Below the Surface

by Karen Harper

  She had insisted he go ahead with his plans. She knew she had to let him get on with his life, though she didn’t want him to go back to a life without her in it. If anything good had come from the tragedy of losing Daria, finding Cole was it. And, perhaps, a better relationship with Amelia down the long, tough road without her twin, her other self.

  “I’ll see you when you get back. I’ll be here and I’ll be just fine,” Bree had assured Cole, though the truth was that she was anything but fine.

  As Bree began to go through her sister’s possessions, she felt her presence so strongly it was as if she were in the room. She could almost believe Daria would appear in the mussed bedsheets still shaped to her form. When Bree glanced through the medicine cabinet, she felt as if her sister might emerge from behind the shower curtain, her hair soaked, as if from the sea.

  Bree gasped when she caught sight of herself in the bathroom mirror. Her mirror image, indeed! It was as if a distraught Daria stared at her from beyond the fragile barrier of the glass.

  She forced herself to look away and put both hands on the washbasin to steady herself. “Dead woman walking,” she whispered. A shiver snaked up her spine. She shuddered, recalling the old superstition that people felt a chill when someone walked over their grave. Ridiculous, absolutely crazy and in her own head, she scolded herself. But, in a way, the image of her dead sister would always be with her, aging, changing. What would Daria have looked like at age forty or fifty or sixty? All Bree had to do was glance at her reflection in a mirror or lean down to look at the surface of the water.

  She got hold of herself and started in earnest with the dresser drawers. The top one was the catch-all junk drawer and held the usual: extra truck, car and boat keys; some dollar bills; a few old photos, including a faded copy of their parents’ wedding picture; a pair of earrings that hadn’t made it back into her jewelry box; sunglasses; a few souvenirs of places they’d been; and a coaster advertising an unfamiliar bar, the Gator Watering Hole, a bit north of Turtle Bay on a back road off the Tamiami Trail on the edge of the Glades.

  One side of the round cardboard coaster had a dancing alligator wearing sunglasses, with a cigarette in one hand and a beer bottle in the other. The place claimed to have “Great domestic beers, fried grouper and gator sand’s, and the Old Florida Laid-back Feel.”

  Bree pictured Daria’s last note. She’d be studying with friends and might be back late. But at a place like this?

  Daria had often said she preferred the wine bar scene in Naples to the seedy bars Manny talked about. The Gator Watering Hole sounded like a hangout for Glades fishermen and hunters. Bree looked it up in the phone book; it wasn’t even listed. So strange—Daria was gone and it was as if this place no longer existed either. What had the place meant to her that she’d kept this?

  Bree flipped the coaster over. A list of beers, all domestic. Scribbled in small print on one side was the message, “Luv ya,” and opposite that, written in the other direction, as if each were to be read by a person across a table, “Ditto, babe!”

  Tears blurred Bree’s vision. The “Luv ya” was in Daria’s writing. It must have been a happy, swiftly forgotten moment of fun in her too-short life. Daria had dated several guys in the last few years, but no one seriously and no one lately. And no one, as far as Bree knew, who she’d write “Luv ya” words to, even in fun.

  Blinking back tears, she put the coaster back in the drawer and went through the rest of the bureau, including her cluttered jewelry box. Nothing unusual. She looked in Daria’s purse and found their dentist’s name, number, and an appointment time—the morning after the storm—scribbled on a piece of paper. Since the accident had been so public, evidently the dental receptionist had not phoned to remind her of this appointment nor, afterward, to ask why she had not come.

  In Daria’s purse she also found a calendar the size of a checkbook, one she hadn’t seen before. She flipped through its pages. Blank but for big stars drawn on certain dates—oh, yeah, these were the days she had her accounting classes. Now, why hadn’t Daria put her dental appointment in here? Daria had worked really hard at learning the financial ins and outs of keeping small business records, but big stars? And then she noted there were several times scribbled on a couple of the starred pages. Not the time of the classes, though—these were later.

  “Oh, probably when she studied with the others after class,” she said aloud. Had she met someone from the class she liked—or “luved”—and studied with? But why wouldn’t she have mentioned that?

  As Bree sat down at Daria’s computer, she saw a brochure for Eternal Shells half-hidden by the mousepad.

  She gasped. Had the Hollimans been telling the truth? She began to shake again. What else hadn’t Daria told her? It was a beautiful glossy brochure. The Hollimans must have indeed assumed that Daria had shown her this.

  More frustrated than ever, Bree tried to read Daria’s e-mail and check sent and deleted mail, but the password she was sure Daria used—Mermaid2, instead of Mermaid1, because Bree had been born first—didn’t work. She’d evidently changed her login info and hadn’t mentioned that, either. Well, of course, she tried to tell herself, passwords were personal, but even that had not been a secret between her and Daria—until now.

  She got off the computer. Maybe she could find a techie who could get around the password. From reading about one of Ben’s high-profile prosecutions, she knew that even deleted documents could be recovered. Bree searched the rest of the room, but she was so exhausted she felt near collapse.

  She lay down on Daria’s bed and stared up at the whirring ceiling fan as her sister must have so often done. Of course, there were probably things she hadn’t told Daria, too, but something was very wrong. That Eternal Shells brochure. That coaster from a place she’d never mentioned…and those haunting, even if brief, words, Luv ya. Those times scribbled down for after class. Bree had prided herself that she’d known her twin sister almost as well as she’d known herself. And now she was supposed to accept that Daria had evidently hit her head, and the storm had taken the boat and crashed it into a concrete breakwater and she’d drowned.

  What was true and what wasn’t? She should just go on with her life after Daria’s burial. Get back to building the business and, hopefully, build a relationship with Cole. Resurrect ties to Amelia. Present that important environmental report and not let dreadful, doubtful thoughts torment her.

  But had she really known her sister well? Had Daria died in a freak accident? Am I my sister’s keeper? a voice in her head taunted Bree. Am I my dead sister’s keeper?

  “Yes, I am,” she whispered to the cluttered but very empty room. “Yes, I am. Was she seeing someone? Was Daria hiding something? And was her death, for sure, an accident?”

  The huge, white canvas sign swagged across the port side of Dom Verdugo’s one-hundred-eighty-foot casino boat, Fun ’n’ Sun, tied up at the Miami marina read, “A fabulous time with great food, entertainment and gambling—You Can Bet On It!”

  To Cole’s surprise, there were no goons on guard, and Verdugo himself greeted him. Cole had thought Verdugo was over at Turtle Bay, but he’d heard the man owned a private plane that took him coast to coast in a flash. He still could not shake the feeling the man bore watching.

  “Hey, Cole, my man,” Verdugo said with a firm handshake as he stepped aboard. “Sorry to hear they found the body and boat of that Turtle Bay scuba diver. Please give my regrets to the sister.”

  Again, Cole thought, Verdugo had heard something. It worried him that the man was aware of Briana and seemed to know that Cole would be seeing her.

  “Where are your guards?” he asked.

  “This is my territory,” Verdugo said with a shrug. “In Turtle Bay, not yet. But I’m fine here with just my onboard staff.”

  “It will obviously be worth millions if you can get the Turtle Bay venue.”

  “Oh, yeah, for sure. I make no bones about the fact it’s big biz, and I’m glad you are—literall
y—on board,” he said with a tight grin.

  “As I said, I’d like to see the extent of the job first.”

  “Sure, that’s partly why I’m here. I’ll give you the personal tour. Anyway, you think that girl’s death will delay the report on the quality of the gulf water?”

  Verdugo was a smart guy and a smart guy wouldn’t bring that report up so blatantly if he’d had something to do with Daria’s death—would he? Or did he figure he already had Cole in his hip pocket? Probably. Not many people said no to Dom Verdugo. But the whole idea of this man bringing gambling, an addiction that ruined some people’s lives, ruined families for years to come, into Turtle Bay sickened him. Hell, panel the luxury gambling salon on board? He’d really like to sabotage the whole boat.

  “I’m only asking,” Verdugo said, “’cause I hear you’re on the Clear the Gulf Commission. I don’t want you to think I’ve offered you a lot of money to do this job as a sort of bribe about how that all comes out. I don’t operate that way.”

  Cole was suddenly more furious with himself than with Verdugo. He’d been so obsessed with helping Bree he hadn’t even thought of how it would look for him to take Verdugo’s lucrative contract. But even if he turned him down in the end, maybe he could first determine whether Verdugo had had anything to do with scuttling the Mermaids II to derail the Devon twins’ damaging report. If he could prove that, it would also set back the gambling in Turtle Bay. He was flooded by memories of his parents fighting over his mother’s debts, his own struggle to continue to pay them off over the years—

  “You still game?” Verdugo interrupted his agonizing as they walked along the deck and turned into the gaming salon.

  Cole just nodded. He was game, all right, although he was risking his reputation if he accepted. But strangely, nothing mattered more than trying to help Bree. He must, he figured, either be insane or in love.

  Bree was horrified to wake up snuggled in Daria’s bed. Light was streaming in the window, and she sat up abruptly. She had so much to do today. If Manny had called about Lucinda, she hadn’t heard the phone ring. Or was he downstairs in the shop, waiting for Bree to appear? She’d been so exhausted—how late was it?

  She rolled over and groaned to see the bedside digital clock said almost ten o’clock. Though she’d been drained since her swim during the storm, she could not believe she had fallen into a dead sleep. She’d slept almost ten hours!

  She rushed into her own room, jumped in the shower, then ran a brush through her hair. Pulling on capris and a Mermaids II T-shirt, she called Daria’s dentist to explain why Daria had missed her emergency appointment.

  “Sorry, Ms. Devon,” the receptionist said, after offering her condolences, “but the appointment you’re referring to was to get her teeth whitened. It wasn’t an emergency appointment, but one she’d had for a while.”

  “Daria Devon? Teeth whitening?”

  “Definitely. I remember the call.”

  “Thank you,” she said, feeling foolish. Perhaps Daria had just decided to use her whitening appointment to get her toothache taken care of, but that wasn’t what she’d told Bree. It was so unlike Daria to give a darn about whiter teeth. Besides, both of their smiles looked good—at least, Bree thought so, and Daria had never said any different.

  She went downstairs in a daze. Manny was not there. The place was silent, but the message lights on her and Daria’s desks were blinking. Her phone said twelve messages; Daria’s just one. For a moment, Bree imagined the lone message could be Daria, saying, Come get me. I want to come home.

  “Are you going nuts?” she scolded herself. “Stop it!”

  She punched Play on Daria’s answering machine.

  “Bree, Manny here. I called in on Daria’s line, ’cause I figured my message might get buried on yours with all that’s going on, just like on your cell. Didn’t want to call the ’partment case you trying to get some sleep. Lucinda came back, says ’cause she heard about Daria. I know we closed the shop till after the funeral, but I’ll come in after lunch, try to do what I can to help. Juanita stood up for her, but Lucinda’s grounded for the rest of her life, far’s I’m concerned. Tell you more later. Vaya con Dios. Adios.”

  At least, Bree thought, Daria’s death had brought Lucinda back. She bent to scribble a note to Manny: Gone out for a while. Don’t worry about me. Take care of your own—life is short. B

  She ran upstairs to grab her truck keys and purse, took a breakfast bar and her water bottle and copied the address to the Gator Watering Hole off the coaster before returning it to the top dresser drawer. She rushed back downstairs. First, she was going to Daria’s accounting class. The group met at different flex times, some mornings, some afternoons, some evenings, so working people could attend at least some lectures. She wanted to see what else the Hollimans or anyone else knew about Daria, and then she was going to check out the Gator Watering Hole.

  She stood in the doorway and stared outside. She’d been so out of it, she hadn’t realized it was starting to rain. The wind had kicked up, which made her uneasy. But nothing was stopping her until she got some answers—and she wasn’t even certain of the questions.

  To Bree’s dismay, the Hollimans were not in Daria’s class when she poked her head in the door. She had gotten wet darting into the building from her truck, but even if she’d had an umbrella, it likely would have gotten turned inside out, the wind was gusting so hard. The instructor had evidently dismissed the class a bit early.

  Too late, she realized her mistake of showing herself so suddenly. Several of the students gaped at her and one pointed. She couldn’t blame them. After all, she had even startled herself looking in the mirror last night.

  Loudly enough for everyone to hear, she introduced herself to the instructor. “I’m Briana Devon, Daria Devon’s twin sister, and I just wondered if I could talk to you for a minute.”

  “Of course,” the tall, young man said. His crew cut and open face reminded her of the photo she’d seen of Ted in uniform, the one in the paper that went with his obit and the story about him. “We are all very sorry for your loss,” he told her. “I’m Seth Johnson.”

  They shook hands. Several other class members expressed regrets on their way out. “Daria mentioned the Hollimans—Viv and Fred,” she told him, surprised she’d lied so smoothly. It was easy when you wanted something badly. Is that why Daria had lied? “I see they aren’t here,” she added. “I wanted to extend an invitation to the funeral to them.”

  “They missed today, which is unusual. You know,” Seth said, “I can’t say the same for your sister.”

  “What do you mean? Daria attended class religiously. It was very important to her!”

  “I’m not criticizing,” he said, holding up both palms at her outburst. “After all, this class is set up with flex time, with some online assignments, to suit the needs of our busy adult students. But she had conflicts, especially the night classes, which is when most of the students can make the lectures. As she may have told you, we flip-flop key lectures and exams between this hour and two evenings a month to allow people to attend.”

  “And she—she didn’t? I’m not sure what you’re saying. Do you keep attendance? I just—” She could not think of a lie to cover this bumbling question. “I just would like to know.”

  He showed Bree his records. Daria’s attendance had been spotty, especially the night classes, always the first and third Tuesdays for the last two months. Damn, Bree thought. Daria was moonlighting to earn more money—for teeth whitening, the new dive watch she gave Bree for their birthday. Or—and this she refused to believe, because they’d always shared girl talk—she was meeting someone. But that must have been it.

  Shaken, Bree thanked him and started away, then turned back at the door. “The Hollimans—do you know anything about their Shells Eternal business?”

  “Everyone in the class did,” Seth told her. “They were like walking, talking advertisements.”

  She went out into the corrido
r. Walking, talking advertisements—that’s what they had wanted Daria to be for them. Now Daria wasn’t walking or talking anymore, and the Hollimans had uncharacteristically missed tonight’s class.

  Before she went outside, Bree leaned against the thick floor-to-ceiling glass window next to the back door of the school and looked past the puddles in the parking lot. Everything looked wet and gray, almost as if the entire place was underwater. Daria, she agonized silently, why did you lie about these little things? Did you really have a toothache that kept you from diving with me that last day? Manny’s not being there would have been reason enough I had to go down alone. Come to think of it, Daria hadn’t dived much the last several weeks. Why did she miss classes and not mention something as strange as Shells Eternal? And why hide a new man in her life?

  Bree glanced down at her watch. However dark it looked outside, it was not even noon on this Friday yet. TGIF day for many people, and among the laid-back locals, that could start early. The Gator Watering Hole had the Old Florida Laid-back Feel, as Daria’s souvenir coaster read.

  The rain seemed to be letting up a bit, but it was so hot and humid that she’d probably be just as wet as if the rain continued. She’d go to that place in the Glades and ask around to see if Daria had ever been there. And if so, with whom?

  12

  Amelia knelt on the thick, wet grass with rain and tears dripping off her nose and chin. She bent close to her mother’s headstone in the cemetery she had never set foot in since the day of her father’s funeral four years ago. The area looked so different now, no tent, no fake grass blankets laid at the lips of the grave, no metal framework holding the coffin before it was lowered.