Drowning Tides

by Karen Harper

  “Are they girl owl babies, ’cause chicks are girls?”

  “No,” Nick said, trying to stem a smile, “boys or girls.”

  The volunteer guide shot Nick a narrow-eyed look as if to say she was the only one with owl wisdom. She cleared her throat and went on, “And of all the owls in the world, these are the only ones who nest—live—under the ground.”

  “Pretty cool, but it would make it hard to keep clean,” Lexi told Nick in a whisper, taking his hand as he stood, even as she grabbed Claire’s. He blinked back tears at that little gesture.

  The three of them started away, heading for their car. Nick looked at Claire and grinned. “You have a very bright child here, Mrs. Markwood.”

  They all jumped when the guard owl, no doubt the father of the brood, gave a scream and beat his wings. They turned back to watch.

  “Oh, dear,” the volunteer was saying, her hand fluttering to her chest. “Perhaps he thinks I’m talking too loud, but I want everyone to hear, even those who are leaving before I’m finished. Just one more thing about the tunnels they build underground that go to their nest chamber. There is no back door or escape route for young or old if an enemy enters. Sad to think, these darling creatures have made a dead end for themselves.”

  Nick’s gaze locked with Claire’s. “Let’s go swimming,” he said.

  “Yes, let’s go.”

  * * *

  At Tigertail Beach on the island, they played in the surf and picked up shells and sand dollars. For a mid-October day, the beach was crowded with walkers, sunbathers and six young men down the way playing volleyball without a net. Claire tried to cherish the time since Lexi was safe and happy. And to cherish Nick, sweet and sexy without even trying—or was he trying? His hands had wandered on more than her waist as they’d all played in the water.

  “Wish we could spend these sand dollars,” Lexi said, holding her little stack of them as they headed up the beach toward their umbrella and chairs. “I want to take another ride in a plane, this time one Daddy’s flying and that’s ’spensive. Me and him are going to take an airboat ride soon, and he said that’s like flying on the water.”

  Claire and Nick exchanged glances, then she looked away. She didn’t like and wouldn’t accept what he must be thinking. “Oh, you didn’t tell me that,” she said as they sat back down. “Those do go very fast.”

  Lexi’s little chair was between theirs. Huddled close, they sat in the shade under the large umbrella with its flapping fringe.

  “Oh, I forgot, Mommy. Forgot he said not to tell you ’cause you’d worry, but I said you worry all the time anyway.”

  “Well, let’s not worry about anything now and just have a good time. Who wants PB&J sandwiches, potato chips and Lexi’s favorite Oreo cookies?”

  After they ate, Nick suggested making a hole in the wet sand and making some little sand owls next to it. “Yes! Great idea!” Lexi declared and bounced up.

  “Nick, I know I have Ada Cypress on the brain, but doesn’t that look like her down the way?” she asked, pointing. “Who else would dress like that and paddle in here in a canoe? Isn’t that her dugout beached on the sand farther down? And whatever is she doing?”

  Despite his sunglasses, Nick shaded his eyes. “Got me. You want to say hi to her?”

  “And see what she seems to be burying in a public place.”

  Lexi piped up, “She might be making a burrowing hole if she knows about the owls.”

  While Nick and Lexi stayed behind to work on their sculpture, Claire walked down the packed, wet sand with waves washing her feet. It was Ada, all right, oblivious to others, though she was at a distance from most people.

  As Claire approached Ada, who was still looking down, intent on her work, she walked slower. She didn’t want to startle her but hoped to see what she was burying. Papers? A newspaper?

  Ada looked up suddenly, as if she’d sensed Claire.

  “I didn’t mean to surprise you,” Claire said. “Remember me, Claire Markwood?”

  “I saw you coming. This is a special place.”

  “Yes, the sea is beautiful.”

  “This beach name honors Tiger Tail, a great Seminole warrior chief who fought against the white soldiers. He fought Andrew Jackson, the man made president of this country, a man who had killed the Seminole and Cherokee,” she said with a loud snort.

  “Oh, ah—yes. I wondered where the name Tigertail came from. Do you mind if I watch you?”

  “If you do not laugh at a foolish old woman past her time.”

  So how old was Ada? Of course, someone in their fifties could call themselves old or even look old from being out in the sun.

  “You are burying a stack of newspapers in the sand,” Claire said the obvious. She kneeled to get to the same height as Ada so she didn’t seem to tower over her.

  “Very bad writing. About Seminole casinos getting back at whites for taking their land by cheating them at the gambling tables like they cheated on the land. Best it all be buried with the man who wrote it!” She made a sound, something like phaaa!

  Claire took off her sunglasses and squinted to make out what the folded newspapers were, but she knew now. The top issue wasn’t thick, wasn’t the Naples paper. The woman’s vehemence at the paper—and at Mark Stirling, both buried now, stunned Claire.

  “That newspaper—it’s The Burrowing Owl, isn’t it, Ada?”

  “I have many copies, bought them in Goodland so others would not. Maybe this new man, Ringold, be better. I will give you one if you swear to burn it. I bury, you burn. I know other papers are coming and I can’t stop them. This is only my ritual, but that is powerful, especially here.”

  At last, Ada looked up to stare at Claire. Their gazes met and held. Then she pulled the top paper off the pile of them and thrust it at Claire. It was sandy and damp, but Claire took it.

  “Read it first,” Ada said, shoveling sand with both hands into the hole even as water from a strong wave filled it and washed against their legs. “Then you might understand.”

  She pointed twice, hard, with finger jabs at the lower, left side of the paper. Her skin looked young without prominent veins or big knuckles. Claire almost asked her what she was pointing at, since it wasn’t the top article with the photo of a Seminole Coconut Creek Casino. Ada rose and covered the rest of the hole by shoving in sand with her bare feet, then stomping on it as yet another wave smoothed out her work. Soon, like Mark, it would be completely gone. Yet Claire was unwilling to believe—yet—that this woman would have killed him.

  Without another word, Ada turned and walked away, then pushed her canoe out into the surf.

  The woman—an old woman, Claire was suddenly convinced, who looked young yet—poled where it was shallow, then paddled out to sea. The path of the sun on the water blinded Claire for a moment, and then Ada seemed to disappear.

  * * *

  Late afternoon that day, Claire was on the phone with Nick. She was on the yacht and he was heading for the marina. He was walking back to Fin Taylor’s mooring spot to talk to him again, maybe to charter an inshore fishing trip for him, Haze, Heck and Bronco. He figured he’d learn more about him if they weren’t in an interview situation. For once, he seemed reluctant to have Claire take one of the suspects on and seemed to be keeping Fin all to himself.

  Talking to Nick, she paced the deck of the Sylph. She’d again discussed with him the fact that Maggie Hazelton had had not only motive but the opportunity to murder Mark. But now she was trying to convince him of something she could not quite believe she was saying. Since they’d had Lexi with them, she hadn’t told him all about her conversation with Ada yet, though she’d showed him what she’d been burying.

  “Nick, I’m telling you, Ada is an old woman, but doesn’t look like it. She keeps her face fairly covered, but her skin, even her hands l
ook young.”

  “You’re usually more rational that that. Some people have good skin. Not having one of your off-the-meds hallucinations, are you?”

  “Not funny. She’s seems to have stepped in from the past and doesn’t like living in the present. She is steeped in tribal lore but hasn’t lived among them for years, according to the bio info I can find on her. I keep thinking about what Van Cleve said about that magician’s claims of a fountain of youth in the Bahamas—leaves rejuvenated, dying insects brought back to life—so why not people too? Remember Maggie’s comments about the rubber tree here near their cistern that rejuvenated itself after the hurricane—and that Ada washes in, maybe drinks the runoff cistern water?”

  “Let’s get real, Claire. Don’t let your psychologist knowledge or your woman’s intuition get confused. Did you get that paper she gave you laid out to dry?”

  “Yes, despite getting sand all over the dining table. That’s another thing. What she pointed to is an ad for Fin’s wife’s Irish Gifts and Goodies Shop, which I intend to visit. And that ties to what Wes Ringold mentioned about the Irish, though I don’t know how Colleen Taylor could fit into all this. But, Nick, honestly, what if Van Cleve and Ames are right, that the cistern water here has some youth-preservation qualities?”

  “If you’re believing anything Ames says now, we’re really in trouble.”

  “I know. I know. But Haze and Maggie believe in it too.”

  “He’s swayed by his family myths and money.”

  “It’s supposedly been tested by chemists and could have some mineral content that works. Things aren’t what they seem here, the people or the place.”

  “Yeah, tested by chemists who are probably on Ames’s payroll.”

  “As are we.”

  “Claire, we had no choice, and I don’t want to argue. Later, then. I’m on the marina dock. Fin’s boat’s not here but should be in soon. I’ll chat him up and call you back or just come back. See you and Lexi for supper.”

  Before she could say anything else, he was gone. If he trusted her to help him in this Mangrove Murder investigation, why didn’t he accept her findings and advice? After she talked to Fin’s wife, she’d just call on Ada again and nail down more about her past and how much she hated and wanted to silence Stirling.

  And speaking of the past—to her surprise, Jace appeared on the bottom of the gangway. Bronco materialized almost immediately and stood at the top of it as if to block his access to the boat.

  “It’s okay, Bronco,” she called to him before there could be another confrontation.

  The big man gave her a nod and walked to the aft, but leaned his elbows on the railing as if to keep an eye on them.

  “You should have called,” Claire said as Jace came up the gangway. “Or maybe you did, since my phone was lost, but how did you find us anyway?”

  “I just checked marinas large enough to take this monster,” he told her. He came close and put his hand on the railing close to hers.

  He looked good, she thought, maybe a little tired. Though he wore a Florida Gators baseball cap, he seemed to be sporting the same military haircut, the same close shave as usual. His eyes were laser blue and burned her in their intensity.

  “So how’s married life, Claire?”

  “New. Busy.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  She regretted sounding so abrupt. Sad that, since she’d once eloped with Jace, he had to believe she had run off to marry Nick so fast when she’d known him a much shorter time than she had Jace. But she couldn’t go into all that right now. He’d just have to feel hostile until she and Nick got out from under Ames’s thumb and could really explain. Besides, though she’d kept knowledge of her disease from Jace, he’s the one who had wanted out of their marriage, and that still hurt.

  “Claire, I’m here to see Lexi, to set up my scheduled time with her,” he interrupted her agonizing. “An airboat ride, maybe miniature golf, just some good dad-daughter fun and talk time so she doesn’t get confused about who Daddy really is.”

  “I wouldn’t let her do that, Jace. She loves you and always will.”

  “Now why do I think I heard that line before in reference to you and me?”

  Claire fought to ignore his tense tone. She steadied herself and said only, “The thing is she’s exhausted and sleeping right now.”

  “If she’s slept for a while, can you wake her up?”

  “I suppose so. Her nanny’s with her.”

  “You’ve got that lifeguard gorilla on board and a nanny? Not to mention a captain and crew? What the hell is this, the lifestyles of the rich and famous? Is Nick Markwood that loaded, or are you two living off King Midas Ames, and just pretending you hate him? Well, can’t say I blame you—get it while you can. But I’d hate to think you are on the gravy train, despite these really nice perks, because it just isn’t like you.”

  She could tell that Jace was not only angry but hurt. He even blinked back tears. She was getting upset too, but she still felt for him.

  “That’s right. And you too hated the man enough to go to Grand Cayman to help find Lexi, and I—we—do appreciate that,” she insisted.

  “How about tomorrow at ten, then? I’ll have her back here before dark, scout’s honor. Claire, it’s one thing to see you, but I want to see her too.”

  Behind Jace’s back, Claire could see Bronco coming closer, and she didn’t want any sort of misunderstanding or confrontation. She fought to control her emotions. “Jace, I’m sorry if I sound unfair or stubborn. It’s just that, after her abduction, she needs close watching. She’s still having bad dreams about it all. I just wanted you to be double aware of that—to be very watchful when you’re with her.”

  “You think after all that I wouldn’t?”

  “Ten o’clock tomorrow then, here. See you then.”

  “For sure. See you.”

  18

  Nick paced the dock of the marina where Fin Taylor kept his boat. It wasn’t the same one where the yacht was moored, but not far. He was fuming over the fact that he and Claire seemed to be arguing without really arguing. Worse, he was furious that she had evidently kept back some key information from him, even if some of it had to be nonsense about Ada.

  But not just that. Without Claire hearing, Lexi had mentioned that she’d talked to Mommy about things she overheard Ames saying on the phone about a dead body. The child had only blurted it out when he’d explained to her that it was all right to take the grayish sand dollars washed up on the sand but not the white ones in the water. The grayish ones, he’d told her, were no longer living animals but dead bodies.

  “I heard Mr. Kilcorse talk about a dead body in the water. I told Mommy about it,” the child had said, before Claire came closer in the surf, so he hadn’t asked Lexi more. But if Claire didn’t explain, he’d have to question Lexi. So what else was his wife and partner keeping to herself, besides her beautiful body?

  Of course, they’d been forced to marry and hadn’t outright chosen to be with each other that way, but was it more than that? Could Ames have privately threatened her about Lexi?

  Ames’s reach to buy off and control others had always scared Nick. Could it be that years ago Ames had told Nick’s father he had to kill himself or he’d hurt his wife and his son? That was a worse thought than if Ames had shot him to stage a suicide.

  Didn’t Claire realize Lexi could link Ames and his spies and enforcers to Mark Stirling’s murder? He needed to know that. Nailing Ames for hiring a hit man, even if he didn’t pull the trigger, could be one way to get him on trial. Then Nick would be more than happy to expose in open court and the national media the fact that Ames High’s youth water was a con—if it was, and Claire was fighting him on that too.

  He threw himself down on the wooden bench to wait for Fin to put in. He also had to wait to
confront the woman—in person, in private—who not only turned him on, but, he hoped, had not secretly turned on him.

  * * *

  As soon as Claire settled down from Jace’s sudden appearance, she went back inside and reread the Irish imports ad on the bottom right corner of the first page of the newspaper Ada had been burying. It was hard to read the damp, sandy paper. It tore easily, and the print on the back of the page bled through.

  She had previously read several of the sample issues archived on the paper’s website to get a flavor for Stirling’s articles. She would describe the style of his big, front-page articles as brilliant but brutal. No wonder he had a lot of enemies, which gave her and Nick a lot of suspects. To defend Haze on trial if he was charged, they had to have laid the groundwork for someone else as a likely killer.

  But this advertisement was so different. A scalloped edge around the ad as well as a cluster of shamrocks tied by a bow made it look impressive and expensive, yet somehow delicate and feminine. The Irish Gifts and Goodies Shop hours were eight to eight. She’d researched it online too and learned it was a small place, attached to the Taylor home. The shop did a lot of mail orders, but people were welcome to drop in.

  So Claire decided to go there now instead of putting it off until tomorrow, the day she’d promised to stop by The Burrowing Owl newspaper office. She was dying to know if Wes Ringold’s off-kilter Irish allusions somehow pointed to Colleen Taylor’s shop.

  She told Nita and Bronco where she was going and, like Nick on this small island, decided to walk, though Bronco had driven both their cars to the parking lot. He’d also brought his truck, with his trailer still attached, which fit right in around here. The Taylors’ house wasn’t far; she’d seen that street listed on the local map they’d picked up at Stan’s Idle Hour.

  Among the island’s double-wide and single trailers and houses on stilts, the Taylor home and Colleen’s small shop stood out as high-class. The house was two stories, light green with a slanted tin roof. A white picket fence circled a yard of cut grass and well-tended flower beds of bright crotons, begonias and ever-blooming rosebushes. The shop, with its hand-painted sign, must be just a first-floor front room with large windows in which hung stained glass pieces of shamrocks, leprechauns, harps and Celtic crosses.