The thought horrified the young journalist, but just below the surface of that horror was fascination, which in turn disgusted Adele.
I can’t believe I’m thinking how much his death would help my career. Since when did I become such a cold bitch who would put someone’s well-being beneath my own motivation for success?
Decklan was a man in terrible pain. He needed help. And yet, Adele knew there was much to the story of his wife’s death that still remained untold.
The cigarette burned bright. Decklan was taking a particularly strong drag as a sudden gust of wind pushed its way through the island trees.
Adele turned away from the guest room window after hearing the sound of a door opening down the hallway.
The door to Decklan’s room.
The hairs on the back of Adele’s neck stood up as she slowly backed away from the window.
If Decklan is in the house then who the hell is that outside?
Someone else was on the island.
6.
By the time Adele returned to the window, the cigarette light outside had vanished. She scampered back to the guest room door and peered down the long, wood-floored hallway. It remained empty, and no other sounds interrupted the interior silence.
She shut the door as quietly as possible and turned the handle to the lock position, grateful for the comforting click.
She spent the remainder of the night and early morning tossing and turning. She considered waking Decklan and telling him about what she saw outside, but decided it would be unwise to have him wandering the island inebriated and emotionally raw.
As soon as daylight pushed back the shadows of night, Adele rose up from the bed and peered out the second-story window again. She found the area below absent of anything but yellowed island grass, framed by a backdrop of tall trees.
The storm from the night before had passed through, replaced by the bright and considerably more cheerful presence of the San Juan Island sun.
Adele turned at the sound of a light knock from the other side of the bedroom door.
“Yes?”
“Ms. Plank, I’ll be making some coffee and toast. Would you like some?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Decklan’s voice sounded no worse for wear, despite the previous night’s drinking.
Unlike me who feels more than ready to go back to bed.
After a quick shower and change of clothes, Adele was once again seated at the author’s kitchen table.
“I hope you slept OK. If you’re anything like me, getting a good night’s sleep outside of your own bed can be something of a chore.”
Adele sipped from the strong cup of coffee Decklan had made, and then nibbled the corner off a piece of whole-wheat toast. He smelled of soap, and was dressed casually in faded blue jeans and a black Rolling Stones t-shirt from the 1970s. Adele was pleasantly surprised to see how sinewy and well-developed Decklan’s arms were.
“Actually, I thought I saw someone standing outside the house smoking last night right below my window.”
The author’s hand, which held a piece of toast, paused halfway between plate and mouth.
“Really? What did they look like?”
Adele shook her head.
“It was too dark to tell. I’m pretty sure it was a man, but I couldn’t see his face. I thought it was you at first. And then I thought I might have just been seeing something that wasn’t really there. So you really weren’t outside smoking last night?”
Decklan’s brow furrowed as he contemplated what Adele told him. He sat in his chair without replying for several seconds before he finally looked up and shrugged.
“I’ve been trying to quit for some time. I did have one cigarette before bed, but I wasn’t outside. Are you certain you saw someone?”
Adele nodded.
“Yes, I’m almost positive there was a man standing beneath the trees next to the house.”
Decklan’s eyes narrowed as he let out a soft grunt.
“Well, that’s rather troubling. We’ll have to take a quick look before you head out today. Would you be able to show me exactly where you saw him standing?”
Again Adele nodded.
“Yeah, that should be easy enough.”
The two sat in silence and finished their coffee and toast and then Adele cleared her throat, signaling she had another question.
“Why haven’t you just left the island? From what you said last night, it seems clear there are a lot of painful memories for you here. Why not just pack up and go somewhere else?”
Decklan leaned back in the cream-colored, farmhouse-styled wood chair and closed his eyes. Only after those eyes reopened did he give his reply.
“I did try that once, about ten years ago. I packed a suitcase and took the runabout all the way over to Anacortes in a bad storm. In fact, I just about swamped her on the way there, had quite a bit of water coming over the bow. I think part of me wanted to go down somewhere too far away to swim to shore. I made it, though. I remember it well. I was standing on the dock in Anacortes looking out at the storm, and had this overwhelming sense I was leaving Calista behind, that I was abandoning her. My intention was to fly back to New York and try to start over. My publisher, my publicist, my accountant, they were all for it. But the more I stood on that dock getting soaked by rain, the more I knew that leaving here wasn’t an option. It would never be an option for me. I’ll die here, just like Calista.”
Adele folded her hands on the table and leaned forward.
“Do you want to die, Decklan? Is that what this is about, the interview? Allowing me to come here? Is it some kind of last word before you finish yourself off? If it is, I want no part of it.”
The author appeared ready to say something, but instead tipped his head toward the door to the area behind the house.
“How about we go take a look outside where you think you saw someone standing last night?”
Adele wasn’t satisfied. He was avoiding her question, but she didn’t want to push a subject Decklan clearly didn’t wish to speak about.
“Yeah, OK.”
She followed Decklan outside and took him to the spot below her window. The author squatted down and ran his hand along the ground, and snatched something from between the trampled blades of grass.
“It appears you saw what you saw, Ms. Plank.”
Decklan held up a faded orange cigarette butt between his pointer finger and thumb.
“Any idea who it was?”
Even as Decklan shook his head, Adele felt the author was again hiding something from her.
“No, seems most unusual though.”
Decklan glanced at his Rolex.
“How about I take you over to Deer Harbor myself? There’s no need to have Mr. Speaks make his way back here.”
It took no more than thirty minutes for Adele to gather her belongings and follow Decklan to the private beach where the little runabout sat waiting. He withdrew a slim, inflatable life preserver.
“Here, put this on, please.”
Adele did as she was told and carefully boarded the boat where she took her place on a dark wooden bench at the back of the vessel. Decklan untied the rope that held the boat to a tree and pushed against the bow until half the runabout was in the water. He climbed in from the side and sat down in the small vinyl chair in front of the steering column. Adele watched as he grasped the single lever control that was screwed into the upper right side of the fiberglass hull’s interior. Decklan pushed a button on the lever and the small outboard motor lowered into the water.
Once the outboard’s prop was fully submerged, the author started the motor. Adele was surprised at how quiet it was. It was almost silent, especially compared to Will’s skiff. Decklan turned around to make certain she was seated. Then he bumped the outboard into reverse and back to neutral. He repeated this for a second time, and then a third. Each time he did so, the runabout backed farther into the water until finally there was enough distance from the beach to t
urn the boat and point it toward the Deer Harbor marina.
Decklan turned around to face Adele.
“Should we take the more scenic route?”
Adele smiled.
“Sure, why not?”
Adele was marveling at seeing a man transformed. The melancholy shadow had vanished from Decklan Stone’s eyes, replaced by a calm satisfaction that, Adele suspected, came from being on the water. He appeared completely at home behind the wheel; his mouth slowly widened into a faint grin. He steered the boat to the right and then pushed the control lever forward, accelerating until the drone of the engine mingled with the whoosh of chilly morning wind that caused Adele’s eyes to water and her nose to run.
This is fun!
The runabout’s bow lifted upward a few feet and then lowered with a pronounced slap against the water. The movement repeated again and again as Decklan steered the craft toward the shoreline on the opposite end of the bay. Adele saw a bald eagle flying no more than forty feet above her head before it moved toward a wall of trees that sprung up just above the shore.
Decklan’s grin expanded into a broad smile as he pointed at a cluster of dark rocks that broke the surface of the water some fifty yards from where the small boat was passing by.
“Check ‘em out! The basset hounds of the sea!”
Three large seals were laid out upon the rocks like wet, glistening sausages, enjoying the emerging warmth of the morning sun.
All three of the sea mammals lifted their heads in unison to watch the boat speed by. Adele found herself unable to resist waving at them like a child overcome with the joy of seeing something wholly unexpected.
Decklan chuckled as he watched Adele wave at the seals and then he quickly turned away as he was hit with a particularly powerful sense of déjà vu. Long ago his wife Calista would react with a very similar kind of joy in response to the inherent beauty of the islands.
Even though she couldn’t see his face, Adele felt the change in Decklan’s mood and just as quickly guessed the reason why.
He’s remembering being out here with his wife.
The runabout made a circular half-turn and began to head toward Deer Harbor at a reduced speed with Decklan staring forward through the boat’s small plastic windscreen. Within five minutes he was pulling up slowly alongside the unloading area at the marina’s main dock which he then tied up to.
“Safely arrived, Ms. Plank.”
Decklan hopped onto the dock, and then extended his hand to help Adele off the boat.
“When can I come back and continue the interview?”
The author looked at a pair of seagulls passing overhead and shrugged his broad shoulders.
“Oh, I’ll be in touch.”
“Can I get your cell number?”
Decklan shook his head.
“Don’t have one. I find that smartphones make for stupid people. Present company excluded, of course.”
Adele smiled with widened eyes.
“Of course!”
“Do you need help getting a taxi to the ferry?”
Deer Harbor was a few miles drive from the Orcas Island ferry terminal.
“No, I’ll call for one.”
Decklan looked toward the ramp that led from the docks to the road that ran along the hillside behind the marina.
“I’m pretty sure that taxi is the only one on the island.”
Adele gave a brief, awkward laugh and then extended her right hand toward Decklan. The author chuckled and, instead of shaking her hand, held out both his arms and wrapped them around Adele in a light hug. She caught a whiff of his cologne, felt the taut warmth of his body, and secretly wished he found her more attractive.
“I appreciate your patience with me, Ms. Plank. I will be in touch, I promise.”
When Decklan pulled away, Adele pointed at his chest.
“I am going to hold you to that, Mr. Decklan Stone.”
Adele began to make her way up the ramp with her backpack hanging off her shoulders. Halfway up she turned around and saw Decklan watching her departure. He smiled and gave her a thumbs-up. Adele mimicked the gesture and continued her short journey to the awaiting road. She made certain her cell phone had a signal, and made a quick call to the taxi service that had brought her to Deer Harbor the previous day.
The driver’s name was Joe.
Joe answered on the first ring and said he would be there in twenty minutes.
“Ms. Plank, is that you?”
Adele turned back around toward the marina below and saw Will Speaks staring back at her.
“Oh, hello Mr. Speaks. Yes, it’s me. Uh, Mr. Stone brought me back himself.”
Will squinted back at her and his mouth formed a circular “o” shape.
“Really? Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of him doing that before. That’s kind of weird. Hey, you mind if I introduce you to my father? He’s right down there in the slip on the other side of the store.”
Adele realized she was going to meet the San Juan County sheriff who led the investigation into Calista Stone’s death. She also recalled that the retired sheriff had recently suffered a stroke.
“Sure, I’ll meet him if you think he won’t mind.”
Will motioned for Adele to follow and walked toward the Deer Harbor General Store, a small, square, wood-framed structure that boasted having the best ice cream on the island.
“Oh, he won’t mind. In fact, he already said he should see you when he found out you were talking to Mr. Stone.”
Adele had to quicken her pace to keep up with Will’s strides. He made a sharp right turn and then galloped down a steep, steel-grate ramp that led to another set of floating boat slips.
“Hey, Dad, I have that pretty reporter with me! The one I was telling you about!”
Adele looked down the dock and saw an older, thinner version of Will Speaks stepping off a badly dented fishing boat. A cigarette hung from the corner of his downturned mouth and two dark eyes stared at her from beneath the brim of a sweat-crusted cap. Several days’ growth of silver whiskers lined his haggard face, and Adele noted that his right leg had a slight limp.
“You’re the reporter, huh?”
The former sheriff’s voice was a low, sandpaper-like rasp. A cloud of cigarette smoke hung over his head like a nicotine-laden halo. He smelled like a wet ashtray mixed with sweat and sickness.
“Yes, sir, I’m from the university in Bellingham. My name is Adele Plank.”
“You can call me, Sheriff. That’s what everyone still calls me. Suppose after thirty-six years of wearing the badge I deserve that bit of respect, right?”
Adele found herself nodding and taking a step back at the same time.
Geez, this guy is intense!
“Nice to meet you, uh, Sheriff.”
The sheriff grunted and then straightened his bent back as best he could while keeping his dark eyes boring into Adele’s.
“So what did you and the writer talk about?”
Adele looked down at her feet, feeling like a young child caught doing something wrong.
“It was an interview, just the first one.”
Sheriff Speaks stepped toward Adele and glared at her with even greater intensity.
“The first one? You mean you intend to go back to that island again? Now why would a nice young woman like you want to do something so foolish as that?”
Adele told herself not to take another step back. She didn’t want to appear any weaker.
“I’m sorry?”
The sheriff glanced at his son and shook his head.
“No, we can’t have any more of that, young lady. You got your one interview. Hell, you spent the night with the man! I think that’s gonna have to be it. Is that understood?”
“You leave her alone, Martin Speaks! Stop being a grumpy old cuss!”
Adele turned to see an elderly woman walking toward her.
“Don’t you give me the stink-eye, Sheriff! I can hear you playing tough guy all the way from the st
ore. Now get on and leave this girl alone. She’s just doing a job and it’s no business of yours.”
Sheriff Speaks, who Adele just learned went by the first name of Martin, rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to protest, but was quickly cut off by the feisty store owner.
“I don’t want to hear it, Martin! Get back on your boat there and pretend to work on it like you always do, even though we all know you’re just wasting time!”
The woman appeared to be well into her seventies. She had thin, wispy-gray hair that was cut short, bright blue-green eyes, and a firm, thin-lipped mouth. She was just over five feet, narrow-hipped, and someone who clearly had little fear of anything or anyone.
“Hello, young lady, my name is Bella Morris. I own that little shack up there and have since me and my husband, God rest his soul, bought it about, oh, forty-odd years ago when it was hardly more than a lean-to that the fishermen used to buy their supplies from. You want some ice cream? We have the best on the island!”
Adele smiled, immediately charmed by the new arrival.
“Yes, that sounds great! My name is Adele. My taxi will be here soon, though.”
The sheriff cleared his throat.
“I ain’t done making my point, Bella!”
Bella stepped between Adele and Martin Speaks and then placed a hand on each of her thin hips.
“Oh yes you are, Sheriff. There will be no more of you telling, uh, telling…”
Adele realized the older woman had already forgotten her name.
“Adele.”
Bella nodded her head and then glowered at the retired sheriff.
“Adele! That’s right, you won’t be telling Adele here what her business is because it’s not for you to decide. And stop blowing that god-awful cigarette smoke in my face. You would think after the stroke you would have given those coffin nails up. Now git!”
Martin threw his hands up while muttering something inaudible under his breath. He shuffled back toward his boat, and then turned around and pointed at Adele.
“You make any plans to be back on that island talking to the writer you see me first, understood? You got my boy’s number. You let Will know and he’ll let me know. And a word of advice you’d do well to follow…don’t go pissing me off. There are plenty of people around here who are smart enough to follow that advice, and I expect you’re just smart enough to do the same.”
The Writer Page 5
