Dark Water: A Siren Novel

by Tricia Rayburn

  I scrambled across the last rock, jumped into the sand.

  “Simon!”

  He stood up straight, started to turn. I quickened my pace, wondering what he’d do if I threw my arms around him the way every inch of them ached to.

  “Hey.”

  My heels dug into the ground. My smile vanished as his widened.

  “It’s Colin, actually.” He released the boat, brushed his hands on his jeans, and held one toward me. “Anne’s son.”

  I heard his words but they made no sense. Until I saw that he wore sunglasses, not eyeglasses. And that his hair was blond, not brown. And that the rowboat was really a kayak.

  “My mom’s big on staging,” he said, noticing me notice the kayak. “Not that this place needs it. Have you ever gone?”

  My eyes raised to his. “Gone?”

  “Ocean kayaking?”

  I shook my head, took a step back.

  “Then you have to.” He stepped toward me. “Maybe we can go together sometime. I’d be happy to give you a lesson.”

  I stopped. My legs trembled. My chest tightened. I opened my mouth to thank him, to say I’d love nothing more than to be taught by such a skilled expert, to ask if we could make a date as soon as possible … and then I closed it.

  When I was weak, only one thing made me feel better than salt water did, and that was enticing the interest of the opposite sex. But I hadn’t resorted to such measures since doing so cost me the only relationship I ever had, the only one that had ever mattered, and I wasn’t about to start now.

  I didn’t know if there was still a chance for Simon and me. But I did know I wasn’t going to risk losing it if there was.

  “Thanks anyway,” I said.

  And turned around just as the tears started to fall.

  CHAPTER 2

  “EGGPLANT, BOYSENBERRY, BLUEBERRY PIE.” Paige leaned the paint cards against a napkin dispenser. “What do you think?”

  “I think they all look the same,” I said.

  “Finally.” Louis, the restaurant’s executive chef, came up the stairs and headed toward our table. “A voice of reason.”

  “What do you mean, finally? Reason is how I narrowed it down to these three. You try choosing one perfect color from eight hundred pretty choices.”

  Louis smirked as he placed plates before us. “That’s just one of the many differences between you and me, Miss Paige. I’d never choose from eight hundred pretty choices because the color we have is already perfect.”

  “Gray? Gray’s not perfect. It’s barely even a color.”

  “I disagree. In the right light, it can even look … purple.”

  Paige opened her mouth to argue, then speared a strawberry with her fork instead. Louis topped off our coffee cups, winked at me, and headed back downstairs.

  “A candy store,” she said when he was gone.

  “Sorry?”

  “That’s what he thinks we’ll look like if—when—we paint the place. He said if we change the color, we should also change the name. To Marchand’s Marshmallows and Other Gooey Goods.”

  I smiled. “It’s not bad.”

  “Except it’s totally inaccurate. We’re a chowder house. We’ve sold fish and clams and lobster for sixty years, and we always will. A new look won’t change that.”

  “You’re right. Ambience matters, but food is most important. Like the regionally famous Sea Witch breakfast platter I’ve been dreaming about for weeks.” I cut into the pancake-wrapped lobster patty.

  Paige was about to bite into a bagel but stopped. I held my full fork in front of my mouth.

  “What?” I asked.

  “That’s not the Sea Witch,” she said, sounding sorry. “I mean, it is—it’s still eggs, lobster, seaweed, and pancake. But it’s now called the Winter Harbor Sunrise.”

  “That’s going to be even harder to get used to than the color change.”

  “I know.” She put down her bagel and picked up the eggplant paint card. “But what can I do? Business is down. Like, ocean-floor down. Grandma B thinks the only way to stay afloat is to try to distance ourselves from last summer as much as possible. And since Sea Witch might suggest killer sirens to potential diners … let’s just say it’s a small change that can make a big difference.”

  We weren’t the only people on the employee break deck. In the far left corner, two waiters drank soda and fiddled with their cell phones. In the far right corner, a busboy and dishwasher sipped tea and watched the boats bob on the near-empty harbor. Maybe I imagined it, but at the mention of killer sirens, they all tensed, stilled. I waited for their conversations to resume before leaning toward Paige and lowering my voice.

  “I thought people believed everything that happened last summer was because of the weird weather.”

  It was a lot to expect of residents and visitors, since what happened had never occurred in Winter Harbor before. Like the sudden, isolated storms. The drownings. The icing over of the harbor itself, which up until last July had never frozen—not even in the middle of winter. But as Simon had said then, people believed what they wanted to. And without other logical explanations, they’d been willing to chalk up the strange events to moody Mother Nature.

  Had they changed their minds?

  “They did believe that,” Paige said, answering the question I was too scared to ask out loud. “For a while anyway. But Grandma B and Oliver told me last night that people started to grow suspicious—and freak out—when similar things started happening in Boston last fall.”

  Images flashed through my head. Colin Cooper, the Hawthorne Prep student, drifting down the Charles River. Matthew Harrison, the Bates College alumni interviewer, floating in the Hawthorne Prep pool.

  Parker King, Hawthorne’s water-polo superstar, standing by my locker, running across the Common, leaning toward me …

  … kissing me.

  I took the saltshaker from the table, unscrewed the top, and poured half its contents into my coffee. Then I held it up and motioned to Paige’s cup. When she nodded, I dumped the rest in hers.

  “But the weather was fine in Boston,” I said, after taking a big, long gulp. “A little rainy every now and then, but nothing out of the ordinary.”

  “Which was why people were extra concerned when the victims there resembled the ones here.”

  I was glad she was vague. Chowder House employees didn’t need to be reminded that the lifeless men had been found with their blue mouths lifted in permanent smiles.

  “How did they know?” I asked. “We both read the Globe every day. There was never any mention of what the victims looked like when they were found.”

  “Does it matter? Word spreads—and fast. Someone from Hawthorne probably told someone at another school and it went from there. The majority of Winter Harbor’s summer visitors have always hailed from Boston, and once they put two and two together, or tried to, they probably decided to spend their vacations somewhere else this year. Because it’s not just us. The whole town’s hurting.”

  My appetite now nonexistent, I absently pushed my eggs around the plate as I thought about this. If what Paige said was true, this summer was off to a very different start from last summer, when business was booming and the tourist population multiplying. And even though my involvement had begun only after the sirens had made their first kill, I couldn’t help but feel responsible.

  “Ms. Marchand!”

  My head snapped up. A young waitress stood at the top of the stairs, wringing her hands and glancing down at the kitchen like someone was about to charge after her.

  “Louis—he made this thing. With, like, special peppers? Only I didn’t know? And so a customer ate it and practically choked—and now he’s threatening to sue!”

  Paige tilted her head. “Louis is threatening to sue?”

  “No, the customer—” The waitress gasped, peered down the stairwell. “Oh no. He’s in the kitchen. He’s in the kitchen and yelling at Louis.” She looked at Paige, lips trembling and eyes wateri
ng. “I can’t be sued. I don’t have any money. That’s why I got this job. And it’s my first day and I’ve only made two dollars in tips and—”

  Paige raised one hand. The girl stopped.

  “See that dock?” Paige motioned toward the harbor.

  The girl nodded.

  “Why don’t you take your break down there?”

  “Now? But I’ve only been here an hour. And Louis said we—”

  “Louis cooks,” Paige said. “I manage. Take fifteen minutes to relax. When you come back, everything will be under control.”

  I wouldn’t have believed it if I wasn’t there to witness it, but at Paige’s assurance, the waitress bowed. She literally put her hands together, lowered her head, and tilted forward.

  “Thank you, Ms. Marchand. Thank you so much,” she said, and disappeared down the stairs.

  I turned to Paige. “Ms. Marchand?”

  “I told her to call me by my first name, I swear.” She took a grape from her plate, popped it in her mouth. “But I guess I just demand respect without even trying. The whole staff’s actually been superpolite and attentive since I got here. With the exception of our infamous head chef, of course.”

  “Is that because Betty put you in charge of day-to-day operations?”

  “Probably.”

  I leaned closer. “Do you think it also has something to do with the fact that … I mean, could it be that they’re acting differently because …”

  “For the first summer ever, my evil sister isn’t here to terrorize everyone? And their guilt for feeling relieved combined with genuine sympathy for me has them walking on eggshells?”

  That wasn’t exactly how I’d put it if I’d been able to find the words, but it was close enough. “Yes?”

  “Maybe.” Her blue eyes shifted toward the waiters ten feet away. When she spoke next, her voice was slightly louder. “It’s kind of cold up here. Wish I’d brought my jacket.”

  The two waiters exchanged looks, then jumped up. Across the deck, the busboy stood so fast, the back of his chair smacked against the railing. The dishwasher, the only female employee present, frowned and sat forward, but stayed seated. In seconds, the busboy was by Paige’s side, offering the sweatshirt off his back.

  “Thank you.” She smiled, touched his arm. “That’s very sweet. But I’ll be going inside any second.”

  The busboy’s face reddened. He nodded, backed away. The waiters were poised at the top of the stairs, ready to storm the kitchen in search of—I’m not sure what—chef coats? Thermal aprons? Now they straightened and returned to their table, casting curious glances in our direction. The female dishwasher sat back and pouted at the harbor.

  Paige leaned close, whispered, “It might have something to do with that, too.”

  Before I could respond, she drained her coffee cup and got up.

  “Time to restore order among the ranks.” She squeezed my shoulder as she passed behind me. “If you ever want a job, just say the word. They might be respectful, but I could still use all the experienced help I can get.”

  I smiled. My only restaurant experience had come last summer, when I’d spent a few days shadowing Paige and taking the occasional order. She’d offered me an impromptu job when we’d hit it off shortly after my return to Winter Harbor, and because her grandmother was the owner, no one had protested—much. Her older sister, Zara, hadn’t exactly welcomed me with open arms. In fact, she’d been so cold, my head had pulsated with pain every time she was near; I wouldn’t learn until much later that this wasn’t simply because I’d grown severely anxious in her presence.

  It was because we’d been linked. Even related, in a sense. Just like Paige and I were now.

  Aware that the male employees’ attention had shifted to me, I downed my eggs and coffee and started gathering dishes. The wind shifted as I stood, bringing with it a gust of moist, salty air. Instinctively, I closed my eyes, inhaled. When I opened them again, they locked on the parking lot below.

  Unlike last year, when Betty’s Chowder House was so busy an attendant was needed to check reservations and monitor the parking situation, the lot was nearly empty. It was almost noon, prime weekend brunch time, and there were only half a dozen cars.

  Mom’s black BMW SUV, which I’d borrowed after dropping off her and Dad at the lake house, was one of them.

  A green Subaru was another.

  “Excuse me, miss?”

  I tore my gaze away. One of the waiters stood next to me.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Of course.” I forced a smile, wondered if he could hear the hammering of my heart.

  “Can I take care of that for you?”

  I followed his nod to the floor, where my feet were surrounded in shards of broken porcelain.

  “Don’t worry about it.” His voice was a combination of nervous and reassuring. “I do that all the time.”

  I looked at my hands. They were empty. I’d dropped my plate and coffee cup, they’d shattered … and I hadn’t even noticed.

  “Thank you,” I said, “but that’s okay. I’ll go get a broom.”

  I tried to focus as I grabbed the remaining dishes from the table and hurried downstairs. In the kitchen, I deposited the stack by the sink, flew by the cleaning supply closet, and headed for the swinging door. On the other side, I ducked behind the bar to check my appearance in the mirror behind the shelves of liquor, and then entered the main dining room.

  But it was empty. Not completely—a few couples and families were scattered among the tables—but without the one person I’d hoped was there, it might as well have been.

  The waitress Paige had sent to the dock came back inside. I waited for our eyes to meet, then smiled and waved her over.

  “Hi.” Her eyes were dry but her voice still wavered. “Does Ms. Marchand want to see me?”

  Visual fragments, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, spun through my head. Silver eyes. Long, dark hair. Weak, emaciated figure. The most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, standing tall at the bottom of a darkened lake.

  But the waitress wasn’t talking about Paige’s mother. She was talking about Paige.

  “No.” I resisted shaking my head; the images slowly faded. “Not yet anyway. I was just wondering if you waited on a guy earlier. Before you went outside.”

  “Yes. The one who wants to sue.” She stepped toward me, scanned the dining room. “Is he back?”

  I was about to clarify when red brake lights shone through the windows facing the parking lot.

  “Never mind,” I said, already running. “And don’t worry—Ms. Marchand has everything under control!”

  I burst through the front door as the Subaru turned around, revealing the BATES COLLEGE sticker in the back window. For a split second, I was tempted to go inside; the familiar logo brought back the painful events of last fall and reminded me of all that I’d missed since then—and why. But then the car rumbled as it accelerated, and I lunged forward.

  I was halfway to the parking lot entrance when the car stopped. The driver’s side door opened.

  And Caleb got out.

  “Vanessa. Are you okay?”

  His eyebrows were lowered and forehead wrinkled as he looked from me, to the restaurant and harbor behind us, and back to me. It didn’t take long to figure out why he was concerned.

  My feet had frozen to the ground the second the door opened. I forced them to move now. Casually. Easily. Not like I was being chased the way I’d been—the way we’d all been—last summer.

  “Hi.” I smiled and tried to peer past him to the passenger seat. “I’m fine. I just saw your car and wanted to catch you before you left.”

  His face relaxed. He started to return my smile, then stopped and tilted his head.

  “You saw my car?” he asked.

  “From inside Betty’s. I was in the main dining room and just happened to glance out and—” I cut myself off, looked away from the empty Subaru. “Oh.”

  “Yeah. I don
’t have a car.”

  “Right. I knew that.”

  He nodded. I nodded. Neither of us spoke.

  Nearly every day for the past eight months, I’d thought about what I’d say to Simon the next time I saw him. In all those months, I hadn’t considered what I’d say to his younger brother—and the love of Justine’s life—the next time I saw him. That was a mistake. Because this was even more awkward than a chance meeting between two recently estranged friends should be.

  Probably because the estrangement was due to the fact that one friend had lied to the other, along with everyone else she knew, about who—or what—she really was.

  “So how are you?” I finally asked.

  “Great.” He sounded relieved. “Busy, but great.”

  “Still at the marina?”

  “More often than not. I did a lot of reading on motors and outboards this year and Captain Monty’s slowly but surely been letting me practice on the real deal.” He paused. “Simon’s been helping out, too. That’s why I have the Subaru.”

  My chest warmed. “Is he …? Does he …? I mean—”

  “He’s okay,” Caleb said gently.

  I exhaled.

  “On any other day, you’d see that for yourself. Betty hooked us up with free lunch for life here, and Louis is under strict orders to cook us whatever we want whenever we want it. The only reason Simon sat this trip out was because Monty decided to go fishing and someone needed to stay behind and man the shop.”

  If I’d given any thought to what I’d say to Caleb the first time I saw him in almost a year, I’d never have said the next thing I did.

  “I miss him.”

  He paused. “He misses you, too.”

  My heart lifted. “He told you that?”

  “He doesn’t have to.”

  A car approached, signaled to turn into the parking lot. Caleb and I stood together in the entrance and parted to give the car room. Unfortunately, the physical separation only added to our emotional distance.

  “I should get going,” he said, checking his watch.

  “Of course. Me, too.” I held my breath, hoped he’d ask where—to my family’s lake house, which was next door to his family’s and wouldn’t be ours for very much longer—but he didn’t. He simply turned around and headed for the Subaru. Not wanting to watch it drive away without me yet again, I started to turn, too.