Adrift Read online

  That provoked a lyrical sigh. “Yes, Meredith. A social encounter requiring heels and a dress. Dare I add a touch of makeup?”

  Considering her current salty state, the whole dress-up scenario sounded ridiculous to Mer. Come to think of it, she wasn’t sure she actually owned a dress. Not much need for one in the Arctic. There was the one she’d worn to her eldest brother’s ordination. It might be stuffed in one of the storage boxes currently collecting dust in her parents’ garage. Maybe. “Now you sound like my mother.”

  “She must be a fascinating woman.”

  The bell above the door jingled and a young woman wearing an “Area 51” T-shirt strode in, her arms overloaded with a large duffel bag. “Hi there!” she said brightly. “Can I speak to the manager?”

  Bijoux stepped forward.

  The woman unzipped the bag and upended a kaleidoscope-colored pile of T-shirts onto the counter. She selected the top one and held it up for inspection. “I’m Starshine, and I’m a textile impressionist.” A ghostly outline surrounded the image of the Spiegel Grove shipwreck on the shirt. “You guys have become the rock stars of the island. Obviously I wanted to give you first crack at this lucrative venture.” She flipped it around. The wording on the back: “I survived the Spiegel Spirit.”

  Words rushed to pour out of Mer’s mouth but jammed somewhere in her throat.

  Bijoux stepped in. “While that is a clever design, I don’t think it’s quite appropriate for our shop,” she said.

  Starshine’s long blond dreadlocks whipped back and forth as she shook her head in denial. “I’ve been following Twitter and Facebook. There are going to be a whole lot more ghost hunters in Key Largo to check out the local wrecks. The sales will be out of this world!”

  “A man is missing.” Mer’s voice sounded hoarse.

  “He’s dead.” Starshine smoothed the wrinkles from one of the shirts on the counter. The movement made the ghostly image appear to float. “The Coast Guard quit their search, and my Aunt Sadie connected with Ishmael over the weekend. He isn’t able to move on.”

  “You can’t possibly know that.” The assertion boggled Mer’s mind. “What gives you the right to come in here and capitalize on another person’s misfortune?”

  “I’m pretty sure he’s not going to mind.” The woman turned away from Mer and appealed to Bijoux. “This is big, it’s going to get bigger, and it isn’t going away anytime soon. You’re a businesswoman. I’m a businesswoman. We can both make some money.”

  “Talk about selling your soul,” Mer muttered under her breath. She returned to the computer and typed in Ishmael’s name, added “San Diego” to her search terms, and hit Return. After an interminable wait, the only thing that came up was tour dates for an eighties band. Wonderful.

  Bijoux lifted one of the T-shirts. “Thank you for thinking of us first. I wish you luck, but I’m not interested.” She handed the bright-pink top back to the woman.

  Starshine folded the shirt, then fumbled in her bag until she found a business card. “For when you change your mind.”

  “Really?” The computer forgotten, Mer grabbed a handful of shirts and stuffed them into the duffel. “How many times does she have to tell you no?”

  Bijoux snagged Mer’s wrist and squeezed. Hard. “Mer, can you get some more waivers from the back while I finish up here?”

  Dismissed. Flames shot into Mer’s face, but she ducked into the back room until she heard Starshine leave, then she returned. “Let me just say I don’t know how some people live with themselves.”

  “Life is full of mystery, Mer. Don’t mock someone because their beliefs differ from yours.”

  “You can’t seriously think that her Aunt Sadie and Ishmael are long-distance cosmic companions?”

  “There is a saying in Haiti that people never truly die,” Bijoux said, staring out the window. The canal glinted below them. “Many Haitians believe that the souls of the newly dead spend a year and a day in water before they are reborn. Once they emerge, you can hear their voices on the wind, or in the echo of your own voice when you call their name. Practitioners of voodoo are irrevocably linked to their ancestors.”

  “I can trace my ancestry to Orvieto, Italy, but they certainly don’t influence my life.”

  Her boss’s voice softened. “That is a shame.”

  “Why? Should I worry that you’re going to stick pins in a Mer doll until I agree?”

  Bijoux drew herself up to her full height and stared down her elegant nose at Mer. “You overstep. Voodoo shares elements and symbolism from many religions and philosophies, including Roman Catholicism. Do not assume that Hollywood depictions of voodoo have any basis in reality.”

  Shame washed over Mer. “I’m sorry.”

  The phone rang.

  “You should get that.” Bijoux swept out of the room.

  Mer shut her eyes even as she answered the phone. She’d insulted her boss. Worse, she’d offended her friend, and with her nomadic life she didn’t have so many that she could afford to alienate the ones she had. She took the caller’s information and made the charter reservation by rote.

  When she was through, she approached Bijoux, who sat at her desk in her office. Files covered the surface and telephone messages scrawled on sticky notes framed her computer in colorful reminders.

  “Bijoux, I’m sorry.” Mer tapped the pen she was holding against her thigh. “I have a hard time understanding things that I can’t dissect and replicate, but that’s no excuse. I was wrong. It won’t happen again.”

  Bijoux sat back in her chair. “Apology accepted. On one condition.”

  Something told Mer she wasn’t going to like Bijoux’s terms.

  Her boss softened her tone. “Take some time off.”

  “Don’t be silly. You need me on the boat.”

  “I need someone I can depend on. I don’t know what happened out there with Starshine, but it was unacceptable.” She held up her hand to stifle Mer’s objection before she could voice it. “You’re stressed. You need sleep. You’re in over your head.”

  Chapter 13

  It only took a moment to determine what to do, and Mer drove to the hotel where the Spirited Divers were staying to find Amber.

  The resort had its own small marina, and each space held a watercraft that was reserved for guests. Paddleboards and kayaks pebbled the shore next to colorfully cushioned lawn chairs. A tiki hut sheltered the bar, and even at ten-thirty in the morning several stools held occupants.

  One of them was Amber, and she was the key Mer needed to locate Ishmael’s family.

  Mer walked up behind her and peered over her shoulder. Amber was sketching a pencil rendering of Ishmael onto a cocktail napkin.

  “That’s really good.” Mer meant it. The likeness was remarkable. Strong strokes, subtle shading.

  Amber dropped her pencil and almost knocked her drink over. “Dr. Cavallo, what are you doing here?”

  “Please, just call me Mer.” She indicated the empty stool next to Amber. “May I?”

  Amber waved the stalk from her Bloody Mary in little circles. “Sure, sure. Whatever.” The celery crunched as she bit into it.

  The bartender slid a coaster in front of Mer and waited for her to get settled.

  “Give her what I’m having. Put it on my tab,” Amber said. Mer started to argue, but Amber slapped her hand on the bar. “I insist.” Only it came out more like “I in-shisht.”

  The sun highlighted the strawberry streaks in Amber’s blond hair. “The sheriffs are done looking for Ishie.” She tucked a stray lock behind her ear.

  Mer nodded. “I heard.”

  “I don’t understand. They found the stupid hydrophone, but they couldn’t find Ishie.”

  Talbot had neglected to mention that last night. “The Coast Guard is still searching though, right?” Mer asked. The weather had cleared. Surely they wouldn’t discontinue their rescue operations already.

  Amber answered with a tired nod. “He’s not dead.”

&
nbsp; The bartender placed a Bloody Mary in front of Mer. A plastic sword skewered three olives and she bit into the lowest one. “I was hoping you could help me with something.”

  “Not according to Lindsey.” The young woman swigged her drink. “According to her, I’m absolutely useless.”

  “Good thing I’m not Lindsey, then.”

  Amber twisted on the barstool so that her body and face all had the same heading. She leaned close to Mer and whispered, “She’s the b-word.” A toxic combination of alcohol and perfume swirled around the young woman. She giggled. “Don’t tell her I said that.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me.”

  She seemed satisfied and took another sip.

  “Maybe you should slow down,” Mer suggested.

  Amber held up her drink as if to toast, then set it on the bar. “Did you know that if you call out to Bloody Mary seven times her ghost will appear and predict the future?”

  “I did not know that.”

  Amber bobbed her head several times. “Yup. When I was a teenager we had a sleepover. You have to walk upstairs backward while holding a mirror and a candle. Then you all sit together in a dark room with only the candle for light and stare at the mirror until you see her face.”

  “There’s an explanation for that. If you stare at a mirror long enough in a dim room, you can trigger hallucinations. You tricked your brain into seeing another face while looking at your own.”

  “Oh, no. We all saw her.” She hiccupped.

  Mer blinked several times, as if the motion could erase the other woman’s naïveté. “Amber, can you tell me how to get in touch with Ishmael’s family?”

  “No.” She signaled the bartender for another drink and pushed the empty glass forward.

  “No, you can’t or no, you won’t?”

  Amber swiped her hair behind her ear again, even though none had fallen out of place. “You’re my friend. If I could, I would totally share that with you.”

  Mer chomped a second olive. “You’ve never met his family?”

  Amber stretched out her left hand and flared her fingers, drawing attention to her engagement ring. “Ishmael says he only needs me.” She lowered her hand. “I asked him about his family. He’s an only child.”

  “Do you know where he grew up?”

  “Maine?” She furrowed her brow and tapped her finger against her nose. “No, wait. Maryland.” She bumped Mer’s shoulder with her own. “I don’t know, one of those M states.”

  Great. That meant Massachusetts, Michigan, Minnesota, Mississippi, Missouri, and Montana were still in the mix. “What about schools, friends, anything?”

  “Why do you wanna know?” She wrapped both hands around the new drink the bartender set in front of her like a child with a sippy cup. “He’s already got a girlfriend.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

  “I was hoping to send flowers to his parents.”

  Amber set her drink down with elaborate care, then crossed her arms on top of the bar and leaned over until the side of her check almost touched her wrists. “That’s sooooo nice! Is it their birthday?”

  A headache formed like storm clouds behind Mer’s eyes, and she pinched the bridge of her nose hoping to alleviate the pressure. “How ’bout we get you back to your room?”

  “Absolutely not. You haven’t even touched your drink. That would be rude.”

  Lifting the glass, Mer sipped the bloodred concoction. Even that had a ghostly connotation. Who knew?

  “You know, if you wait you’ll be able to ask Ishie yourself,” Amber said.

  The probability struck Mer as doubtful, but she didn’t have the heart to argue.

  “Oh! I almost forgot,” Amber said. “Are you going to help finish the documentary?”

  “I didn’t realize you were still moving forward with it.”

  “Of course, he’ll be so happy that the project hasn’t stalled while he’s gone. You should totally help.”

  Bijoux’s rebuke still stung, and Mer studied the little flecks of pepper floating in her drink. “I’m taking a break from the shop for a little bit. Plus, I’m fairly confident Lindsey doesn’t want me anywhere near the project.”

  “That’s too bad. She doesn’t really want to work with me, either, but I’ve got a contract.” Amber raised her glass. “Here’s to a break.”

  They clinked glasses and Mer took a deep pull, almost poking her eye out with the celery stalk. If things kept going at this pace, she would be forced to revise her assessment of Mondays. She removed the celery, splattering a couple of red drops across the bar.

  Lately, more things were missing from her life than filled it. No research, no Ishmael, no camera, and now no job. She really did need a break.

  Her drink took on new appeal. She tipped her head back and drained the glass, the spicy bite warming her throat. “There. Now, let’s get you settled in your room.”

  “Maybe you should talk to Lindsey. She knows a lot.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “More than me.”

  Sitting there in her pink shorts and T-shirt, Amber looked like a lost little girl.

  Mer put her arm around the younger woman’s shoulder, as much to keep her upright as to offer comfort. “Yes, but Ishmael chose you. Always remember that.”

  —

  Amber directed Mer to Lindsey’s room. Even though it was the same hotel, their accommodations were at opposite ends of the property. Probably better that way.

  Mer paced in front of the door a couple of times. Her last interaction with Lindsey had been somewhat south of cordial, and her nerves had chosen this opportunity to dance a jig in her stomach. She had bolstered her courage with another pass, then raised her hand to knock, when the door flew open from the inside.

  Lindsey stood in the doorway. Her eyes widened, then quickly narrowed. “What are you doing here?”

  Mer clutched her hands so they wouldn’t shake. “I was hoping we could talk.”

  “What could we possibly have to talk about?” Impeccably coiffed and wearing a pale-blue sleeveless shirtdress that accentuated her golden tan, Lindsey exuded a level of hauteur that required generations of familial privilege to perfect.

  Uncomfortably aware of her own bedraggled appearance, Mer squared her shoulders. “I’m trying to get in touch with Ishmael’s parents, and I hoped you’d share their address with me.”

  “No, I won’t.” Lindsey clutched the door handle and stepped backward.

  The movement drew Mer’s eyes inside the room. Clothes covered the bed next to an open suitcase. “Are you leaving?”

  Lindsey shifted her body to block Mer’s view. “I don’t see that as any of your concern.”

  “Amber said the documentary was moving forward,” Mer said. “I just thought that you’d be taking over.”

  “Amber.” Her lip curled as if she had a bad taste in her mouth. “There is no documentary without Ishmael, and, thanks to you, there is no Ishmael.”

  “Please.” Mer felt awkward standing in the hallway. “Ishmael’s parents deserve to hear what happened.”

  “Oh, they will. You know, he hasn’t always been perfect, but he really is a good guy.” She caught herself. “I mean was. I guess I need to start talking about him in the past tense now.” Lindsey tilted her head. “Actually, I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “You can save me a trip.” She spun on her delicate sandals and stopped in front of a small desk, then reached into her open briefcase and returned to the doorway holding an envelope. “Here.”

  Mer took the envelope from Lindsey’s outstretched hand.

  “It’s an invitation.” A predatory smile unfurled across the older woman’s face. “I suggest you attend.” She slammed the door.

  Mer gawped at the white envelope in her hand. The return address belonged to a law firm.

  Mondays sucked.

  —

  As the sky darkened over the Atlantic, Mer sat in one of the Adirondack chairs on her patio and watched the light retreat. On the other side of the islan
d, the setting sun would be painting the sky in golds and reds. Mer focused her gaze eastward, but all she saw was Lindsey’s invitation to discuss the impending wrongful-death lawsuit of Ishmael Styx.

  A mosquito landed on Mer’s ankle, and she swatted it a moment too late. Perfect.

  The repetitive slap of someone wearing flip-flops grew louder, and was replaced by three rapid taps on her front door.

  To date, she’d had exactly zero visitors. The security gate kept out all but the invited, and apart from her co-workers she didn’t know anyone in the Keys. She sank lower in her chair. Maybe whoever it was would go away.

  Another three taps. Insistent.

  “Mer?”

  She recognized Fiona’s voice. Of course. Because losing her job and getting sued weren’t enough to round out this peach of a day. Mer slid down farther. It was cowardly, but Emily Post didn’t offer any advice on how to talk to the sister of a man whom one had clobbered.

  But that wasn’t Fiona’s fault. Mer took a deep breath. “I’m back here.”

  Fiona rounded the corner. “I saw your car, so I thought you were here. I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” She held a bottle of wine and two glasses. “Oh, who am I kidding? It doesn’t matter what you’re doing. We should talk.”

  A lump rose in Mer’s throat. She gestured toward the second Adirondack.

  Fiona settled into the chair and put the wine on the small table between them. She wore a delicate green sundress, her copper hair drawn back into a simple ponytail.

  Mer smoothed her wrinkled T-shirt. Maybe there was something to this dress thing.

  “I try to match wine to the drinker.” Fiona pulled the already loosened cork from the bottle and poured two glasses. “I pegged you for a Pinot Gris. Elegant, complicated, dry.”

  Not the first three adjectives Mer would have used to describe herself, and, in light of everything, more charitable than she deserved. She aspired to champagne. Light. Bubbly. Fun at parties. It was a stretch, but what good were goals if they were easy to achieve?

  Fiona passed a glass to Mer. “So. Tell me everything.” Her eyes were blue and guileless. A tiny scar nicked her chin, almost like a dimple.