Unearthed

by J. S. Marlo

  Ready to go into town with Bill, Avery walked along the gravel driveway with his newly restored cane.

  The broken ladder, a red flag attached to its end post, extended a foot beyond the tailgate of Bill’s pickup truck. Avery made a quick mental inventory of the other items discarded in the truck bed: a barrel wrapped in clear plastic, cracked buckets, old shingles, a twisted bicycle wheel, a shovel blade, a garden rake missing a tooth, green and orange garbage bags, twigs and—

  “Get in, Mr. Stone.”

  Except for the ladder, no incriminating articles aroused Avery’s suspicion. He opened the door and settled into the passenger seat. His Chevy Blazer was parked on the other side of O’Reilly’s hatchback, and he could have used it to drive to town, but he preferred riding with Bill. It gave him the opportunity to question the handyman further.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To the dump.” Showing no emotion, Bill turned the ignition on. “I cleaned the shed and the garage over the weekend.”

  How convenient. “How long have you worked at Buccaneer?”

  “A while.”

  As he waited for Bill to provide more details, silence stretched along the dusty dirt road.

  “Nice barrel you got in the box.” Since idle conversation didn’t appear to be a skill the handyman possessed, Avery filled the void. “Back home, my old man used them to collect rainwater.”

  “That’s a new wine barrel.” Bill glanced in his direction. “Every winter, I cooper a dozen or so for Jimmy, the owner of Cormoran Vineyard. This one is a special delivery.”

  The local winery was featured in one of the brochures in his room, and Avery had read about it. “What’s the barrel made of?”

  “Oak. Always oak. A new oak barrel will influence the aroma and the flavor of the wine.” The handyman spoke of his hobby with enthusiasm. “An old oak barrel, on the other hand, will mellow the character of the wine during ageing.”

  “Interesting.” Maybe his hero could be a wine connoisseur. “Would you suggest I visit Cormoran?” A tour of the vineyard would provide a change of scenery and expand his knowledge of the industry.

  A smile pushed Bill’s thick mustache up under his nose. “Certainly.” He stopped the truck in front of a strip mall. “Malcolm’s clinic. Good luck.”

  In the window, a sign announced the clinic hours. CLOSED ON WEDNESDAY AFTERNOONS, HOLIDAYS, AND WEEKENDS. Better than his RCMP hours.

  He entered the lobby, where a teenaged boy and a young woman with an infant in her arms waited on plastic chairs. To his left was a door marked WASHROOM, on his right was a tired-looking receptionist seated behind a counter, and in between was a corridor leading to what Avery assumed to be examination rooms.

  Signs were plastered on the front of the counter: REGISTRATION DESK. NO CELL PHONE. LAB RESULTS: WE WILL CALL YOU IF THE DOCTOR REQUESTS A FOLLOW-UP. CANCELLED APPOINTMENT: FREE. MISSED APPOINTMENT: $10.

  He approached the receptionist, a dark-skinned woman with curly brown hair. A nametag identified her as Heather.

  “Hello, Heather.”

  A weary smile welcomed his greeting. “Do you have an appointment?”

  Time to test O’Reilly’s influence on the doctor. “No, but Miss O’Reilly at Buccaneer recommended Doctor Malcolm.”

  She peered up at him from above the rim of her narrow glasses like his grandmother used to do before chastising him. “Have you seen Doctor Malcolm before?”

  Near the gazebo and in the attic. “Yes, but not at the clinic.”

  “I see.” The counter was cluttered with a computer, a printer, and stacks of assorted forms and dossiers. She gathered forms from different stacks and handed them to him. “Please fill these out and return them to me.”

  He chose a chair in a corner from which he could watch his surroundings while answering the useless questionnaire. Across from him, the teenage boy tapped his right foot on the floor and every ten seconds or so checked his cell phone. Three chairs down, the young mother wasted her time making funny faces to her baby. With his hat pulled down over his eyes, the infant couldn’t see a thing.

  Somewhere in the belly of the clinic, a door opened. Seconds later, a middle-aged man emerged from a corridor, crossed the lobby, and exited into the street. The secretary stood up from her desk and called in the teenager.

  Beads of perspiration pearled on the boy’s forehead as he glanced back and forth between the woman and the front door.

  “This way, young man.” With a chart, she pointed down the corridor.

  The boy’s feet dragged on the beige carpet as he disappeared around the corner.

  Minutes later, an elderly lady exited the clinic, and mother and baby were ushered down the corridor. Upon her reappearance, the secretary didn’t return to her desk. Instead, she walked into the washroom. A lock clicked into place.

  Alone in the lobby, he took advantage of Heather’s washroom break to sneak behind the counter. Less than five minutes was all Rachel had ever needed to make any computer cough its deepest secrets. Unfortunately, he lacked her hacking skill. He missed her, and in a strange way, he hoped to never stop missing her.

  Under patient’s name, he keyed in “Mattie O’Reilly” and pressed Enter. One file titled MATTIE O’REILLY appeared on the screen, and it contained two records: medical record and autopsy report. Despite all the rules he was breaking, Rachel would have been proud of him. He clicked on the latter. Water flushed through the pipes in the wall. The Print and E-mail icons flashed at the bottom of the screen. He typed his email address and pressed Send.

  The door lock clicked. He hurried to stand on the patient’s side of the registration counter. The washroom door opened, and Heather regained her post.

  Her arm extended above her counter. “Are you done, mister?”

  “Something important just came up.” Before talking to Malcolm, he preferred to read the autopsy report waiting on his computer. “I can’t wait.”

  She grabbed the forms from his hand. “Would you like to book an appointment this time?” A trace of annoyance laced her words together.

  If the autopsy report didn’t answer his questions, he’d schedule another visit. “I’ll call. Thanks.”

  As he walked out, a noisy shredder gulped down papers.

  ***

  The walls of the cave dripped with icicles, and the floor was a solid sheet of ice with sparkling ice-mites rising from underneath.

  Rowan adjusted her headlamp to shine farther up. The light it projected added a bluish hue to the yellow streaks dancing across the ceiling.

  “Ro? I found it.” Standing under an archway, Bjorn motioned for her to join him.

  On his last solo trip inside the volcano cave, he’d discovered a new chamber, and he’d been eager to show it to her ever since.

  The interior stole her breath away. Toothed with jagged lava stalactites and stalagmites, the new chamber resembled a gaping mouth. “It’s beautiful.”

  He took her gloved hand into his and led her along a narrow path between the stalactites and stalagmites. The slippery sheet of ice inched away, replaced by rocks, then sand that crunched under her hiking boots. As they progressed inside the chamber, the ground and ceiling evened out, and the air grew warmer. She unzipped her jacket. A greenish-blue glow emanated from the corner of the chamber. To get a better view, she killed her headlamp, only to realize Bjorn had already done the same. “What is it?”

  “You’ll see.” His voice was as eerie as the wind whistling through a graveyard.

  Three more cautious steps toward the geological phenomenon, and she answered her own question. Steam rose from a natural hot spring. Stopped near the edge, she looked into its depths and saw nothing but swirling turquoise water illuminated from deep underneath. Bjorn removed a backpack from her shoulders. A thick blanket had been spread on the sand, and his hiking boots rested on one corner, seemingly holding it in place.

  “What are you doing?”

  Leaning forward, he brushed a tender kiss on
her lips. “Enjoying nature with you.”

  Her jacket and headlamp fell to the ground. She reached out and trailed a finger over his hairy chest. His clothes were gone. At a loss to explain when he’d undressed, she looked down. She wore nothing but her birthday suit and a pair of wool socks, a speckled blue and a chocolate brown. “Bjorn?”

  His muscular frame hugged her soft curves, igniting a fire inside her belly. He captured her mouth, and hot water spiraled around her. Somehow he’d carried her inside the hot springs. Her feet couldn’t touch the bottom. Holding on to his shoulders, she basked in the sweet sensations created by roaming hands and wild kisses. “Ro…”

  The soft whisper and the warm breath caressing her ear heightened her senses. She arched into his caress in a clumsy attempt to appease the fire burning at her core. The water evaporated between them. Lifting her as though she weighed nothing at all, he lay her down onto the soft blanket. “I love you,” she murmured against his neck.

  Swept by desire, she relished in their lovemaking ritual, reciprocating every touch, every kiss, until passion overrode reality. She swayed to the rhythm of the flames engulfing her body and lost herself in his loving arms. Butterfly kisses teased her lips, slowly appeasing the blaze that had consumed her heart, body, and soul. “Bjorn…” Still hovering between passion and reality, she circled his waist with her arms to stop him from pulling away. “Not yet…”

  “Yes. Now.” Bjorn’s grandmother stood above them, glaring.

  Her eyes flew open, and Rowan awoke instantly.

  “What a nightmare!” The last part anyway.

  Heaving and panting, she sat in the sand and hugged her knees. Bjorn had discovered the cave during the winter and taken her there on Valentine’s Day. The hot spring had been too hot to dip more than a big toe, and there had been no blanket, only their two jackets laid side-by-side on the floor of the cave, but the time they’d enjoyed making love in the spectacular chamber had been amazing—and uninterrupted.

  A rogue wave rolled off her ankles, pulling her out of her reverie. A red jellyfish with long tentacles had landed on her drenched running shoes.

  Rowan hopped to her feet and, shuddering, kicked the creature into the water.

  The tide had risen and flooded part of the beach, blocking the access to the path that climbed up the cliff. Her gaze washed over the ocean. Swarms of jellies floated at the surface of the water.

  Trapped on the beach, she recoiled against the cliff and opted for another nap. With any luck, she might recapture the dream—without his grandmother’s intrusion.

  Chapter Eleven

  Alone in the attic room, Avery stared in disbelief at the coroner’s report displayed on his computer screen. “That’s it?”

  Malcolm had made no mention of the bloodshot eyes reported by Gail or of any other wounds. The cause of death had singularly been attributed to a broken neck. Nobody falls without sustaining at least a few scratches and bruises. For a man in scrubs, the doctor lacked attention to detail.

  A knock on the door interrupted his musing. “Mr. S.? Are you home?”

  He saved the file and closed his laptop. The unauthorized search could cost him his career, but since a bullet had already ended it, the consequences became redundant. “Come in, luv.”

  Left hand still gripping the knob, Gail froze in the doorway. “Heaven spare me, Miss Rowan hasn’t cleaned your room yet.”

  The unmade bed under the slanted ceiling confirmed the assertion. “She’s not on the roof of the shed, is she?” In the past week, Bill had replaced the shingles over the gazebo and garage, and Avery had no doubt the shed was next on the older man’s list—unless O’Reilly got to it first. The girl needed less hazardous hobbies than playing handywoman on a slippery roof.

  “No.” A frown formed on Gail’s forehead. “She went running, but that was hours ago. It’s not like her to forget the Ruperts are arriving today with three young children.”

  At the prospect of more kids playing havoc around Buccaneer, the hair rose at the nape of his neck. “She’s probably sitting in the sand, watching the clouds or the seagulls.” Enjoying the last few hours of peace and tranquility. “Since my physio guy insists I need exercise, I’ll take a walk along her running path and bring her back.”

  “Are you sure?” Her gaze traveled to the cane leaning against the dresser. “I’d look for her, but I need to get the rooms ready. I could ask Bill if—”

  “Nonsense.” The suggestion sent discordant vibrations down his spine. “Bill is busy enough without having to search for Miss O’Reilly.”

  “Thank you, Mr. S. You’re a godsend.”

  The woman’s unwarranted trust mystified him. Pondering the impression he had inadvertently made on her, he left the house and trekked along the dirt trail running parallel to the cliff. The exercise loosened his leg muscles and dulled the pain. Every second step, the cane punctuated his footprints with a dot.

  To his right, Buccaneer faded on the horizon.

  “O’Reilly!”

  The waves and the wind carried her name back to his ears. Fifty feet ahead, the trail split. On the left, it slanted downward and disappeared down the cliff. In the other direction, it diverted inland.

  Stopped at the junction, he scanned the open field for any signs of life. He spotted a hawk, a red fox, and smaller birds he couldn’t identify. “Come on, O’Reilly. Where are you?”

  Imprints left by different shoes led in both directions. Before heading inland, he approached the cliff. A treacherous path snaked down onto the ocean. He craned his neck and spotted a narrow beach nestled in the crook of an inlet.

  His heart missed a beat. A body was curled into the fetal position against the rocky wall. “O’Reilly!”

  She snapped her head back, sweeping a mane of red hair off her face.

  “O’Reilly?”

  The waves drowned out the words escaping her lips but not the smile blossoming on her face. She stood up but then stumbled against the wall.

  “Don’t move!” Afraid she’d broken an ankle, he gestured for her to stay put. “I’m coming!”

  Dislodged by his hasty descent, pebbles rolled down the path. The muscles in his legs complained under the additional strain, and unspoken colorful expressions tangled on his tongue with every step he took. The ocean loomed closer. At the next curve, the path disappeared under water.

  Fifteen feet away, O’Reilly sat on the dry sand, her knees tucked against her chest.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” She stood up again. This time, her feet supported her weight, and she appeared healthy enough to return to Buccaneer on her own.

  “Gail is looking for you. You have new guests coming soon. What are you doing here?”

  Her head jerked back, and she frowned. “What does it look like?”

  Befuddled by her peculiar behavior, he shrugged. “I’m not sure. Why don’t you climb up here and tell me?”

  Arms crossed over her chest, she glared at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

  At a loss to understand her refusal, he surveyed the water between them. The sandy bottom lay less than four feet below the surface. “It’s too shallow to drown, O’Reilly. Come.”

  “Are you blind?” She pointed at the rolling waves. “I’m not stepping into this.”

  “Why not?” He scooped a handful of water, letting it seep between his fingers. “A cold dip won’t hurt you.”

  “You’re not funny.” Without budging, she blew her bangs from her eyes. “When they retreat to sea, I’ll climb up.”

  What on earth was she talking about? “O’Reilly, who—” His sight settled on the marine creatures swimming at the surface, and understanding dawned on him. “You’re scared of the jellies?”

  A wave carried a white jellyfish near her foot. She skipped backward. “They sting.”

  Quiet laughter reverberated through his chest. “If you read the vacation brochures you placed in the rooms, you’d know that white moon jellies are harmless. On
ly arctic red jellies sting, and mildly, if I may add.”

  “There are lots of red ones.” With the rising tide, she retreated another step toward the cliff. “The guests aren’t scheduled to show up until supper. I can wait for the jellyfish to swim away.”

  Stubborn woman. “You’re like Rachel, and that’s not a compliment.”

  “Rachel?” Immobile, she’d focused her attention on him. “Who’s Rachel?”

  “A woman I worked with. She wasn’t afraid to tackle beefy drug dealers to the ground or shoot mad dogs, but one day, a rat sneaked inside in the office.” The memory brought a pang of regret to his heart and a smile to his lips. “Rachel jumped on her desk and refused to come down until we captured the rodent.”

  Delicate brows arched over O’Reilly’s luminous green eyes. “Smart woman.”

  “You missed the moral of the story.” From the mischievous expression on her face, he’d say she knew it. “Are you going to make me fetch you?”

  “I don’t need a knight in shining armor.”

  “Too bad.” With the tip of his cane, he dispersed the closest marine specimens before entering the water. Red tentacles extended toward him.

  Fiery bursts shot through his leg.

  ***

  His grandmother stopped sweeping the front veranda of the cottage and welcomed him with a huge hug as soon as Bjorn exited his Jeep.

  “Shouldn’t you be with some rich tourists?” she teased as she grabbed hold of his arm and dragged him into the living room.

  “Well…” He sat beside her on the worn-out couch. On the cushions, the bright yellow flowers of his childhood had faded to a dull beige, and the fabric had thinned to shreds along the seams. For years, his grandmother had mentioned uplifting it with new upholstery but never pursued the idea. “I’m taking time off, Amma.”

  “Why?” Genuine concern radiated from behind his grandmother’s spectacles. “Are you injured?”

  Injured. Heartbroken. Different names but the same lonely feeling.