Island Secrets

by R. T. Wolfe

  She swam uncomfortably near it. She was never uncomfortable diving with Seth, but she didn't want to see in this cavern. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward it. Why was he doing that? He grinned as he gestured inside. Obediently, she lifted her head. Her legs started to kick as she spotted the skull. Seth held his tight grip on her arm. Her eyes locked on an enormous skull that stared at her. Two large moray eels darted at her, one from each eye socket.

  It was either the terrifying image or the familiar feel of the hump in her parents' drive that startled her awake. Was she driving? Riding with Liam? Bolting to a sitting position, her head spun enough for her to grab the side of it like that might keep it from falling off. She leaned back against the reclined seat as she remembered she was in Dane's Jeep.

  Wait a minute. With a fear of head spins, she stayed semi-horizontal and turned her head to him. "You didn't dare take me—"

  "Damn right I did. This is the second and a half time today you've passed out on me. I called the boss."

  She knew who he meant, and it was a mean trick. Her mother was a vegan, belonged to a number of conservation groups. She taught Zoe, Seth, and their sisters how to meditate and use organic herbs for relaxation. She could also turn into a mother grizzly bear when her children were threatened. Dane had gone behind Zoe's back. It wasn't the first time.

  "What do you mean second and a half, you traitor? I only passed out once today."

  "There was the time when you looked at the picture of the dead dude—very cool shot, by the way—again, just now in my Jeep, and I'm counting when you were in shock from the bends as a half. You did nearly puke on me."

  "I wasn't in shock. And I was resting my eyes just now. I didn't pass out. Are you sure I puked?" She still didn't remember that part and knew he would make it up if it suited him.

  At that moment, her mother stormed out of her house. "Oh shit," Zoe said softly, then hit Dane soundly in the arm with the back of her hand. "What the hell did you tell her?" she asked out of the corner of her mouth.

  "The truth," he said through his teeth as he smiled at her approaching mother.

  It was an opposing sight. Herbs dripped from planter boxes that lined the front porch rail. Sunflowers towered over the porch and hollyhocks lined the drive. This year, Zoe's stucco childhood home was painted bright yellow and covered with her mother's latest artwork. Larger-than-life goldfish swam around a ginormous mermaid. All of it topped with her father's four female goats that grazed on the thatch growing from the roof.

  The opposing part was the way her mother marched like General Patton's right-hand-man toward Dane's Jeep. Zoe was too scared to laugh.

  "A grown woman and look at you," her mother barked. "You've got us all worried sick. I've got your bed ready and tea brewing." She put up a finger and nearly poked Zoe in the chest before she could say a word.

  Instead, Zoe took the easy target and mouthed to Dane, 'I'll get you for this,' before taking her mother's outstretched hand.

  Forty-eight hours. She could do this for forty-eight hours—the period of time symptoms could appear or worsen if one happened to have the bends. Which she did not. Thirty-six hours, really, since it was afternoon already.

  "Half the town has called asking me how you're doing."

  Half the town? How did they know already? Oh right, small island. The house was open with a warm breeze that ruffled the pastel orange curtains of the cozy living room. Her father sat reading The Great Gatsby in his ancient recliner. "Hi, Dad. Long time no see." Semi-retirement looked good on him. The restaurant they owned seemed to do okay without their constant presence.

  Eyes matching the sea green color of her own smiled before her father took a sip from his flower power mug and returned to his book. Her mother led her down the short hallway with walls covered in family photographs. Homemade artwork filled the spots between photos of Zoe, Seth and their sisters. Shells clustered into the shapes of the seashore birds that gave Ibis Island its name. Some frames contained depictions of the endangered sea turtles their family had taken under their wing to protect. The ancient hardwood floor creaked as they made their way to her old room.

  The only things that remained the same here were the smell of clean linens and fresh herbs. Well, that and the lines of beads that acted as the door. They still hung in thin columns providing pitiful privacy. She lost door privileges the night she snuck out of the house to neck with Roy 'Renegade' Cooper her junior year of high school. Willow had been none too happy about it since they shared a room growing up.

  To go along with the move-out-when-you're-eighteen rule, her parents had transformed it into a den the summer Zoe left for UF. It was now fully equipped with a desk and futon. The futon had already been opened and covered in organic sheets, a blanket, and two hypoallergenic pillows. Bed or no bed, the smell of lavender incense told her she was home.

  "You're quiet," her mother said as she turned down the covers.

  "Just thinking."

  "When he called, Dane told me the skull you found was murdered."

  It made her laugh. "I'm not sure if a skull can be murdered, but yes, I found a skull belonging to a person who was definitely murdered."

  "I'm sorry I didn't believe you."

  Zoe turned to look at her. The lines on her mother's face had deepened since Seth's disappearance. Zoe knew she never quite accepted his death. She couldn't call her mother's actions denial, but something wasn't right. She barely spent any time in the restaurant anymore.

  Her mother was a beautiful woman. Brown eyes and long, blonde hair streaked with the gray that made her look even smarter than she already was. As she generally did, she wore it in a youthful ponytail exposing her golden skin and cheerful oval face.

  They spoke of Willow's bar and the latest antics of Willow's daughter, Chloe. Conversation changed to the restaurant, then to Raine's obsession with the island's marine conservation efforts. Of Seth, and how they hoped he was swimming in the sea in the sky with loggerheads and surrounded by the treasure he always wanted to find. And they spoke of the family belonging to the person who got himself or herself caught up in a death so violent it was made for the movies. She hoped the family would soon find closure.

  "Do you think it was..." her mother said barely loud enough for Zoe to hear.

  "No, mom. It couldn't be. The layers of crustaceans on that thing mean it's been down there much longer than Seth. And how could a Clearwater get mixed up in a murder? I love you, but I'm not happy that you listened to Dane Corbin of all people. You know he's a manipulator. A manipulator and playboy."

  "Things are rarely as they appear, dear. He's just a boy."

  "He's a twenty-seven-year-old man," Zoe retorted.

  Her mother sat cross-legged next to her on the futon, sipping something that smelled fruity. Definitely not the chamomile that was in Zoe's cup. Obviously using the mug to hide the fact she was smiling, her mother mumbled, "You're still angry that he tricked you into second base under the bleachers your freshman year. It's perfectly natural to be embarrassed, dear. You weren't as... developed back then."

  "Oh yeah, well I was perky," Zoe said in defense. "And I was a sophomore. I had perky little sophomore breasts and Dane Corbin should be glad I let him trick me—manipulate me—into showing them to him. I was lucky Raine showed up when she did. She nearly kicked his ass. And now I have bigger, perky breasts." She sat up straighter and held one in each hand as they laughed together.

  She and her mother turned their heads to the knock on the doorframe, then jingle of beads.

  A smile the size of the mermaid on the side of the house spread across her mother's face. Zoe could have crawled in a hole and died.

  "Size matters." Dane grinned as he walked in carrying the oxygen tank from Zoe's boat.

  Chapter 4

  Zoe would slap him the first chance she got. "You wish you knew," she growled.

  "True." Dane turned to her mother. "She should wear this while she sleeps. Or at least twenty minutes every few hou
rs since I don't know if she'll get much sleep."

  "Don't you have a business to run?" Zoe interrupted, her aggressive tone completely justified.

  "It's Greg's day at the gift shop. Lilly is checking in tourists and both the party boat and the three snorkeling/eco tours are captained. We have no scuba groups until tomorrow afternoon."

  "I needed the money from this weekend, Dane. You're costing me."

  "Use your sick days."

  "I don't have sick days."

  "You do now. Babe, I'm the boss."

  Sick days? She tried to protest. Wanted to argue that the other employees already thought she was sleeping with him. Why else would he have agreed to merge their businesses? Leaving him little time for the treasure hunting trips he was known for? Now, she was given sick days? But it wasn't her business anymore. It pained her as much as it relieved.

  "I can't sleep with the noise of that machine, Mom. I'll wear it later. Right now, I'm going to finish this disgusting tea and catch up on email. You have one night. Both of you." She pointed a finger from her mother to Dane. "I have Ultimate Frisbee tomorrow at two."

  They looked at each other and spoke some silent language. The nerve.

  "I've been wanting to crash Sunday Ultimate Frisbee for years," Dane said as he winked at her mother, then turned to Zoe. "I'm taking your place."

  "You," she said flatly. "Can you even throw a Frisbee? Do you know how to play?"

  "Look at me." He gestured the backs of his hands from his shoulders to his hips. "I can't look like this and not know how to throw a Frisbee."

  "Arrogant—"

  "Careful, babe. Your mother's here. It's like rugby, right?"

  "You don't even know the rules." Although, she knew he would be good, great maybe. Would her team want her back? "How many steps can you take when you have the Frisbee?"

  He squinted at her before he answered. "None."

  Arrogant mind reader.

  "Look, Zoe. This is serious. Use your head. I'm outta here." He kissed her mother on the forehead. "I'm sorry about the scene, Harmony. Your home is as lovely as ever."

  "You should thank Dane for going to the trouble of bringing your tank for you, dear." It may have sounded like a suggestion, but it wasn't.

  "Thanks, boss."

  * * *

  Now, all Dane could think about was Zoe's perky A cups. Imagining high school A cups gave him the creeps. Yet, there they were, right in his face.

  He had to drive all the way inland because the only drugstore on Ibis Island didn't carry extended oxygen tubes. 'Can't sleep with the noise of the machine.' She was the most high-maintenance, independent, fascinating, low-maintenance woman he'd ever known.

  An image of her sleeping with those damned adult B cups—possibly C cups—rising and falling soundly kept his foot on the gas all the way to the inland store. And he had to captain her party boat that night. It was Liam's day off. A fact he would have had no trouble ignoring if Zoe hadn't pointed it out. She was going to make him insane.

  He parked in the farthest spot of the drugstore lot. Zoe liked to call it new-car-parking and relentlessly teased him about pampering his jeep. He was simply taking care of his vehicle. She was a woman. She wouldn't understand.

  Also in the figurative new-car-parking section was one black Beemer convertible. He wondered who it could belong to. Not. Richard Beckett was the island's richest, most successful jackass realtor. He cared only about his and his own and gave no respect to the sea turtles. That kind of thing didn't set well with a family like the Clearwaters.

  Beckett came out in his Italian shoes, pants and matching linen shirt. He slid his $300 sunglasses over his eyes and ran his hand through his $80 haircut. "Dane!" Beckett said with a salesman smile. Must play nice with the locals.

  "Hey Beckett. What brings you out in this heat?"

  "It is a warm one." Beckett held out his hand.

  Dane shook like a gentleman. "I see you bought the place next to my shop. Welcome to the neighborhood," he lied and realized he had no idea what Beckett wanted with the area.

  "I've got a bid on the property next to it, too." His face fell as if he'd just realized he was forgetting something important. "Don't mention anything to your new employee, will you?" he whispered as if anyone could possibly hear him. "No need to stir the pot over nothing."

  He assumed he meant Zoe but wasn't sure what pot he would be referring to. They said their empty well wishes and Beckett spun out in his BMW. Dane couldn't help it, he glanced down at his clothes and decided it might be time to grow up.

  * * *

  Zoe's eyes flew open. The moon cast stripes of light on the desk at the opposite side of the room. She'd heard a crack. It was the dream she'd been having. The skull stared at her as she lay on her parents' futon. The knife had turned itself just enough to crack the thing open, spilling pieces of Luciana Bezan's dowry between the barnacle-infested bones. Sparkling necklaces and silver flatware slithered out like the Moray eels of her last dream.

  Freaking scary.

  She knew her way around the room enough to keep the lights off, but with the creepy dream and creepier noise, her fingers ached to turn on the bedside lamp. She was no wimpy girl and instead forced her hands into the pockets of the sweat pants she wore to bed before standing and shaking her head clear. Clearwater's were not scared of the dark.

  The extended oxygen tube Dane had brought her made it all the way to the bathroom. She pulled the thing off her face and set it on her pillow.

  The digital clock on the desk read 2 a.m. She would get herself some of the raspberry decaf tea her mother had been drinking the night before, not any of the chamomile crap. Maybe she would read some news on her Smartphone, then get back to sleep. Although shivering another post-dream aftershock, she forced herself to stay away from the light switches.

  The only bedroom in the house that acted as a bedroom was her parents'. She guessed when all of your children—all of your living children—resided on an island ten miles long, it wasn't necessary to keep guest rooms. She passed Raine's old room on the way to the kitchen. Raine and Seth were the oldest and had had their own bedrooms. Raine's was now a craft room and Seth's a music room with wall-to-wall string and wind instruments. Two banjos, Willow's old cello, an acoustic guitar, and an ancient accordion with marble keys.

  It made her nearly forget about the dream and the tea. She wandered the room as the light of the moon forced its way through the paper-thin blinds. Propped in a corner were a few of Seth's things. It was worse than if her mother had been one of those parents who kept their dead child's bedroom exactly as it had been. Because he had no bedroom. No place. No house. No widow. No children. Nothing but the wide-open water somewhere in the sky Zoe hoped he was diving in right at that moment.

  His wooden chest rested in the corner closet. Her mother refused to open it. She told everyone Seth wasn't in his dresser. His soul had moved on. One of those eccentric ways her mother had about her. Zoe was used to the odd antics. As a young woman, Zoe grew to adore and sometimes admire them. Now, she thought her mother was full of shit. She was stuffing her grief and avoiding closure. As if Zoe had room to judge. She was still looking for her dead brother in random caves every Saturday.

  The dresser he owned stood as guard of the closet. It was odd the closet door was open. Her mother may be cluttered and eccentric, but she was tidy. Zoe's eyes had adjusted to the dark enough to see the scratches in the worn fronts of the drawers... that had also been left open?

  Shadows from tree branches blowing in the wind were strangely alive. It was the dream, that was all. Regardless, some light seemed like a necessity after all. As she headed for the switch by the door, one of the shadows followed her. It grew and sprouted on a front wall, the moonlight giving away the form of a man. Too frightened to turn and see, she took off for the open doorway in a silent panic. But the man was faster. He covered her already speechless mouth with his hand and wrapped his other arm around her neck. How? Her brain spun in a w
orthless mass of fear and confusion. Why?

  His arm flexed and squeezed her neck, closing off her air. She didn't think. Her fear reacted for her. Twisting like a mad woman, she dug her elbows in his ribs, right then left, again and again. He let go enough for her to scream, scream at the top of her lungs.

  The man shoved her aside, sending her toppling over Willow's cello. She squirmed as if she had bugs crawling over her skin, trying to escape the instrument and to find a light, her parents, a phone, an escape. The front door opened, but she didn't hear it close.

  What she did hear were footsteps running from the back of the house. Her father's deep voice never sounded so frightened or so beautiful. "Zoe? Where are you?"

  "I'm in here," she croaked, rubbing the sides of her neck as she rolled free of the broken instrument.

  The lights flew on and her father stood checking her from head to toe. Her mother followed closely behind. He seemed to be analyzing if she was really hurt or whether he could chew on her for breaking Willow's old cello.

  Not ready to try her legs, Zoe whispered, "A man. There was a man. A man was in here. He tried to choke me. I screamed, and he ran." Saying it out loud made it all the more real and tears started streaming down her cheeks. The smell of overbearing musk cologne stuck in her nostrils.

  "What? Oh my gosh, Zoe." Her mother sat on the floor next to her as her father picked up her tossed phone. He headed for the front of the house, turning on lights as he went. The light was a welcome wave of warmth and helped her breathe steady enough to tell her mother the whole story.

  In repeating what happened, and again to the police, she realized the man was smaller than she imagined in her petrified state. Not short, but a small build. Could have been a teenager. Probably was, the idiot. He broke into a house full of people. A house with nothing anyone would find of value. Her parents weren't into electronics or expensive jewelry. Unless the thief planned to find a seller for a steel guitar, a ukulele, or some seashell necklaces. What a hell of a weekend.

  * * *

  "Watch your step and your head. Welcome aboard the newest Sun Trips Touring vessel. We'll depart shortly." It wasn't a lie. This was Dane's newest pontoon. Zoe sat contentedly in the captain's chair checking the instruments. He had it painted in his signature turquoise blue with emerald green waves on the sides of the boat and a bright yellow sun along the canopy. The business had taken off since the merger—or since she turned her shop over to him. It was difficult to think of it that way, but it had all been necessary.