Suddenly One Summer

by Barbara Freethy

  Henry shot him a quick look. “No, not at all. He lost his faith in a lot of things when his parents split up. You’re not a believer, are you, Mr….”

  “Tanner. And no, I’m not.” Reid paused. “I heard that the Gabriella was filled with massive treasures from the Gold Rush, yet no divers have ever found the wreck or any evidence of gold.”

  Henry nodded, an admiring expression filling his eyes. “You’ve done your homework. But just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it’s not there. I’ve been fishing and diving off this coast my entire life. There are underground canyons, mountains, unbelievable spectacles beneath the water that can only be seen when the tides are just right. There is no doubt in my mind that somewhere not far from here sits the remains of the Gabriella and all she contained.” Henry paused. “Some people think the angels are trying to make a map on the cliff face to point to where the Gabriella lies. They want something to be found—something that’s been lost too long.”

  “Treasure,” Reid murmured, a tingle running down his spine. The thought of undiscovered gold was undeniably exciting.

  “That’s right.” Henry gave Reid a grin. “Got your attention now, huh? The angels you could ignore, but not buried treasure. Temptation, greed, desire changes a person. Desperation, too.” Henry paused and lifted the beer bottle to his lips, taking a long, thoughtful swallow. “This place has always been about the battle between good and evil, the two sides of every human being’s soul. In my family there are journals passed down from generation to generation, each retelling the story of that night: the terrible storm, the ship splintering apart on the rocks, the rush for lifeboats—the knowledge that there weren’t enough, that not everyone would survive, that some would not act heroically.”

  Reid stared at the old man, caught up in the story. “Was your ancestor one of the heroes?”

  “In his writing it seems so, but who knows? Sometimes a man doesn’t want to look too closely at his soul. You know what I mean, Mr. Tanner?”

  Reid had spent the better part of a year not looking at his soul. He had the distinct feeling that old Henry could see that. The thought unnerved him. He’d always considered himself a good poker player, not a man to give anything away.

  Henry continued, “The lines between good and evil can be razor thin. Sometimes they’re blurry, and sometimes they’re impossible to see until you step over them. You think you’re doing what’s right, and suddenly you realize just how wrong you are.” He sat back in his seat and took another sip of his beer.

  Surprisingly rattled by the conversation, Reid swung his gaze toward the town, needing a minute to compose his thoughts. Small shops lined Ocean Avenue, the waterfront looking like a picture postcard with antique shops, sidewalk cafés, art galleries, clothing boutiques, a quilt store, and shops selling Angel’s Bay memorabilia.

  The homes in the older part of town were on the smaller side, but on some of the adjacent bluffs and hillsides, large seaside homes were being developed. It wouldn’t be long before Angel’s Bay had more business and more people than it could handle. Actually, maybe that time had already come. The manager of the Seagull Inn, where he was staying, had told him that all the rooms in town were booked. They’d never had so many tourists. Perhaps that’s exactly what the makers of the video had intended to accomplish.

  “You should talk to Fiona Murray,” Henry said, interrupting Reid’s thoughts. “If you’re interested in the history of the town, that is. She runs the Angel’s Heart Quilt Shop, where all the ladies go. It’s that big red barn over there.” He pointed toward the far end of the street. “Fiona knows a lot about the Gabriella and the people who survived—what happened to them, where they are now. History says that some of the survivors tried to leave town, but they never made it. It’s as if those who died in the wreck had a grip on them and wouldn’t let go.” Henry stroked his lightly bearded chin with one hand. “Story goes that something bad happened on the ship before she went down.”

  “Like what?” Reid asked, his attention captured once again.

  “Murder,” Henry said bluntly. “Some think that’s why the angels are getting stirred up. They’re tired of waiting for the truth to be revealed. They want someone to pay attention.” He paused, his gaze drilling into Reid’s. “Maybe that someone is you.”

  Murder, lost treasure, a mysterious woman…Every time he turned around, there seemed to be a new story in Angel’s Bay. Reid felt an inexplicable run of goose bumps down his arm, as if the weather was about to turn, or something was about to happen, which was crazy. He was just getting caught up in the old man’s imagination.

  “Sounds like quite a story,” Reid said lightly. “Someone else will have to tell it.”

  Henry gave him a speculative look. “Why don’t we go for a ride out to the cliffs? The markings on the cliff are best seen from the ocean.”

  Reid looked at the distant bluffs that dotted the rugged coastline. Beyond the calm waters of the bay, the water appeared more turbulent and treacherous. “How far is it?”

  “Just past the breakwater. Takes about twenty minutes to get out there. You got something more important to do? I wouldn’t have taken you for a man content to write a story from the sidelines.” Henry threw down the challenge with a smile.

  Reid picked it up with an answering grin. “You got that right. Let’s go.”

  “Great.” Henry jumped to his feet and prepared the boat to sail. He untied the ropes, started the engine, and they were off. As they pulled away from the dock, Reid moved to stand next to Henry at the wheel. There was a glint of excitement in Henry’s eyes.

  “You love the sea, don’t you?” Reid asked.

  “I’ve been on it my whole life. It’s in my blood. Wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I couldn’t see the ocean, taste the salt in the air, feel the wind in my face. There’s nothing better.” Henry gave him a regretful smile. “My sons don’t feel the same way, though. One of ’em lives in Detroit, the other in Nebraska. Landlocked, the both of them, and they’re happy.”

  “I guess one of them is Timothy’s father.”

  “My oldest, Paul. He and Erica divorced about six years ago. Erica was here for a while, but she remarried last year and moved to Los Angeles. Timothy decided to stay and moved in with his buddy. I see him as much as I can, but he’s a young man. He doesn’t care to spend much time with his old grandpa. What a beautiful day. God, I love this,” Henry added with a slight slur.

  Reid’s gaze narrowed. “How many beers have you had?”

  “Now there’s a question you should have asked before we left,” Henry said with a laugh. He gunned the motor, and Reid grabbed onto the rail to steady himself. “Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

  The old man’s statement sent a wave of pain through Reid. The last time he’d heard those words, someone had died.

  “You okay?” Henry asked, shooting him a quick look. “You look a little green. How many beers have you had?”

  “Just the one you gave me. Not nearly enough.”

  Henry gave a nod. “I could see the light in your eyes when I handed you the drink. You’ve been losing yourself in it, haven’t you? Don’t you know that when the bottle is empty, so are you?”

  “That has occurred to me, yes.”

  “Afraid you’ll forget, or afraid you’ll remember?”

  Reid tipped his head in acknowledgment. “Maybe a little of both. I didn’t think I was that easy to read.”

  “I’ve been on this earth a long time, son.”

  Reid looked away, feeling another odd rush of emotion at the simple word. He’d never had a father, never heard a man call him son, and had thought that he’d gotten used to that fact. Strangely enough, he felt comforted by the word. In fact, with the wind in his face and the sun burning down on his head, he was feeling better than he had in a long time. Summer had arrived, and it had always been his favorite time of the year: long days, warm nights, and nothing but blue skies. It was a season of possibilities.
He was surprised by the hopeful thought, not sure where it had come from. The ocean, probably. Henry was right. There was something about being out on the sea that made a man feel powerful and free.

  As he glanced back at Henry, he saw a look of pure joy on the old man’s face. “I can see why you love this.”

  “Out here, I rule the world,” Henry said with a broad sweep of his hand. “You know what that feels like, I bet.”

  “I used to,” Reid admitted.

  “On the sea, I control my destiny—at least until Mother Nature decides to play, but I can handle her. Back on land, there are too many people telling me what to do.”

  “Probably people who care about you.”

  “Who think I’m too old to cross the street,” Henry grumbled.

  Reid grinned and pointed toward a burned out two-story house on one of the bluffs. “What’s that over there?”

  “That’s the Ramsay place. It’s cursed. People keep trying to rebuild it, but something always happens.”

  “I suppose it’s haunted, too. Or maybe that’s where the angels hang out when they’re not drawing pictures on the cliffs.”

  “Could be,” Henry said, ignoring his sarcasm. “All I know is that no one has been able to live in that house for more than a few days in the last thirteen years, ever since they found fifteen-year-old Abigail Jamison’s body in the basement. She’d been murdered. The house was empty at the time, between rentals. One of the local boys, Shane Murray, was a suspect for a while, but they didn’t have enough evidence to hold him and the crime has never been solved. Since then the house has gone through a couple of owners, but something always goes wrong. The people who have stayed there say they hear screams coming from the basement—Abigail’s screams, no doubt.”

  “You should be writing books, Henry,” Reid said with a grin. “You’re a born storyteller.”

  “Just telling it like it is.”

  “When was the fire?”

  “About six months ago. A new owner decided to remodel the house and then it went up in smoke. Arson—but no one was ever caught. I hear the property is on the market again, but I doubt anyone will touch it. At least not a local.”

  As they made their way up the coastline, the waves rocked the boat up and down. “Is it always like this?” Reid asked, holding onto the rail, his stomach beginning to rumble.

  Henry’s weathered smile widened. “This is nothing. The ocean is just playing with us, giving us a ride.”

  “Have you ever been caught in a bad storm?”

  “Three of them—the last one about ten years ago. The waves were pounding the boat hard, and it was taking on water fast. I thought I was going down for sure. I figured I’d had a good run, and it was my own damn fault for sailing into bad weather. Then I started hearing voices in my head, people in my life who had died—my grandmother, my mother, my sister. I followed the angels, and they led me home.”

  “Did you actually see these angels?” Reid asked, unable to keep the skeptical note out of his voice.

  “Nope. But I felt their presence.”

  “I think most people look for angels and spiritual guidance when they think they’re about to die.”

  “I expect that’s true. But I didn’t die, did I?” Henry cut the engine and pointed toward the cliff. “That’s the one.”

  A large number of people were gathered on the bluff, angel seekers out in full force.

  “How close can we get?” Reid asked.

  “Not too close, but you can use these.” Henry pulled out a pair of binoculars. “You’ll have a better view than those up on the bluff. A few folks have gotten so crazy as to try to climb down the cliff. One fell onto those rocks day before yesterday and broke both legs. They had to airlift him out of there. That’s why they’ve got that fence set up now.”

  Reid looked through the binoculars at the onlookers behind the temporary wire fence on the edge of the cliff. Most looked like normal tourists checking out the scene, but there were a couple of people on their knees, their heads bowed in prayer. He zoomed in on the cliff face. The video had focused more on the angel shapes than the cliff, although subsequent film had showed what appeared to be random markings. As he looked through the binoculars, Reid was surprised to see that the markings appeared to form the outline of a face. There was an oval shape to the head, two wide eyes, an upturned nose, a beautiful mouth, and what appeared to be hair streaming off to one side—reddish gold streaks that stood out in contrast to the otherwise pale rock face.

  His heart began to beat faster as the image took shape, searing into his brain.

  “What do you see?” Henry asked.

  “I’m not sure.” He couldn’t give voice to the thought running through his head. It was crazy.

  “Give it a shot,” Henry prodded. “It can’t be that difficult to say.”

  “Maybe a woman’s face, maybe not.”

  “Interesting,” Henry commented.

  Reid lowered the binoculars, sensing he was about to hear another story from Henry. “Why do you say that?”

  “When I look at the cliff, I see a rosebush.”

  “You do?” Reid took another glance through the lenses. “I don’t see that.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. Everyone sees something different. The image has been described as everything from a map to a face to a treasure chest, a house, even a wolf. I think whatever you see is what you need to see. That’s why no one can agree.”

  “Save the bullshit for the tourists.” Reid handed the binoculars back to Henry, then lifted his camera and snapped some shots to study later.

  The old man laughed. “Who’s to say what’s real and what’s not?”

  “Or what’s the work of angels, and what’s the work of waves pounding against rocks.”

  “Those markings weren’t there a month ago. Every day there are new lines, although the last few days have been slow. Maybe because so many people are camping out on the bluff, scaring the angels away.”

  “Or scaring away whoever was carving a picture on the cliff.”

  “It would be almost impossible for a human to reach that part of the cliff. I told you what happened to the last guy who tried.”

  “There has to be a way.” The alternative was even worse to consider.

  As Henry turned the boat back toward the harbor, he gave Reid a curious look. “So who was she?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The woman’s face you saw on the cliff. Did you know her?”

  Had he recognized her? Had his brain put Allison’s face on that cliff because he couldn’t get her image out of his mind?

  Turning the question back on Henry, Reid asked, “So if you think we see what we want to see, what’s up with your rosebush?”

  Henry turned his gaze toward the sea. “My Mary used to tend the roses behind our house. She had a whole garden of them. I was all about the water, she was all about the earth. She loved to plant seeds, tend to them and watch them grow. I’d go to sleep at night smelling the roses on her hands, in her hair, and since she died I can’t get the smell out of my head.” He gave a sad shake of his head. “We were married thirty-nine years. We were going to take a cruise to Alaska for our fortieth anniversary. I couldn’t get her out on this boat to save my life, but she always wanted to go on one of those fancy cruise ships with the big buffets. We kept putting it off—then it was too late. She’s been gone almost four years now. Never thought I’d be able to keep going after she passed, but one day somehow turned into the next. Time passes, you know?” Henry looked over at Reid. “You’ll know, son.”

  “What are you—some kind of psychic?” It was uncanny how Henry seemed able to read him better than people he’d known for a lifetime.

  Reid moved away from the rail to gaze out over the water as Henry steered the boat back toward the bay. As the cliff grew smaller in the distance, a shadow passed between him and the sun—a shadow that appeared decidedly female. Probably a wisp of a cloud, yet there were no other clouds
in the sky. The most ridiculous thought came into his head, and Reid shoved it away. He’d been in town less than forty-eight hours, but he was already getting caught up in its spell. He had not just seen an angel. Because if he were going to see a spirit, it wouldn’t be an angel; it would be one of the darker ones.

  FOUR

  Jenna felt goose bumps run down her arms as the afternoon breeze lifted her hair off her neck. She’d been feeling unsettled all day, rattled not only by the news that Brad had put the house up for sale, but also by Reid Tanner’s intrusive appearance in her life.

  As she and Lexie walked down Ocean Avenue, she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching them. The sleepy town she’d first moved into was now a frenzy of activity with preparations for the weekend festival, a combined celebration of the founding of the town and the official beginning of summer. The festival was set to kick off in two hours with a wine, cheese, and art fair along the waterfront.

  Numerous other events were scheduled for the weekend, including a carnival of games and rides in the grassy area at the far end of town. Jenna was already dreading the crowds of strangers and the ensuing chaos. If it were up to her, she’d hide out in the house all weekend and not come out until Monday. Unfortunately, there was no way she could keep Lexie away from the action. She didn’t want Lexie to live her life in terror, although some days she wondered if a normal existence would ever be truly possible.

  “Kimmy wants us to eat with them tonight,” Lexie said excitedly, skipping along next to Jenna. Lexie was always a bundle of energy. She never walked if she could skip or run; never sat without swinging her legs or tapping her feet. Her active movements actually made Jenna feel better. During the first few days of their panicked flight across the country, Lexie had been far too quiet and withdrawn. It was good to see her coming out of that numb state, though with her renewed spirit, her stubborn streak had also returned. “They’ll save us seats, okay?” Lexie added, shooting Jenna a purposeful look as if she were expecting Jenna to say no, which is exactly what Jenna wanted to do.