Adrift

by Micki Browning

Rabbit lifted his hand. “I’m okay. At least physically.” He snapped a Pelican case shut, then held it out to Echo.

  Echo ignored him and knelt beside Amber.

  Rabbit rolled his eyes and slid the case by Echo’s feet. “I’m pretty sure the medics can handle it from here.”

  “Here.” Echo shoved the camera case back toward Rabbit. He stood, then stomped off the boat and disappeared into the shadows at the far end of the dock.

  Bijoux approached the stern. She signaled Mer, and the stack of bracelets on her arm jangled. “When you’re finished, Deputy Talbot needs to speak with you.”

  Leroy shoulder-bumped Mer. “Worrying gives small things big shadows.”

  “He wants to speak to you next,” Bijoux added.

  “Well, then, make sure you put in a good word for me,” Leroy said to Mer.

  The medic hefted his bag. “We’re done. If anything develops, just call.”

  “Thanks,” Mer said. She drew a full breath and faced the man standing behind Bijoux on the dock.

  The deputy studied her, not bothering to hide his scrutiny. “You look tired,” he said.

  “That’s because I am,” she replied. Nothing like stating the obvious.

  “I need to speak to you.”

  His words rooted her in place. “Of course.” Would he arrest her? He was wearing civilian clothes. Surely he had handcuffs in his pocket.

  He raised one eyebrow. “In private.”

  With difficulty, she broke the hold the boat held on her legs and stepped onto the dock. “We can talk over there.” She stumbled toward the picnic tables.

  “So?” He motioned for her to sit down. “Tell me. What happened?”

  He led with the question she’d been preparing for all night. The question she’d agonized over. Pondered. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know.”

  The stress of the night swamped her. It was bad enough that she didn’t have a clue what had happened, but his incredulity pushed her over the edge. “No, Deputy. I do not.”

  “Actually, it’s Detective.”

  “Well, then, Detective, I’m tired, as you’ve already observed.” She heard the snark in her voice and colored.

  “It’s not a difficult question. Can you walk me through the dive?”

  She thumbed the seahorse pendant that hung from the base of her neck. “That’s a very different question.”

  He exhaled loudly. “Let me start over. I’m Josh Talbot.” He stuck out his hand. “Dive incidents tend to be multijurisdictional investigations and the agencies involved work in close cooperation with each other. I’m a member of the Sheriff’s Office’s dive team, and I happen to be the deputy assigned to determine if anything that occurred tonight is in violation of any county, state, or federal statutes.”

  Mer shook his hand. The grip was bold, not crushing. Resolute.

  “I have a couple of questions that will help me make that determination,” he added.

  “Do I need an attorney?”

  “Did you kill Mr. Styx?”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” she said.

  “Dr. Cavallo, I suspect Mr. Styx swam into the ship, became disoriented, and died when he ran out of air. I won’t know that, however, until I speak with everyone, gather evidence, and conduct a proper investigation.”

  His eyes were hazel, a storm of color that defied simple categorization. And he was still staring at her. At least his first assumption was her innocence.

  She cleared her throat. “I don’t know where to start.”

  “An honest tale speeds best being plainly told.” His smile exposed teeth that were perfect, with the exception of a slightly chipped incisor.

  The tension in her shoulders relaxed a fraction. “Benjamin Franklin.”

  The incisor disappeared. “Shakespeare.” He continued to stare, as if hoping for recognition. “Richard the Third.”

  Tension crept back into her shoulders. “Of course.” As if she didn’t feel stupid enough, now she had to deal with an investigator quizzing her on sixteenth-century literature. “I can only tell you what I saw. I’m not sure that’s what really happened.”

  He removed a cellphone from his shirt pocket and selected a recorder app. “Help me understand.”

  Mer described the dive, pausing to elaborate when he had a follow-up question.

  “I understand you recovered the mask,” he said.

  “Yes, and the ChemLight that was attached to his tank. They’re on deck. We put them aside for you, along with his other belongings.” She studied the hands in her lap. “He dived with a personal marine radio. If he surfaces, he’ll be able to signal for help.”

  Headlights raked across the dock. A door slammed. Lindsey ran toward them.

  “Where is he? Where’s Ishmael?”

  Mer jumped from the bench and stepped around the detective. She needed to explain. “Lindsey—”

  “You.” Lindsey rushed forward, causing Mer to take a step back. “This is your fault.”

  Mer hung her head. There was nothing she could say. Lindsey was right. “I’m sorry.”

  “You will be.” She flung her hand out. “You all will be. I’ll own this place before I’m done.”

  The detective stepped between the two women. “I’m Detective Talbot. What’s your name?”

  Lindsey drew herself up to her full height. “If you’re a detective, I demand that you arrest this woman.” She lunged over his shoulder and jabbed her finger in Mer’s face. “She murdered Ishmael!”

  Detective Talbot grabbed Lindsey before she could reach Mer and guided her down the dock to speak to her in private.

  Mer remained rooted in place. Murdered? Goosebumps erupted on her skin despite the warmth.

  Leroy came up beside her. They watched while Lindsey stomped in circles in front of Talbot, occasionally stopping to point at Mer.

  “I don’t know who scares me more at the moment.” Mer attempted a laugh, but it came out choked.

  “There ain’t no difference between a hornet and a yellow jacket when they’re both buzzing in your pants.”

  She scrubbed her face with her hands. “Lindsey’s accusing me of murder.”

  “Pretty sure all of Key Largo heard her screeching,” Leroy said. “Quit your fretting, Mer. You didn’t kill no one.”

  “Tell him that.” She chucked her chin at Talbot.

  “I will, just as soon as I get my chance.”

  The detective handed Lindsey a card. She threw a furious glare in Mer’s direction and huffed toward the parking lot.

  Mer tapped Leroy’s shoulder. “Looks like you’re up. I’m going to head upstairs, get a jump on the paperwork.”

  He nodded. “I’ll join you just as soon as I’m done.”

  She gathered her gear off the dock and started toward the shop, but Detective Talbot stopped her on the stairs.

  “Tell me, Ms. Cavallo, was there tension between you and Mr. Styx?”

  Mer colored. Ishmael had grated on her nerves, but she hadn’t wished him ill. Would she have acted differently if she had liked him? No. She was a professional. Well, maybe. There was no way to factor in such a variable. What if she had allowed her personal feelings to cloud her judgment? The possibility churned her stomach.

  Talbot watched her. Waited for an answer.

  She couldn’t lie. “I didn’t care for Mr. Styx.”

  “Don’t you think it strange that in two days there’ve been two incidents on the most famous shipwreck in Key Largo and you were involved in both of them?”

  His question hit her like a blow. “Excuse me?”

  “Did you want me to repeat what I said or clarify it?”

  She had to respect the question. “I heard you.”

  “Then would you please answer?” He still held his phone.

  Mer dipped her head closer to the recorder. “My involvement is coincidental.”

  “I find it criminally curious.”

  “ ‘Criminally curious.’ ”
She flung her hands in the air. “Just a moment ago you speculated that Ishmael had become disoriented in the wreck and drowned. Now it sounds as if you think I had something to do with his disappearance. Perhaps it is you who should speak plainly, Detective. What does ‘criminally curious’ even mean?”

  He slipped the phone into his breast pocket. “It means I don’t believe in ghosts—or coincidences.”

  Chapter 8

  Mer parked in her driveway. Leaning her forehead against the steering wheel, she tried to summon the energy to get out of the car.

  Even at nearly two in the morning, perspiration dampened her neck, but it had nothing to do with the temperature. She dragged her sweaty hands across her shorts and gulped a breath. Then another, but it didn’t fill her lungs. She opened her mouth, tried to inhale. A tingling sensation started in her fingertips, crawled up her arms. The edges of her vision blurred.

  A tap on her window startled her and her head snapped around. Selkie stood outside the car door, concern evident on his face. Before she could stop herself, she gave him the okay signal as if they were underwater.

  He opened her door and knelt next to her. “Still as independent as ever, I see.”

  Mer opened and shut her mouth like a guppy, but her lungs refused to comply.

  “Look at me, Mer. You’re all right.” He placed his hand over hers and squeezed. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

  She was drowning. Again.

  He rubbed her hand between his. A thousand pins pricked her skin. She focused on that. Focused on the sensation of his skin against hers. His voice penetrated her thoughts like an image stepping out of fog. Faint, but gaining clarity. She drew a breath. The humid air filled her lungs. Chased away the fog, leaving behind only embarrassment.

  She drew another shaky breath. “I’m sorry. I’m fine. Now.”

  Worry still shadowed his eyes. “I heard what happened. So, no bullshit. You all right?”

  Cobwebs still cluttered her thoughts. No sense wasting time trying to figure out how he knew. She lived on an island. Everyone knew.

  He waited for an answer. Yes rose to her lips, so it came as a shock when she heard herself say “No.”

  He held out his hand. “You’re fashionably late, but I still owe you a glass of wine. Or something stronger if you like.”

  She placed her hand in his, and he helped her out of the car.

  “It’s late,” she said. “Really, I should probably just process everything, go to sleep.”

  A mingled scent of cologne, heat, and man made her lightheaded. Well, that and the fact that she was hyperventilating. Plus, it was late. Too late. She swayed slightly. His hand slipped around her waist, supporting her.

  “If you can honestly tell me that you would be able to sleep, I’ll say good night.”

  She couldn’t. Couldn’t ignore the bands constricting her chest, the burn of needing oxygen, the panic of drawing that last breath. “Why are you even still awake?” she asked.

  “I thought you might need a friend. Red or white?”

  His touch short-circuited her brain. “How about just water?”

  “I can do that.” He stepped aside and allowed Mer to precede him down the palm-lined path that led to his sweeping front stairs.

  His balcony wrapped around the side of the residence and overlooked her yard. When she turned the corner, the view of the Atlantic stole her breath. Even on a moonless night, the ocean shimmered darker than the horizon, the reflection of the stars dancing on the waves.

  “Plain or fizzy?” Selkie asked.

  She tore her gaze from the sea. “Sorry?”

  “Water. Would you like still or carbonated?”

  Fizzy seemed too celebratory. She chose tap.

  He disappeared through a pair of open sliding doors. “Have you already provided the swab for the alcohol test?”

  His question surprised her. Not many people knew about that Coast Guard regulation. “As soon as we docked.”

  The test had taken thirty seconds and confirmed that she didn’t have alcohol in her system.

  She heard Selkie rummage through the kitchen, opening and closing drawers. When he returned to the balcony, he was carrying a tray laden with her water, a second empty glass, a dark-green bottle of Jameson whiskey, and slices of mango.

  “When was the last time you ate something?” He set the tray next to a decorative lantern on a low table and pulled out a chair for Mer.

  The smooth teak felt warm under her hand. “Seems like only yesterday.”

  He handed her a glass of water. “Truthful and annoying all in one quip. Well done, Dr. Cavallo.”

  Spearing a piece of mango, she marveled at the evenness of the slices. She’d bought one in the market, but when she tried to slice it she ended up with mango mash. Since then, she’d stuck to oranges and bananas. She could open them.

  He poured himself a dram from the bottle. “You want to talk about it?”

  She shoveled the mango into her mouth. The sweet orange flesh bought her a moment while she gathered her thoughts. “I lost someone today.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “I went down with two divers. Came up with one.”

  “That’s never a good thing.” He said it sincerely, without an edge of sarcasm.

  “No,” she replied.

  “What happened?”

  The mango lost its flavor. “That’s the thing. I don’t know.”

  Mer described the dive. “It all fell apart when Amber took a photograph. The flash fired, and just kept firing.” She picked up her glass and studied its contents, hoping to divine an answer. “Amber panicked. I’ve never heard someone scream underwater.” She shuddered. “I got to her, made sure she couldn’t spit out her regulator. She froze—which in hindsight was a good thing. I looked for Ishmael, but he was gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “Vanished. Nowhere to be found. I saw—” She searched for the words. “I thought I saw Ishmael. Only now I’m not so sure.”

  “Were there other divers in the water with you?”

  “No.”

  “Then who else could it have been?” he asked.

  “According to Amber? A ghost.”

  “You don’t believe in them.”

  “I don’t know what I believe anymore.”

  He arched his brow.

  “I’d left three ChemLights at the base of the mooring line. Something passed over them. I thought it was Ishmael. Obviously, I was wrong.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  She held her water glass against her cheek, the condensation cool against her flushed skin. “For all I know, it was a grouper. Hell, it could have been a barracuda. The problem was I assumed it was Ishmael. And I left.”

  “You had to get Amber to the surface or you would have had two casualties.”

  “They’re sending up Coast Guard helicopters at dawn to begin a surface search. Monroe County Search and Recovery team is going out to the Spiegel at seven.” She put down her water and lifted the bottle to examine the label. Master selection. Aged eighteen years. “Mind?”

  He passed her his glass. “What’s your gut tell you? Do you think he drowned?”

  She brought the whiskey to her nose. The spicy fumes burned her nostrils and made her eyes water. “I don’t know.” She set the drink on the table and slid it back, untasted. “I found a glow stick in a passageway.”

  His voice hardened. “You penetrated the wreck at night?”

  “Don’t be absurd.” She raked her fingers through her curly hair. “Not on the first dive. And, technically, not on the second one, either.”

  “Technically.”

  She buried her face in her hands. “When I went down the second time, I took one of the other crew members. We swam to the hatch, where we’d been trying to affix a listening device. Anyway, I peeked into the hallway. That’s when I saw the glow.”

  “The ChemLight?”

  She nodded. “I ran a line. Went into the passageway. I ha
d to. I had to know. We started the dive with glow sticks attached to our tanks. I accounted for all the lights but his. Then I found his mask.”

  “That’s not good.”

  “No,” she whispered, “it’s not.” She stood. She had to do something. Anything. The sound of lapping water drew her to the railing and she paced along its edge like a caged beast. “Somewhere out there is a man. Alone. Because I left him there.”

  “You can’t blame yourself for this.”

  “Detective Talbot seems to think I should.”

  Selkie straightened. “Josh?”

  Mer paused pacing. “Tall, dark, asks imprecise questions and gets defensive when you call him on it?”

  “Not quite how I’d describe him. Although he does like to quote Shakespeare.”

  “How did he phrase it?” She searched the night sky for answers. “That’s right. He found my involvement in both recent incidents on the Spiegel Grove ‘criminally curious.’ ”

  “He’s just trying to rattle you.”

  “Why on earth would he feel the need to do that?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “It’s what cops do.”

  “Not Vito.” She’d been on a ride-along with her brother once, but that was before he was promoted to detective. Was he just like Detective Talbot now? The thought disturbed her. She twisted her face. “I take it you know this detective?”

  “We’ve met. What else did you find?” he asked.

  She resumed pacing. “I don’t understand your question.”

  “You’re a scientist. You make a living sifting through minutia and interpreting data.”

  A breeze had picked up and fluttered against her T-shirt, toying with the fabric. “Nothing about this night makes sense.”

  “Yet.”

  “You know the image of Snoopy painted on the passageway deck?” Mer collapsed onto the chaise. “It looked like someone had taken a leaf blower and blown it clean. There was silt everywhere else. But not there.”

  “Is that where you found his mask?”

  She nodded. The horror of being trapped a hundred feet underwater without a mask chilled her. She imagined he’d swept his hand across the deck, searched for his mask, desperate to regain his ability to see his gauges, his buddies, the way out. How had he lost his mask? She shivered. “Do you know the definition of ‘paranormal’?”