Tidewater Inn

by Colleen Coble

  “Abducted?”

  “The Virginia Beach police called me. Her business partner saw it all on the cam.”

  Alec winced. “That had to have been rough.”

  “She was hysterical, according to the officer who called me. She’s on her way here. Can I get your team to keep your eyes open on this one? The kidnappers took her in a boat.”

  “Sure thing. You got a description of the woman?”

  Tom gave it to him. “Oops, got another call. Don’t come until lunch tomorrow to spring your nephew.”

  Alec ended the call and put his phone away. The others were looking at him with curiosity. “Zach’s in jail.”

  “So we gathered,” Curtis said. “What’d he do?”

  “Spray-painted graffiti on the school.”

  “I did that once,” Josh said. “It’s a rite of passage to adulthood.”

  “I never did,” Alec said.

  “Yeah, but you walk on water.”

  Alec grinned at the familiar joke. Just because he didn’t drink or smoke, most of the other men thought he was some kind of saint. The truth was far different.

  THREE

  The trip to the Outer Banks was a blur, and Libby barely noticed the landscape, though she’d often wanted to go to the Outer Banks. She crossed the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. Route 168 turned into US 158 when she reached the Outer Banks. On her left was the Atlantic Ocean, and on the right she saw Albemarle Sound. The place felt like another world. She ran down her window to drink in the atmosphere of squawking gulls and murmuring surf.

  By the time she reached Kitty Hawk, the sun had set. She parked in the Dock of the Bay lot and rushed out. Motorboats and sailboats gleamed in the moonlight where they bobbed in the dark water. There were few people on the dock at this hour, but they were tourists. She stopped everyone she met, but no one had a boat they were willing to use to get her out to Hope Island.

  She found herself examining every man she saw, but none looked like either of the men who had taken Nicole. She saw a Coast Guard cutter in the distance and waved her arms, shouting for it, but it cruised on past without noticing her. How was she going to get to Hope Island tonight?

  Now that she was here, her driving-induced fatigue fell away. When her stomach rumbled, she realized she hadn’t eaten since lunch. She was going to be here all night, so she got a bag of chocolate-covered peanuts from a vending machine and a cup of coffee. Both left her more jittery than before. She eyed the long stretch of water. Maybe a walk along the shore would calm her down. She sat on a rock and took off her shoes, then walked along the soft sand. The salty air cleansed her head, and she prayed for God to be with Nicole wherever she was. Who could have taken Nicole and why?

  A boat horn sounded out in the water and the running lights flashed. She wandered out onto the pier and sat down with her bare feet dangling over the water. A fish splashed off to her right, and the sound of the waves rolling onto shore soothed her. God saw Nicole. He was in charge here. Libby had to try to cling to that fact.

  With the adrenaline draining out of her, she yawned. Maybe she could sleep for a little while, then she’d find someplace to take a shower. But she sat with her eyes open through the long night. When the sun came up, she got up again and went in search of a charter.

  She reached the top of the pier and smiled at a man and woman walking their dog along the beach. The dog sniffed her leg, and Libby stooped to pet it, a cute Yorkie. “You’re a sweetheart.”

  The woman appeared to be in her forties. Her smile lines and straw hat made her look approachable. She wore khaki walking shorts and a red top. She smiled. “It’s a surprise to see you here, Vanessa.”

  Vanessa. Her sister’s name. “I’m not Vanessa. My name is Libby Holladay.”

  The woman’s smile faded. “Oh my dear, I’m so sorry. You look so much like a young woman I know on Hope Beach. Pardon me.”

  “Someone else told me that. Are you from Hope Beach?”

  The woman brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “I used to be. I taught school there for four years. Vanessa was one of my students. It’s amazing how much you two look alike.”

  “I’m trying to find a charter out to Hope Island. Do you know where I might ask?”

  “My husband and I are going there in a few minutes. We’d be happy to give you a ride.” She put out her hand. “I’m Naomi Franklin, and this is my husband, Earl.”

  Libby shook hands with them. “That would be wonderful!” She’d been afraid of how much the charter might cost. “What time?”

  “Right now,” Earl said around a toothpick in his mouth. “Our boat is the Blue Mermaid. It’s there.” He pointed to a big sailboat. I just have to fill the tank and pack the supplies we brought for our summer house.”

  “She’s beautiful,” Libby said.

  He beamed. “We’ve only had her a month.” He took his wife’s hand. “You can take her aboard, honey, and I’ll get the supplies.”

  “What about my car?”

  “It’s safe here. Just leave it in the lot. You can rent a car on the island. Pricey, but maybe you won’t need it for long,” he said.

  Libby rushed back to her car and grabbed her suitcase, then locked the vehicle and joined them at the dock. Earl helped the women aboard, and moments later the sea spray struck her arms and was dried off by the hot sun.

  She stared at the horizon. “How far to the island?”

  “About half an hour. You have business in Hope Beach?” Naomi asked.

  Libby hesitated. “My partner and I restore historical buildings and sell them. She’s been on the island investigating the idea of helping to restore the downtown area.”

  “There are some beautiful old properties on the island. Many of them have fallen into disrepair, so you’ll have your work cut out for you.” Naomi tipped her head to the side. “You really do look like Vanessa Mitchell in a most astonishing way.”

  Libby managed a smile. “They say everyone has a twin somewhere in the world. Have the Mitchells been there a long time?”

  “Oh yes. The old Tidewater Inn is the matriarch of the place. Make sure you see it. Since you are into historical buildings, I’m sure you’ll be fascinated. It’s lovely. Ray Mitchell’s dad bought it in the thirties and raised a big family there. Ray bought out his siblings after their father died and turned it into an inn. Not that there are many tourists on the island, but he hoped he could entice families who wanted a quiet getaway.”

  “Are his siblings still around?” Aunts, uncles, cousins. The idea tightened Libby’s chest.

  “Just his sister. The rest moved to the mainland.” Naomi opened the ice chest. “Water?”

  “Sure.” Libby accepted the cold, wet bottle and uncapped it. “Is that Hope Island?” she asked when she saw a speck of land in the distance.

  “That’s it,” Earl said.

  Libby almost forgot to breathe as the island neared. Why did the island appeal to her so much? She’d never been here, had she? Charming houses lined a small bay with a well-maintained dock. Most of the houses could use a coat of paint and some repair to the gutters, but the village was like something out of a painting from the eighteen hundreds.

  “Where can I rent a car?” she asked.

  “No need for one, really,” Earl said. “Not if you’re staying in town. You have a room?”

  “Not yet.” She ignored the lift of his brow. “Can you recommend a hotel?”

  “Tidewater Inn would be your best bet. If you call them, they’ll fetch you,” Naomi said. “Stop at the general store. They’ll give you the number. We don’t have a car on the island or we’d run you out there ourselves.”

  “There’s a small lot by the harbor where you can rent a car though,” Earl said. “Some people like to explore.”

  Home. The place felt like home. That was the sensation in her chest.

  The sheriff’s office felt deserted when Libby stepped onto the worn wooden floor. “Hello?” she called.

  A man in a uniform
came down the hallway. He was in his late thirties with dark hair just beginning to get salty. His tanned face was good-natured. “Can I help you?”

  “I’d like to see the sheriff.”

  “That would be me. Sheriff Tom Bourne. Come on back.” He led the way to a small office that held a battered desk and a metal filing cabinet, both overflowing with stacks of paper. He lifted a batch of files from the chair opposite the desk. “Have a seat and tell me what I can do for you.”

  She settled onto the hard chair. “My business partner was kidnapped yesterday.”

  His gaze sharpened. “You’re Libby Holladay, the one who witnessed the kidnapping?”

  “Yes. Is there any news?” Surely they had found Nicole by now. Alive, she prayed.

  He shook his head. “Nothing. All I found when I got to the lifesaving station was her car. No sign of her. I’ve called in the Coasties, but they’ve seen nothing.”

  “Coasties?”

  “Coast Guard. What can you tell me about your conversation? You rushed off before the Virginia Beach police arrived to take your statement.”

  “I wanted to get here and find her.” She described the men she saw, and he took notes. “One man gave her an injection.”

  “It would help if we could call up the video, but it seems to have been erased from the server.”

  She bit her lip. Should she admit what she’d done? How much trouble could she get into for that? It was an accident, after all. But didn’t the police tend to blame the person closest to the victim?

  The phone on his desk rang, and she sat back in the chair while he talked. He rose when he hung up. “I have to go. There’s a problem at the jail. Where are you staying? Tidewater?”

  She nodded. “I hope to. I haven’t called yet.”

  He reached for some keys and tossed them to her. “I’ve got an old car I loan out sometimes. Go ahead and take it out to Tidewater. I’ll catch up with you there and get it back. Just follow Oyster Road to the end. You can’t miss it.”

  She took the keys and followed him out the door. There would be time to tell him about the video later. Maybe she could find the file and restore it. Then she wouldn’t be in trouble.

  The old truck reeked of fish, but it was the smell of money to Alec. The morning’s excellent haul would fetch a premium price at the restaurants. But he needed to get to the jail and pick up his nephew. As he maneuvered the truck along Oyster Road just outside of town, he noticed Tom’s red Honda along the shoulder. A woman crouched beside a flat tire. Tourist, from the looks of her.

  He parked his truck behind the car and got out. “Need some help?”

  Her sun-streaked light-brown hair framed a striking face with bold brows and large brown eyes. In her early thirties, he guessed. There was an air of tension around her as if she were about to explode.

  She held up the tire iron. “I’m not quite sure how to use this.”

  “Let me see if I can help.” Alec took the tool from her. “Everything okay?” He knelt by the tire and began to remove the lug bolts. “You’re driving the sheriff’s spare car.”

  “My business partner is missing.” Her voice trembled. “I was watching on a beach cam, and two men kidnapped her right in front of me.”

  His hands stilled, and he looked up at her. “Nicole Ingram?” He’d gone out last night on the search for the missing woman. All they’d found was her cell phone on the sand, a chilling sight.

  She nodded. “She’d told me when she would be at the cam, so I got on the computer. Two guys came ashore in a small boat and took her away. I called 9-1-1, but by the time the sheriff got there, all he found was her car parked along the side of the road. No sign of Nicole.”

  “No sign of her in any boats that were stopped yesterday either.”

  She studied him as she fidgeted with her large leather bag. “How do you know that?”

  He rose and stuck out his hand. “Alec Bourne. Part-time fisherman and full-time captain in the Coast Guard. The sheriff is my cousin, and he told me about your friend. My crew did a run through the area on one of the boats, but we didn’t see anything suspicious.”

  She grasped his hand in a tight grip. “I’m Libby Holladay. You have to find her.”

  He checked the spare. “This spare tire is flat too. Tom needs to take better care of this vehicle. Hop in. I’ll take you anywhere you need to go. Tom can collect the car later.”

  She studied his face. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know you.”

  He couldn’t blame her for being cautious, especially considering what had happened to her friend. He dug out his Coast Guard ID and held it out. Her fingers grazed his when she took it, and the bolt of adrenaline he experienced nearly made him snatch his hand back. She was beautiful, but he’d seen beautiful women before.

  She returned his ID. “Thank you. I’m sorry if I offended you.”

  “No offense taken,” he said while he fetched her belongings from Tom’s car. “It’s always wise to be cautious.” He jerked his head toward the passenger side of the truck. “The door sticks. Give it a jerk.” He put her suitcase in the truck bed, then slid behind the wheel of his truck and quickly moved some nets and tackle off the seat.

  She yanked on the door, then climbed in. She wrinkled her nose as she shut the door. “I guess you have been fishing. The truck reeks of it.” She smiled. “Sorry, I don’t like fish much.”

  “You just haven’t had the right fish. I went crabbing this morning. Nice haul.” He started the engine. “The smell grows on you. Where you headed?”

  She hesitated. “I was going to go to the Tidewater Inn, but you can just take me back to town and I’ll call them.”

  “You live in the Outer Banks?”

  She shook her head. “Near Virginia Beach.”

  “Your friend was here on vacation or something?”

  She stared out the window. “Or something.”

  He didn’t like the way she didn’t look at him. Like she was hiding something. “By herself? She didn’t say anything about being worried about someone? No one was following her?”

  She shook her head and rested her cheek on the window.

  “I get the feeling you’re not telling me everything,” he said. “I have a nose for deception. Comes with the job.”

  She finally lifted her head and turned to face him. Her dark eyes were anxious and strained. “It’s personal.”

  He turned the truck into Dead Man’s Curve and headed for downtown. “Might have something to do with your friend’s disappearance though.”

  Her face was pale. “Do you know Horace Whittaker?”

  Was she in some kind of trouble? “Sure. He was born and raised here on the island. Good man, good attorney.”

  “His secretary gave Nicole some interesting news. She said my father has left me some property out here.”

  He tried to think who had died lately. “Who’s your father?”

  “Ray Mitchell.”

  Alec raised his brows. “You’re Ray’s daughter? I never knew he had any other kids except for Brent and Vanessa. You never visited him here. I would have seen you.”

  “I thought he died when I was five.” She pressed her lips together and looked down at her hands.

  He absorbed the news. So the information that Ray had only died a month ago would have come as a shock. “Who told you that?”

  “My mother.”

  “Your mom lied to you?”

  She gave a barely perceptible nod.

  He made a quick decision as he parked in front of the jail. “Give me Tom’s keys. I’ll have a couple of deputies handle the car situation, and we’ll go see Horace.”

  She handed him the keys. “You think he knows what happened to Nicole?”

  “He can tell us what he knows of her visit here. Maybe something will point to whatever happened. Though I doubt it’s related to your inheritance, I could be wrong. Do your brother and sister know you’re here?”

  She shook her head. “Seems crazy that I have a
brother and sister I didn’t know about until yesterday.” She stared at him. “Did you see any boats out yesterday at all?”

  He shrugged. “Fishing boats. Like I said, we stopped a couple but found nothing suspicious.” He got out of the truck. “I’ll be right back,” he told her through the open window. He’d spring Zach while he was at it and tell the kid to go home and stay there.

  FOUR

  Libby craned her neck to take in the village of Hope Beach. The main street, Oyster Road, ran straight through to the harbor. Small shops lined the road and displayed wares ranging from beads to beach gear to driftwood furniture. Alec drove the truck past a restaurant with tables on a terrace. There was an ice-cream shop and a coffee shop across the street.

  It was a town unlike anything she’d ever seen. She almost felt like she had stepped into a movie about a beach town in the fifties. There were very few cars but a lot of bicycles. So quaint and charming. What a wonderful place to grow up. Live oaks lined the sidewalks, and the street itself was cobblestone. The shop fronts were mostly clapboard. Libby loved it already.

  She eyed a Victorian home with decorative siding in the gables. “Why isn’t this place on the historic registry? It’s like stepping back in time.”

  “You sound like an expert or something,” Alec said.

  She stared up at the fretwork on the next house. “I’m an archaeological historian. I work in historic preservation. Some of these places are real treasures.”

  She glanced back at the man beside her. Alec was a handsome guy, about six-two with sun-streaked brown hair. His blue eyes were startling in his tanned face, and his muscular frame was from either hauling in nets or working out.

  He parked in front of a clapboard house that appeared to be freshly painted. “It’s expensive to renovate out here. Material has to be ferried over, and workmen are at a premium. So most make do with what they have or what they can accomplish by themselves.”

  She continued to stare at the buildings. “That’s why they’re still intact, then. In college I did my thesis on historic homes in Charleston. I compared contemporary photos that I’d taken to historic pictures I found in the archives. I wanted to show the progress over the years. What I set out to prove was that, historically, homes in Charleston were owned by folks who were too poor to paint but too proud to whitewash. So those places stayed the same.”