The Ocean City Boardwalk Series, Books 1-3

by Donna Fasano

  Heather gently pried the plastic lid off her tea. She lifted the rim to her mouth and took a sip. The heady tastes hit her tongue: cardamom, nutmeg, ginger, and cloves, and the richly scented steam wafted around her face.

  The answer Sandra gave was completely plausible. It seemed like a perfectly natural thing for a journalist wannabe to do… write an interesting story about The Lonely Loon and present it to the magazine’s publisher as proof of her writing skills.

  Heather nodded. “I see.” She set the cup down again, pleased by the calm demeanor that she’d been able to present. As she’d driven over to the west side of town, she’d fretted about the confrontation. But it had been simple, really. Just asking for the simple truth had been the best solution.

  There were still a couple of questions niggling at her, though. “But why lie?” she asked. “Why didn’t you just tell me you were going after a writing job at your magazine?”

  Sandra’s chin tipped up, and she unwittingly slid her palm over the silver laptop that sat on the table, her gaze zeroing in on Heather’s face. “You would have helped me get a story?”

  “Of course, I would help you.” Heather smiled. “I like to see people succeed. If I can help you, I will.” You silly twit, whispered through her mind, but luckily she was able to keep the offensive moniker from slipping off her tongue. “Who wouldn’t like to help someone advance in their career?”

  “Oh, wow,” Sandra gushed. “I don’t know what to say. I just… this is so nice of you.”

  Heather’s smile widened. Now that the truth was sitting like an open book in front of them, they could get down to work. She could tell Sandra that her mother had been the one who had established The Lonely Loon, and she could explain where the name had come from. And how she’d taken over the business after her mother had died of breast cancer. She’d be sure to name a few of the neighboring boardwalk businesses and their owners to offer as much promotion to her friends as she could. The owners of the shops, restaurants, and hotels on the boardwalk were a tight-knit group.

  Sandra reached into her satchel and pulled out an eight by ten piece of paper and slid it across the table.

  “What’s this?” Heather asked.

  As her eyes scanned the short, full-caps header—WRITER DB ATWELL’S DAUGHTER MISSING. Heather’s blood froze and she felt like she were sitting in a vacuum.

  “This is the story I want.” The words burst from Sandra like blustery wind during a nor’easter. “I have a friend who works at the Associated Press. He sent this to me just before Christmas. It’s taken me weeks to track him down. DB Atwell, I mean. The teachers at his daughter’s school aren’t talking. His publisher isn’t talking. Even his agent blew me off.”

  Heather watched Sandra’s mouth moving, she even heard the words, but the situation had taken such a bizarre turn, that she felt truly dumbfounded.

  “I’ve tracked him to Ocean City, I believe,” Sandra continued. “And although I haven’t seen him, I’m pretty sure he’s hiding out at your B&B. He’s the one you mentioned yesterday, isn’t he? The guest who needs quiet. I want you to tell me about him. I need you to tell me everything you know. About him. And his missing daughter.”

  Chapter Seven

  A thick blanket of clouds had moved in to cover the sky and a slight wind had kicked up. Heather slipped on her coat and gloves, and wrapped a scarf around her neck before setting off down the boardwalk. She’d driven straight home from her meeting with Sandra Douglas, her intention to have a serious talk with Daniel. However, she’d arrived to an empty house. Daniel’s car was in its parking spot, so he must be out on foot, either walking on the boardwalk or the beach or downtown or over on the bay.

  She’d tried busying herself as she waited for him, and now there was a roast in the crock pot and the dishes in the dishwasher were put away. But the antsy feeling in her stomach refused to let up, so she’d decided to go out looking for him. A crazy notion really when she had no idea where he might have gone, but she couldn’t help herself.

  The air was damp, bone-chilling, and Heather stuffed her hands deep into her pockets and hunkered deeper into her coat for warmth. She’d only walked half a block when she saw him trudging across the sand. How he could stay out in this weather for hours on end, she had no idea.

  He spent a lot of time on the beach, and Heather figured that meant he was struggling with his story, working out the details of a particular scene or one of his characters. Heather loved to read, especially enjoying those books that swept her away, that allowed her to lose herself in a well-told tale. But she’d never taken the time to ponder how authors went about writing one. All those chapters. All those words. Like wooden blocks built, one upon the next, to create an intricate structure. In the weeks since Daniel had been at The Loon, she’d learned the process could be arduous—not in a physical sense, of course, but it was clearly mentally taxing.

  But now Heather realized, the hours Daniel spent wandering the shore probably had more to do with his daughter than it had his book. What was he doing in Ocean City if his daughter was missing? Was he using The Loon as a hideaway? Was his daughter really missing? If she was, where on earth was she? And why wasn’t Daniel searching for her? None of this made any sense.

  She veered off through the opening in the sea wall, and took the stairs down to the sand. Her jaw clenched tighter with each step until her back teeth actually began to ache. Sandra and that snippet from AP had planted some awful questions in her head. She waved to get Daniel’s attention, and as soon as he saw her, he started jogging toward her.

  He wasn’t wearing a hat, so the wind whipped at his hair. Even with his cheeks ruddy from the cold, he radiated the kind of attraction that made women’s heads turn.

  “Hey,” he said, smiling.

  “You’re half frozen.”

  “I’m all right.” Then he frowned. “I don’t like that look on your face. What is it, Heather? What’s wrong?”

  She sighed and ran her tongue across her lips. The wind cut across the wet skin like an icy dagger. “I need to talk to you. Can we go back to The Loon? Have you had lunch? I’ll make you a sandwich.”

  “How about we go to the cafe?” he offered. He rubbed his hands together. “Saves you from making a mess in your kitchen. A bowl of hot soup would warm us both up.”

  Before long, they were pushing their way through the door of The Sunshine Grill. The television on the wall played the afternoon news. The place was empty except for the two elderly locals talking politics over coffee at the counter.

  Cathy eyed them curiously, and Heather called out their orders of tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches so she wouldn’t have to walk across the restaurant. Daniel took off his coat and tossed it onto the bench seat, then helped Heather off with hers. Soon they were settled across from each other in the corner booth by the front window. None of the booths and tables offered complete privacy, but they would be less likely to be overheard here.

  “I love this place,” Heather told him. “It always feels so homey to me.”

  “The food’s good.” Daniel nodded, not taking his gaze off her face. “Although the proprietor can be a little prickly.”

  She knew he came to the cafe to eat quite regularly.

  “So, what is it?” he asked. “I don’t like that look of gloom on your face.”

  She tried to smile, but she knew she failed miserably.

  “I just met with a reporter—or rather a person claiming to be a reporter. This morning. Over in West Ocean City,” she told him. “She knocked on my front door yesterday out of the blue. Asked if she could do a story on The Loon.” She paused. Then, shaking her head, she got to the point, “But it turns out she’s not a reporter. And she isn’t interested in The Loon at all. The story she wants is about you… and your daughter.”

  He was quiet for the next several minutes as she filled him in on everything she knew about Sandra, the small, regional magazine where the reporter worked, and the AP article about Daniel a
nd his daughter.

  Finally, she said, “I don’t think Atlantic Coastal would be interested in the story. From what I’ve seen, the magazine features interviews with local business people, photo tours of historic homes in the south east, that sort of thing. The only way to get a copy this far north is if you’re a subscriber. The girl is looking to turn this into something sensational. Something that might get her noticed by a big newspaper, or one of those awful gossip rags, heaven forbid. She’s desperate to see her name in a byline.”

  The worry lines creasing his forehead had her assuring him, “I didn’t tell her anything, Daniel. She wasn’t even sure you were staying at The Loon. I want you to know that I’d never talk about you, or any other guest for that matter. To anyone. For any amount of money.”

  “She offered you money?”

  “Yes.” Heather grinned. “But she found out pretty quickly that that was the wrong thing to do. I told her she’d better never come within a mile of The Loon ever again or I’d call the police and file harassment charges.” She chuckled. “The police would probably laugh at me, but from the look on that girl’s face, she didn’t know that. And then I walked out.”

  Gratitude brightened his coal-dark eyes and he reached across the table to cover her hand with his. Heather’s heart swelled in her chest and she was relieved that he didn’t seem to be too awfully upset by her news. He murmured his thanks just as Cathy began setting their lunch on the table. The soup bowl was thumped in front of Daniel with enough force to slosh some of the thick, red liquid onto the tabletop and he instinctively leaned back, pulling his arm away from Heather.

  “Cathy!” Heather said, scrambling for a napkin. “Careful there.”

  “Sorry.”

  But Heather heard not an ounce of regret in her friend’s tone.

  Cathy emptied the tray of the sandwiches, cutlery, and glasses of water, and then offered Daniel a quick, plastic smile before turning and walking away.

  He just shook his head, his mouth flattening with irony. “With all this friendly service, it’s a wonder this place isn’t packed to the corners with customers.”

  “Sorry about that,” Heather said. “She’s a bit protective of me.”

  He gazed at Cathy’s retreating figure and murmured, “I can see that.”

  The spoon felt cool against Heather’s fingers. She dipped into the soup and tasted it. Cathy’s homemade soups were always delicious and this was no exception with its bits of fire-roasted tomato and the drizzle of basil oil on top.

  “So…” Heather heard the tentative quality in her voice. “Tell me about your little girl. Has she really disappeared?”

  He spent a lot of time fussing on his side of the table—placing the paper napkin on his lap, arranging his fork and spoon, picking up his sandwich and breaking off a piece, then taking a small bite.

  She remained patient, took another swallow of soup, hoping that the quiet between them didn’t last long enough to become awkward.

  He lifted his gaze to hers. “Her name’s Mia,” he said softly.

  Heather’s spoon was poised in front of her lips, but she paused, listening.

  “I know who she’s with.” Daniel placed the sandwich back on the plate. “But I don’t know where she is. Exactly. And I don’t mind admitting that this whole damn situation is slowly killing me.”

  Ever so gently, she put down the spoon. Her appetite shriveled and evaporated as if it had never existed.

  She felt as though her throat was coated in sandpaper as she whispered, “I don’t understand, Daniel. What do you mean?”

  He sighed as he reached for his napkin. “In order to explain things, I have to go back to mid-November. Hell, that’s not true. I have to go back two years… back to when my wife died in Burgovnia. Cila’s family wasn’t happy when I decided to bring her body back to the States for burial. I thought it would be best for Mia to have her mother’s remains here. So we could take flowers to her grave. And spend time remembering. But Cila’s family acted like I was doing something sacrilegious. They were very unhappy when I wasn’t able to stay in Burgovnia for the full mourning period. A month is a long time for a child to be subjected to…” He heaved another sigh. “It’s not that I meant to insult their beliefs. We stayed for ten days, and all Mia did was cry. She couldn’t seem to sleep, and when she did, she had nightmares. Seeing all that grief just wasn’t healthy for her. So I packed up our things and we flew home. Cila’s father made it very clear he was disappointed in me. Jakob Brankov can be a very stern individual.”

  Daniel scooted his sandwich on the plate, but didn’t take a bite. “Jakob brought his other daughter, Anica, to visit us here last year. They stayed a week, and I thought everything went well.”

  He rubbed his fingers up and down his water glass. “Jakob has been complaining for months about seeing Mia. Anica has written me a truckload of letters and she’s called every week. They didn’t want Mia to forget where she was from. Where her mother was from. I understood that. And I tried to be as accommodating as possible.”

  Finally, he did pause long enough to swallow a sip of water. “Mia had no school for a couple of days back in November. In service days or something, I can’t remember exactly. But I decided it would be a good time to fly to Burgovnia. The plan was to spend a few days with my wife’s family, and then fly back home. Simple, right?”

  He picked up the wadded paper napkin again. One corner tore, but he didn’t seem to notice; he just kept rolling it between his fingers.

  “Anica was so upset that we weren’t staying longer. I explained that Mia had started kindergarten. That we had to be back in the States by Monday. She was so annoyed that she wasn’t able to enjoy the few days she did have with Mia. Anica is single. She never married. Has no children of her own. And I don’t mind saying, her father has given her everything so it’s difficult for her to take no for an answer. She made me feel like I was some kind of monster. That I was keeping her away from her only sister’s only child, living over here in America while they were nearly half a world away.”

  Anguish carved itself into his expression, and Heather wanted to reach out to him. But she feared if she did, he might stop talking, and it was that intense need to hear his story that kept her hands on her side of the table.

  “Anica got up on Saturday,” he told her, “seeming to have made a complete turn-around. In attitude, I mean. She was cheerful. Friendly toward me. Her anger was gone, and I was grateful. It was like she finally realized she only had a short time left with Mia and that she should make the most of it.”

  He took a deep breath, but every muscle in his body seemed tight as a coiled spring.

  “She announced she was taking Mia shopping for the day. My gut reaction was to insist on going along with them, but my father-in-law convinced me that having Mia to herself would help Anica. That it would give her some one-on-one memories to hold on to after we were gone.” Daniel rested his forearms on the edge of the table, his fists clenching. “They didn’t come back.”

  “Oh, Daniel.” She could no more have kept herself from reaching out to him than she could have stopped time and tide.

  The cotton cable knit of his sweater was soft under her fingers as she slid them over the back of his wrist. Nearly in one, efficient movement, he released the napkin, turned his hand over, and shifted it so that her fingers now glided neatly over his palm. His hand was warm and strong against hers, and they both held on tightly.

  The anguish he must have been enduring, all these weeks of not knowing where his little girl has been. Heather couldn’t imagine such torment.

  “Are the police over there involved?” she asked. “Are they looking for Mia? Have they questioned your father-in-law? Can you get our government involved?” Finally, she blurted, “Why aren’t you over there?”

  Each question ramped up his distress to a higher level until his eyes glistened with wretchedness.

  “Daniel, I’m so sorry.” Emotion knotted in her throat. “I didn’
t mean to sound accusatory. It’s just that… I can’t imagine any parent…”

  Heather let the rest of her comment die as it would only turn into another sharp dagger to wound him further. She pressed her lips together and blinked back the empathetic tears that burned her eyes.

  “It’s okay.” His voice was a hoarse whisper. “Your questions are all very logical. Reasonable.” He gave her hand a little supportive squeeze.

  “Yes.” He nodded. “The police over there are searching for Anica and Mia. They questioned everyone very early on, me, Jakob, the household staff, neighbors, relatives, friends. The police were trying to work in an unofficial capacity. You see, Jakob is a high-ranking government official and he didn’t want his daughter’s actions to be documented in any kind of official report.” A frown bit deeply into his brow. “He begged me to keep things as quiet as possible. But when we woke up Sunday morning—the day Mia and I had planned to fly home—and Anica still hadn’t returned, I nearly lost my mind. On Monday, the police confirmed that Anica had made a large cash withdrawal from her bank account. We know it was Anica, and not some kidnapper. The bank’s surveillance camera caught her, clear as day. Mia was with her.”

  She couldn’t take her eyes off his pained expression.

  “It was clear to me,” he went on, “that Anica wasn’t intending to come back on her own. That we had to go out and find her. Find my daughter. Jakob disagreed with me and we argued. He was certain Anica would do the right thing if we just gave her time. While I believed that each moment we weren’t searching was giving her that much more time to put distance between us.”

  Daniel swallowed and sighed. “I truly believe that Anica loves Mia. I do. And I’m certain that she wouldn’t harm my daughter. I even understand that maybe I was wrong about going over there with the idea of only staying a few days. I should have given them more time together. The culture over there has some odd customs where family is concerned. Children don’t normally live apart from their parents, even after they marry and have children of their own. So Anica felt Cila and I had broken tradition when we married and Cila moved to the States.” Anger suddenly honed a sharp edge on his tone. “But that doesn’t give Anica the right to take off with Mia without my permission.”