“You’re following us,” he said as soon as he got close enough.
“You’re news.”
“Where did you get that book?”
“What book?”
Either she was an excellent actress, or she had no idea what he was talking about. “The book about the curse.”
“Ah.” She raised her eyebrows. “I thought it made a good story.”
“Who sent it to you?”
“No one sent it to me, and even if they had, I wouldn’t tell you. Would you care to make a statement about the case for the record?” She dropped her cell into her purse and pulled out a small recorder.
“Tucker!” Piper, both tote bags now full, came up beside them. “You!” she said to Bailey.
“How about you, Miss Boone? Care to make a statement for the press?”
Piper spun and practically ran to the car. Tucker attempted to keep up. Hannah was waiting for them.
“Get in.” Piper unlocked the car, dropped one of the bags and Tucker’s crutches inside the trunk, then jumped in. The minute the doors were closed, she started the engine and spun out of the parking area. “How did she know where to find us?”
“How many ways are there to get to your house?”
“Good point. If she’s stalking us, who else is?” Piper shook her head. “I’m sorry. I wanted to say welcome to South Carolina and get some thank-you gifts. Here.” She reached into the tote bag and handed Hannah a sweetgrass basket. “The South Carolina craft. The Gullah community, descendants of West African slaves, passed down the tradition of weaving these baskets.”
“Thank you, Piper.” A smile lit up the undamaged side of Hannah’s face.
“For you.” She gave Tucker a container of pimento cheese. “Put this on most anything. A local favorite. You’ll have a small refrigerator in your room.”
“Thank you.” He took the container. “If nothing else, I did get a chance to ask the reporter about the book. She seemed to know of it, but either didn’t know or wouldn’t say how she got it.”
Piper sighed. “Another dead end.” She parked at the end of the road next to a pale-yellow house with a well-trimmed lawn. Beyond it, a dock jutted into the water. “We’re here.”
* * *
I shifted so I could see Tucker and Hannah. “Silva’s in charge of our tiny armada and usually pilots the day cruiser, that big one over there.” I pointed at the largest vessel. Several smaller boats were also tied up along the dock. A line of boathouses to the right all had rails leading inside from the water.
“Don’t you get to the island by bridge?” Tucker cleared his throat. “It doesn’t look that far away.”
“That’s not the island. Let me orient you. We’re facing west. The Atlantic Ocean is behind us. What you are calling an island is a wildlife preserve and marsh. Keep going straight ahead and you’ll reach the Intracoastal Waterway, which runs from Boston down to Florida, then around to Brownsville, Texas. Over there”—I pointed left—“is Marion Inlet, for which the town is named. We take the inlet to the ocean to get out to the island.”
Tucker gasped. His complexion had turned gray. He cleared his throat. “I . . . I guess I didn’t realize you had to go by boat . . .”
“But I thought you knew Curlew was an island.”
He clutched the door handle. “Like I said, I pictured a bridge . . . or something.”
“Our boats are perfectly safe, and Silva is an excellent captain, but if you’d rather stay on the mainland here at the guesthouse . . . ?”
Tucker’s gaze was focused on the boats tied up to the dock. “I don’t know.”
I turned to see Hannah. “How about you? Here or your grandma’s place?”
“If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to stay here tonight. I don’t think I’m ready to face Grandma’s place just yet.”
“Do you want me to stay with you?”
“Ah, Piper, you’re just as nice as Grandma said. I’m fine alone. As long as you have internet.”
“Of course. Okay then.” I opened the car door. “I’ll get Hannah settled while you decide, Tucker. Whatever you are most comfortable with is fine with me.” I gave him a reassuring smile, stood, and retrieved Hannah’s suitcase from the trunk. Hannah followed me to the split staircase leading to the house.
Hannah paused at the base of the stairs. “Does it matter which side I go up? And, like, why is the house up in the air?”
“The house here and the one on the island are built on pilings in case of flooding, and the split staircase is called petticoat stairs. It’s a nod to tradition going back to when women wore hoop skirts. It would be very impolite for a gentleman to follow a lady up the stairs and possibly see her petticoat, so women went up one side and men the other.”
“Awesome!”
We kept the key inside one of the rods of the wind chimes by the door. The door opened to a large common area used for both living and dining. The kitchen was on our left and bedrooms on the right. A wide porch overlooked the shoreline ahead of us. The house was aired and had fresh flowers in the vases. A bowl of fruit rested on the counter. A cleaning and maintenance service kept the house ready for guests.
“Awesome possum!” Hannah gave me a lopsided grin.
I set down her suitcase and followed her to the porch.
“I love it here! This is beautiful.” As she stared at the water, Hannah’s eye welled with tears. “What do you think happened to Grandma?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart.” The endearment came naturally from my lips. I slipped an arm around her shoulder and gave her a quick hug. “Let’s call the police and see if there’s anything new.” Pulling my cell out of my purse, I looked up the phone number and dialed. After a recording told me I could dial the party’s extension at any time, I finally got a human. “I’m calling to see if you have an update on Dr. Joyce Mueller.”
“What kind of an update were you looking for?” The woman sounded bored.
“She’s missing.”
“Did you file a missing-persons report?”
“Yes. Last night. At least I think Mandy filed one.”
“What was the name again?”
“Dr. Joyce Mueller. M-u-e-l-l-e-r.” I rolled my eyes at Hannah. The clatter of a keyboard carried clearly through the phone.
“Nope. Nothing in the system.”
“Excuse me?”
“Look.” The woman went from bored to irritated. “You can file online. W-w-w-dot-Marion-Inlet-police—one word—dot-g-o-v.”
“But—”
Click.
“What’s wrong?” Hannah asked.
“Um . . . I guess I need to get some more information to the police. Did you find a list of relatives and friends?”
“Yes. I brought her Christmas card list.”
“If you don’t mind my taking it, I’ll . . . update the police on my computer.” I moved to the sideboard in the dining room, which held the house phone. “To get in touch with anyone on the island, dial the number on this pad of paper.” I pulled open the drawer and pulled out the paper, followed by several menus. “Feel free to order food from these restaurants. They all deliver and know to bill us. The house computer is in that alcove over there. Are you sure you’ll be okay here tonight?”
“Yes.”
I handed her the key. “Lock up tight. Let me go and see if Tucker wants to stay here as well.”
* * *
After Piper and Hannah went into the house, Tucker slowly got out of the car and retrieved his crutches from the trunk. The house looked very inviting. He turned toward it, then looked at the waiting boat. It is time.
He swung toward the dock. Think about something else. This is only a dock. Nothing bad happened to you here.
But something bad did happen. Not to him. To Piper.
He stopped. Piper’s daughter was abducted from here. He could see how the crime occurred. A small structure, probably for storing boating equipment, perched at the end of the dock with an inviting gazebo
surrounding it. Someone easily could have hidden inside the structure and jumped out when Piper’s husband docked.
He moved closer. That’s it. He needed to not think about his own darkness, his own fears, his own loss. Another step forward. He was an investigator once, before his career ended. Two more steps. He was now at the start of the dock. He slipped his hand into his slacks and felt the pebbles.
The captain of the day cruiser spotted him. “Come on over and get comfortable.”
Tucker was far from where it happened. This was an inlet, not a river. It smelled of salt and sea creatures, not pine. Think about Piper’s case. He had offered to help her. “Sure. I’m Tucker, by the way. Tucker Landry.”
“I know who you are, Mr. Landry. All over the news. You saved our Piper. Name’s Silva.”
Keep your eyes on the captain. Move forward. “Call me Tucker. Nice to meet you, Mr. Silva. Or is it Captain Silva?” Almost there.
“Just Silva. Watch your step.”
Tucker looked down and froze. Black water, visible between the boards of the dock, lapped less than two feet beneath him.
“I said, are you okay?” Someone gripped his arm.
Tucker jumped. Silva was next to him, holding his arm. The captain’s brows were furrowed. “You having trouble with your injury? You’re white as a ghost.”
“Um . . . yeah. Injury.” He concentrated on the colorful pillows decorating the bench seat on the open deck, maneuvering his hurt leg over the boat’s side. Silva almost lifted him into the boat. He dropped onto a cushioned seat and swiped the sweat slithering down his cheek.
“Here.” Silva shoved a refillable bottle of water into his hand.
Tucker opened it and took a long drink. “Thanks. I guess I’m still a bit shaky.” Concentrate on Piper. Drawing her daughter. Moving away from That Night. “How long have you worked for the Boone family, Silva?”
“From the beginning, Mr. Landry. From the time Montgomery Boone built the house on the island.”
“You must know the family pretty well.”
“Well enough.”
Tucker took another drink of water. “So. Am I really going to a cursed island?”
Silva’s lids dropped over his eyes like shutters. “That’s what some say.”
Chapter 11
Piper appeared, spotted him, and waved. He waved back. She trotted toward them.
Tucker turned back to Silva. “We stopped at a farmer’s market just now. Some of the people crossed themselves or spit three times as Piper walked past their booths.”
Silva cussed softly under his breath. “Yeah. I saw the article. I’ll kill the reporter who wrote about it. Let sleeping dogs lie and all that. Now it’s more grief for Piper and the family.” He jumped from the boat to the dock.
As soon as she was near, she said, “I take it you’ve decided to stay on the island after all.” She handed her purchases to Silva.
He nodded and tried to stand to help her. Before he could get his crutches placed, she’d lightly jumped on board, barely rocking the boat.
“I’m glad you’re coming.” She took a seat next to him.
His pulse quickened at her nearness.
Silva untied the boat and turned left. They soon rounded the end of the mainland and headed out to sea.
With one hand, Tucker held the side of the boat in a death grip. The other clutched the stones in his pocket and squeezed. Concentrate on something else. “Kinda windy out here. Did you want to move inside?” He nodded at the cabin.
He felt more than saw a small shiver run through her. “Nope. Too enclosed. I have claustrophobia.”
He raised his eyebrows.
She lifted one shoulder. “It started with Dove’s passing. My vivid imagination, thinking of the water closing over her head . . .”
Now it was Tucker’s turn to shiver. “Yes, I can . . . relate. Well then, since I’m about to meet them, tell me about your family.”
She leaned closer to be heard over the boat’s engine. “My grandparents William and Lucinda Boone started the family company, which made plumbing supplies.” She smiled. “Who would have thought sinks and toilets would be so profitable? Their son, my father, Montgomery, grew the business and branched out into other endeavors.” She fluttered her hand in front of her face and drawled, “He married mah mother, the former Car-o-line Beauregard, of the Atlanta Beauregards, a fine ol’ Southern family. Grandfather Beauregard died young of a heart attack, leavin’ the family, as the sayin’ goes, too poor to paint, too proud to whitewash. Grandmother died young too, but my mother married well.” Her eyes became unfocused.
He wanted to ask more, but before he could formulate a question, she continued in her usual voice. “There were four of us children. Tern, the only boy, then Sparrow, Raven, then me. As you’ve read, Sparrow passed in her early twenties.”
In the distance, a low mound took shape and grew larger.
“Mother often said Montgomery built the perfect home for the perfect family on the perfect island. But . . .”
“But your daughter died there?”
“Yes. Father died first, then Sparrow.” She gave him a quick, humorless smile. “The only other folks are the permanent staff. Silva here.” She nodded toward the captain. “Joel, whom you met, and Joel’s wife, Mildred. They both live on the island year-round and are like family. I suspect they’d lay down their lives for us.”
Tucker felt a pang in his chest. What would it be like to have people care so much? Change the subject. The island stretched ahead, with a wooden dock jutting out into the water. The same small structure appeared at the end. Tucker nodded at the building. “What’s that?”
“A storage shed. Like on the other dock.”
“Is it kept locked?” he asked.
Her gaze sharpened on him. “On the island, no. The one on the mainland is locked with a numeric keypad. And was locked the day Dove was kidnapped—if that’s why you’re asking.”
“It is.”
“The police said there wasn’t any sign of forced entry, that the killer probably hid behind the shed and waited. They said the boat was probably the target—it was brand new—and the killer didn’t realize Dove was on board. When he did . . . well, he couldn’t leave a witness . . .” She had slumped in her seat.
Silva expertly whipped the boat around until it was again facing out to sea, then maneuvered it to the dock. Before Tucker could move, Silva had secured the boat and jumped back on board to grab Piper’s bags. Piper followed him. After handing Piper her things, Silva reached across to help Tucker.
Tucker clenched his jaw and concentrated on the proffered hand. He would not look down at the inky water between boat and dock. Once again Silva yanked him across, bracing him while he adjusted his crutches.
Fortunately Piper didn’t see his clumsy movements. She was digging into her bag. “Here, Silva, I brought you some boiled peanuts.” She handed him a paper sack. “I got you the Cajun spiced.”
“Thank you, Miss Piper. Do you or Mr. Tucker need help getting over to the house?”
“We’re fine. We’ll take a cart.”
As at the mainland house, boathouses were lined up to the right. The shoreline was a combination of pebbles and sand, with a wooden walkway leading to a small, open-sided structure perched above the high-water mark. Three golf carts were parked underneath. The maritime forest provided a lush backdrop and, with the exception of a road, hid any sign of human habitation. A fragrant breeze stirred the foliage, creating a sibilant sigh. Piper stowed her purchases on the back seat of the largest cart, added his crutches, and hopped into the driver’s seat. He sat next to her.
The cart quietly purred up the crushed-shell road and meandered through the woods before revealing the house—or rather, the mansion. Like the Boone home on the mainland, this one was raised, but the main entrance was at ground level.
Piper stopped the cart near the front. Just inside the door was a foyer. Raised voices carried faintly from somewhere upstairs. The fo
yer itself was impressive, open to the sky, with a lush planting of palmettos and ferns in the center, edged with hand-chiseled stone.
“During bad weather, a wall of glass can slide across that opening.” Piper pointed to the upper floor overlooking the foyer. “A glass door can seal off the stairs at the top, so you still get the feeling of being outdoors. There’s a similar wall in the living room.”
“Clever.” He moved closer to look at an unusual welded sculpture near the plantings. It was an abstract female figure.
“My father’s work.” Piper moved next to him. “He was an amateur sculptor. He made a smaller version for the bow of the Faire Taire.”
“He was talented.” Tucker turned to scan the rest of the entrance. To his left was a small door set deep into the wall. Straight ahead, framed magazine covers and articles about the house and family hung on the cream-colored walls. A hand-carved wooden railing featuring palmettos lined the curving stairs and circled the upper floor.
Piper opened the door, which proved to be a small elevator wallpapered to look like a tiny library. “Ta-da! Useful for groceries, luggage, and an occasional man on crutches.”
“I take it your family isn’t much for primitive accommodations?” He hobbled inside and hoped she’d join him.
“Nope.” She stored her packages next to him. “We have a workout room, study, game room, and media center, which used to be the sewing room. Once you push the up button, watch your hands and feet. The door doesn’t open back up if they get in the way.”
The voices grew louder and angrier, although he still couldn’t make out any words. “Maybe I came at a bad time?”
Piper’s face flushed. She gave a slight shrug, then reached inside and pushed the up button. A set of stainless steel doors quietly slid shut, followed by a small whirl and slight jerk telling him he was in motion. He wasn’t surprised to see her waiting at the next floor.
The argument was now clear. “So where do you suppose that reporter got that information?” a female voice asked.
Relative Silence Page 9
