Adrift

by Micki Browning

  “Mayday. Mayday. Mayday. This is Mer Cavallo on the—”

  A scream interrupted her transmission.

  Mer pulled herself out of the berth and froze.

  Ishmael leaned over Amber, but straightened when he saw Mer. “You’re a very resourceful woman.” He waved the gun for emphasis but didn’t point it at anyone.

  “Apparently not quite resourceful enough.” All her weight rested on her left leg and she slumped against the elevated passenger chair, desperate to keep her balance.

  “I’m tired of chasing you.”

  “You shot me in the leg. I shouldn’t have been hard to catch.” The high-backed chair hid her movement. She snaked her hand to her waistband and gripped the flare gun. “It’s too late, Ishmael. I’ve already alerted the Coast Guard. They’re on their way.”

  Indecision crossed his face, but then he laughed. “Never try to con a conman. You’re a terrible liar.”

  “I’m getting better.” She swung the flare gun from behind her back and aimed it at him. She doubted that its accuracy rivaled that of a real gun, but at this distance it would still deliver a wallop and each shell contained highly combustible chemicals.

  “How quaint. I think I shall miss you.” He raised his right hand.

  Mer squeezed the trigger. The flare blasted him in the chest and ignited his shirt. He fell backward, dropped the gun, and slapped at his chest. His mouth hung open, unable to breathe, unable to speak.

  “Ishmael,” Amber cried.

  Dazed, he reached his hand toward Amber. Stumbled. His legs buckled. He fell into the water and sank.

  —

  Amber crouched on her hands and knees and peered over the edge of the dock. “He’s gone.”

  Mer didn’t have time to even touch her necklace for luck. Ishmael had disappeared on her once before. She wouldn’t lose him again. She sat on the side of the boat, leaned back, and rolled into the water.

  Without weight, she had to pull herself toward the bottom. She refused to listen to her fear. A man was drowning.

  The storm had stirred up the silt, cutting the visibility in the water to nothing. Her fingers hit bottom. She’d have only a moment. She closed her eyes and patted the area around her. She felt his shoe. Yanked on his ankle. No response.

  Using her hands to orient, she looped her arm around his chest and swam for the surface.

  A wave of vertigo crashed over her. Her eyes opened. Brown murk. No sense of direction. She blew a couple of bubbles. Watched the precious air dart for the surface. Followed. Kicked one leg. Pulled with one arm.

  She had no way of telling how far she was from the surface. Ishmael dragged her down. Dead weight. Her mind screamed to let him go, but she couldn’t.

  The world stopped. Her pain receded. The water around her cleared. Sparkled with brightness. Shimmered.

  A woman grasped Mer’s hand and the burdens dragging her down dissipated. Curly gray hair eddied around the familiar wrinkled face. Nonna. A stab of longing ripped through Mer.

  Her grandmother reached out and touched Mer’s seahorse. Warmth spread through Mer’s chest, and all her fear dissolved. She found the pendant in her hand. It was time.

  She lowered the necklace around her grandmother’s head. It nestled perfectly at the hollow of her throat, and shone bright against her pale skin.

  Mer drew a big breath. Comfort filled her lungs and pulsed through her veins. Awestruck, she inhaled another breath. And then another. She’d come home.

  “Not yet, Meredith,” her grandmother said. “You have more questions to ask.” She twined her fingers with Mer’s and guided her to the surface. Patted Mer’s cheek. Smiled.

  Vanished.

  —

  “Dr. Cavallo?”

  She opened her eyes. Detective Talbot was leaning over her. His face filled her vision. Rain dripped from his nose.

  “I shot him,” Mer said.

  He held up his hand. “Stop talking. You’re hurt.” He pulled gloves from his pocket but couldn’t draw them over his wet skin. He balled them up, pressed them against her bullet wound, and applied pressure to her thigh.

  “Listen to me.” She ducked her head to the side to make eye contact with him. “I shot Ishmael. Flare gun. Think I killed him.”

  “Nothing in his life became him like the leaving it.”

  “Macbeth,” she said.

  “You’re delirious.”

  A palm frond skittered past them, plowing through the puddles.

  “The horror,” Mer mumbled.

  An ambulance rolled onto the scene. The wind slammed into the tall vehicle, rocking its weight from side to side.

  “We need to get you to the hospital,” Talbot said. “Loop your arms around my neck.”

  “Amber first. She got banged up pretty good.” Her head lolled to the left. “Where’d she go?”

  He scooped one arm under her knees and placed the other around her back. “Are you always so infuriating?”

  “Sadly, yes. I’m trying to do better.”

  “Hold on,” he said.

  The world tilted and her stomach lurched. He cradled her against his chest and carried her to the ambulance. He smelled good. Like rain.

  Hands grabbed at her. Laid her on a bench. It stank of bleach and plastic. Bright lights in her eyes.

  “Don’t walk toward the light.” She giggled. “Am I going to jail?”

  “Not at the moment,” Talbot replied.

  “Good.” She closed her eyes again. “I’m going to get fish for my aquarium.”

  Rain drummed on the roof. Deafening.

  Then nothing but blessed quiet.

  Chapter 35

  Light leaked in through the partially open door and formed a triangle on the ceiling. Scalene, both oblique and obtuse. The shape fascinated her, which, considering her intense dislike of geometry, could mean only one thing: she must be dead.

  But this wasn’t like last time. Last time there had been nothing. No sound, no smells, nothing beyond cold darkness. This must be heaven. It smelled clean. A bit antiseptic. Maybe she could get them to add a touch of lemon.

  Snippets of sound distinguished themselves as hushed conversations, muted telephones, the hum of life. Not heaven, then.

  Her eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, and the contours of the room came into focus. She was in a bed. Rails rose on either side of her. A monitor beeped to her left. Green numbers flashed her pulse and blood pressure. An IV snaked from her arm. Definitely not heaven.

  She felt fuzzy. The IV should mean something. Something significant. Something she’d ponder later.

  The next time she awoke, she smelled tiger lilies, their perfume sweet and intoxicating. Half-light filled the room and she saw several bouquets and a bunch of Mylar balloons emblazoned with “Get Well” in shiny script.

  The sentiment suggested that something needed fixing. She started small. Wiggled her fingers. Rotated her wrists. Both good. She shrugged her shoulders. Sore, but not debilitating. Her neck felt fine.

  “I’d be careful about testing your leg just yet.” Selkie’s voice startled her.

  She flexed her right leg and winced, remembering.

  The chair creaked as he stood up and stretched. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “What are you doing here?” Her voice rasped.

  “I came as soon as I heard.” Dark circles shadowed his eyes.

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  “Do you ever just let something go?”

  She furrowed her brows. “Why would I ask a question if I wasn’t interested in the answer?”

  “You might not like the answer.”

  She must still be fuzzy. “The answer shouldn’t influence the question.”

  “Fair enough. I’m here because I want to be near you.” His voice carried a hint of defiance that seemed to dare her to argue.

  “Most people wouldn’t find that answer objectionable.”

  “You’re not most people.” He ran his h
and through his hair, then across his stubbled chin. “You had to deal with all this by yourself. I should have been with you.”

  She struggled to keep the hurt out of her voice. “A phone call would have been nice, but you were under no obligation to render assistance.”

  “You know, I’m kind of looking forward to smashing through your defenses.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Big words, intellectual superiority, lack of emotional response. You’re a basic pain in the ass.”

  “Fine.” She crossed her arms.

  “It’s been my experience that the usage of that particular word often means the opposite of its definition.”

  Mer found the control for the bed and mashed the button until she sat upright. “You know what? It’s not fine. You are an inconsiderate ass.”

  He smiled. “There we go. Good. Keep going.”

  “I know I don’t always know what to do or say around people when things get emotional. But, despite my social ineptness, even I know that disappearing off the face of the earth for two days without so much as a peep isn’t how to kindle a romance. Especially considering your track record. And, before you get all sidetracked, yes. I kind of liked you.”

  “Kind of.”

  “That’s your takeaway?”

  “I’m trying to ignore your use of the past tense.”

  A headache thudded behind her eyes. “Where were you?”

  “Can’t tell you.”

  Her jaw clenched. “Get out.”

  “I’m serious,” he said. “I can’t tell you. It’s classified—I still work for the government.”

  “So this will happen again?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’ll just leave.” This time she didn’t even try to disguise the pain.

  “I’m kind of hoping you’ll be next to me when I get the call, but I may be rushing things.”

  She scrunched her forehead. “How long have I been here?”

  “Two days. Slept right through the hurricane party. Although in the end it was really just a tropical storm. The worst of it passed south of Key West. But we all raised a glass in your honor anyway.”

  “Thoughtful. Who’s ‘we’?”

  “Let’s see. Bijoux and Leroy, obviously. Rabbit and Echo, Fiona, me. Your mother’s flying in later today, now that the airport’s reopened. I spoke to her several times. Delightful woman. Can’t believe you’re related.”

  She refused to dignify his remark. “Amber?”

  “She’s fine. Slight concussion. But the docs frown on mixing pain meds and alcohol. Echo’s been keeping her company.”

  “Nice,” she said.

  “Oh, and Josh.”

  That surprised her. “Detective Talbot was here?”

  “Still am,” the detective said from the door. He addressed Selkie. “Give us a few minutes.”

  Tension crackled between the two men. For a moment, Mer thought Selkie was going to refuse, then he touched her hand. “I’ll be right outside.”

  “I’m still mad at you,” she said.

  A lopsided grin erased the worry from his eyes. “At least you’re using the present tense.”

  Detective Talbot shook his head and stepped in from the doorway to give Selkie room to pass. He closed the door. “How are you feeling?”

  She considered the question carefully. “Like someone tried to kill me.”

  “That’s because someone did.” He approached her bed and placed his messenger bag on the chair next to it. “I’m happy to say he didn’t succeed.”

  She gripped her fingers together. “I shot him.” The room fell silent. “In the chest.”

  “We recovered the flare gun.”

  “I murdered a man,” she said at last.

  Talbot shook his head. “No, Dr. Cavallo. You saved one.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “If it wasn’t for you, he’d have drowned. The flare gun knocked the breath out of him. He’s got a nasty burn on his chest, but he’s very much of this world.”

  “He’s alive?” Mer whispered. “His mother…”

  “I spoke with her. She never knew.” A sad expression crossed his face, but quickly cleared. “I still need to get your statement, but I don’t need to read you your rights this time around.”

  “Who is Ishmael? I mean, really?”

  Talbot shrugged. “What’s in a name?”

  Mer pondered the question. “Quite a bit, actually.”

  “That was Shakespeare. And rhetorical.” The laugh lines around his eyes deepened. “Welcome back, Dr. Cavallo. You gave me quite the scare when I found you on the dock.”

  “If I looked anything like how I felt—”

  “You looked remarkably well for someone who’d been shot, nearly drowned, and was caught in a storm. No, what scared me was you knew Macbeth.” He reached into his messenger bag. “I have something I believe belongs to you.” He held up her pendant.

  Mer’s hand flew to her throat as if her hands needed to confirm what her eyes saw. Nonna. Had she given it back, or had Mer’s mind fabricated the whole encounter?

  “You had it clutched in your hand when I found you.” He passed it to her.

  Light refracted through the sea glass and the seahorse seemed to pulse with life. Mer’s hands trembled and she had difficulty unhooking the clasp. How had it remained intact?

  “Would you like me to help?”

  She nodded. He threaded the chain behind her neck and secured it.

  The pendant felt warm and heavy against her chest. Comforting. “Thank you.” Tears prickled behind her eyelids, but she made no attempt to hide them. “So much.”

  His smile held a hint of shyness, but then he sobered. “You were right. Ishmael’s real name is Edgar Wimpleton.”

  The words snapped her back—back to the reason she was in the hospital. “It was all an illusion.”

  “I call it fraud.”

  “Think about it.” Her leg throbbed and she shifted, trying to find a comfortable position. “The night Ishmael disappeared, he and Lindsey staged a fight in the parking lot. That gave her an excuse not to be on the boat. She’d already rigged the camera to fire off in strobe mode, knowing that Amber wouldn’t know how to change the settings. Then she hightailed it out to the Spiegel, planted the scooter inside the wreck, and waited for Ishmael to surface. He carried a marine rescue radio. It’d be easy to find him. She’d have plenty of time to get back to the dock and make a scene.”

  “How did you know?” he asked.

  “Magic.”

  Talbot arched an eyebrow.

  “People believe what they can’t disprove. Throw in a bit of distraction, some showmanship.” She lifted her shoulder. “Disappearing is easy. Octopuses do it every time they ink.”

  “Escaping the past is a bit trickier.”

  “Snoopy gave it away. The logo of Snoopy in the Spiegel was clean.” She thought back to that night. “There was silt everywhere. He stirred it up to help conceal himself. When Rabbit and I went back down, we went into the hallway. That’s where we found his glow stick and the mask. But the painted Snoopy—it looked like someone had taken a leaf blower to it.”

  “How did you key in on the dive scooter?”

  “I didn’t think much of it that night, but then Echo said that he heard a little engine noise on the recording of the dive. Combine that with Rob’s story and it finally made sense. The prop wash from the scooter swept the silt away in that location. The glow stick and the mask were just throw-downs. Extras he carried meant to make us believe he didn’t make it.” She plucked at her hospital gown. “Why did he reappear?”

  “You.”

  Mer jerked against her pillow. “Me?”

  “Think about it. You were the patsy meant to give his disappearance credibility. Who would doubt a reputable scientist—especially one who didn’t believe in ghosts? Plus, it drummed up even more interest in the documentary. He was a showman who couldn’t pass up an opportunity to take a bow.
A final curtain call of sorts.”

  She didn’t like being a patsy. “He knew how to pull it off. Amber told me that her favorite movie was Splash—at least until Ishmael spoiled it by revealing how it was really filmed.”

  “An extra tank?”

  “I’m sure it was right inside the hatch. The malfunctioning equipment was a nice touch. My flashlight would have been the hardest to mess with, and, quite frankly, I still don’t know how Lindsey did that, but it would have been easy to disable the hydrophone before we even dived. Then she passed it off to the guys. While they were distracted, she waited for Ishmael to appear, made sure everyone saw him, then turned off the strobes. In the dark, Ishmael retreated into the ship, put his mask back on, and waited for us to scurry back to the boat. Then he swam back to the Sir Simon.”

  “Very clever, Dr. Cavallo. We pulled the GPS off his boat. It confirmed trips to the wreck on both nights in question. We also found phony passports for Ishmael and Lindsey. They were planning to go to the Cayman Islands.”

  “The Caribbean?”

  “Easy to navigate by boat. Target-rich environment. Perfect for a couple of scam artists,” Talbot said.

  An unwanted image of Lindsey sprawled across the motel bed flashed in her mind. “Then why did he kill Lindsey?”

  “She knew too much. Heck, she knew it all. But she made a mistake when she attacked you.”

  “She didn’t kill me,” Mer whispered.

  “If you had disappeared in the ocean, I suspect she’d still be alive today, but after you ID’d her Ishmael figured we’d interview her. He had too much riding on her silence. He made sure she couldn’t talk.”

  “Exactly the same thing she tried to ensure that I couldn’t do. I kept poking around, trying to make sense of everything. She wanted to protect Ishmael.”

  “And herself. She was neck-deep in this,” Talbot reminded her.

  “What about Rob?”

  “He’s in the wind. But Ishmael gave him up. We’ll find him.”

  Mer’s headache intensified. “One thing I don’t understand. Why did Ishmael need to disappear in the first place?”

  “Money.”

  “Lindsey was loaded.”

  “Was. Past tense.” He dug an iPad out of his messenger bag. “I want to show you something. It’s part of the documentary.”