“In case you haven't noticed, it's almost midnight," she teased back. "Guess we missed out."
He flicked on a small brass lamp mounted to the wall. “Would you care for a glass of wine?"
“I really don't have time for that."
“It'll help you sleep."
She hesitated, knowing it had been a mistake to step inside in the first place. Lowell's magnetic nearness, the small galley, the moonlight shimmering across the water--it was much too intimate. Yet she yearned for just a few moments more.
“All right," she answered. “But like I just said a minute ago, I can't stay long." She slipped into a small booth and accepted the glass of wine. He sat down across from her, his own glass in hand.
Without warning, a shrill bark cut through the stillness. She looked up and spied a shaggy gray terrier bounding onto her lap. The dog covered her face with warm, wet licks.
She convulsed in laughter. “Oh, what a darling dog! And what a greeting?"
“That's Toby. My pride and joy. The thought of boarding him in a kennel while I was away didn't quite set right, so I brought him with me." His smile lingered affectionately on the dog, who'd promptly curled upon Vanessa's lap. “So what do you think?" he asked, pausing to take a drink of wine. “About my brother's boat, I mean?"
“It's beautiful--both inside and out."
“When Sam and I were kids, we always dream of owning a sailboat someday. Of course, there was no money for it then. And our other two brothers, John and Jeremy, were more interested in motorcycles than boats."
“Ah, yes. The twins, John and Jeremy. Where are they now?" Absently she stroked the dog's silky fur.
“They've both moved to Montana. Plenty of open country there where they can ride their bikes to their hearts’ content."
“So you were the only one who didn't end up with a grown-up toy..."
“Right. No time. Too busy tracking down the bad guys, I guess." One corner of his mouth lifted in a wry smile.
Unexpectedly a thought popped into her head. A thought that left her nearly breathless and charged with energy. What she needed now was a cop. A cop to help in her own private search for her father. A cop just like Lowell. So what if he seemed preoccupied with the dark side of life? Maybe that's what it took. Someone who wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty. Someone with an inquiring mind...
All she had to do now was ask.
* * *
“Look for Eldon? You think I can help?" Lowell darted her a skeptical look as they strolled back down the dock to retrieve the crab pots.
“Of course. And as far as I'm concerned, the sooner we get started, the better."
“The Coast Guard is out in full force, Vanessa. The choppers and rescue vessels are covering more ground than you and I could ever begin to."
“But what's to say we can't look too? I know we can make a difference. I'll simply go crazy if I don't somehow get involved." The moon had inched higher, half hidden behind a wispy layer of dark clouds.
“I'm not sure how I can spring free," Lowell answered evenly. “Clinton needs me more than ever now." He turned to her. In the wash of moonlight, his face was lined with painful indecision.
He's holding back. What I’m asking is too much like police work--the very thing he says he needs a break from. But I'm only here for a very short while. I need his help.
“Please, Lowell," she urged gently. "I'll talk to Clinton. I'm sure he'll understand."
“Give me some time. I...I may not be able to help you tomorrow, but that's not saying I can't later. I really want to. Believe me."
She sighed deeply. “All right then. I'll go by myself."
“Be careful, Vanessa." His eyes bore into hers.
“I will."
As they came to the end of the dock and crossed the narrow strip of beach, a shudder raced through her. Was it because of the advancing chill of marine night air, her anxious feelings about her father, or the reality of how she and Lowell had been so unexpectedly thrust together again? In less than 24 hours, it seemed, her life had accelerated nearly out of control. Why, just last night she'd been back home, warm and snug, enjoying a quiet reprieve from her usual busy schedule.
Her support group took up three evenings a week. By devoting herself to helping others, it left little time for the opposite sex--and that's the way she liked it. How could she ever love again when two of the people most dear to her had been so suddenly whisked out of her life? And now with Eldon's fate in question, she felt even more vulnerable.
What was more, the kids needed her. Already in just a few weeks, they were beginning to shed their defenses and open up not only with her, but also with each other. Especially Carmen, the petite dark-haired fifteen-year-old who'd appeared the most withdrawn in the beginning. Then last night came that fateful call from Clinton with all that had followed. And now Lowell. Goodness only knew, it was difficult enough trying to help Clinton run the lodge, deal with the search and rescue officials, the local sheriff's department, and the news media plus get on with her own search. Lowell's virile male presence was definitely a complication. She wasn't prepared to deal with her perplexing feelings for him.
At last, they arrived at the back door of the family quarters, next to a trellis laden with scarlet roses.
The shadows muted the sharp angels of his face as she heard him laugh. “This is crazy, isn't it?" he said. “We already said good-night a few hours ago."
She laughed too. “Yes, I guess we did."
He snapped off a rose, then twirled it in his fingers, staring down at it. “You leaving first thing tomorrow?"
“I'd like to, but I'll have to wait till Ruby arrives first. She's offered to help run the office."
“So what's your agenda?" he asked. “Where are you planning to start?"
“Most likely I'll drive first to the North Spit to watch the Coast Guard efforts. If one of the copters or rescue boats finds him, I want to be right there. I want to be the first one to welcome him home."
“And if they don't find him?"
“Then I'll come back here. I'll fire up one of the motorboats and head over to the peninsula across from the North Spit."
His eyes flitted down to her lips, then back up. “You are one determined lady, aren't you?"
“What choice have I?"
He nodded in silent understanding. "You'd better not waste any time getting these crabs in the coolers."
“I won't. Good night again, Lowell."
“'Night, Vanessa."
Moments later after she'd slipped inside, she parted the curtains and stole another look through the misty moon light to the dock below. Lowell was standing next to his sailboat gazing up at the lodge.
* * *
Next morning after phoning Matt at the Eagle Point cabins and learning he'd left to go fishing, Vanessa searched feverishly through the file cabinets in the office. Hopefully Ruby would arrive soon--Clinton hadn't indicated an exact time. But at least this would give Vanessa a chance to do a bit of detective work before she left to watch the search and rescue efforts. The first folder bulged with old receipts. Did Dad have any outstanding debts that could have somehow triggered his disappearance? she wondered. Had creditors issued a warning? Perhaps some disgruntled guest had harbored a grudge and plotted against him. She must also remember to peruse the lodge guest book, she reminded herself. Maybe there'd be some thinly veiled clue in the comments column, one that had somehow gone overlooked.
“Mornin’, Miss Paris."
She looked up from the file cabinet and saw Lawrence Wallace, the grandfatherly gardener, smiling down at her. His large bulky frame nearly filled the doorway.
“Good morning, Lawrence. Oh, by the way, someone called earlier this morning from the wholesale nursery in town. A Mr. Peterson, I believe. He said the flats of petunias you ordered are ready to go."
“Finally," the man said with a pleased look. “I was beginning to think we'd have to fill the flower beds this year with something else. Seems ther
e's been a real run on petunias, especially the white fragrant ones that your father loves so."
“Yes, Dad's favorite." Her heart twisted.
Outside she could hear the drone of a copter, mingled with the sounds of Lowell hammering and sawing on the back deck. Vanessa pushed back the uneasy feelings the reminder of him evoked within her.
Why couldn't he have opted to work for one of the other lodge owners instead right now? There were at least a dozen on the island. Given the ever-constant reality of Lowell's presence, it was going to be harder than ever to wipe him out of her mind.
Lawrence fished a crumpled Kleenex from the pocket of his overalls and blew his nose loudly. “Poor Eldon, I do hope we hear something soon. God bless him. Why, he's the last person I ever thought would end up missing."
“Yes, the...the waiting is pure agony," Vanessa agreed, her emotions wavering between raw determination and cold, hard fear. “I don't know how any of us can keep going on this way."
“Now don't you worry about nothin', Miss Paris," Lawrence said, patting her shoulder. “I'll keep everything ship shape as far as the grounds-keeping goes. I know you got plenty on your mind without worrying about that too." He started back out the door. “And for now, it's high time I got to work. Be sure and let me know the minute you hear anything."
Vanessa attempted a smile. “Thanks, Lawrence. I will."
She wandered over to the map of the San Juan Islands tacked on the wood-paneled wall opposite the file cabinet. Chewing her lower lip in concentration, she focused on the peninsula where she intended to search. It was an elongated finger of land, stretching for several miles from east to west with no electricity, no roadways, not even a handful of small summer cabins. A narrow channel separated it from the North Spit.
Despite Dad's heart condition, he was a strong swimmer and well versed in survival skills, she reminded herself. If he was swept off his boat in the channel, chances were good he might have swum to the peninsula. Granted, the Sound remained icy cold all year round, but the passageway was narrow enough to permit this small miracle. Perhaps he'd camped out on the long stretch of beach or farther back in the scraggly growth of trees that bordered it. The Coast Guard must've simply missed sight of his campfire yesterday. Or the SOS signals he'd undoubtedly flashed into the darkening sky last night.
She looked up as Clinton entered the office. He was wearing a green wool shirt, baggy trousers, and black high-top rubber boots--typical dress of the island locals. “Oh, you're here," she greeted him. “I thought you left at the crack of dawn with the group trawling for salmon."
“That's on for tomorrow. Today I'm taking some folks clam diggin'. Low tide's at ten. They didn't come outfitted with buckets, boots and the right shovels--funny how unprepared these city-slickers usually are--so I said I'd take care of everything." He tapped his pipe against the counter, then continued, “Anyway, I hear the clamming's best near Johnson's landing, so we'll head over there first."
His glance fell onto her stack of past receipts. “So what's up, kiddo? Don't the books balance? Are we behind in our payments?"
Neither her father or uncle were interested in keeping their records on a computer, so they’d just relied on the old-fashioned bookkeeping way.
“Everything's fine. I'm just tidying up, that's all. I was also hoping these old receipts might somehow turn up a clue about Dad--but so far, nothing."
He listened intently while she briefed him in on her plans. “I wonder what's taking Ruby so long?" she added, glancing at the clock on the wall. “It's already past nine. I hope she hasn't forgotten."
The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “Don't worry. That woman never forgets nothin'." He sent Vanessa an apologetic look. “Wish I could go with you, but I can't let the lodge guests down. Tough as it is, I'll just have to keep telling myself it's business as usual. We've been askin' folks to pay up for the excursions in advance. We'd lose our good reputation if word got out we didn't keep our promises."
“Of course, Uncle Clint. I realize that."
“Any luck getting in touch with Matt?"
“I'm afraid not. The answering machine at the cabins said everyone had already left for another guided fishing excursion."
The sounds of Lowell's hammering had stopped, and Vanessa couldn't help hoping he might saunter into the office to announce he'd changed his mind and had decided to go with her after all.
He didn't.
Clinton polished his eyeglasses with the corner of his shirt tail, then slipped them back on. "If you do manage to catch up with Matt later, tell him to stop by. I want to get his opinion of the new rod and reel I picked up last week."
“I will." Their conversation about Ruby and Matt brought an unexpected question to her mind. "Uncle Clint..."
“Yes, kiddo?"
“Whatever made Ruby decide to lease her property?" Vanessa knew that the older woman had been contemplating the change--turning over the management to any candidate with enough energy to keep up with the many demands--but never suspected she'd actually follow through. The cabins and surrounding thirty acres of prime Douglas fir had been in Ruby's family for nearly a century and a half.
“Work just got too much for her. Even though Matt's been her right-hand man ever since her hubby died, she said she woke up one day and told herself, enough was enough. What she was hankerin' for instead was a nice little part-time job in town without the long hours and responsibility." He ran his large-boned hands across a light stubble of beard and stared absently outside the window.
“Too bad Matt didn't decide to retire also," Vanessa said. "I expect by now he's long over-due for a rest too."
“That's why your pop's been complainin' that Matt can never go fishin' with him anymore. He seems to think the new managers--Josh Buckler and his cousin Dolly--can't get along without him."
“I hope they're paying Matt well. He deserves it."
“I hope so too. Ever since Fern, his wife, had that stroke last year and he had to put her in a nursin' home, he's been scrapin' to make ends meet." He frowned. "I hear the Bucklers are real green-horns when it comes to tourists and no doubt need someone like Matt. I still wish, though, he would've come to work for Eldon and me instead."
An image of her father swam up in her mind and again she fought back tears. Stocky, barrel-chested, he stood barely five-and-a-half feet, a sharp contrast to her tall, lanky uncle. Though Dad's blue eyes often laughed from beneath bushy brows, they also held a distant, gray look whenever he was troubled.
The reasons were obvious, she reminded herself. The past few years had taken its toll on both of them. Yet through it all, she and Dad had grown even closer. His love for her had always sustained her.
“You can do it, kitten," he used to say. “My little girl will always come out on top." Remembering, more tears threatened. She felt a dull ache in the pit of her stomach, a lump forming at the base of her throat.
The slam of the office door intruded on Vanessa's thoughts. With a start, she looked up and saw Ruby. Rushing to meet her, Vanessa flung her arms around the older woman's bird-like frame. “Oh, Ruby! Thanks for coming. You'll never know how much this means." Blinking back tears, Vanessa inhaled the scent of Ruby's honeysuckle cologne, felt the warmth of her answering embrace. Mama might no longer be here, but at least Ruby was...
“Anything to help, child," Ruby replied brokenly. “Anything at all."
Chapter Three
Vanessa steered her black Mazda down the asphalt two-lane road that snaked its way along the east shoreline of Tawanya Island. Though all her friends from school days had long since left, few of the old landmarks had changed. The same ramshackle mom-pop store she'd just driven by, the same sprawling church campgrounds in plain view ahead. Yet the vague uneasiness gnawing at her was growing worse by the hour. If something terrible had happened to Dad, the comfortable familiarity could suddenly disappear forever.
But no! She gave a quick shake of her head. Something terrible had not happened! Dad had
taught her to look at the bright side of life--despite all their misfortune. He was alive. She just knew it. Alive and waiting for her. And she'd do everything in her power to prove it.
Turning right, she hurried past fields of grazing cattle and profuse explosions of wild roses. She could hear the drone of another helicopter--or perhaps it was one of the two she'd already spotted earlier that morning.
More memories from childhood wrapped around her. Her father was tough and grizzled, a testament to his former years as an independent commercial fisherman. But carving out a livelihood on the sea had been rough, the income unpredictable and so her parents had decided to purchase the guest lodge when Vanessa was less than two.
Still, the call of the sea beckoned Eldon--a call so compelling he couldn't turn his back. That's when he started up his own fishing guide service and Uncle Clinton had moved in to take on joint ownership. After all, the other guide services on the island could stand a little friendly competition, Dad had always announced with a good-natured chuckle.
The rumble of an approaching school bus from the church camp jarred her from her reminiscence. Glancing off to the side, she caught sight of two Coast Guard cutters cruising up the Sound. Her pulse raced with anticipation. They appeared to be heading in the direction of the copter which was now hovering above a rocky cliff beyond.
She turned onto the next road that led to the beach, then skidded to a stop in the narrow parking strip above it. A group of bicyclists wearing helmets and black riding garb were clustered nearby, watching the search efforts. Other locals had gathered as well.
Vanessa grabbed her binoculars from beneath the driver's seat, then flung open the car door and picked her way down the sandy trail that was fringed by wild beach grass. Thank goodness, the on-lookers were absorbed in the search efforts, and she managed to slip by them unnoticed. Coming to the uppermost portion of beach, her sandaled feet sunk into the dry soft sand. The warmth penetrated her feet, contrasting with the cool mid-morning breeze that fanned her flushed cheeks. The skies were clear--perfect visibility for the search and rescue crews.
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