by Connie Mann
Instead, she forced herself to smile back. “Hey, Mama. Did you get a good snooze?”
“It is so beautiful out here. The sound of the water, the smell of salt in the air, they help me rest.”
“Pop says she doesn’t sleep much at night,” Blaze said.
Sasha experienced a moment’s jealousy that this ornery teen had the relationship with Pop that she herself used to have. For years, she had been the one at Pop’s side. While Cat baked and cooked with Mama and Eve and Mama tended the garden, Sasha hung out at the marina with Pop, working on boat motors, helping the other captains, learning to be a captain herself.
Suddenly Mama’s gaze landed on the pages on the table, and she jerked her eyes up to Sasha. “You got the police report.”
Sasha nodded and picked up the papers. “I managed to get a copy. But,” she said, pausing to look directly at Mama and send a stern look Blaze’s way, “we are not supposed to have these. I don’t want to get anyone in trouble, so we can never say where they came from, OK?”
“How could we, since we don’t know?”
Sasha smiled at Blaze. “Exactly.”
Mama’s eyes stayed on Sasha and made her want to squirm. “What did you find out?”
Though she wanted to, Sasha wouldn’t look away. “Nothing, really, that we didn’t already know. Everything that happened that day is neatly spelled out, along with the searches over the next week by volunteers and divers.”
Mama reached into the magazine basket beside her and pulled out Tony’s teddy bear, clutching it to her. Sasha swallowed the lump in her throat.
“Mama, do you remember who called you that day? It wasn’t in the report.”
“Captain Roy’s wife, Mary Lee. She wanted to talk about a bake sale coming up at church. I kept telling her I had to go, and I finally just hung up on her.”
“Did she call you a lot?”
“Not really. But I had the feeling she and Captain Roy were going through a difficult time. It seemed like she was lonely and just wanted someone to talk to.” Mama’s eyes filled. “After . . . I was angry with her for a very long time. I blamed her for what happened to my Tony. And then—then I blamed myself. If I hadn’t been on the phone with her . . .”
Sasha shot from her chair, knelt down in front of Mama, and took both frail hands gently in her own. They felt so fragile, not at all like the tough hands that used to run this family. “Mama, no. Whatever happened is not your fault.”
Silent tears slid down her cheeks. “What if my baby is dead because I was on the phone?”
Sasha squeezed her eyes shut and tried to think of something, anything, to say that would help.
“Mama, you said you think Tony is still alive. How do you know?”
Mama blinked back more tears. “I feel it, in here.” She patted a hand over her heart. “Even from the day it happened, I could still feel him, feel the connection. I still do.”
Sasha leaned forward and gently wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Then that’s what you hang on to, OK?”
Mama swallowed and nodded. “What will you do next?”
“I’m going to talk to everyone who was here that day, go over everything again. Maybe there is something the police missed, some question they didn’t ask.”
Behind them, the screen door closed, and Sasha looked over her shoulder to see Pop marching off toward the marina. If she’d known he was in the house, she’s have waited to have this conversation.
Mama looked Sasha in the eye. “I know Sal doesn’t want you to do this—for my sake. But please, I need to know.”
Sasha nodded and slowly stood. She bent and kissed Mama’s cheek. “I will do my best.”
“That is all I ask. God will provide the answers.”
Sasha held the screen door open for Bella, and they slowly walked toward the marina. She had to talk to Pop, try to explain.
Sasha stepped out of the marina bait shop when she heard car doors slamming and women arguing. She shaded her eyes and spotted a shiny blue Lincoln, 1980s vintage, angled in close to the house and two women bearing casserole dishes marching up the porch steps, still in heated conversation.
She jogged off the dock and back to the house, hoping to intercept them before they got to Mama, but she didn’t make it in time. She and Bella burst onto the porch to see the two women alternately bending to kiss the air near Mama’s cheeks.
When the screen door slammed behind her, both women straightened in surprise.
“Sasha! How good to see you again.” The tiny woman with unnaturally black hair stepped over and pulled Sasha’s head down so she could kiss both her cheeks. The smell of baby powder triggered Sasha’s memory.
“Mrs. Markos, how are you?” She bent down and kissed Captain Demetri’s wife on both cheeks as well, then pulled back to look at her. The years had taken their toll on her lined face, but her hair gleamed its usual glossy black, no doubt from regular trips to Beatrice’s beauty shop in town. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
The older woman patted her teased do and gave a wan smile.
“How is Christina?” Sasha asked, then wanted to kick herself as Helen’s smile slid off her face.
“She is the same, always my sweet baby.” She glanced at Mama, then back at Sasha. “But I am grateful for every day.”
Christina Markos had been a surprise, late-in-life baby and had been born severely handicapped. She needed round-the-clock care, which Helen Markos had provided for all the years of her daughter’s life.
“I have a wonderful caregiver who comes for several hours here and there, allowing me to get out for a while and visit friends.” She turned back to Mama and perched in the rocker beside her, gently taking her hand.
The woman who had arrived with Helen turned and offered a hand.
“I don’t know if you remember me, sugar, but I’m Patty Monroe, the chief’s wife.”
Sasha shook hands and gave the woman a quick once-over. She would have remembered this walking stereotype with her big hair and big chest paired with a tiny skirt and high heels. That shade of red hair only came in a bottle, but the shrewd blue eyes looked to be original equipment.
Sasha waved at another chair. “Please, have a seat. What brings you ladies out this way?” Wasn’t it interesting that the chief’s wife suddenly happened by, right after Sasha’s visit to the police station?
Helen patted Mama’s hand and looked up. “I’ve been wanting to come by and wish your mama a happy birthday, since I couldn’t get here for the party.” She motioned toward the cake carrier and casserole dishes on the coffee table and smiled at Mama. “A couple of my Greek specialties. Your favorites.”
“Thank you, Helen. You’re a good friend.” Mama smiled, then looked at Patty, who shrugged.
“I don’t bake or cook much, so I brought you a scarf I crocheted.” She reached into a gift bag and pulled out the most hideous-looking scarf Sasha had ever seen. Mama’s eyes widened with alarm as Patty loomed over her and wrapped the fuchsia-and-purple fuzzy caterpillar around her neck.
When Mama’s hands fumbled, Sasha stepped to her side and loosened the puffy wool so she could breathe.
“Looks great on you, Rosa,” Patty pronounced, and settled into a wicker chair. Then she turned her laser-sharp gaze on Sasha. “So what’s all this nonsense about you nosing around in an old police case?”
Mama made a small sound of distress, and Helen snapped, “Patty, please. Not now.”
Patty took in Mama’s wounded look and crossed her arms before she fastened her gaze on Sasha. “You haven’t been here three days and you’re already causing trouble.”
“How exactly am I causing trouble by asking questions?” Sasha raised her eyebrows and mirrored Patty’s pose.
“The past is dead and gone—pardon the expression, Rosa—and should be left alone. Why are you digging around in something that happened so long ago?”
“Why should anyone care, then? Where’s the harm?” Sasha shot back.
Patty ca
me out of her chair, and suddenly they were nose to nose.
“The harm is that bringing up the past reminds people of a terrible tragedy.” She flung out a manicured hand in Mama’s direction. “I would think you’d want to protect her from that.”
“I asked her to look for answers.”
Helen gasped at Mama’s quiet statement, and Patty’s eyes widened as she turned toward Mama.
“Why on earth would you do that, sugar?”
The fierce look in Mama’s eyes made Sasha smile inwardly. She might be sick, but she wasn’t done fighting, not by a long shot.
“I want answers. Is that so hard to understand?”
They stared each other down. Patty looked away first. Helen, always the local peacemaker, hopped up from her chair and gently kissed Mama’s cheeks again.
“It was good to see you, Rosa. I will come back when I can.”
Mama smiled. “You’ve been a good friend, Helen. Kiss Christina for me. We’ll enjoy the food you brought.”
Patty stepped in behind Helen and patted Mama’s hands. “Take care of yourself, Rosa. I heard chemo makes you cold. Hope the scarf helps.”
As Patty passed Sasha on the way out, she hissed, “Leave the past where it belongs.”
Sasha waited until they pulled away, then turned to Mama. “How long has Patty been married to the chief?”
Mama shrugged. “Twenty years, at least. But she was away a lot while her mother was ill.” She paused. “She and Chief Monroe have always had a strange relationship.”
“Strange, how?”
“I’ve heard her treat him like he wasn’t worth her time, yet both of them act like they’re royalty and the rest of the people in this town are beneath their notice.”
Interesting. That meshed with her own feelings about Chief Monroe. Mama leaned her head back in the chair and fumbled with the scarf. Sasha reached over and tugged it free, then tossed it back into the gift bag.
“Should this conveniently disappear?”
Mama nodded. “It was a nice gesture, but it’s horrible, isn’t it?”
Sasha smiled. “I’ll take care of it.”
She took the bag to the trash can and continued to the bait shop, wondering what had brought Patty Monroe to their door. To warn Sasha off, certainly. But why?
Chapter 6
Sal stood in his workshop the next morning, desperate to get his emotions under control. Last night, Rosa had cried herself to sleep again, blaming herself for Tony’s disappearance. He pounded a fist on the workbench, trying to block the memory of her sobs, but they wouldn’t go away. Her tears shredded his heart into little tiny bits. Every single time.
It took every bit of his willpower, and the sure and certain knowledge that if he confessed to what he had done, things would get much worse, to keep him silent. Oh, my Rosa, I am sorry. I couldn’t fix it then, and I can’t seem to fix it now, either.
“Why is she asking for the police report, Sal?” a voice asked from behind him. Someone wrenched Sal’s right arm up behind his back with enough force to nearly pop it out of the socket.
Sal sucked in a breath as pain radiated down his arm and his heart raced. He had been so focused on his own guilt, he hadn’t heard either of his onetime friends come in.
“Rosa asked her to.” He didn’t know what else to say.
The same man shoved the arm higher, and Sal gasped.
“I hear she thinks Tony is still alive.”
Sal said nothing, just gritted his teeth to keep from crying out. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.
“Now why would Rosa be thinking a thing like that, after all these years?”
The pressure tightened and Sal had to force the words out.
“She says it is mother’s intuition, a feeling, that he’s still alive somewhere on this earth.”
“Why haven’t you dispelled that foolish notion?” the other man asked.
“I’ve always thought the less I said, one way or another, the better.”
“So you’ve said nothing.”
Sal nodded. “Nothing.” He raised his chin. “Just held her while she cried for her Tony, you heartless monster.”
From out of nowhere, a fist slammed into his gut, and Sal doubled over. He would have fallen except the first man still had his arm in a death grip behind his back.
“Tell Sasha to stop looking, stop asking questions.”
“I have told her. But her mother has asked her not to stop.”
“Then you’d better convince her, Sal, old friend. And fast. We don’t have to remind you what happens to people who don’t listen, do we?”
Sal shook his head, and finally they let him go. Once they left, he collapsed on the floor, cradling his aching arm, silent tears wracking his thin frame. It was happening all over again.
Dear God, what was he going to do? He understood Sasha’s need to find answers for Rosa. But somehow, he had to convince his strong-willed daughter to give up the search. He had failed his family before. He wouldn’t do it again. He would find a way to make Sasha stop.
Sasha nodded to several of the captains as she and Bella roamed the dock, her emotions too churned up to settle anywhere. Bella stopped and looked up at her every few feet. Sasha reached down and ran a hand over her head.
“I’m OK, girl. Just a lot on my mind.”
Eventually, she headed to the marina office. She had to say something to Pop, although for the life of her, she didn’t know what. He wasn’t in the office, so she tried his workshop next.
She stepped into the dimly lit room. The bulb overhead flickered and the door stood ajar, but she didn’t see him anywhere.
“Pop? You in here?”
She heard a faint rustling noise from behind the massive workbench. Bella gave one sharp bark and shot in that direction. Sasha rounded the bench and stopped short.
Pop was on his knees on the concrete slab, struggling to get to his feet. Bella licked his face and he awkwardly patted her head.
“Pop, what happened? Can you get up? Are you hurt?”
Pop waved her outstretched hand away, but he couldn’t get to his feet without help. Once Sasha helped him up, he leaned heavily against the workbench, pain etched in every line of his face.
“What happened? Let me make sure you’re all right.” Like all boat captains, Sasha had lots of first-aid training. Actually, she had more than most since she often worked in remote locations. She reached out a hand to check Pop’s ribs, but he stopped her.
“I am fine. Please. I just lost my balance.” He straightened, slowly, painfully.
Possible reasons for his fall raced through her mind, from simple causes like low blood sugar to far more serious concerns. At least there was no sign of a head injury. “Let me call the paramedics, get you checked out.”
“No, Sasha. Let it go. Mama has enough worries.”
“But we need to—”
He held up his hand, palm out. “Enough. I am fine.”
He turned and picked up a rag and began to wipe the grease off his hands.
Sasha read the pride and determination in his stance and swallowed another plea that he get medical attention. Instead, she stayed several more minutes, offering water and making small talk while she watched for signs of serious injury. Satisfied he would be OK, she leaned over and gently kissed his cheek. “I love you. Let me know if anything changes.”
Sasha went back to the house and found Mama dozing again, still in the same rocking chair. Blaze sat in the living room with the shades drawn, playing a handheld video game. Sasha sat down beside her.
“I think Pop fell a little while ago,” she said quietly.
When Blaze opened her mouth to ask questions, Sasha held up a hand. “Mama’s outside asleep. I don’t want her to know, or to worry. He seems fine, but he’s moving slowly. I need you to stay here and keep an eye on both of them while I run an errand. I’ll leave Bella here, too.”
Blaze narrowed her eyes. “What’s going on? Where are you going?”
Sasha stifled her irritation and met her gaze. “I don’t know that anything is going on, but Bella will let you know if anything happens to Pop. I’m going to talk to Captain Roy’s wife about the day Tony disappeared. Before you get your panties in a knot, yes, I will tell you whatever she says as soon as I get back. But I don’t feel right about leaving them alone. I need you here.”
Sasha breathed a sigh of relief when Blaze nodded. “I’ll be here.”
It didn’t take long to reach the craftsman-style house Captain Roy and Mary Lee had lived in since they got married, about the same time Pop and Mama did. The yard was mowed, the hedges trimmed, but the blinds were closed in all the windows, giving the place a deserted air.
She wondered if Mary Lee had gotten a job and wasn’t home. She and Captain Roy had never had any children, though everyone knew they’d wanted them desperately. Sasha walked up onto the deep porch and used the heavy brass anchor-shaped door knocker.
She thought she heard movement inside, but no one came to the door. She reached past the screen and knocked again.
Several minutes later, Mary Lee opened the door a crack and peered around it, blinking against the bright sunlight. She shaded her eyes with her hands, the nails bitten down to the quick. Her thick southern drawl oozed like honey.
“I’m sorry, whoever you are, but whatever it is you’re selling, we’re not buying.”
“Hi, Mrs. Winchester. It’s Sasha Petrov.”
She opened the door wider and squinted at Sasha.
“Why, as I live and breathe, it is you, child. Well, come on in. What brings you out this way on a sweltering day?”
Sasha followed her into the house’s gloomy interior and stubbed her toe on the coffee table. She finally sank down across from Mary Lee on the nubby tweed couch, circa 1975, and waited for her eyes to adjust.
“Mrs. Winchester, I know this question may seem like it’s coming out of left field, but Mama has asked me to look into Tony’s disappearance.”
