Sam remembered that Vanessa had told him Norm’s boat was still in the harbor. So why didn’t he take it with him? Probably because he was planning on coming back. Or he left against his will.
6
Jude’s rusty brown Ford pickup rolled to a stop at the end of the sandy driveway. He had contacted a family friend who had a spare mattress and the two men had driven over to pick it up.
Sam sat in the passenger seat and looked through the trees at the large Cape Cod home with weathered gray shingle siding and white trim. They had only driven a few miles from Vanessa’s house, but the roads were rough and unpaved and Jude had to drive so slow it had taken them nearly twenty minutes to make the quick trip. Sam had tried to pass the time with small talk but Jude wasn’t much of a talker. Finally, rather than make another unanswered comment, Sam decided to sit quietly and endure the trek in awkward silence.
Almost feeling suffocated by the silence, Sam jumped out of the truck as soon as it came to a stop.
“Jude?” a woman’s voice called out.
Sam spun around, startled, to see a woman in her mid-30s walking toward him from the large house. She was waving at Jude, who was stepping out of the other side of the truck. Sam couldn’t help but notice her warm, blue eyes and the way her nose crinkled when she smiled. She had an air of casualness about her that immediately put Sam at ease.
She walked over to Jude and gave him a hug.
“This must be your bedless friend,” she said, looking at Sam.
Sam stepped toward her and extended his hand. “I’m Sam Lawson.”
She pushed his hand away.
“Sorry, I’m a hugger,” she said as she gave Sam a gentle hug. Her body felt soft and Sam took in the fresh, clean scent of her hair.
“I’m Jane Caplan,” she said. “But I bet you’re more interested in my bed.”
Sam stammered, unsure what to say, causing Jane to laugh. She slapped his arm.
“Relax,” she said, walking past him toward the house.
Sam looked at Jude, who shrugged his shoulders in response.
Jane pointed to a smaller home across a walkway from her house.
“You’re lucky,” she said over her shoulder as she walked toward the cottage. “Normally, I’ve already rented the space out. And the mattress kind of comes with the place. But I haven’t had time to clean it out completely.”
Sam followed Jane down the thin, sandy path to the cottage. Jane opened the door and sighed with relief.
“Thank God it’s open,” she said.
They stepped into a small kitchen which opened up into a single large room. It was filled with several paintings in progress. The canvases were either on easels or leaned against the walls. A large wooden cart filled with a huge assortment of tubes of paints sat in the middle of the room.
Jude had told Sam that Jane was an artist and her paintings and sculptures could be found all over town. Sam looked around the room, wondering what pile of paintings were hiding the mattress.
“I put it in the storage room just out back,” Jane said, walking through a sliding glass door to the back porch. “I didn’t want to get paint all over it.”
Jude and Sam followed Jane out the door toward a small storage shed that connected to the cottage. Jane was already at the door, shaking the padlock.
“Oh, shit,” she said to herself before turning around red-faced. “I was really hoping I forgot to lock it.”
Sam nodded, putting the situation together quickly.
“And you don’t have the key,” he said.
“I do have it,” Jane said. “I just don’t know where it is. But I will find it. I promise.”
She walked back to the two men and led them back into the studio.
“Let me look around,” she said. “I’m sure I can find it.”
“We could help you look,” Sam offered, wanting to speed up the delay.
“Don’t be silly,” she laughed. “Besides, Lord knows what you’d find if you started digging around. You might get bit.”
Jane laughed. It was a soft, earthy laugh.
“I adore your accent,” she said. “I can’t believe I’ve got a real Texas cowboy in my studio.”
Sam bristled at the stereotype. People always assume that if you’re from Texas, then you must be a cowboy. Granted, he was wearing cowboy boots. But that was because they looked cool. Sam had always considered himself more rock-and-roll than country and western. And even though he lived in a smaller city now, he had worked homicide in Houston for over a decade. Still, Jane had said it playfully, so he let it roll off with a smile.
Jude cleared his throat, reminding Jane that he was also in the room.
“Oh, I love the way you talk, too,” Jane said to him. “Don’t go getting jealous.”
Jude started to protest, but Jane was already walking to the door of the studio.
“Here’s what I will do,” she said. “I’ve got an air mattress I can loan you. It’s got a tiny leak, but it’s a decent backup. But I’ll probably find my key in no time and I’ll text you to come get it. That sound okay?”
Sam nodded. Unless Jude or Vanessa offered another option, it didn’t look like he had much of a choice.
“Follow me to the house,” she said, as she stepped out the front door of the studio. “I’ll get the air mattress and you can give me your phone number.”
7
It was late evening as Sam drove up Old Country Road, the main artery that connected Chilmark to the bigger towns of Vineyard Haven and Oak Bluffs.
Vanessa had told Sam that Norm had taken his car when he left, but he also had an old work truck that Sam could borrow while he was on the island. Sam had left behind his old work truck. She told Sam he could borrow it while he was on the island and he was more than happy to take her up on the generous offer.
The blue ’82 Jeep J10 pickup truck had the classic boxy frame and front grill of an old Jeep and the large bed of an old Ford. Its dark blue exterior was accented with patches of rust that only added more character. However, when Sam had opened the door, he was thrown back by the pungent smell of dead fish.
Vanessa had managed a melancholy laugh. “Welcome to the smell of my husband after being out to sea for a couple of days,” she said. “Just be thankful it’s not late summer.”
She assured him the smell was worse than usual because the windows had been rolled up. She suggested he keep the windows open and it would probably air out pretty quick. Sam just hoped the smell wouldn’t stick to his clothes. Then again, maybe it would help him fit in as one of the locals.
He was driving to a tavern that Vanessa had recommended. He would rather be spending his first evening on the island with Carla, but she had already promised to take Vanessa to a poetry reading at the Vineyard Haven bookstore. It was something her sister had been looking forward to, and Carla thought the distraction would do her sister good. Anything to get her mind off of her husband’s disappearance.
She had invited Sam to come with them, but he had politely declined. He’d sooner get a root canal than listen to someone read poetry for an hour.
Carla had offered that she and her sister could maybe meet up with him later, but Sam could see by the look on Vanessa’s face that she had no intention of going to a bar after a night of poetry. So Sam was on his own. The first night of his romantic vacation was going to be spent alone at a bar.
Sam spotted an open barstool and pulled up a seat at the large bar that took up one side of the tavern. He looked around, taking in his surroundings. The main room was narrow, with the bar on one side and a small raised bandstand on the other. While no band was currently playing, a drum set, some electric guitars and some amps were set up, probably for a later show. Behind the bandstand was a half wall - about four feet high - and on the other side of it was a second, larger room with lots of round wooden tables and folding chairs. Sam turned back around to face the bar. He noticed the hand-printed sign with the name of the tavern: THE DIVE IN. Sam smirked. F
rom the cheap furnishings and casual atmosphere, the place more than lived up to its name.
“What can I get you, Hon?” the bartender said in a smoky voice.
Sam ordered a beer and watched as the bartender danced her way to the tap. Probably in her mid to late 40s, she had bleached blonde hair and was dressed in jeans and a ripped black T-shirt that revealed a collection of tattoos on her arms and bare shoulders. She had a badass vibe about her that made Sam think she was either in a heavy metal band or a motorcycle gang.
She brought the beer over to Sam and asked if he wanted to start a tab. Sam handed her a credit card and asked for a menu. The bartender smiled as Sam spoke.
“I know that accent. You’re from Texas,” she said. “Our first Texan of the season.”
Sam nodded and smiled politely.
“Yep,” he said sheepishly. “That’d be me.”
“First one’s on the house, Tex,” she said as she tapped the bar with her long black fingernails.
Sam noticed she wore a lot of rings - skulls, crosses and a large silver ring with a shiny black stone. Several black rubber bracelets adorned one wrist and a dainty diamond tennis bracelet graced the other.
“Thank ya kindly, ma’am,” Sam said, raising his beer, and pouring his Texas accent on thick.
The bartender motioned for him to wait as she poured herself a beer. They clinked glasses and drank.
“I’m Cicilie,” the bartender said. “Most people just call me Cici.”
Sam threw back the rest of his beer.
“Nice to meet you, Cici,” he said with a smile. “I am ready for another.”
Cici nodded in approval and got him a new beer.
“Welcome to The Dive In, Ready-For-Another,” she said.
8
Jane toggled the switch on the back of a large halogen work light and the entire studio lit up like a construction site.
She had spent a good hour looking for the padlock key and had all but given up hope. She had been getting dressed for a date when she had a thought that the key could still be in the studio. When she got in a “painting state”, as she liked to call it, she wouldn’t really notice anything else. It was possible that she had the key in the studio and had sat it down somewhere.
Her fixation on finding the key was fueled partially by feelings of guilt for not delivering on her promise to the nice Texan, and partly a way to deal with her nervous energy. She needed to have a serious conversation with her boyfriend and she was not looking forward to it.
She sifted through canvases as she played out the conversation in her head when something caught her attention from outside. She looked through the large sliding glass door into the woods that separated the studio from her house. The sun had already set, but there was still just enough light to create a mosaic of shadows among the trees.
Jane squinted to see past the reflection of the large shop light. She slid open the glass door to get a better look.
She stared into the shadows, looking for any sign of movement or life. She could have sworn she saw something.
“Hello?” she called out into the woods. “Anyone there?”
The snap of a branch came from the trees to her right and she spun around. It wasn’t unusual to see a small deer this time of year, but Jane’s voice would have typically scared them off.
A shadow seemed to move in the distance. Or was it just the trees swaying in the evening breeze? Jane’s heart beat faster. Something didn’t feel right.
“Who’s there?” she demanded, this time more forcibly.
She stepped back into the studio and slowly slid the door shut. The spotlight created such a huge reflection that she couldn’t see out, but if anyone was outside, they could clearly see her. She kept walking backwards, not taking her eyes off the door until she reached the light stand. With one hand, she flipped the toggle, turning off the light.
Feeling less exposed, her fear subsided and she rationalized the movement to an animal or the wind. Still, she decided to hold off on looking for the key until tomorrow morning, when there was more light. She wanted to get back to her house before it was completely dark.
She walked back through the studio, using her hand along the walls to guide her. Then, just as she reached the front door, a memory hit her. She smiled and shook her head as she reached up and felt along the top ridge of the door trim. Sure enough, there was the key. Right where she now remembered leaving it. She laughed to herself. It wasn’t the first time she had hid something for safekeeping, only to forget where she hid it. If she ever sold her house, Lord knows what treasures the new owners would eventually find.
Fueled by her victory, Jane opened the door to the cottage. And immediately let out a terrifying scream.
A man stood in the shadows less than three feet in front of her. Jane gasped and took a step backwards. The man stepped forward out of the shadows and laughed.
“Holy shit! I scared you to death,” he laughed.
It was John Rowe. Jane’s boyfriend.
“You asshole!” Jane yelled, trying to catch her breath.
“I’m sorry, Baby,” John said, stepping into the studio and reaching out to comfort her. Jane batted him away.
“You enjoyed it,” she said, starting to calm down.
John smiled. He knew better than to say anything else. Jane looked at him and eventually smiled. It was hard for her to stay mad at him. John casually ran his fingers through his medium-length brown hair, revealing hazel eyes that were unnervingly intense. In his early 40s, John was tall and lean, with broad shoulders and rugged good looks. He looked good for his age but didn’t spend a lot of time on his appearance. He was what he was. Without apology. That’s one of the things Jane liked about him.
“Sorry I’m early,” he finally said. “Just anxious to see you I guess.”
Jane punched him in the arm for good measure and then led him out of the studio, locking the door behind her.
9
Sam shook his head.
“I swear to you. I never have,” he said.
Cici laughed. “You mean to tell me you’ve never ever worn a cowboy hat?”
“That’s not what you asked,” Sam corrected. “You asked if I ever owned a cowboy hat.”
Cici, along with a couple of other customers, had been playfully teasing Sam about Texas stereotypes.
“So, what? You rent them?” Cici asked.
“Yeah,” Sam answered. “When I need one, I just hop on my horse that I keep tied up to the oil well in my backyard.”
Ed, an older man sitting four stools down from Sam chimed in.
“I thought you just drove your pickup.”
Sam nodded as he gulped down a bite of the burger he had ordered. “That part is true. We do all drive trucks. It’s a state law.”
Sam always felt at home in a bar, and tonight was no exception. While he would still rather be with Carla, he was slightly relieved when she had texted him that she and her sister were going to grab a quiet dinner at a local restaurant and wouldn’t be home for another hour or two. That was just enough time for Sam to catch a little bit of the band before meeting them back at the house. On top of that, Jane had texted him that she had found the key to her storage shed and suggested he come by the next morning to get the mattress.
Considering his work done for the day, Sam turned his attention back to his new friends, who had all turned their attention to the band that had taken the stage.
There were three guys and one woman — all in their 40s and 50s — who looked like they just got off the late shift at a local factory. But they handled their instruments with the confidence of people that had been doing this for a long time. The guitarist, a tall man with short gray hair let loose with a loud, blues riff. The drummer, who looked younger than the rest of the band, adjusted the snare with a series of beats. The woman, looking more like an old-fashioned schoolteacher than a musician, tuned her bass seriously. The guitarist counted to five as he set the volume on the mic, then looked
at the bartender.
“We’re ready when you are, Your Highness,” he said into the mic.
The bar, which had become pretty crowded in the two hours that Sam had been there, erupted in applause. Sam was surprised to see Cici walk around the end of the bar and step up on the bandstand. The guitarist slid the mic stand in front of her and she adjusted it to her height.
“Thanks for coming out tonight to The Dive In,” she yelled. “You ready to rock it up?”
The place exploded in cheers again.
“This one’s for our new friend, Tex,” Cici said, pointing at Sam. He raised his beer glass in appreciation and the band kicked into a rousing version of a ZZ Top song. The band was tight and Cici’s voice was raw and soulful. Sam looked over at Ed, who was also getting into the music.
“She’s good!” Sam yelled to Ed.
“Don’t you know who she is?” Ed yelled back. “That’s Cici Kovak.”
Sam instantly recognized the name. Cici Kovak was a rocker in the early 80s, kind of a cross between Joan Jett and Chrissie Hynde. She had black hair then, which is probably why Sam didn’t recognize her. But he remembered her growling songs and music videos that were half sexy and all attitude. And here she was on stage in front of him. She’d even been serving him drinks! Sam soaked in the whole scene, grinning ear to ear like a kid on Christmas morning. This had turned out to be quite a night. He looked around to see if everyone else was enjoying the show as much as he was and he noticed the something caught his eye out the front door, which was propped open to let in fresh air.
A woman stepped out of a restaurant across the street. Sam immediately recognized her as his mattress benefactor, Jane Caplan. But something wasn’t right. She seemed upset. Then a man walked out the door behind her. Jane turned, blocking Sam’s view of the man. But from the way Jane was flailing her arms, they were clearly arguing. He could see the man put his hands on Jane’s shoulders, as if to try to calm her, but she threw them off.
Dark Harbor Page 2
