow light on the surf and the darker water leading out to sea. From this vantage point, it looked like a golden path leading right into the moon.

  Perhaps he shouldn't have been surprised no one was there. He doubted few gamblers made time to take in the scenery.

  Still holding his arm, Tatyana led him to the water's edge. Even the wind, often so strong they wouldn't have been able to hear each other speak, was now only the barest touch on their faces. Around the next bend, beyond their sight, was the beach where Marcus Koura's body had been found. Gage thought about mentioning this but decided that it probably wasn't the sort of thing a man should say to a pretty woman on a night like this.

  He turned and looked at her and found she was already staring at him. The breeze picked up, stirring stray blonde hairs across her face. Instinctively, he reached for them, brushing the hair behind her ear, his finger caressing her cheek. Her skin felt warmer than he expected, almost hot.

  She responded by leaning forward and kissing him.

  It didn't last long, nothing passionate and lingering, but there was still quite a spark. He caught a taste of the Pinot Noir she'd had with dinner. She leaned back, looking at him with doubt, and that was its own aphrodisiac, her vulnerability, the lowering of the walls.

  "Is that all right?" she asked.

  "It was wonderful," he said.

  "I didn't mean to do that. I don't know what came over me."

  "Whatever it was, I hope it comes over you again. Soon."

  "What if it happened again right now?"

  "Even better."

  This time, he kissed her. He cupped his hands around her face and put more of himself into it, making it last long enough that they were both breathless when they finally parted. It was like a magnetic pull, the need to kiss her again. Too fast. He knew it was too fast, that he should slow down, but he didn't care. Did she care? She gave him an answer by reaching for him, slipping her fingers around his neck. Her fingers felt icy against his warm skin, but he didn't care about this either.

  His cell phone rang.

  The electronic chirp was still so foreign that the sound startled him. It took him a second to realize that it was coming from his jacket pocket—and, with his irritation rising, whatever spell had been cast over them was instantly broken as he fumbled to get the damn thing out of his pocket. He wanted to ignore it, but the ring was too annoying, too invasive to simply pretend it didn't exist. With everything going on, he also couldn't afford to miss a call right now.

  By the time Gage finally got the stupid piece of plastic opened, Tatyana was laughing. He barked a hello into the receiver. There was a long pause.

  "Hello Mister Gage," a man with a heavy Indian accent said. "I am calling to talk to you about an exciting offer on your cell phone plan. Do you have a few minutes to discuss this exciting offer with me?"

  Gage wanted to punch the man in the face. Since he couldn't do that, he did the next best thing. He tossed the cell phone—on a high, looping arc
that passed in front of the moon—deep into the ocean.

  They watched the cell phone plop into the dark water. It was strangely satisfying, thinking about the infernal device finding its home with the hermit crabs and the sea urchins, wondering if the man from India was still telling him about the benefits of upgrading to an unlimited data plan, whatever that meant, but his satisfaction didn't last long. Already, regret seeped into his thoughts. What would Zoe say? That was two cell phones in less than a week.

  "Well," Tatyana said. She was no longer laughing, but there was an unmistakable tone of amusement in her voice.

  "It's your fault," Gage said.

  "Excuse me?"

  "If you weren't such a good kisser, I wouldn't have gotten so angry at being interrupted."

  "Hmm. That's what you're going to tell Zoe, then?"

  "Ah. You know about her giving me the phone."

  "I think she mentioned it, yes. Two phones, actually."

  "Maybe we can make up a story about this one. If we both stick to it, she's more likely to believe it."

  She arched her eyebrows. "You mean, you want me to lie for you?"

  "That's such a harsh word. I prefer to think of it as embracing an alternate version of reality that's more acceptable to all involved."

  She laughed and took his arm again. She wasn't a natural laugher, it was true, but he really liked making her laugh. Every time she laughed, it was as if she cracked open the door a bit more to the person inside her.

  "Let's just try to enjoy this for a few minutes," she said. "You will have to face the consequences of what you did soon enough."

  "Dire consequences," Gage said.

  "Yes. But for now, take a deep breath. The ocean, it can take away your worries. That's why I moved here. I was hoping it would take away my worries."

  "Did it?"

  "Sometimes. Look at the moon. It is so beautiful. What do they say about the changes? Waxing and … ?"

  "Waning," he said.

  "Which is it doing now?"

  "Waning, I think."

  "Getting smaller."

  "Yes."

  "Soon it will only be a sliver. I know the name for this. It's called a crescent moon, yes? Sometimes, when the crescent moon would fall over Simferopol, I would think it was like a ... what? A gateway. A portal. I would think it was closing and there was just enough room for me to escape if I acted quickly. Then, in a few nights, it would be gone, but I always knew it would return again. There would be another chance. One day, I took my chance. I slipped through and escaped."

  Side by side, bodies close enough that he felt the warmth of her pressing against him, they gazed at the moon together. He didn't want to say anything, knowing that as soon as he did the moment would end.

  A crescent moon ... just like Miranda's drawing. Why did she draw a crescent moon? There was nothing distinctive about the drawing. It could have been any of a hundred different ports, a hundred different cities. A crescent moon would fall over all of them.

  That's when Gage realized where he needed to go.

  "Oh my," he said.

  "What?" Tatyana said.

  Gage headed back for his van, waving for her to follow. His right knee nearly buckled a few times, but he was too excited to care. She begged him to tell her what was on his mind, but he was afraid if he talked about it, he'd lose it, the connection was so fragile. He opened the driver's side door and fished the old Rand-McNally map of the United States from under the seat, along with a flashlight he kept there for emergencies. He handed Tatyana the flashlight and asked her to shine it on the map, ignoring her questions while he flipped through the dog-eared pages until he came to one picturing the entire state of California.

  There it was, a city on the north coast he'd never visited but one he remembered seeing when he was searching for possible ports Marcus may have visited. He pointed it out to Tatyana. She leaned in for a closer look, the breeze billowing her hair across her face.

  "Crescent City?" she said.

  "That's right."

  "And you believe the drawing, because it was a crescent moon …?"

  "It's a long shot, I know. But maybe it was her subconscious at work."

  "So what are you going to do? Are you going to call—"

  "No, I'm done with the phone. I'm going to drive down there. Poke around. Ask questions. You know, the stuff I'm actually good at. It's only about fifty miles from the Oregon border. Maybe five or six hours from here straight down Highway 101. If I leave first thing in the morning, I could be down there early in the afternoon."

  Tatyana frowned. "What about Miranda? You are going to leave when she's in jail?"

  "There's nothing I can do to change that right now. Besides, it's probably the safest place for her. As long as she's in jail, I don't feel I need to be around to protect her—from Omar, or anybody else."

  "Anybody else? Like who?"

  "Well, I don't know. That's the point. It's hard to protect her when I don't have all the information." He shrugged. "I'm out of other ideas. Sometimes when that happens, I just take a stab in the dark like this and good things come of it. Bad things sometimes too, but even that's better than the status quo."

  Tatyana peered at the map a while longer, as if pondering the merits of the idea, then looked back at Gage.

  "I just have one question," she said.

  "Yes?"

  "Can I go with you?"

  Chapter 10

  No matter how much he tried to dissuade her, Tatyana was determined to accompany him to Crescent City. She told him she wasn't scheduled for work Sunday or Monday, so there was no reason not to go. A little adventure might do her some good. And didn't he think having her along for the ride, for free, no less, might be of some help? Not only was she a doctor, and could lend some insight on Miranda's mental state from a medical perspective, she was a woman, too, and might be able to think like Miranda a little better than Gage could.

  Gage put up a little fight just to show that he wasn't too eager, but it didn't take him very long to relent. Truth was, he was mostly thinking about what would happen when they reached the hotel. Would they book one room or two?

  They left Sunday morning, Gage driving the van, early enough that the sky was a soupy gray and the sun was not yet visible over the forested hills to the east that made up the beginnings of the coastal range. She brought a compact wheeled suitcase, smaller even than his own duffle bag but with an extremely long extendable handle, the kind of thing that a flight attendant might use. It fit her. Everything about her was neat and tightly contained: the condo, the clothes, the personality. Perhaps it was all too contained, like a suitcase that might burst open if someone even fiddled with the latch.

  Traffic was light, occasional headlights emerging from the morning fog. The air felt heavy and thick, a humidity that was uncommon on the Oregon coast but not entirely rare. Moisture beaded on the windshield, forcing him to occasionally turn on the wipers. They cracked the windows open, and raised their voices to be heard over the air whistling through the car.

  They talked about Miranda, tossing back and forth theories about why the picture she'd drawn might have been Crescent City, California. Perhaps she'd met Marcus there, which was why it was significant to her. If you were hiding from someone, and you wanted a city about as remote and unremarkable as you could get while still offering some of the characteristics of coastal life, Crescent City seemed to fit the bill. A bit grungy, more of a working class town than a tourist destination, it still offered a lot for a person seeking escape and solace from a troubled life. For starters, there were the redwoods. Miranda had made more than few remarks about the beauty of Oregon trees to think that might have been one of the draws for her.

  By the time they reached Newport, this line of conversation petered out and they lapsed into long stretches of silence interrupted by occasional comments about the scenery. That was just fine by Gage. He found it to be a comfortable silence, which was definitely another plus in Tatyana's favor.
There were lots of people—in fact, most people, in Gage's experience—that felt a growing discomfort the longer a period of silence lasted and eventually succumbed to the need to break it, like a mild form of Tourette's Syndrome. He could already tell that she was one of the few people he could not only tolerate long road trips with, but might actually enjoy the experience.

  The fact that he was even considering the idea of taking road trips, something that hadn't even entered his consciousness before he was driving on this highway with Tatyana, could be said to be another point in her favor.

  They passed over the big arched bridge that spanned the Yaquina Bay, making good time through Waldport and Yachats. The enjoyed some of the most spectacular scenery along the Oregon coast, sheaths of sunlight breaking through the dense cloud cover along the horizon, before the highway veered far enough to the east that the ocean disappeared behind forests of oaks and firs. They gassed up in Florence, stopping briefly to stretch their legs at one of the many lakes in the area, before continuing south. By this time, the weekend traffic was starting to pick up, but they were so far south of Portland, Salem, and Eugene, which contained the vast bulk of Oregon's population, that a few more cars on the road hardly mattered. They had clam chowder for lunch in Port Orford, listened to a classic rock and roll station until it was out of range, and had a lively discussion about whether today's music even held a candle to stuff produced in the fifties, before they slipped through Gold Beach, Brookings, and into California.