Her mother cupped her face in her hands. “Tim is dead, Elin. You’re still a young woman. I would hate to see you lock yourself away from love and happiness because of a dead man’s jealousy. That’s just silly. You’re more alive and fully yourself when you’re around Marc. I see the old Elin then.”
She blinked. “W-What do you mean, the old Elin?”
Her mother dropped her hands away. “You haven’t been as open and transparent as usual for a while. Coming so close to dying did something, I think. It made you more serious, more guarded. He’s good for you. And you’re good for him.”
Elin relaxed a bit. Her mother wasn’t talking about personality changes, just the trauma of the illness. She looked her mother fully in the eyes. “What makes up who we are, really? What we like or dislike? How we walk, talk?”
“It’s how we love, honey. And you love with your whole heart. God shines through you. Don’t ever let that change.”
“How do I stop it?” she whispered.
But her mother’s blue eyes were clouding up, obscuring the loving woman who had guided Elin for all her thirty years. Where did Mom go when she left? And was there any way to bring her back, or would she go away forever? This was worse than losing her to death, and it mirrored what Elin felt was happening to her.
She helped her mother to bed. When she got back to her room, she looked out at the dark night. The nightmares seemed close tonight. She picked up Georgina’s diary.
DECEMBER 5, 1907
The three-month-old twins slept peacefully in their cradles in Georgina’s lavish bedroom. Twins. She still couldn’t believe it. A son and a daughter. Joshua had paid little attention to his daughter, but he nearly burst with pride when he saw his son. He’d almost delayed his departure at their early arrival, but he’d had little choice. Two months had stretched into three, and he was overdue by a good month now.
She left her children in the care of the nurse while she went up to the widow’s walk. Joshua was due in anytime, and he would be quite tiresome if he didn’t see her wave from the parapet. She’d been watching for him for weeks, and though it was too soon to worry, she had felt dread curling in the pit of her stomach with each passing day.
Some sailors never came home.
She couldn’t imagine Joshua allowing anything to keep him from his destination. He wrapped his power and determination around him like an impenetrable cloak. Not even the sea would dare to contradict his will.
She reached the parapet and rested her hands on the iron railing. Black storm clouds roiled on the horizon, and the wind freshened. She lifted her face and inhaled the scent of the approaching rain. The heavy surf pounded the sand dunes and rolled back for a fresh attack.
No white sail marred the sea’s blue perfection. Tension uncoiled in her neck. Maybe she had a few hours before he arrived. She lived with the constant hope he would return and be the man she’d thought she married. One who cared more about her than about his image in society.
A sound startled her and she whirled. A man exited the door to the walkway around the top of the house. She’d never seen him before, but she instantly recognized him as Khmer. About her own height, he had glossy black hair and almond-shaped eyes that reminded her of Chann. He wore a bright-red krama around his neck.
Even as a smile formed on her lips, the menacing expression on his face penetrated. She took a step back, but the railing prevented her from moving more than a few inches. “Who are you?”
“It is where?” His heavily accented English was difficult to make out.
“What is it you want?”
He stopped a foot away and glared at her. “The pouch, woman. Given to you by Chann. I want it.”
How did she get rid of him without lying? “My husband will be here anytime. You need to leave.”
In a movement as quick as a mongoose after a snake, he grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her so hard, her head flopped back and forth. His roughness left her dizzy. He didn’t release her, and she winced as his fingers tightened, then he thrust her back until she was hanging partially over the railing.
The sound of the sea mingled with the roar of the blood in her ears. She fought to get away from him before he could throw her off the parapet. He bent her back so far, she was nearly upside down. The spikes on the railing bit into her waist. Her hands flailed, then she dug her fingernails into his face. He winced, but his expression grew more determined.
He intended to throw her over the side with as little thought as a fisherman tossing a fish back into the sea.
Then he reeled away, and the pressure on her shoulders was gone. She staggered to an upright position and realized Chann had pulled the man off her. The two struggled in a deadly two-step near the edge of the railing. One wrong move, and they’d both go over the end.
Gusts of wind shook the house as the storm intensified. Chann’s face twisted in fierce determination, and the other man growled and fought back. He was bigger and heavier than Chann and had nearly pushed her friend over the railing. Georgina twisted her hands together in a futile desire to do something to help. If only she had a weapon.
Her hair! She dove her fingers into her updo. The wind teased her hair loose when she extracted a hairpin. She quickly rushed to the struggling men and plunged the point of her hairpin into the back of the assailant’s neck. It wouldn’t kill him, but it would distract him like a bee sting.
He released his grip on Chann and slapped his hand on his neck. Chann launched forward and seized his arm, then hurled him over the side of the railing. The man plummeted to the ground without a sound. Nausea roiled in Georgina’s stomach, and she bent over, retching.
Instantly, Chann was by her side. He didn’t touch her but stood back respectfully and offered his hanky when she finally lifted her head. “I am so sorry, little sister. You are hurt?”
She pressed his hanky against her lips and shook her head. “No, no, I am unharmed. Who was he?”
“A very bad man. I cannot stay. Others will come for what you have hidden. Do not let anyone take it. Someday the world will be ready to see this treasure, but not now. Not when greedy men would seek it for their own gain.”
“I don’t understand.”
His gentle smile came. “You will do what I ask?” When she nodded, his face grew more sober. “Even if you hear of my death, do not tell anyone, little sister. What you hide is a map to a great treasure, an ancient city of wonder in Cambodia. It must not be discovered in my lifetime. Maybe never. Guard it well.”
“I do not wish to keep this from my husband. May I tell him?”
His dark eyes grew shadowed. “I am sorry to tell you this news. I heard in town that his ship sank. All aboard were lost.”
Spots danced in front of Georgina’s eyes, and she swayed where she stood. “H-He’s dead? Joshua is dead?” Chann caught her as she crumpled.
What did she care about hidden cities? She would have to raise her children alone.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Marc kept glancing at Elin from the corner of his eye as they drove to Norfolk on Thursday morning. She hadn’t said much the entire trip. Ignoring his proposal wouldn’t fix anything, but every time he opened his mouth to bring it up, he shut it again. What more could he say to convince her? He didn’t know what her problem was. Any logical look at their conundrum would arrive at the same answer: marriage.
“Anything new in the diary?” he asked.
She straightened, and a hint of color came to her cheeks. “I know what it was she hid. Her friend had discovered an ancient city full of treasure somewhere in Cambodia. Others were after the map to its location, but he said she was never to turn it over. So it might actually still be in the house.”
“You think your mother found it?”
“Maybe.” Then she shook her head. “I think it’s all a little far-fetched to think it could still be there. I mean, that was over a hundred years ago. Surely someone would have found it.”
“Has any Cambodian city been dis
covered in the past hundred years?”
“Well, there was Angkor Wat. But I don’t think that was the one from her description in the diary.”
“Maybe there really was no city. We have all those satellites now to find missing structures.”
“Maybe. But if I find the pouch, I’m going to hide it again.”
They entered the city limits, and he slowed the vehicle.
“Josie has taken to your parents,” she said, still staring out the window as they entered the Norfolk traffic. “We should pick up a little gift to thank them for keeping her while we investigate.”
“Spending time with her is all they need. They’re eating it up.” Maybe this was his opening. “Have you thought about what I said Tuesday night?”
“There hasn’t been much time.”
“Surely you can see how much sense it makes, Elin. Josie will thrive in a stable home.”
Her jaw set, she shook her head. “You would regret it someday, Marc. What if you found another woman you could love? Then where would we be? Right now you’re a novelty to her. If you become an integral part of her life and then leave, it would crush her. She’s lost one father. I don’t want her to lose another.”
“I’m not going anywhere. It’s not like I’m going to date if we’re married. What kind of man do you think I am?” Maybe he didn’t want to know because the thought she believed him capable of such a lack of integrity stung.
Something stirred in his heart as he looked at her. Her face was set and strained. What was holding her back?
She looked at the paper in her hand. “We can talk about it once we get the killer behind bars.” She gestured to the stop sign at the next street. “We turn here. The Watson house is the third one on the left. It has red shutters and a red front door.”
“You’ve been here before?”
“No.” She turned to look at him. “I don’t know how I know it, but I do.”
This whole cell-memory thing had him a little off center. “Okay.” He saw her slight shudder and realized she was as disoriented by this as he was. Probably more.
He turned and drove down the street slowly. There it was, just as she had described it. A two-story with neat shutters and a red door. The yard was well kept, and the grass freshly mowed. A swing set sat in the backyard. “There it is.”
He pulled the SUV into the driveway and opened his door to the pungent odor of asphalt. “Smells like the driveway was just resealed. Maybe I shouldn’t park here.”
As if on cue, a man exited the house waving his hands. “Park in the street!”
Marc spared a glance at the guy. Tall and thin with a balding head and small, neat ears. He wore khakis and a T-shirt proclaiming him the best dad in the world. Starting the car, Marc backed into the street and parked at the curb. “Is that her dad?”
Elin hadn’t taken her eyes off the man. “Yes.” Her voice was barely audible. “I-I’m frightened of him, Marc. I don’t want to get out of the car.”
“Sit here. I can handle questioning him.”
She turned a pale face toward him. “No, I want to go too. Just stay close to me.”
He nodded, and they got out of the car. He took her arm at the curb and approached the house.
The man didn’t return his smile but stared at them with obvious suspicion. “If you’re selling something, just get back in your fancy Tahoe and head on out of here.”
“We’re not selling anything. I’m a special agent with the FBI. We have a few questions about your daughter.” He’d thought mentioning Laura would cause the man to put down his guard, but Mr. Watson continued to glare at them. With Watson’s obvious hostility, Marc didn’t want to reveal Elin’s identity.
“What do you want? I already answered a ton of questions.” He turned back toward the house.
A woman stepped through the screen door. In her fifties like the man, her hunched shoulders and downcast eyes told a story of submission. Were those bruises on her arms? She wore cutoffs and a red V-neck top. Her feet were bare.
“I need to talk to you both. I’m investigating your daughter’s death.” Marc’s fingers curled into his palms. A man who would hurt a woman was pure scum. He hadn’t liked Watson’s attitude, but now he actively disliked the man.
“Is everything okay, Jerry?” The woman’s voice was timid. “This man is with the FBI. Maybe they’ve found Laura’s killer.”
“Get back in the house, Judy. This doesn’t concern you.”
She cowered back against the door and turned to go back inside.
“You’ll answer more questions for me here, or I’ll haul you in for questioning.” Marc didn’t rein in his sharp tone. “You can answer them in your living room or in a locked room of my choosing. Your choice.”
The man glared at him, then shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He turned and stomped back toward the house.
Marc raised his brows at Elin, then took her arm and followed Watson inside. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior. Foil covered every window, and only a few lamps illuminated the interior. The place was neat, but a pungent odor permeated the air. Marijuana.
He didn’t like how white Elin looked, and the way she pressed against his side told him she’d rather be anywhere but here.
She couldn’t stop shivering. Elin sat beside Marc on a sofa that was much too familiar. The house reeked of pot, just like usual. Her father—no, Laura’s father—had been smoking it most of the day, evidenced by his red-rimmed eyes and dilated pupils. Had Marc noticed? She glanced up at him. He’d noticed all right. If his jaw got any harder, it would crack.
“Let’s get this over with.” Watson plopped into his worn leather recliner. “Judy, get started on lunch. I’ll handle this.”
When Mrs. Watson turned toward the kitchen door, Marc shook his head. “You can eat later. I need to speak to both of you.”
To Elin’s surprise, Watson scowled and allowed his wife to sidle over to the rocking chair where her knitting lay on the floor. She eased into the chair and picked up her yarn. The material appeared to be a pink baby blanket. Who was having a baby? Laura’s little sister? Her name hovered on the edge of Elin’s memory. Sammie. And she was sixteen.
“Where’s Sammie?” she blurted out. “We need to talk to her too.”
Watson scowled again. “Samantha isn’t feeling well. She doesn’t know anything anyway.”
“Not well?” Elin rose and turned toward the stairs when she heard a creak. “Sammie, are you up there?”
A figure moved down the steps. A young brunette stood on the bottom step. Dressed in pink capris and a sleeveless white top that stretched over a bulging belly, she stared at Marc and Elin.
“Samantha, this is none of your concern. Go on up to your room,” her father barked.
Samantha didn’t budge, though her hand drifted along the smooth surface of the oak banister. “I–I thought I heard Laura’s voice. Just now.” She rubbed her eyes. “Maybe I was dreaming, but I heard her say, ‘Sammie.’ No one else ever calls me Sammie anymore.”
Heat flooded Elin’s face. What would this family do if she revealed she had Laura’s heart? That she heard things, saw things that only Laura could know? She thought Sammie would rush to embrace her, but Watson might just throw her out the door.
A lock of hair fell into her face, and she brushed it back without thinking. Sammie’s eyes widened. She stepped down the final step and came toward Elin as if in a trance. When the young girl stopped in front of her and continued to stare, Elin couldn’t look away. What did Sammie see in her face? Was Laura in there somewhere looking back?
“Who are you?” Sammie whispered.
“They’re here to ask questions about your sister,” Watson said. “That’s all you need to know. Get on back upstairs.”
“I’d like to speak to the whole family,” Marc said. “Do you have any other children? Any other members of the family who live with you, like a grandparent?”
“We just had the two girls. No one
else. Look, what’s all this about? And Samantha, you will make them think you are some kind of weirdo with the way you’re staring. Sit down. You’re making a fool of yourself.”
“Who are you?” Sammie asked again. “You remind me of Laura somehow. Did you know my sister?” Her voice broke. “I miss her every day. I told her he’d kill her.”
Marc shot to his feet. “Who? Do you know who might have targeted your sister?”
Watson jumped up too. “Now you’ve done it, you stupid girl. I told you never to talk about that. He had nothing to do with Laura’s murder.”
Elin felt such pity for the young woman. A terrible grief crouched in Sammie’s eyes. The two sisters had been close, and her heart clenched with a reciprocal love. How could she not give Laura’s sister some assurance? Yet she wasn’t convinced it would help the situation.
Sammie didn’t move. “You knew her, didn’t you? That’s why you called me Sammie with her same inflection.”
Elin nodded. “I knew her a little.” A confession hovered behind her lips, but she managed to hold it back when Marc’s hand slid across the sofa and covered hers with a warming squeeze.
The tension in Sammie’s shoulders eased, and she moved to lower herself awkwardly by her mother’s feet. Judy put down her knitting and rested her hand on her younger daughter’s shoulder as if to bring a measure of comfort.
Elin could almost feel that touch on her own shoulder. She knew the weight of it, the touch of the work-roughened hands on her skin. The scent of the woman’s shampoo and lotion. This was like some kind of time warp, and she needed to get away. To breathe fresh air and not look into the grief-ravaged faces of the other two women.
But with Marc’s hand on hers, she managed to compose herself. They had to know whom Sammie referred to. Whom her father wanted to protect.
Marc leaned forward. “Samantha, who frightened Laura?” He held up a warning hand to Watson, who was practically snarling from his recliner.
Sammie leaned her head against her mother’s knee. “Dad’s business partner, Ryan Mosely.” She shot a defiant glare at her father. “He was obsessed with her. Always asking her out and stuff. And he was old. In his forties. He should have known she was too young for him. Dad encouraged it though. He wanted Laura to marry the pervert. And when she finally told Ryan she didn’t ever want him to even call her, he went ballistic.”
Seagrass Pier Page 18
