Kingdom by the Sea (Romantic Suspense) (26 page)

Both
she and Zack turned back. 

Clutching
the iron railing, Michael said, “I don't think I can do it.”  He tried not to
sound like a pussy—of course it was hard not to when you were faking vertigo on
a ten foot drop.   

“What's
wrong?” Nicole said.  “Dizzy?”

“Yeah. 
You go on up.  I'll wait down here.”

“Really?”
Zack said, obviously surprised.  “That's a first.”

Michael
backed down the steps until his feet hit the hard concrete floor.  “I don't do
good with heights.  It's okay, you two go.”

Nicole
said, “All right, if you're sure.  We won't be too long.” 

When
she continued to climb the stairs, Hyat reluctantly followed.  He probably
thought it was weird, but at the same time, it wasn't like there was any
obvious “mischief” someone could be up to at the base of the tower.  The space
appeared, for the most part, desolate and bare. 

When
the two had reached the top and stepped into the lantern room, Michael busied
himself.  Occasionally, he heard snippets of Nicole's conversation with Hyat,
echoing down below.   Snippets like: “Wow...what a view...”  And: “How often
does the Coast Guard give tours?”  And he could hear Hyat's voice saying things
like: “You can see Stage Harbor Light from here.”  And: “Down there is
Monomoy
Island
.  It's a
wildlife preserve now, closed to the public.”

For
the most part, Michael stayed focused on his search.  But Jesus, it was
disappointing.  Austere was a fancy term for this hole.  To the right of the
staircase was a brass bin of some kind.  It was fluted, standing a foot tall
and thickly tarnished.  When Michael looked inside of it, he found nothing
except a gauzy net of cobwebs.  With one hand he tried to lift the bin, but it
wouldn't budge.  With two hands he pulled again to see what was underneath.  It
finally gave with a sharp scrape on the concrete.  He winced.  Waited. 
Listened.

Nothing. 

Relieved,
he proceeded.  Bending down, he tipped up the barrel and took a look.  Vaguely,
he could make out a black ring etched on the cement, but when he ran his hand
over the surface, all he felt was solid cement.  No give, no change in texture,
no cracks.  No leads here.

Carefully
he set the bin back down.  He had to move quickly.  The intermittent thrum of
voices above him didn't do much to set him at ease.  Who knew how long Hyat's
lighthouse spiel was?  He and Nicole could start making their way down the
steps any second. 

Quietly,
Michael walked the perimeter of the tower's base, feeling the wall for any
loose bricks.  He'd swear he felt every Goddamn brick within his reach. 
Nothing loose.  Nothing less than rock-solid.  Out of desperation, he looked
down, up, and around.  Christ, there was nothing here!  Patterned with tiny
holes, the iron stairs looked like starched black lace, but they might as well
have been Swiss cheese.  They held no compartments, no hidden depths—no
treasure.

Seeing
how vigilantly the Coast Guard watched the grounds, he realized now, it would
be impossible for someone to bury anything near the lighthouse without being
spotted.  Sneaking an item into the actual tower would be the only viable way
to hide something here.

He
heard footsteps on the stairs.

Quickly,
Michael assumed a casual, almost bored posture against the wall.  “How was it?”
he said when Nicole reached the last step. 

“Beautiful...” 

“Too
bad you got scared,” Hyat added.  “Helluva view up there.” 
Hate this guy
,
Michael thought wryly, but mustered a bland smile. 

As
they left the tower, Nicole's eyes locked with his.  In her gaze was a
question.  She must have understood his purposeful gaze back, because her mouth
pursed and her shoulders slumped.  “Nothing?” she said once they were off Coast
Guard grounds and walking on a quiet, leaf-covered sidewalk. 

“Nope.”

“Shoot! 
So what now?”

“Not
sure,” Michael admitted.  “But no one ever said treasure hunting was easy.”

“Let's
stop in here,” Nicole suggested a few minutes later, as they approached a
gold-trimmed awning that read,
The Coffee Cake Cafe. 
In the spirit of
Halloween, little orange lights twinkled all around the window. 

He
pulled open the door for her.  “How come?  You hungry?”

“No,
but I need to think.  And I prefer coffee with my thinking.”

***

“Caleb's
Pub.”

“Who
am I speaking with?”

“Caleb
Irish, who's this?”

“Afternoon,
Mr. Irish, my name is Officer Zack Hyat.  I'm with the Chatham Coast Guard,
Chatham
Massachusetts
.”  Caleb said
nothing, just waited.  “Sir, are you aware that a boat registered to your name
is currently docked on
Chatham
waters?”

“Ah,
yeah,” Caleb said, then corrected himself.  “What I mean is, I loaned it out,
so I'm not sure exactly where it is at the moment.”

“You
loaned it,” Officer Hyat repeated.

“My
son loans it out to his friends,” Caleb said simply.  “Never had a problem.”

“I
see.  And is one of his friends a Michael King?”

Casually,
Caleb replied, “Could be.  Sounds familiar.  Like I said, the boat's been
loaned out.  Is there a problem?”

“No...no
problem.  But...sometimes when there is a new boat in the area, we just run the
ID numbers as a precaution.  If anything seems amiss, you know, we follow up to
make sure it's not a stolen vessel.”

“Oh,
I see,” Caleb said, though he knew full well.  “I certainly appreciate that. 
But like I said, it's not stolen.”

“I
see.”  Officer Hyat sounded kind of stumped.  “Well, that's good to hear,” he
said finally.

“Thanks
again.”

The
phone hit the receiver with a clatter.  “Goddamn it, Mike,” Caleb muttered to
himself, as he swiped the bar with a damp cloth.  “What are you in now?”

That
afternoon Nicole found herself at Tinsdale, plagued by the feeling that she was
missing something obvious.  She flipped through Josiah Hardy's diary again,
looking for a clue from Aunt Nina that perhaps she had not caught before.  After
she set the diary aside, she reached for a thick bound folder; she peeled the
band off it with an audible snap and began leafing through the papers inside. 
After re-reading everything that was stacked on the table, she released a sigh
and slumped in her chair.

What
was she missing here?  Was she chasing a ghost?  Believing that her aunt had
concocted some message for her—some puzzle for her to decipher—simply because
she liked that idea better than the far more prosaic concept that Nina was just
gone. 

Depressing
. 

But...what
if it were true?  There had to be a key piece of logic that was eluding her. 

Just
then Ginger stepped upstairs, hugging two heavy volumes, close to her bosom. 
Hopping to her feet, Nicole called after her, “Ginger, wait up...”  As Nicole
jogged to her, Ginger managed a hesitant smile that appeared a bit like a dent
in a squishy ball.  “Do you have a second?”

“Yes,
I suppose so,” Ginger replied, though she sounded uncomfortable, almost
trapped.  “How's the research going?”

“Fine. 
Listen, I was wondering...”

“I
don't want to pressure you, but Hazel's getting concerned—since the Harvest
Parade is tomorrow.” 

“Yes,
Hazel's three phone messages to that effect made the point.  But please don't
worry, because I’m going to drop off my part of the time line by lunchtime
today.   I'll leave it in your mailbox?”

“Oh,
wonderful!”

“No
problem, I'm actually done but I've been...preoccupied.  I'm sorry.”  Ginger
started to turn, but Nicole reached to still her arm—then pulled back so as not
to scare the woman.  “Um, but I was wondering,” Nicole began again, “did my
aunt specifically ask Hazel to pass this project on to me?” 

“Yes,
I think so.  Hazel said they spoke about it a couple of months ago.  Nina had
mentioned that she was feeling a bit weak, and she hoped to have you down for a
visit soon anyway, so you would probably help her finish.  I'm not really sure
what she had in mind.” 

Same
here
,
thought Nicole.  “Right, that makes sense...but one question.  When I started
this, you said I was finishing what Nina had already started—that the materials
left for me were items that Nina had
not
gone through yet.”

“I
tried to separate as best I could, so you wouldn't be doing double work...”

Impatiently,
Nicole cut her off.  “Do you still have the research materials that Nina went
through before I came?”

Thoughtfully,
Ginger scrunched her pudgy brow.  “You know, it's funny you mention it.  Most
of the items your aunt used were on interlibrary loan and were already
returned.  But there was one book that was part of our collection here.  I
re-shelved it.  Truthfully, I'm not sure why it was on the table; it didn't
seem to have anything to do with the lighthouse.” 

“Could
you show me?”

Sucking
in a breath, Nicole tried not to betray her anxiousness as Ginger led the way,
deep in the stacks.  She set down the volumes she'd been carrying, and reached
up on her toes to pull down a hefty red book.  The title was imprinted across
it in bold cursive:
The Mary Celeste & Other Mysteries of the Bottomless
Sea
.  “Thanks!” Nicole said, reaching for it, her stomach tight. 

But
Ginger held onto it.  “Nicole...can I talk to you?”

Now?
 
“Oh...sure...about what?” 

“About
what you saw the other day.”

“Okay...”
Nicole managed, trying to be supportive—even as her fingers itched to take the
book.  She didn't want to be like a snapping turtle and snatch the book right
from Ginger's hand.  “But what specifically are you talking about?” 

“You
know, in the office.  Me...Betna...”  Ginger dropped her gaze, looking a bit guilty. 

“Oh. 
But I really didn't see anything,” Nicole assured her.  It was true anyway. 
What had even happened?  She tried to recall exactly.  Let's see, Betna had
bolted out of the office and Ginger had hurried after her.  For some reason,
Nicole hadn't thought too much about it.  (Either self-absorption or puzzle
fever.)

“Betna
and I are extremely close, as you can probably tell,” Ginger explained.

“Sure,
I understand,” Nicole said, nodding, eying the book, trying not to be too
obvious that her interest lay there, and not with Ginger and Betna.  “She seems
nice,” Nicole added insipidly.

“She
is!  She's a
wonderful
person, Nicole.”  Ginger's gentle voice nearly
oozed the words, and then she added, “I hope you understand...” 

Understand
what?  Wait, was she trying to tell her that she and Betna were more than
friends?  Was that what all this was about?  Oh, please—who cared?  Nicole
needed to look at that book! 

Unfortunately,
at the moment, Ginger was hugging it like a teddy bear and continuing her musings. 
“I've known Betna for about five years now.  She's the best friend I could ever
ask for.”

“Mmm-hmm,
well that's great...um...do you mind if I look at that book?” 

“Do
you have a friend like that?” Ginger went on, obliviously.  “A best friend? 
Someone who means the world to you?  Who you would do anything for?”

“Um,
my sisters,” Nicole answered honestly.  “I'd do anything they needed me to do.”

With
a hint of amusement—or was it bitterness?—Ginger gave a brief laugh and shook
her head.  “I wish I could say that.  But I can't.  I may have sisters,
technically.  But all I really have, close to my heart, is Betna.”  Jeez, this
was getting heavy.  Nicole didn't want to be unkind by demanding Ginger release
the book already and go continue this conversation with someone else. 

At
the same time—how much more unburdening was the woman planning to do?  The book
was mere inches away.  Impatiently, Nicole tried not to look as distracted as
she felt. 

“Do
you understand what I am trying to say?” Ginger pressed.  “I'm not that good at
expressing myself.”

“No,
no—I mean, no, you're fine—and yes, I understand.”  Ginger waited, it seemed,
for more elaboration.  “I'm surprised, though, only because you and Hazel seem
close…”

“Yes,
I suppose after all these years we complement each other well enough.  Of
course I love her dearly.  But Hazel is a very strong-willed individual, as you
can probably tell.”  While Nicole always enjoyed a good euphemism for the
B-word, now just wasn’t the time.  “And Hazel is far from the most
understanding
woman,” Ginger droned on.  “So many nights I’ve gone up to the attic and just
paced.  Thought how I can enjoy life and please Hazel at the same time.  If she
knew how close Betna and I really were...”