Submerged

by Dani Pettrey

  His parents had fostered a love of service in him and his siblings since they were young.

  “Work hard. Serve diligently. Do something you love.” His father’s wisdom had blessed him well. He and his siblings worked hard—running shore excursions for cruise liners docking in Yancey, facilitating corporate retreats, anything that allowed them to run a business they believed in while performing jobs they loved.

  He sank back to enjoy the remainder of the trip to shore. The ship was quiet for a change, and he’d swapped his dry suit for a pair of sweats and T-shirt.

  Water lapped rhythmically against the hull, and a crisp breeze floated over the bow with each dip. The sun, lowering toward the horizon, pulled the warmth of the air with it. He was ready for a hot shower and a hearty meal.

  An enormous beam trawler muddled past, hauling its day’s catch to shore. Their vessel, miniscule in comparison, bobbed in its wake. The fresh scent of shrimp mingled with the salty sea air, reminding Cole of family fish fries on the beach.

  “Deputy Grainger,” Fred hollered from the wheelhouse.

  Landon got to his feet. “Yep?”

  “Call for you on the radio. Sheriff Slidell.”

  A minute later, the boat banked hard starboard, nearly knocking Cole from his perch.

  Landon emerged from the cabin. “Emergency call from a trawler. We’re closest.”

  Cole sighed. The day was about to get even longer.

  Alaskan Dreams, a seventy-foot privately owned trawler, sat anchored twenty miles off Tariuk Island’s shore, its fishing net strung high.

  As their boat buffeted against the trawler’s side, Cole’s gaze narrowed on the net. Something was caught with the fish.

  He squinted and felt the blood drain from his face. A diver’s body hung among the wriggling pollock.

  Sid, the captain and owner of Alaskan Dreams, met them as they climbed aboard, his white captain’s cap clutched tight in his fists, his knuckles the same shade as the battered material.

  Cole’s gaze traveled back to the diver. Long blond hair trailed from her mask, the strands ensnared in the thick orange netting. Nausea rumbled in his gut as Bailey’s sweet face flashed through his mind. No. It couldn’t be. She was just on his mind because of Agnes’s passing. It couldn’t be her.

  “We thought it best to leave everything—” Sid’s voice cracked. “To leave the lass as we found her.” He shuffled his feet, his eyes averted from the victim. “Some of the men thought we ought to cut her free, but—”

  “You did good, Sid.” Landon clapped a reassuring hand on the elderly man’s back. “You did the right thing.”

  Sid nodded, a flicker of relief easing the ache on his weathered brow.

  Landon pulled out his notepad. “I’m going to need some information.”

  Pat Wharton, one of the deckhands, leaned against the rail beside Cole while Landon and Sid conversed in the wheelhouse.

  “I’ve heard tales of nets dredging up the dead,” Pat said, his coloring green. “I’ve just never seen it myself.”

  Unfortunately, working dive rescue, Cole had seen the sea give up more than its fair share of the dead, and contrary to popular opinion, it never got easier.

  The pungent odor of pollock and decomposition hung thick in the air, the sea unable to wash away the stench.

  Time passed slow as molasses and fast as a firecracker, bringing with it the distinct sensation of crisis and all its distorting properties. The need to respond, to be of help, nearly suffocated Cole. He dealt better in action. Standing on the sidelines was quickly bringing him to his knees.

  What if it was Bailey captured in the net? He fought the suffocating urge to race to it, to tear her free, but there was protocol to follow, rules of investigation to adhere to. It couldn’t be Bailey. His mind was playing tricks on him. He needed to wait, to be patient. If only his heart would stop racing.

  After what seemed an eternity, Landon ordered the net released.

  Hundreds of speckled fish wriggled across the deck, their mouths opening and closing, their gills desperate for oxygen.

  “They’ll all have to be tossed back into the sea,” Sid said, and the truth of it washed over the crew’s faces—their day’s work gone in the blink of an eye.

  The renewed scent of pollock blanketed the air, clinging like a thick, soupy fog to the fibers of their clothes.

  Landon knelt at the base of the net. “Cole, give me a hand.”

  Finally he could be of some use. He rushed forward, afraid of what he might find, yet feeling foolish for even thinking it.

  “Her body’s caught in the cod end of the gear. We’ll need to cut her loose.”

  Cole squatted beside Landon while Tom and Thoreau looked on. For once the two remained silent.

  Painstakingly, they worked to free her from the thick orange netting, and then Landon took another round of photographs before removing her mask.

  Cole’s chest tightened, and he released a shaky expulsion of air. It wasn’t Bailey, wasn’t anyone he knew, but the fact brought him little relief. She was young. No older than Piper.

  Her eyes, a faint blue surrounded by cloudy white, stared up at him.

  Landon called for Tom and Thoreau to bring the body bag, and Cole remained ready to help lift her into it.

  “On three,” Landon instructed.

  Cole nodded.

  “One, two, three.”

  They lifted and the woman’s gear shifted, her air tank swinging loose.

  Tom bent and retrieved it.

  Cole and Landon placed her gently in the bag, then stood.

  “We’ll need Cole to check the gear,” Landon began, as he had so many times before.

  A strange smile curled on Tom’s lips. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  Landon cocked his head. “Why not? We always use Cole to check the equipment in this type of case.”

  Tom shifted the tank so the writing faced them. “Not when it’s his own equipment.”

  Cole gaped at the yellow lettering stamped across the tank—Last Frontier Adventures. He took a staggering step back.

  She’d rented her equipment from his shop.

  6

  Sheriff Slidell met the boat at the dock. Booth Powell, Yancey’s medical examiner, stood to his right, making Slidell’s five-foot-ten, one-hundred-ninety-pound frame look puny. Booth was thin as a rail, but a towering six feet five. Long and lean, he said his nimble fingers perfected him for a job he loved.

  Rather than viewing his profession as morbid, he often commented that he regarded himself as one of the heroes destined to see justice done. If his autopsy could rule out unnatural death and give peace to grieving families, it made his day. If, on the other hand, his report indicated foul play, it was the first step in finding the killer.

  Cole wondered which it would be in this case.

  Had the young lady in her twenties died of natural causes? Suffered a heart attack under the sea?

  Had foul play found her? A dive buddy caused her harm?

  Or . . .

  His heart lurched.

  Had his equipment played a role in her death? He hadn’t personally rented the gear to her, but someone at the shop had. Safety First was their motto and they all took it to heart. Had something gone wrong? One of them slipped? Paid too casual attention during an inspection? Been less than stringent before renting the gear?

  “What do we have here?” Booth’s deep Louisiana twang pulled Cole from his thoughts.

  It was amazing that after twenty years in Yancey his twang still remained. Booth said it was in the blood and no change of location could alter that.

  Booth bent and unzipped the body bag, taking a cursory glance at his new charge. “Young.” He shook his head in dismay.

  Sheriff Slidell hovered over Booth’s shoulder. “She’s not local.”

  “Someone local knew her.” Satisfaction danced in Tom’s voice.

  “Oh?” Slidell straightened.

  “The deceased’s
tank is from Cole’s shop.”

  Slidell’s head swung in Cole’s direction. “Is that right?”

  “Stamp says it’s one of mine,” Cole answered straight and to the point. If he could be of help, he would.

  Slidell nodded. “Well, then, we’ll need someone else to run the equipment check.”

  “I understand.” He knew the protocol. “Owen Matthews up on Kodiak Island is a good man, good diver. He does equipment checks for the police department up there when the need arises.”

  “All right.” Slidell noted the name. “I’ll give him a call.”

  Booth zipped the bag and stood. He relayed instructions for the woman’s body to be transported to the morgue.

  The waiting paramedics lifted the gurney and loaded it into the back of the ambulance.

  Booth ambled to his SUV, and Slidell followed.

  Cole waited for the ensuing exchange. With Booth and Slidell, there was always an exchange. Slidell expected things done on his timetable, and Booth refused to be rushed.

  “What can you tell me?” Slidell asked as Booth tossed his bag in the rear of his Blazer.

  “Now, you know good and well it’s too early for me to give you anything other than supposition. You’ll have to wait for my report.” Booth shut the hatch and signaled for the ambulance to head out.

  “How long?” Slidell asked.

  Booth climbed in the SUV, his head nearly hitting the ceiling, and shut the door. He took his time lowering the window.

  Red crawled up Slidell’s neck. He lurched to rest his arm on the sill. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  Booth started the engine. “Henry Reid’s first in line. She’ll be next.”

  Slidell didn’t move. “How long?”

  “Forty-eight hours.” Booth glanced at Slidell’s arm and then back at the man.

  After a moment, Slidell stepped back.

  Cole watched the gravel fly in the Blazer’s wake, then turned to Landon. “What does he mean Henry Reid’s first in line? We just retrieved him from the ocean’s floor and now Booth’s planning on picking up where the fish left off?”

  “NTSB ordered the pilot’s autopsy, if we recovered the body.”

  “They think Henry might be the cause of the crash?”

  “They want to rule out a heart attack, check his blood-alcohol level . . .”

  “You and I both know Henry’s been sober ten years. You really think he fell off the wagon and dove his plane into the Gulf of Alaska?”

  “No. I don’t.”

  Cole leaned against Landon’s patrol car with a sigh. “Does Ginny know?”

  “I’m sure Slidell’s informed her.” Landon lifted his chin. “Speaking of Slidell . . .”

  The police chief leaned on the hood of the car. “Tom tells me you didn’t recognize the deceased.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “But the tank is from your shop?”

  “Yeah, but I haven’t worked the desk in a month.”

  “Who has?”

  “Kayden had the first two weeks, Piper and Jake the last two.” This time of year the excursions he and Gage ran were in highest demand, so the girls and Jake ran the shop. Winter months, things reversed.

  Slidell’s brows shot up. “Jake, you say?”

  “And Piper,” Cole reiterated, but it was no use. He might as well have been talking to the wind. Slidell had heard Jake’s name and nothing else.

  “Why don’t we take a ride over there and see if Jake can give us some answers.”

  7

  Landon followed his boss and Cole into Last Frontier Adventures, the shop Cole owned and operated with his siblings. In place of a bell, “Wipe Out!” signaled their entry.

  Another of Piper’s touches.

  Beach murals and surfing posters donned the walls. Polynesian leis topped the displays and the scent of cocoa butter swirled in the air.

  If it weren’t for the dry suits necessary for cold-weather diving, he’d think he’d just entered a tropical dive shop.

  Piper looked up from a transaction with a customer and smiled.

  Landon prayed she wasn’t the one who had rented out the equipment. Not that he suspected anything would turn up wrong with it. The McKennas were very careful with their equipment. But knowing Piper’s tender ways, if she’d met the deceased woman, it would break her heart to learn she was dead.

  “You’re all set,” Piper said, handing Nancy Bowen her receipt and booklet. “Class starts on the fifth. Be here by seven.”

  “Bright and early.” Nancy turned with a smile. “Cole, Sheriff.” Her smile widened. “Landon.”

  He tipped his hat. “Nancy.”

  Color danced in her cheeks. “I just got the last slot in Cole’s wreck diving class. Piper tells me you’ll be assisting?”

  Piper rose up on her toes to grin at him over Nancy’s shoulder.

  “Oh, she did, did she?” He oughta thump her. If she wasn’t his best friend’s kid sister . . .

  “Landon?” Nancy said.

  He looked down at her, standing a mere foot from him. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings. She was a sweet gal. He just didn’t feel the spark he hoped to with a potential spouse.

  “Was she right?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Was Piper right?”

  Piper gloated behind Nancy, waiting with gleeful expectation for his answer. “Yes, I’m assisting on that class.”

  “Great. I’ll see you then.” She moved past him to the door while he glared at Piper. Unfortunately his attempt to look menacing only seemed to amuse her more.

  “Wipe Out!” signaled Nancy’s departure.

  “Piper, I oughta—”

  “Thank me?” she suggested sweetly as she moved around the counter to greet Cole with a hug.

  “Hey, kiddo.” Cole pressed a kiss to her brow. “I think you better stop playing matchmaker for Landon.”

  “Why? Just because he’s grumpy?”

  “Take it as a hint,” Landon said through gritted teeth.

  “Wipe Out!” chimed again as the door opened. Gage entered, followed by a slew of people—sun on their cheeks, hair tousled from a morning spent riding rapids.

  “Good trip?” Cole asked.

  Gage shifted his sunglasses to rest on his head, pale skin denoting the area they’d covered. “A blast.”

  Everyone chattered around them like a tiny swarm of buzzing bees.

  Gage’s perceptive gaze shifted from Cole to Slidell to Landon. “Everything okay?”

  Landon nodded. “Slidell’s just got a couple questions for Piper and Jake.”

  “All right. Well, I’m going to pull the trailer around back.”

  “We’ll be out to help soon,” Cole said.

  “No worries.” Gage whistled to get his group’s attention. “If you’d all like to follow me, we’ve got some fresh lemonade and homemade muffins waiting for you.”

  The noise of the crowd rose in crescendo as they shuffled past, then slowly decreased until all that remained was a low murmuring emanating from the back garage.

  Piper’s brown eyes focused on Landon. “What’s going on?”

  Slidell cleared his throat. “I’ve got some questions for—”

  “Wipe Out!” chimed again, and Slidell’s face contorted with irritation.

  “Tourist season.” Cole shrugged. “We’re lucky if we get a few minutes downtime all summer.”

  Kayden entered with a brown paper bag in one hand and a loaded drink tray precariously balanced in the other.

  Slidell swooped past Landon. “Let me help you with that.” He tugged at the drink carrier.

  “I’m fine, really.”

  “I insist.” He wrenched it from her and offered to carry the bag too.

  “Signing up for another flight-seeing trip?” she asked.

  Landon chuckled under his breath. Slidell signed up for anything and everything Kayden was part of.

  “Nope. Afraid not.” Slidell set the drink tray and bag o
n the counter. “I’m here on official business.”

  “Oh?”

  Jake Westin emerged from the rear carrying a bin of kayak helmets.

  “Ah.” Sheriff Slidell strutted forward. “Just the man I wanted to see.”

  Jake set the tub on the counter and gazed at Slidell with the usual amount of indifference.

  Though Jake had lived in Yancey for nearly a year, Slidell still treated him like a vagrant.

  “I need to talk with Jake. Ask him a few questions.”

  Kayden flashed Cole an I-told-you-so look. “What’d he do?”

  Cole grimaced. “He didn’t do anything. Slidell needs to speak with both him and Piper about an air tank we rented out.”

  “Oh.” Her superior air deflated. Clearly she thought she’d gotten the proof she needed to finally prove Cole wrong.

  “What’s this about an air tank?” Piper asked.

  Landon swallowed, knowing the news would shake her. “A diver’s body was found.”

  “Wearing one of your tanks,” Slidell added before Landon could finish.

  Landon heard Piper’s gasp across the room.

  Her eyes widened. “One of ours? Who was it?”

  “She wasn’t local,” Landon said, hoping she’d find some solace in that.

  “What do you need from us?” Kayden asked.

  Slidell pulled his notepad from his shirt pocket and flipped through it until he found what he was looking for. “I’ve got the serial number off the tank. I need a name and any information you’ve got to go with it.”

  Jake linked his arms across his chest. “And, of course, you naturally assumed I’m the one who rented it to her.”

  “No one is assuming anything,” Landon said, trying to diffuse the mounting tension between his boss and Jake. He didn’t blame Jake for being irritated; Slidell had jumped to all the wrong conclusions again. But being confrontational wouldn’t help matters.

  Slidell, true to form, got within an inch of Jake’s face. “You’ve been working the desk.”

  Jake didn’t flinch. “So has Piper.”

  “I’ll grab the ledger,” Piper offered, always the peacemaker.

  Kayden stood to the side, apprehension firm on her face.