by Kathi Daley
“Actually,” Tony said as he kissed me one more time, “it couldn’t.”
Yeah, I thought. It really couldn’t.
Tony turned his attention back to the screen, so I slid off his lap and sat down in the chair next to him. “We have a hit?” I asked. “Did your program find another photo of my dad?”
“It did,” Tony answered.
“Where?”
“Eastern Europe. You can’t tell by the background where the photo was taken, but if you match up the date and time stamp with the time we received the hit, the photo would have been taken in Eastern Europe.”
I felt my heart stop beating. “The photo came to us in real time? We have a photo of my dad that was taken today?”
“Unless we’re being fed a decoy, which we should keep in mind is possible, it appears the photo was taken right about the time we got the hit.”
“So we know where my dad is.”
“Was.” Tony turned the screen so I could see it as well. “Not only is Eastern Europe a large area, but, based on what I can make out in the photo, it appears as if your father was boarding a private jet. My guess is, wherever he was when the photo was taken, he’s long gone now.”
“To where?”
Tony ran his hands over his face. I could sense his frustration. “I don’t know. I can’t make out anything on the plane that would help me track the ownership or location of the plane, and I can’t see enough in the background to even know where the plane was taking off from. The only thing we seem to have is when.”
“Do you think the time and date stamp are accurate?”
Tony frowned. “Given everything we’ve found since we’ve been searching for your father, the one consistent theme is illusion. Nothing has really been as it seems. I have no reason to believe anyone would intentionally provide us with a false lead, but it does seem as if your father is connected to someone in high places. So maybe.”
“What now?” I asked.
Tony took my hand. “I don’t think it will do us any good to run off to Europe, although I would very much like to experience it with you sometime. I have a friend who might be able help me track down the location where the photo was taken. I’ll call him and ask him what he can find out.”
“So we have nothing.” I groaned.
“Not nothing. Unless we find out the stamps have been tampered with, we now know your father is still alive. The most recent photo before this one was taken two years ago.”
“True.”
“And we know he has the ability to travel internationally. That requires identification, which tells us that whatever fake papers he’s using, it has deep roots, which means it was created by a pro.”
“I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse.” I ran my hands though my hair.
“I know. I’m afraid your search for answers is bound to be a marathon, but each new clue tells us something we didn’t know before. Give me a minute to make a few calls, then I’ll make you some breakfast.”
“Okay.” I stood up. “And thanks.”
Tony stood up and pulled me into his arms. “I wish I could make this easier for you. I hate seeing you struggle like this.”
“You are making it easier. You make everything easier for me. You warned me this would be hard, and I want you to know I can take whatever ends up being thrown in our direction.”
“I know. You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met. But it does concern me that we seem to be being fed information. First the photo of your mom on the bridge just showed up in my email. I’m not running a facial recognition program on her, so what’s with the email? Who sent it and why?”
I frowned. “Good question.”
“And then the photo this morning. It seems a bit too calculated to be trusted completely. I’m not saying it isn’t legit, but something about it feels off.” Tony ran a finger down the side of my face. “I want to find your answers, but I don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.”
I placed my hand on Tony’s cheek. “I know you’re scared for me, and I’m scared for you. I didn’t say it last night, but I want you to know I love you too.”
Up next from Kathi Daley Books
https://amzn.to/2tPV1HS
Preview of Chapter 1
Monday, October 22
“As most of you are aware, we have four candidates competing for two open seats on the island council,” Mayor Betty Sue Bell announced to a packed auditorium. “The purpose of the meeting tonight is to give everyone who’s interested a chance to meet the candidates and to ask any questions you may have before heading to the polls next month. Those of you who had questions were asked to submit them to one of the monitors prior to the start of the meeting. The questions have been grouped and categorized, and we’ll ask as many as we have time for. Each question selected will be asked to all four candidates. Before I begin, are there any questions regarding the procedure I’ve just outlined?”
I angled myself toward the front of the room so I could capture the photographs I’d come to take for the Gull Island News. My boyfriend and newspaper owner Jack Jones had intended to attend the meeting but had gotten held up interviewing witnesses to a house fire. The third house fire in the past three weeks. I was sure there was a story there and so was he.
“I’m going to begin by introducing each of the candidates,” Betty Sue continued after she’d answered a few questions from those who still hadn’t been completely clear on what to expect from the meeting. “Our first candidate, Brenda Tamari, is sitting to my far left.” Everyone in the room, including me, glanced toward the petite forty-five-year old with short blond hair and a sunny smile. “Brenda teaches mathematics at the high school and has been a resident on Gull Island for almost twelve years. When she isn’t busy at the high school either teaching or coaching, she volunteers at the local youth center, where she oversees both the girls’ soccer team and the girls’ basketball team. Brenda has been endorsed by the local teachers association as well as the community youth athletic league.”
I took a photo of Brenda while Betty Sue caught her breath. She really did seem to be in her element. When I’d first moved to the island and was told that the vivacious woman who seemed to have mastered the ability to talk a mile a minute was also the mayor, I’d been skeptical, but after having a chance to get to know her, I can see she’s perfect for the job.
After a few seconds, Betty Sue continued. “Our second candidate, William Quarterly, is sitting directly to my left.” I glanced at the tall, dark-haired man who looked to be in his late thirties. “William owns Gull Island Hardware and is an active member of both the merchants association and the Gull Island Chamber of Commerce. He’s been endorsed by both. William has lived on Gull Island for eight years. During that time…”
I glanced away as Betty Sue continued to list William’s accomplishments. When she wasn’t actively performing her duties as mayor, she owned and operated Betty Boop’s, a hair salon where the stylists dressed like women from the fifties and sixties. Tonight, however, Betty Sue wore a black dress suit and sensible pumps. Her makeup was toned down, her hair styled to reflect sophistication rather than sass.
“Hey, Jill,” Meg Collins, the director and head volunteer of both the local museum and the turtle rescue squad, whispered after she sidled up to me. “Is George here?”
“I haven’t seen him,” I whispered back. Meg and George Baxter, one of the writers who lived at the retreat I helped to run, had been dating. “He’s presenting a project to the Mastermind group later this evening, so he might be getting ready for that. I mentioned to him that I was attending this meeting, and he said he was familiar with all the candidates and already knew who he planned to vote for, so he thought he might skip it.”
“I’m not surprised. George is very decisive, and I knew he’d done his homework on all the candidates.” Meg glanced at the woman who was waiting patiently to her left. “Jill Hanford, this is Lisa Dalton. Jill runs th
e writers retreat where George lives. Lisa is a new member of the turtle rescue squad.”
“Happy to meet you, Lisa.” I smiled in greeting just as Mayor Bell moved on to the third candidate.
“Nice to meet you too,” Lisa answered. “Meg has told me a lot about you and the group at the resort.”
I smiled at her but didn’t say more as Betty Sue continued. “The man sitting to my far right is our third candidate. For those of you who might not know him, his name is Jeffrey Riverton. Mr. Riverton owns both the Riverton Hotel and the Riverton Coastal Resort. He’s lived on Gull Island for five years and is being endorsed by both the lodging association and the visitors bureau.”
I knew Riverton, a tall, thin man with graying hair and sharp features, the least of any of the four candidates. His properties were nice and attracted an affluent clientele, but I’d heard rumors that the reason he wanted to be voted onto the council was so he could push through a project that many felt was much too large for our little island. The project had been presented to the current council twice and had been met with resistance by the majority of the council members.
“And finally,” Betty Sue continued, glancing to the handsome, dark-haired man sitting closest to her, “the gentleman directly to my right is Glen Pierson. Glen is a real estate executive and a member of the local historical society. He’s lived on Gull Island for the past six years and plans to work to ensure the integrity of the community as it was originally envisioned. Glen has been endorsed by both the historical society and the Castle Foundation.”
There was a level of murmuring throughout the crowd. I had the feeling Glen Pierson and Jeffrey Riverton were going to go head to head on more than one occasion before this election was over. Riverton seemed to be all about development, while Pierson, who was being backed by the Castle Foundation, which was all about preserving the integrity of what currently existed. The Foundation was currently run by Sam Castle’s ex-wife, Bianca.
“It looks as if we’re going to have an interesting race,” Meg commented.
“It does seem as if there’s a lot of energy being generated by all four candidates.”
“Being a member of the council is sort of a big thing around these parts, so there’s usually a good pool of candidates,” Meg added.
The town council was made up of eight members. Four of the seats were honorary, provided to a descendant of each of the four of the island’s founding fathers. Traditionally, the seat had been handed down from eldest son to eldest son, so the seats, as well as the men who held them, were referred to as the founding sons. Currently, those seats were occupied by Sam Castle, Billy Waller, Zane Carson, and Ron Remand. The other four seats were elected positions. Each elected council member served a four-year term. The terms were staggered, so two seats came up for election every two years.
Betty Sue glanced around the room. “Before we begin with the questions that have been prepared for our candidates, let’s give them all a round of appreciation for the work they already do in our community.”
I took several more photos while everyone applauded.
“I imagine George must be planning to ask the Mastermind group for help regarding Bosley Newman’s disappearance,” Meg said while we waited for the noise to die down.
“I believe that’s his plan. I’m sure the group will want to help out, given that Bosley is a fellow writer, although he’s only been missing since Saturday. Brit seemed to think he has a tendency to become absentminded and forget to check in on a somewhat regular basis.”
“Brit said the same thing to me,” Meg admitted, referring to George’s niece, another member of the Mastermind group. “But George is really worried, and I trust his instincts. I planned to attend the meeting this evening, if you don’t think the others will mind. I’ve worked with Bosley during the past couple of weeks, and I believe I have some insight into where he was going with his research.”
I waved at a woman I knew who’d just entered the room through the side door. “I don’t think anyone will mind if you join us. We aren’t meeting until eight and are skipping dinner tonight because I had this meeting to attend. I have to leave here at seven thirty, though, whether the meeting is over or not. Hopefully, Jack will be back from the fire he went to report on by then as well.”
“I’ll plan to come, then,” Meg said as Betty Sue prepared to ask the candidates the first of what I was sure were many questions. “I think I’m going to scoot out now to grab a bite to eat. I’ll see you at eight.”
I glanced at Lisa. “It was nice to meet you.”
“You too. I just moved to the island, but I’m committed to being involved, so I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
I returned my attention to the front of the room, where the candidates took turns answering questions. All four seemed intelligent and committed to their causes. I assumed any of them would be a good choice for the two open seats. While it was my job to present the facts and then allow those who read the newspaper article to make up their own minds, personally, I’d like to see Brenda end up with one of the seats. At present, the council consisted of seven males, and I thought a female perspective would help to add balance. I’d only lived on the island for a little over a year, and the council seats only came open on even-numbered years, so this was the first election I’d been present to observe, but from what I’d heard from others who’d been around for a while, the island council was stacked by older men who wielded their power with iron fists.
“Hey there, pretty lady.”
“Hey, Sully,” I responded to the local bar owner and all-around flirt. “I’m surprised to see you here. You don’t seem like the political sort.”
“Normally I’m not, but Jeffrey Riverton has been making some noise about buying up a bunch of properties on Main Street, and I’d hate to see that happen. Our little piece of heaven is quaint. It’s the independent business owner who’s going to keep it that way. Glen Pierson understands that. I think Quarterly does as well.”
“What about Brenda Tamari?”
Sully shrugged. “I figure she doesn’t really have a shot at one of the seats, so my efforts are better served backing Pierson and Quarterly.”
I frowned. “Why don’t you think Brenda has a shot? Is it because she’s a woman?”
“It’s exactly because she’s a woman. The island council has historically been a group of powerful men. I realize that idea might be a bit antiquated, but I don’t see it changing anytime soon. You’re new to the island, so you may not realize that the folks in these parts want to adhere to tradition, and right or wrong, our tradition is that the council is a meeting of men.”
I rolled my eyes. When I’d moved from New York to Gull Island, I knew I was going to have to learn to deal with a slower pace and a more conservative culture, but I hadn’t known the move was going to transport me back to the fifties.
******
By the time I was able to sneak out of the meeting and return to the resort, where I lived with my half-brother, Garrett, and ten other writers, Jack had arrived. We quickly caught up on our evenings while we wolfed down sandwiches. Normally, I would have taken the time to prepare a meal, but we didn’t want to be late joining the others in the living room. When I’d walked through, I’d seen George had already set chairs around the fireplace, and several of the writers had already gathered to chat.
“Three house fires in three weeks is really concerning me,” I said as I dug into my tuna on toast.
“It does seem like a pattern is emerging. Not only does it look like all three fires were intentionally set, but they’re similar in terms of size and location as well.”
“I can’t believe we’re dealing with another arsonist after what happened last year.”
Jack shrugged. “I guess arson is fairly common. All we can do right now is wait and see how it all turns out. How did the question-and-answer session go?”
He agreed with my opinion that it would be nice to have a female presence on the council, and a
lso understood the importance of tradition and those who would fight to keep it. I made a comment about a tight race having the potential to create friction, and Jack said the campaign would most likely get nasty in the final weeks before the election in November. To this point, both Brenda and William had played nice, but Riverton had been campaigning hard since this past June, and I had the sense that Glen Pierson was about to start playing dirty as well.
As soon as we finished eating, we headed into the living room to join the group. George, a writer of traditional whodunit mysteries, started off the weekly meeting of the Mystery Mastermind Group at the Gull Island Writers’ Retreat with a formal statement of the issue he was presenting.
“Thank you, everyone, for allowing me to speak on behalf of one of our temporary renters, Bosley Newman. Bosley isn’t only a fellow author I admire greatly; he’s been a good friend for over thirty years. As you all know, Bosley has been working on a historical novel that’s based on the history of the lighthouses along the East Coast. The book includes facts relating to each lighthouse, as well as the folklore and legends surrounding each of the ten structures he’s highlighting.”
We knew all this, but everyone listened politely while George worked through the background. I supposed providing a formal setup, whether it was necessary or not, had become our tradition. “Bosley arrived on Gull Island two weeks ago to research the lighthouse on Skull Island for the seventh chapter in his book. I believe most, if not all of you have had the opportunity to chat with him. The two of us have been getting together every couple of days to discuss his progress. The last time I spoke to him was on Friday of last week. He told me that he’d uncovered an amazing secret that might very well affect some individuals living on Gull Island today. He didn’t go into any detail then, but we made plans to meet for lunch on Saturday, but he never showed. I left several messages on his cell and have gone by his cabin on numerous occasions since he missed our lunch. In the past, if he’s had to cancel plans we’ve had, he’s always called to let me know about it. The fact that he isn’t returning my calls has me concerned.”
