Ashlee. My ex-husband of fourteen years. When we divorced, he’d stayed on at Boone Industries as head of sales. The only non–family member to have a financial interest in the company, he held on to the stocks he’d received when we married and once a year was present at the shareholders’ meeting. Although our divorce was amiable, or at least as civil as such things can be, I did my best to avoid him.
“Duly noted.”
“I’ve put him in his usual room at the far end of the house.”
“Perfect.” Ashlee’s usual room was my sister Raven’s old bedroom. As she hadn’t shown up for any meetings in years, Ashlee took over the space.
“He did mention he had something to tell you.” Mildred pursed her lips.
My stomach churned. Somehow I knew it wouldn’t be good. “I see.”
“And you got a call from Four Paws Rescue.”
“Let me guess. A blind hamster? An elderly goat?”
“A goose.” Her lips puckered in disapproval.
“A goose? Who keeps a goose for a pet? Don’t answer that. What’s wrong with the goose?”
“It needs medical attention. The owners kept it in a dog crate in the house. Walked it daily. Then they lost the lease on their home and had to surrender their pet.”
Four Paws Rescue was another reason the free rent came in handy. My income from the family business always seemed to be needed elsewhere. “How much?”
“They think two hundred would cover the vet and first month’s care.”
I nodded. “Make me—”
“A note to send a check. Already done. Now, what else can I do to help you?”
Find me a job that pays well enough to live on and support all my two- and four-legged projects? “Nothing. No . . . wait. Could you call Mercy Hospital and see if they’ll release the name of the man who saved my life? Black hair. Blue eyes. About my age or a bit older.”
“I can try. You know how such things can be.”
“Thank you, Mildred. If that doesn’t work, I’ll ask Lieutenant Gragg to find out.”
Mildred turned to leave, then turned back. “Gragg? Why does that name sound familiar?”
“He said he was on the department . . . before.”
“I see. Oh, before I forget. You also got a call from Joyce.” Joyce Mueller was our sole neighbor on the island. She kept a seasonal home on the northern end. “I posted it on the bulletin board in the kitchen, then figured you probably wouldn’t check for messages.”
“Did she call because she heard—”
“No. She called last night. She wanted to talk to you.”
“Did she say what about?”
“No. But there was something in her voice . . .”
I raised my eyebrows. “Like . . . ?”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say she sounded scared.”
Chapter 3
An orderly and several nurses rolled Tucker into a private room overlooking several palmettos. They fussed with his IV drip, some kind of leg-compression boots, oxygen, and a host of other tubes and attachments to his body. He had enough morphine pumped into him to feel no pain, but his vision bounced annoyingly whenever he blinked.
A police officer entered and approached his bed.
“Hi, Tucker. The nurse said I could speak with you for a few moments. I’m Lieutenant Stan Gragg. I’m so sorry for your injury.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m the lead investigator on the shooting. We’re trying to get an identification on the sniper. Did you see him?”
“Yes.”
The lieutenant straightened and pulled out a small notebook and recorder. “Mind if I record this? I don’t write that quickly.”
“That’s fine.”
The officer placed the recorder on the bedside table. “Would you describe what happened? Please don’t leave anything out, even if you think it’s unimportant. Start from a point before the incident. What you were doing, how you were feeling, that sort of thing.”
Tucker thought for a moment. “I arrived at the restaurant at about one and was seated at an outside table next to the street. The lunch crowd was finishing up and several tables were open. The waiter took my order and brought me a tea. I had a book to read, but I decided to people watch.”
“People watch?”
“You know, observing the people at the different tables, the folks passing on the street, the waitstaff working at the restaurant.”
“I see.”
Tucker paused. “Are you sure you want me to report everything, even things that have nothing to do with the shooting?”
“Yes.” The lieutenant looked up from his writing. “Sometimes a memory of one thing will trigger a memory of another. And something you saw that you think is unimportant may be important to us.”
He nodded. “Just before the shooting, a homeless man wandered up the street. You could smell him before he got close. The people seated nearest the street turned away as he approached.”
“Was he begging?”
“Not really.” Tucker pictured the scene. “He just shuffled along. That’s when I noticed the two women at the next table.”
Lieutenant Gragg looked up from his writing. “And you noticed them because . . . ?”
Should I tell him I could hardly take my eyes off one of the women? “Um, well, they were attractive. Hard, really, to ignore them.” His face burned.
Lieutenant Gragg nodded. “Tell me about them.”
“They were about the same age, maybe late twenties to midthirties. Both had long, light-brown hair, but one was wearing a hat.”
“The one with the hat . . . ?”
“Was facing the street. The other had her back to the street. She didn’t see the homeless man, but as he approached, she turned and looked. I’m sure the smell attracted her attention. She reached in her purse, pulled out some money, and signaled the waiter. She gave the waiter the money and nodded to the homeless man. The waiter went over to the man and motioned for him to go to the back of the restaurant.”
“What did you think the waiter was going to do?”
“I think the waiter told the man he’d get a meal if he went to the back door.” Tucker looked down and frowned.
“What?”
He slowly nodded. “That might be,” he said quietly, then looked up. “The waiter seemed to know the woman and wasn’t surprised by the gesture.”
“So?”
“So I think she must have eaten there often, and buying a homeless man a meal or other similar acts of kindness wasn’t unusual.”
Lieutenant Gragg nodded. “Good observation.”
“Anyway, I didn’t want to look like I was gawking.” Which I was. “So I looked across the street. That’s when I saw the shooter. He was staring at the two women.”
“Could you tell which one?”
“No. But . . .” Don’t get involved. Just the facts. “No.”
“What happened next?”
“The man lifted a rifle. I didn’t think. I just grabbed one of the women and threw her on the ground. Is she . . . ?”
“Slight cut, a few scrapes and bruises, but otherwise okay.”
“How bad was it?”
Gragg seemed to know what he was asking. “Two dead. The woman in the hat and another woman. A third is in critical condition.”
Tucker let out a deep sigh.
“What did the shooter look like?” Gragg asked.
Tucker thought for a moment. “Um, Caucasian, medium height. Unkempt brown hair. Mustache and goatee. Forties. Jeans and green T-shirt. Average.”
“Would you know him again if you saw him?”
“Yes.”
“Would you be willing to work with our composite artist to get a sketch of him?”
“No.”
Lieutenant Gragg raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”
Tucker shifted as far as his IV lines allowed. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong. You don’t need to bring in a composite artist. I’m a forensic artist. I was do
wn here working. I can do my own sketch.”
“Well. That’s a first. What department are you working for?”
“No department. I work for a company called Clan Firinn. I’m here about the Hunley.”
“The old submarine?”
Tucker nodded.
“What do you do?”
“Uh, research. Clarifying the faces of the dead sailors found with the sub. Going with a two-dimensional image this time.”
“Sounds like a grim business.”
Tucker shrugged. “No more than yours.”
“Clan Fur . . . ?”
“F-i-r-i-n-n.”
“Private company?”
“Yes. Which reminds me, I’ll need to update them. My cell is in the pocket of my jacket. If you could find that for me?”
Lieutenant Gragg glanced around the room, then opened the door to a small locker, pulled out a plastic bag, and opened it. “Phew. You’ll need a change of clothing before you leave.” He reached in and pulled out a phone, then handed it to Tucker.
“Thanks.” He slipped the phone under his blanket. “Now, if you’d bring me some drawing paper, pencil, and eraser, I can start on that composite sketch. As soon as my eyes stop going crazy from the morphine, that is.”
A nurse bustled into the room. “Not today you won’t. Lieutenant, he needs his rest and you’ve overstayed your visit. Doctor’s orders. No more visitors today.”
“I’m running an investigation and he’s a witness—”
“He’ll be an exhausted witness and you’ll be a dead investigator if you don’t get out of here.” The woman pointed to the door.
“I’ll be back.” Lieutenant Gragg turned to leave, then paused. “Would you be willing to work with the other witness? Piper Boone? She was the one I believe you took a bullet saving.”
Tucker tried not to smile. Actually meet the woman he’d yanked from the crosshairs of the killer? “Absolutely.”
Gragg left. Tucker’s smile disappeared as he looked out the window. So, the beautiful woman has a name. Piper Boone. And the waiter hadn’t been surprised when she gave him money for the homeless man. He must have been familiar with her charity. That meant she must dine at that restaurant often. A pattern the shooter could have learned, especially if he wanted to know where she’d be at a particular time.
* * *
After covering the scars on my wrist with a wide, studded bracelet my brother had made for me, I dressed in beige slacks, a coral long-sleeved T-shirt, and mesh water shoes. I left my hair loose to dry.
I still felt itchy and raw. Maybe watch a movie? I picked up John Wick. Keanu Reeves was walking forward, an intense look on his face, carrying a gun. The quote on the cover said, “A wild and bloody ride.”
I dropped it.
My room seemed too small. I grabbed my latest journal out of my purse and stuffed it into a beach bag along with a blanket. I started for the kitchen, then stopped. I picked up the teapot and emptied it into the bathroom sink along with the half-empty cup. I slung the beach bag over my shoulder, lifted the tea service, and resumed my stroll.
With no cell phone service, the only communication with the mainland was via a two-way radio or satellite phone, both located in the kitchen. Mildred was snapping green beans into a colander. She looked up, her gaze going from the tea service to my covered wrist. “How are you feeling?”
I placed the tray on the counter, turned, and gave her my best attempt at a smile. “Mmm. Mother’s tea hit the spot. That doesn’t look like we’re going to have greasy hamburgers for dinner?”
“Hardly. Your mother requested broiled cod, organic green beans, and carrot juice red curry.”
“I really liked it better when I was the only one you were cooking for.”
Mildred stopped snapping beans and frowned at me. “But I never made you greasy hamburgers. Your mother only has me prepare food from the organic farmer’s market and oversees . . .”
“Minor details.”
“Hmm. How about you bake something for dessert?” she asked casually.
“No.” I made a point of loosening my fists. “Did you find out the name of my knight in shining armor?”
Mildred sniffed. “No. They said they could ring his room if I had his name. We went round and round, but I couldn’t get them to budge.”
“Thanks anyway.” I tried calling Lieutenant Gragg, then Joyce, but only got voice mail and an answering machine. After leaving brief messages, I aimed for the beach.
A large, glassed-in porch on the back of the house gave a panoramic view of the ocean. Along one wall, a row of hooks held jackets and rain hats, with an open pail of flip-flops underneath. I snagged my favorite pale-yellow windbreaker in case the breeze was chilly.
An open deck filled with white wicker patio furniture overlooked the empty pool directly below. When I was younger, my father had installed a slide from this level. When Joel emptied the pool for the winter, he’d remove the slide and place a chain across the opening. As we grew up, we simply stopped filling the pool. Mother claimed it used up too much fresh water and the chemicals could be harmful to the island. On the left side of the deck, a wooden path crossed the dunes to the beach.
I strolled down the path until it ended between two sand fences. Each step lifted a bit of the weight dragging me down.
Near a grassy dune, I spread the blanket and sat facing the sea. I loved the restless ebb and flow of the waves, the slap and hiss as the water crashed on the sand, and the ocean colors ranging from emerald to turquoise.
I hated its cold indifference. And what it had stolen from me.
Pulling out a pen and my journal, I opened it, then stared at the blank page. What shall I say about today?
Dear Dove,
I wrote to my daughter every day.
I lost a friend today. A classmate. She just called up one day and said we should get together. We hadn’t seen each other in years, but it was like we’d just been apart for a day. Friends are like that, aren’t they? At least good ones.
I tapped the pen against the journal for a moment, then slipped Dove’s photo from the front of the journal. She smiled at me while clutching her favorite bunny. I returned the photo, then wrote again.
If I were to make a list—now, don’t you go and chide me on that—but if I wrote down all the people I consider friends, none of them would be recent. Acquaintances maybe. When I worked, I had colleagues. Maybe I just don’t try now. Or maybe I don’t care anymore.
I stopped writing and stared at a line of white-topped breakers. Bottlenose dolphins surfaced, then dipped under the waves in an undulating parade. A light breeze fluttered the nearby grasses and brought the scent of salt. My ankle throbbed a bit as the pain medication wore off.
I reread what I’d written. It sounded so gloomy. Dove wouldn’t like a somber entry any more than she’d liked overcast and dreary days.
Sorry about the whine fest. We added a new friend to the Four Paws Rescue. A goose. Now isn’t that fun? Maybe I could swing by and visit the newest member. I’ve never met a pet goose before. There’s a man I need to find and thank for—saving my life? No—his kindness today.
Kindness? Not the right word, but I couldn’t think of a better one. I closed my journal, tucked it into the beach bag, took off my shoes, and headed for the water. Before I could reach it, Mildred called to me from the end of the walk.
“Piper? That policeman called and gave me the name you wanted. Did you want to call the hospital?”
I reversed direction and trotted toward the house, scooping up my bag, shoes, and blanket as I passed. “Thank you,” I said to Mildred as I got closer. “Did Joyce return my call?”
“Not yet.” We walked to the house, pausing at an outdoor faucet to wash our sandy feet and shoes. As soon as I turned on the water, Nana, the resident Newfoundland dog, joined us. Over the years a succession of Newfies had lived on the island, all named Nana, regardless of sex, in honor of the Newfoundland in the children’s story Peter Pan.
This Nana was an imposing, 165-pound brown male, looking more like a grizzly than a dog.
“Hi, Nana. Don’t drool on me.” I moved the dog’s water container, a large bucket, under the faucet. Nana inspected the filling bucket for a moment before lapping up great quantities of water. I stepped away to keep from getting soaked when he lifted his head. “Mildred, don’t you think calling is too impersonal for a man who saved my life? I should drive to the hospital and see him in person.”
“Piper—”
“Take him something . . . maybe flowers? Balloons? Of course, a released balloon would become litter that could kill or injure animals. Stuffed toys seem rather juvenile for a man.”
“Piper—”
“That all seemed so trivial—”
“Piper? Are you listening?” Mildred frowned at me.
“Sure. Um, what?”
“That policeman, Lieutenant Gragg.” She pulled a slip of paper from her apron pocket. “He said the man’s name is Tucker Landry and he’s going to be fine. He’s out of surgery but weak. He’s an artist, apparently, and is willing to work with you to draw the shooter. The lieutenant wants to schedule the composite drawing for tomorrow.”
“Why not today?”
“Apparently Mr. Landry is not allowed visitors today.”
I moved the bucket over, rinsed my feet, then turned the water off. “In that case I guess I’ll . . .” Call Ami’s family? Finish packing? Watch a movie? Make some plans? Set some goals? Write another list? “Um, I’ll visit Joyce and find out what she wanted to talk to me about.”
“I’d try calling first. She may have headed for the mainland. Or I can give her a ring.”
“Thanks, Mildred, but I don’t want to slow you down. You have too much to do for the shareholders’ meeting. I’ll try calling, but I think I want to head over even if she doesn’t answer.”
She nodded and looked behind me toward the ocean. “That’s strange.”
I turned to see what she was looking at. A marine patrol boat was racing north at high speed.
Relative Silence Page 3
