Far From Shore

by Mark Stone

  “I’ll call him again,” Emma said as we strode up to the front porch, a fenced in wooden addition that didn’t exist the last time I saw this house. “Don’t just go banging on the door. His mom is probably asleep, and I--”

  I banged on the door anyway.

  “Chicago really turned you into a piece of work, didn’t it?” Emma asked, her phone at her ear, making the call.

  “Just doing what I have to,” I answered, waiting for someone to answer the door. It didn’t happen.

  Just then, Jonah’s phone rang in the distance as I settled in front of the front door. Following the sound of the ringing - faint and far away - I ran from the porch and to the left side of the house. There, in the tangle of long, unshorn grass, I saw his phone lighting up.

  I rushed toward it, picking it up. I tapped the screen to find a notification bar chronicling all seven of Emma’s missed calls.

  “His car is here,” she said, looking at the phone as though it was a bad omen. “Where could he be? Why would his phone be on the ground? He never goes anywhere without--”

  “Do you know his pass code?” I asked, glaring at the locked screen.

  “It’s all 1’s,” she answered, worry dripping heavy from her words. “He says it’s easy for him to remember.” Emma shuffled uneasily. “I’m going to look around and see if I can find him.”

  “Okay,” I said, typing in the “easy to remember” pass code and getting into his messages.

  There were the usual; messages from friends asking when he might be finished with work, a message from Molly Higgins asking what time they should meet for dinner on Saturday, and a message from his uncle asking how work has been going.

  There was nothing special or telling in there. Still, I knew something must have been going on and, luckily for me, I was familiar with this sort of phone and its many facets. A lot of the kids who worked as drug runners up in Chicago had these. You could delete the messages easily but, if you forgot to get rid of the deleted file, it was still in the memory and able to be restored.

  I just had to hope that Jonah didn’t know about that little trick.

  I scrolled into his settings and restored his deleted messages. Suddenly, a new conversation appeared. It was between Jonah and a number that wasn’t in his address book. I didn’t recognize it immediately either and, as I went through the back and forth, a chill formed in the pit of my stomach.

  Where is she?

  Tell your boss that I did what she wanted. So, it’s time for you to come through on your part of the bargain.

  YOU PROMISED ME! YOU PROMISED! WHERE THE HELL IS MY MOTHER?!!!!

  Just like that, I understood what was going on. Emma was right. Jonah was a good kid. He wouldn’t do what I was accusing him of…unless, of course, he had to.

  I thought Jonah had been bought off by money, but the truth was, he was bought off by something much more important. I thought about what Emma had said about Jonah’s mother being sick, about not having seen her in a while. I knew the reason for that now. They had taken her. They had kidnapped Jonah’s mother and were holding her hostage to blackmail him into framing Peter.

  But where was Jonah?

  “Oh my God! Jonah!” I heard Emma shriek from out in the yard, closer to the swamp.

  Oh no, I thought as my muscles tensed. Oh no.

  Chapter 22

  With my mind racing, I ran toward Emma. My heart was pounding as I neared Emma, hunched over a darkened form that had to be Jonah’s body. He was still, completely so as I settled over them. Jonah’s face was pale and still, his eyes closed.

  “He’s not breathing,” Emma said, looking up at me. “Call an ambulance.” And, just like that, Emma began performing CPR on Jonah. I stared at the boy for a second, thinking about how much he looked like Victoria, so pale and ridged as I pulled her from the gulf water.

  “Dillon!” she said, looking back up at me, eyes wide and hands pumping on Jonah’s chest.

  I swallowed hard and pulled out my phone, dialing 911 as I watched Emma work. I recounted what was going on to the lady who picked up the phone, telling her about Jonah’s condition and our address. I wasn’t sure what this was about, why I was reacting the way I was. I had seen more death than maybe anyone in this city. While Naples was a relatively safe place, Chicago was basically the murder capital of the country. I couldn’t go a week without being called to the scene of a homicide up there. Of course, I didn’t know any of those people. They all had their stories, sure. But I hadn’t watched those stories unfold the way I had with Jonah. I didn’t have a memory of him being brought home from the hospital or his baptism. I didn’t have memories of any of the people up in Chicago running through sprinklers in this very backyard when it got too hot to do anything else.

  But even that wasn’t it. I knew that for sure. What was really getting to me, what was staying my hand and leaving me standing here helpless, watching Emma do all the heavy lifting, was the fact that I knew I could have stopped this. If I would have kept my eyes open, if I would have been a better detective, if I’d have just listened to my brother sooner, than maybe I’d have figured this out sooner. Maybe I’d have been able to save Jonah, to stop the Cashes from taking his mother and using it to blackmail him.

  I took another deep breath and shook my head. I couldn’t let this stop me. I had to pull myself together; for Jonah, for his mother, for Ethan and the memory of his wife. God help me, even for Peter. This was about everyone, all of us. It was about this town, about keeping Naples safe, and about unraveling one of the biggest mysteries to settle on this gulf town in recent memory.

  Shaking it off, I crouched down beside Emma, still hard at work, trying to resuscitate this poor kid.

  “What can I do?” I asked, looking at a woman who had obviously had more medical training than myself.

  “You’re stronger than me,” she said, still pumping on his chest. “Do this. Let me focus on mouth to mouth.”

  Emma moved, and I took her place, doing what she had done, palms atop each other and flat on his chest. I pressed hard over and over again, harder than I thought was necessary. His body shook, though Emma held his face, breathing into his mouth.

  “It’s his mother,” I said, still compressing as I looked up at Emma. “The bastards took his mother. They’re holding her captive.”

  In truth, I had no idea whether or not Jonah’s mother was still being held, or even if she ever had been. For all I knew, Jonah’s mother was already dead, but I couldn’t think like that. I had to act as if she was still alive, still out there.

  “I checked his messages,” I explained. “There are messages between him and a number I don’t recognize where he begs for his mother to be returned to him.”

  Emma pulled away from him as we heard sirens fill the air. Thank God. The paramedics were here.

  “You’re not serious,” she said, her face growing pale and white. “You have to do something, Dillon. You have to call Boomer and get someone over there.”

  “Over where?” I asked, shaking my head and racking my brain. I had no idea where Jonah’s mother was being kept. Sure, it was possible they were keeping her at their mansion, and I would definitely inform Boomer and let him send some officers over there, but that seemed more than a little dangerous for the Cashes and I doubt they’d keep proof of their crimes right under their noses. No. I needed to think about this, and I didn’t have much time.

  “Someone came for him, Emma,” I said as the sirens got louder. “The meeting is happening right now. Richard Cash is probably being finalized as the new CEO as we speak.” I shook my head. “They never intended to give Jonah his mother back. They’re getting rid of loose ends. Someone was here to kill Jonah, and I’d bet someone is on their way to do the same to his mother.”

  And that was when it hit me; something Aubrey said to me when we were speaking, about an island where they had a house, a place where “the thing he wanted” was.

  The paramedics ran up and pushed us out of the wa
y, beginning their work on Jonah.

  “Stay here,” I said to Emma. “Call Boomer. Tell him what’s happening and to send officers to the Cash mansion.”

  “Where are you going?” Emma asked, running fingers through her hair.

  “I know where Jonah’s mother is,” I said firmly. “And I think I know someone who can help get me there.”

  Chapter 23

  “I appreciate you coming so quickly,” I said, staring at Jack Lacey from across the bow side of The Finder’s hull. Our last interaction hadn’t been pleasant. Owing thugs with guns large amounts of money will do that to a Tuesday afternoon. Still, I had learned enough about the former Coast Guardsman after that little incident to see the truth about him. And, if that wasn’t enough, here he was tonight, helping me out when I needed him the most. Jack Lacey might have been trouble, like my grandfather said, but he seemed like the right kind of trouble, the sort of trouble I could harness in difficult situations.

  “Absolutely,” he said gruffly. “Though, I should probably warn you that I’ve had more than a couple beers tonight.”

  I glared over at him at the helm.

  “I’m kidding,” he chuckled at me, shaking his head. “I’ll tell you though. To be Boomer Anderson’s best friend, you sure are tightly wound.”

  He had a point. I was more than a little revved up now. I still wasn’t sure if Jonah was dead, Richard Cash was about to take control of my brother’s company and, if I didn’t get some proof all of this had happened, then it wouldn’t matter how much sense it made. Conspiracy theories were hard to prove, especially when they were true. If, God forbid, Jonah didn’t make it out of the other side of this alive, his mother would be the only one left to corroborate the truth. If I wasn’t already too late to get to her.

  The cool night air rushed through my hair, sending the salt smell of the gulf whipping into my face. I’d smell like it for days after this, regardless of how many showers I took or how much cologne I drenched myself in. And then, when the scent finally wore off, I’d undoubtedly be thrust back into this glorious, glass-like water and start the process all over again. I wasn’t complaining. In fact, the brisk scent of the water was one of the things I missed the most when I was up in Chicago. Well, that and the complete lack of winter that you take for granted when you grow up this far south. Being back on it now, it was almost enough to take me away, almost enough to make me forget what I was doing and why I was here.

  Almost.

  “You know the island I’m talking about?” I asked, shaking off my thoughts and turning to Jack.

  He looked over at me, keeping one eye on the dark water ahead.

  “An island without roads off the coast,’ he grunted. “There’s a couple, but the most prominent, and the one you’re talking about, is Keewaydin Island. I did some digging back when I was on the Victoria Sands case, even found the house they bought there. I was never able to make the connection between it and Victoria though. If it turns out she was there this entire time, just off the coast--”

  “That doesn’t matter now,” I said, nodding at the man. This, in a few sentences, was the reason I called Jack. Time was of the essence. If I was right and Richard Cash sent Jonah’s mother here, then she would soon meet the same fate as her son. Someone would be there to finish her off, and tie up any and all loose ends.

  I knew Jack had thrown himself into this case enough to know the ins and outs of an island where the man who was having an affair with Victoria Sands had a residence, even if - as Aubrey alluded to - they barely ever used it.

  I needed that knowledge, that expertise and, more than that, I could make use of a man who had been described to me on more than one occasion as the best search and rescue operative the Coast Guard had ever seen.

  Add all that to the fact that he got to me in less than fifteen minutes, and I had myself a winner.

  “I understand you looked for her a lot and trust me when I say that I know how it feels to lose out on a case you should have won,” I said compassionately. “But we have to keep our heads in the game. This is crunch time.”

  “Come on, Dillon Storm,” he said, shaking his head at me and turning the wheel. I felt the rudders move as we tore through the dark water on our way to what was likely an equally dark island. “For people like you and me, isn’t it always crunch time?”

  Chapter 24

  Though I had spent the entirety of my youth in Naples and its surrounding areas, I had never once set foot on Keewaydin Island. I had been to Marco Island and various other barrier islands off the coast, but this one had always alluded me. It wasn’t for any particular reason. I’m sure that, like the rest of Naples, the Everglades, and Florida as a whole; Keewaydin was a spectacular place with its own sort of beauty and flavor. It was just that, when you were a fifteen-year-old boy who wanted nothing more than to finally get behind the wheel of a car, or when you finally get behind that wheel and all you wanted was to convince a girl to sit beside you, the last place you wanted to go was an island where there were no roads and no cars allowed.

  Still, I was kicking myself (and my libido) for steering clear of this place for so long. It meant I didn’t know the layout of this place like I knew Naples. Back home, I knew every nook and cranny. Even when things had changed, I managed to mentally document them pretty efficiently. I would be completely lost here, reliant on Jack Lacey to show me around and to make sure our steps were deliberate and correct.

  As if reading my mind, Jack started explaining the layout of this place to me.

  “I’m heading up to the south tip of the island. That’s where most of the tourists congregate. It also connects to the western beach, where the houses are,” he said, turning toward a dock filled with boats.

  I took a deep breath of salty sea air. I had heard stories about the few times my grandfather went to this place. Back in the fifties and sixties, after Marco island was built up and developed, this place was next in line for that treatment. To hear my grandfather tell it, there were going to be strip malls and beachside restaurants; parking lots and a bridge that connected to the mainland. Some might think of that as progress, but after seeing the way much of the natural habitat of Marco Island was destroyed when it was industrialized, a movement to stop the eradication of much of the ecosystem in Keewaydin.

  I remembered thinking how out of character that was for my grandfather. To hear about him heading off to an island and protest company intrusion was akin to hearing about him dancing in the ballet or starring in an Off-Broadway show. It wasn’t like him and it didn’t make sense to me.

  It was a long time ago though, something he made sure to preface the stories with and besides, “The damned gopher tortoises live there,” he’d said. “They're endangered and can’t survive anyplace else. Seems wrong to let them die out just so we can have another gas station and Slurpee store.”

  I wasn’t sure if Slurpee stores were something that had been big in the 60s or if they were just one of the many embellishments my grandfather was known for peppering his stories with. Either way, I understood it, and I also understood how dangerous this place could be.

  If it was anything like it had been when he was here, Keewaydin Island was ‘“filled to brim with all sorts of animals. Some are probably harmless, but I bet some aren’t,” he’d said. Then he’d always shake his head, his eyes narrowing to let me know he was serious. “And it’s not a place you want to get lost in, Dillon. No sir. You get turned around in that swampland and you might never find your way out.”

  Those words were flying around in my head as Jack docked the boat and tied it off.

  It was getting late at night, so late that the beach was nearly empty., I saw lights on inside several of the docked boats, but it seemed like most of the nightlife loving tourists had either decided to call it an early one or to head south down to Marco.

  A sense of uneasiness filled me as I looked around this place. It looked a lot like the back roads of Naples; dirt roads, overgrown swampland, and b
eaches right in eyesight.

  This wasn’t Naples though. It was different. It was darker and more remote. There were no cars here, and no roads going inland. A saw a smattering of houses along the beach line, but was pretty sure not many existed beyond that. This place was remote and primitive; a mix between the beach culture I was used to and the way Southern Florida must have looked when the Spanish discovered it hundreds of years ago.

  After all, the greenery didn’t change unless we as humans changed it, and the environmental movement my grandfather had been a part of was successful enough to knock Keewaydin out of the running for industrialization. In fact, most of the island was part of the Rookery Bay National Estuarine Research Reserve, which meant it was reserved for species other than humans.

  “Tell me its one of these houses,” I said to Jack, looking down the line of visible, and very accessible houses. I knew better though. Something in my gut told me that, if a woman like Aubrey Cash was complaining about a paid for house on a kitschy, but obviously expensive island, then there was a good reason for it.

  “There are a few others,” he said, shaking his head at me. “Closer into the reserve,” he said. “The Cash house is one of them.” He opened to emergency hatch on the boat, and pulled out a pair of flashlights as well as a pistol.”

  “That’s not a flair gun, is it?” I asked uneasily. In any other circumstance, I wouldn’t have involved someone outside of the police department. Even doing so now was a big risk and was breaking more than a few rules. I needed Jack’s help though, and if breaking the rules meant Jonah’s mother might get to survive, that was a trade I was willing to make. Still, I wasn’t exactly comfortable with Jack going in there armed, even if he hadn’t always been a civilian in the strictest sense of the word. “I can’t let you take that with you,” I said.

  “I’m registered and this is America,” he said, looking over at me and sticking the gun in the waistband of his jeans. “You can’t stop me.”