Adrift Read online

  “The study of banshees and boogeymen?”

  “You’re thinking of folklore and legend. The paranormal is phenomena beyond the scope of scientific explanation. Tonight turned out to be everything Ishmael wanted.”

  “To capture on film,” Selkie amended.

  “The camera!” Mer jumped up. “If the strobe and the shutter were synced, wouldn’t that mean that each time the strobe activated Amber took a photograph?” She stopped and faced Selkie. “Maybe the images will help us figure out what happened.”

  Selkie joined her at the rail. “Should be easy enough to download the memory card.”

  Her shoulders drooped. “It’s in a hundred and thirty feet of water. I’ll have to tell Detective Talbot. It wasn’t flashing by the time we went down on the second dive. The battery must have died.” The last word caught in her throat and her vision blurred with tears. She held her breath, hoping to suffocate the sob building in her chest. She didn’t want to cry. Not now. Not in front of Selkie.

  “I should go,” Mer said, pushing away from the rail.

  “Wait.” He reached for her and his hand touched her elbow.

  She spun. Tears streamed down her face. “I couldn’t find him. I was the safety officer. This is my fault.”

  He drew her close and rested his chin against the top of her head.

  Her body shook with effort as she struggled to keep quiet. She inhaled a jagged breath and a choked sob escaped. “This is all my fault.”

  He stroked her hair. “It’s okay.”

  But it wasn’t.

  The pulse in his neck beat against her forehead, and she tried to match her breaths to his. Tried not to relive the horror of needing a breath and inhaling water instead. Tried not to think of Ishmael. Trapped. Scared. Dying.

  “Let me help you, Mer.”

  She tilted her head. In the lantern light, his eyes were warm with concern. And something else.

  She looked away. “Why?”

  Selkie placed his finger under her chin and lifted until she found herself once more staring into his face. He leaned forward and gently pressed his cheek again hers. She felt the rasp of his emerging beard before he turned slightly and skimmed her lips with his. Electricity pulsed through her body. She was twenty again. Standing on the beach, his arms holding her close, his lips on hers.

  Oh, God.

  She reared back and her hand covered her mouth.

  “Mer?” He reached for her and his eyes shone in the soft light.

  Conflicting emotions from that long-ago summer created a whirlpool that fed on tonight’s confusion and guilt and left her reeling.

  The crack of her palm against his cheek stopped time, and for a moment they just stared at each other.

  “Was that for tonight or a past transgression?” he asked.

  She spun and ran away. From Selkie. From Ishmael. From herself.

  Chapter 9

  A noise woke her. No. Not a noise, a tune. The theme to The Twilight Zone.

  Mer lifted her head. The clock on her nightstand read 6:20. Wonderful. She rolled over and took the heavy down pillow with her, hoping to block out the discordant ditty along with the last twenty-four hours of her life.

  Thirty seconds later, it started again.

  Mer groaned and reached for the cellphone charging next to the clock.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Meredith, are you all right?” Even twenty-four hundred miles of separation hadn’t dulled the frantic edge to her voice.

  “Do you ever look at the clock before calling someone?”

  “I’m your mother and you need to answer the question, young lady.”

  “I’m thirty-three. If I were still young, I’d get carded more.”

  “Meredith Elaina Cavallo.”

  Mer pulled the sheet over her head. “I’m fine.”

  “I had this horrible dream. You were trapped trying to escape something, but everything was dark. I couldn’t see what it was.”

  “It was just a dream. Involuntary images that occur usually during REM sleep. We all have them.”

  “Was it just a dream when I knew Uncle Silas had broken his leg?”

  “Uncle Silas can barely walk, let alone ski. Everyone knew he was going to break his leg.”

  “How many people knew it would be his left one?”

  Mer threw back the sheet in defeat. “The statistical probability of identifying the correct leg is one in two. That doesn’t make you psychic.” Her bare feet landed on tile. Carpet rarely existed in the Keys, except as area rugs and car mats. Too humid.

  “Shouldn’t you be at work?” her mother asked.

  The sun wouldn’t rise for another half hour, but already light edged around the curtain covering the sliding door. Mer drew it back. Beyond her patio, the Atlantic beckoned. The pewter waters would soon warm to turquoise. In less than an hour, the search for Ishmael would resume.

  “I have today off.”

  “Are you going to tell me what’s going on or am I going to have to call your brothers?”

  Mer turned away from the door and stumbled toward the kitchen. She really needed to buy a coffeemaker. “Key Largo is a bit outside of Vito’s jurisdiction, and Franky’s too busy saving souls to worry about the likes of a scientist.”

  “That’s no way to talk about a man of the cloth.”

  Mer grabbed a bottle of orange juice from the refrigerator and poured half a glass. “I’m talking about my brother, who happens to be a priest. Emphasis on the former, not the latter.”

  “I don’t know where you got your sassy mouth from.”

  Mer added mango juice to the OJ. “You.” She put both bottles back in the fridge and nudged it closed with her foot. “Mom, it’s only three-thirty your time. Go back to sleep before you wake Pop.”

  “Your father’s right next to me, worried sick.”

  “We love you, honey.” His voice held a groggy note, and Mer heard the bed creak. He lowered his voice and spoke to her mother. “See, I told you. She’s fine. Hang up the phone.”

  “Just a minute, Meredith.” Her mother muffled the receiver. Mer’s thoughts wandered. Her parents had been married for forty-one years. Her eldest brother, Francis, arrived a shade shy of the traditional nine-month gestation period. Victor followed the next year. Mer was the baby of the family. Both of her brothers had left the nest by the time she turned ten, and, growing up, she’d felt more like an only child.

  “Meredith?” Her mother’s voice jolted her back to the present. “Are you still there?”

  “You mean I could have left?”

  “There’s that sass again. Maybe I shouldn’t tell you that I’ve seen a handsome man enter your life.”

  “You say that every time I talk to you.” She sipped the OJ concoction and wished it tasted more like coffee.

  “He’s someone who can protect you. Maybe law enforcement, or military?”

  “Are you asking me or telling me? Besides, we have Vito. One cop in the family is enough.”

  “I don’t know. Something tells me that you got yourself in over your head and could use some help.”

  How did she do that? Taking her glass with her, she retraced her steps to the bedroom and stepped onto the patio. An iguana skittered off into the rocks, a trail of broken squash blossoms in its wake.

  “I worked a night charter last night on one of the deep wrecks out here. One of the divers didn’t make it out.”

  A slight static noise crackled across the otherwise silent connection. Mer waited while her mother processed this.

  “Were you with this diver?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re truly okay?”

  More light brightened the sky, but it didn’t chase away the shadows dogging Mer. Grass tickled her feet as she left the shelter of the patio and curled into one of the two Adirondack chairs facing the water. “I’m sad.”

  The line went silent again. Neither rushed to fill it.

  “When you’re ready, I’ll be here,
” her mother finally said.

  Gratitude washed over Mer. “I know.”

  “And, honey? Things like this tend to get worse before they get better. Do you want me to consult the tarot cards for you?”

  “Uh, no. Thanks.” But another thought niggled. “Mom, have you ever done something that seemed right at the moment only to have it go horribly wrong?”

  “Oh, honey. We all have. It’s how you move forward that defines you.”

  Mer chewed on that a moment. “Tell Pop I love him. You, too, Mom.”

  They said their goodbyes, and for a long moment Mer just stared out across the waves. The plaintive coo of a mourning dove interrupted her musing and a slight breeze prompted a thrum of urgency in the palms.

  A noise on the neighboring balcony alerted her to another early riser.

  The tank top and shorts she slept in covered more than the bathing suit she wore at work, yet she felt exposed. Vulnerable. She brushed her fingertips across her lips. Imagined the slight pressure of last night’s kiss. A low groan escaped her. She’d wanted Selkie to kiss her. Wanted more than a kiss. She closed her eyes. Heard the slap. How virtuous of her. How hypocritical.

  The rising sun painted the cloudy sky red, a portent of rain. She stood to return inside. A movement on the balcony caught her eye.

  Selkie leaned against the railing. Their eyes locked. Stubble shadowed his face. The confusion she’d read in his eyes last night had been replaced by something else, something inscrutable, and she experienced a sense of loss, although she couldn’t say of what.

  Mer remained absolutely still, willing him to say something. Anything.

  Selkie lifted the mug in his hand in a mock toast, then turned and walked away.

  Her mouth pressed into a tight line. I want to help you. It sounded ridiculous, and she berated herself for falling for it. He was probably drinking good coffee, too. Bastard.

  She strode across the lawn and into her home. The empty kitchen counter mocked her.

  Coffee. She needed coffee.

  Stomping into the bathroom, she ran a comb through her tangles, brushed her teeth, and pulled on an outfit that required a bra. It felt odd not wearing a bathing suit.

  Her car keys dangled from a hook that hung beneath a shellacked starfish. Sand and shells decorated the table lamp. Everything around her smacked of the ocean, as if her very life were underwater.

  She needed air.

  —

  The lines that tethered the LunaSea to the dock strained and groaned. The only souvenir of last night’s emergency was a latex glove that lay discarded on the deck. She picked it up and threw it in the trash can next to the picnic table, then sat down.

  The sun had crested the horizon but stayed hidden behind a barrier of clouds.

  A diesel rumble grew louder, announcing Leroy’s arrival. His Ford truck had the equivalent of a two-pack-a-day wheeze. Footsteps crunched across the gravel parking lot toward her location.

  “I figured I’d find you here,” Leroy said.

  She kept staring at the canal. “You probably don’t want to get caught associating with me.”

  “I think I’m old enough to pick my own friends.” He handed her one of the two cups of coffee he held. “I put extra sugar in yours. Figured you could use it.”

  The cup warmed her hand. “I kissed a man last night.”

  Leroy took the stir stick from his cup and tapped it against the rim. “When’d you find the time?”

  “Killed one man and kissed another.” She shook her head. “What’s wrong with me?”

  He sat on the tabletop, his heels on the bench next to Mer. “You want the full or the quick version?”

  A pelican dropped from the sky and used the canal as a runway, landing in front of them with a splash.

  “The summary version is fine. I can extrapolate the rest.”

  “That brain of yours runs too quick. You think you got things all figured out when you don’t even have all the info. No one knows what happened to Ishmael, so quit volunteering for blame.”

  “He was right next to me.”

  “And then he went into the ship. The same ship you told him plain as day not to enter. You can’t fix stupid, Mer.”

  “That’s the thing. I’d never label Ishmael as stupid. Creepy and arrogant, maybe—but not stupid.”

  Leroy chomped the tiny straw. “Bijoux gave you the day off. Why are you here?”

  The question caught her off guard. She shrugged.

  He bumped the side of his knee against her shoulder. “It’s Sunday, Mer, but this ain’t church.”

  Mer stared at the pelican drifting toward the LunaSea. It arched back and flapped its mottled wings several times before generating enough lift to leave the water. “The Coast Guard search started at first light.”

  They’d use a cutter from the Islamorada Station and an aircrew dispatched from Miami, but even factoring in wind and current data Ishmael was one man in a very large ocean.

  “If he’s out there, they’ll find him,” Leroy said. “The Sheriff’s Office closed the water around the Spiegel until they’re finished poking around.”

  “For all we know, the Coast Guard has already located him and he’s safe and sound.” She removed the lid from her coffee and passed her stir stick to Leroy. The earthy scent soothed her frazzled nerves.

  He dropped the thin straw into his pocket. “I’ve never known you to run from the facts.”

  “You just told me not to jump to conclusions.” She raked her hand through her hair and flipped the mass over her shoulder.

  “If your cat had kittens in the doghouse, does that make them puppies? I didn’t tell you to disregard what you knew; I told you not to speculate on what you didn’t.” Leroy slid off the table and stood in front of her. “Ishmael lost his mask in the wreck. It won’t be the Coasties who find him.”

  She knuckled her forehead, trying to banish the implication of his words. “I forgot to tell Talbot that the camera’s still on the bottom.”

  “I’ll tell him.” He cleared his throat. “Amber wanted to be there. That deputy from last night okayed me taking her out. I’ll let you know what happens.”

  “I want to go.”

  “Can’t.”

  “Why not?” she asked.

  “Short answer is deputy’s orders. You can figure out the longer version yourself.”

  Mer fell silent for a bit, chewing on the possibilities. Amber probably didn’t want to see her. Lindsey definitely didn’t want to see her. Detective Talbot had the authority to keep her from a potential crime scene, and apparently had no reservation about exercising said authority.

  Well, then. She’d just have to get her information another way.

  Chapter 10

  The shop overflowed with divers all crowding the counter as they filled out their waivers and checked in for the sold-out morning charter. Bijoux flitted between groups, pointing out where to sign, verifying certification cards, taking payments.

  Mer slid behind the cash register, ignoring her boss’s look of surprise. “Yell at me later,” she whispered, and then smiled at the crowd. “Who’s next?”

  The hubbub lasted until the last dive group left the shop. Then Bijoux leaned back against the counter, crossed her arms, and regarded Mer.

  The woman’s scrutiny unnerved Mer, and she compulsively clicked the pen in her hand. “For the record, I’m okay if you don’t yell at me.”

  Bijoux remained silent.

  Mer looked beyond her boss to the poster of the Spiegel Grove and sighed. “I can’t stay home.”

  Bijoux considered her a moment longer, and then gave a curt nod. “It’s going to be a busy day. Are you okay if I leave you here for about a half hour while I go to Starbucks?”

  “You’re going for coffee. Of course I am.” Mer closed the reservation book.

  Bijoux’s bracelets jingled as she collected the stray pens and stuck them in a cup. “You look like you could use some sleep.”

  “All t
he more reason to get coffee. I’m fine. Go.” Mer shooed her boss toward the door and followed her onto the outside landing. “I’ll get a jump on the afternoon manifest.”

  Once Bijoux was gone, Mer leaned against the railing overlooking the canal. The clouds had darkened but failed to temper the heat. A tropical storm was forming in the Caribbean. The third of the season. Depending on which weather model you believed, it had potential to make landfall in the Carolinas. But not for days. Even so, Key Largo had its own wind, which grabbed her hair. It’d be bouncy on the reef. She hoped Amber wouldn’t get seasick.

  A news van pulled into the parking lot. Mer tipped her head back and exhaled. Like ants, where there was one, there’d be more.

  The female reporter checked her makeup in the visor mirror, then slid from the passenger seat. Wendy Wheeler. She wore a chic linen sheath dress and high heels, and picked her way across the dusty gravel. A cameraman trailed behind her, looking far more comfortable in his shorts and hiking boots.

  The reporter paused at the base of the steps, shading her gaze with her hand as she eyed Mer on the landing. Her partner hoisted the camera onto his shoulder. A red light blinked on.

  Without acknowledging Mer, the reporter spun to face the camera. “I’m Wendy Wheeler at the Aquarius Dive Shop, where last night a ghost-hunting team of divers discovered more than they bargained for. Has one of the hunters joined the hunted? Let’s find out.” She moved toward Mer. “Excuse me!”

  For a moment, Mer couldn’t move. Her limbic system debated the virtues of fight or flight for a nanosecond before deciding that flight was the far better option. She hit the door of the shop at a run and took refuge behind the counter.

  The click-clack of high heels on the outside stairs sounded like doom—that is, if doom arrived in the body of a five-foot-two dynamo wielding a microphone.

  There wasn’t enough coffee in the world to deal with this.

  The bell above the door tinkled its pathetic warning, and, just like that, Mer was trapped. “Welcome. Interested in diving?”

  Wendy spoke into the microphone. “Our viewers are very interested in the mysterious disappearance of Ishmael Styx.” She thrust the microphone into Mer’s face.