“But Nicholas can’t be more than five or six.” Too young to be unsupervised, let alone in charge of siblings.
Brooks and Daniel began to strategize but refused to let me go check along the beach.
“Absolutely not.” Brooks and Daniel refused in harmony.
“Nicholas seemed to be disturbed by something down there.” I pointed to where the boy had been looking. “He was trying to tell his father about it.”
“Okay. We’ll cover the beach first,” Daniel assured me, wiping the rain from his face.
“You’ll need more than just the two of you,” I protested.
“A search team is being organized. People who are trained for this,” Brooks emphasized. “It’s dangerous out there.”
I looked to Daniel for support, but he remained firm. It was obvious there’d be no budging by either man, so I got into the driver’s side of Daniel’s Land Rover, where Whistler was waiting in the passenger seat. Officer Bland pulled up in a Whale Rock police department cruiser, and Jason hopped out.
“See? Reinforcements are already arriving,” Brooks said.
“If you leave now, you’ll make it,” Jason called out against the wind, pulling the hood of his rain slicker tighter. “But I wouldn’t wait another minute.”
Daniel leaned his arms on the window opening to block the incoming rain. “Look, your heart is in the right place, but I don’t want to be worrying about you.”
“But we should be together.” I pouted. “Instead, I’ll be worrying about you.”
“You know I can take care of myself.” Daniel reached in and gently took my chin to turn my face toward his.
“Fine.” I turned my head away, not wanting him to see the tears forming, and started the car.
“That’s my girl.” He leaned in and kissed the side of my head. “Text me when you get home.”
The drive back to The Bluffs was a fierce battle to keep the vehicle on the road due to the rising winds and increasing rain. I was grateful I’d taken Daniel’s tank of an SUV. There was no way I would have made it through some of the flooded stretches of road in my old Miata. How on earth could a child survive out in this? I shivered with dread while praying Lucas would be found somewhere safe.
It was a relief when The Bluffs came into view as I rounded the bend of the drive. I shook off the rain from my slicker on the porch and hung it in the mudroom before entering the kitchen to find that Laura had taken charge.
“Everyone’s settled in,” she reported, filling water jugs in case the pump generator failed. “I put Christopher and his dog in the carriage house with Edgar and Jimmy. Since Gypsy’s skittish, I thought it best to keep her away from the Parsons crew with those three rambunctious kiddos.”
“Good thinking,” I said. “Edgar and Jimmy will be good company for Christopher and Gypsy. They love dogs.”
“Especially Whistler.” Laura smiled down indulgently at the shepherd even as he soaked her with the spray of rainwater he shook off.
“Who doesn’t love Whistler?” The dog began wagging and nudged my hand. “Yep. We’re talking about you, smart boy.” I snuck him a treat from my pocket.
“You’re spoiling him,” Laura scolded good-naturedly. “Where’s Daniel?”
I filled her in about the search for Lucas Kleister, the missing boy.
“Oh my God!” Laura was horrified. “That poor family.”
“Did you have a chance to get to know them?”
She shook her head. “Only a little bit. I’d occasionally see the mom around town with that massive double stroller for the twins, but I was more likely to find Nicholas and Lucas playing together on the beach.”
“The Kleister children seem to have been pretty free-range,” I commented.
Laura agreed, but added, “I can’t imagine keeping track of four little ones, three of them toddlers. I remember when my little brother was the same age as the Kleister twins—crawling on furniture, running wild, drawing on the walls. My mother nearly went crazy.”
My phone’s ship bell sounded, and I checked the incoming call.
My sister, I mouthed to Laura.
“Are you safe and secure at The Bluffs?” Zoe would be following the storm closely from California. Already, she’d called to check in a minimum of twice daily all week. The line between sistering and mothering had always been slightly blurred for Zoe, partly from being a decade older than me, but also because Mama died quite young.
“We are all good here.”
As she was going through a litany of all the things I should be doing—which I didn’t bother to tell her I’d already taken care of—a second call came in.
“Daniel’s calling,” I told her. “I’ve got to take it.”
“Any luck yet?” asked Laura after I ended the call.
“Sadly, no. Daniel and Jason are staying in town to help with the search.” I looked out the window, then checked the weather radar on my cell before retrieving a basket and a cooler from the pantry. “I’m going to take this food over to the barn.”
Laura peeked inside, making a sad face before plucking a jumbo shrimp from the basket. “The hors d’oeuvres for your reception?”
“They’d go to waste otherwise.” I shrugged. “I’m going to stop and tell the carriage house crew to come over here for a bite. It looks like we’ve got another couple hours before the full brunt of the storm hits.”
Selfishly, I also wanted to spend a little time with Edgar and Jimmy and had no doubt they’d lift our spirits. A short while later, they joined Laura and me at the large oak table to partake in a portion of what had been planned for my wedding buffet.
“Tell us about the book you’re working on,” Jimmy said to Laura, shifting the discussion away from the gloomy subject of the missing Kleister child. “What’s the premise?”
“I’m loosely basing it on a very interesting Greek family I met while traveling abroad last year. It’s kind of like The Durrells of Corfu meet Modern Family.”
“You’ve found you enjoy writing humor?” asked Edgar, who had taken an interest in Laura’s writing career. He was himself a columnist and author who’d written a book about enduring local mysteries, most prominently the story of my great-grandparents’ dramatic demise.
“I do. Though I’m hoping it will be a heartwarming story as well.” She quickly added, “But I promise not to neglect my day job.”
“As long as you get your stories in on deadline, they won’t care how much time you spend on your book.” Through his connections, Edgar had been the one to help Laura land her new job as a reporter for the Cape Cod Times.
“Why don’t you tell Cassie about your own new project, Edgar?” Jimmy nudged.
“It’s only in the beginning stages.” Edgar removed his glasses and began to polish them.
Just then the kitchen door banged open, and a gust blew Christopher Savage in, causing Whistler to spring into action, growling the warning he reserved for strangers.
“Sit, Whistler.” The dog obeyed Laura’s command but continued to utter a low growl. “Sorry. I’m not sure what’s gotten into him.”
Christopher offered his hand to Whistler, but the dog wasn’t having it, his hackles raised.
“You’ve met Christopher before,” Laura chastised the dog.
“It’s probably the storm,” Christopher suggested. “Gypsy’s not herself either. I was hoping you might have some Dramamine? That usually knocks her out.”
“Works wonders on Whistler when we take him for long car rides. Let me go see if I threw some into our bags.” Laura left the room.
“So, tell them about your novel,” Jimmy urged Edgar.
“Novel?” I asked. Edgar had won numerous awards for his reportage and history writing, but I’d never known him to write fiction before.
“It will be my first significant creative writing project,” Edgar explained, “and it’s going to be based on Barnacle Boy’s story.”
“Really?” I was a bit disconcerted to hear this and felt
my face warm.
“Who’s Barnacle Boy?” Christopher asked.
“Years ago, a drowned boy washed up on the shores of Whale Rock. The mystery of who he was or where he came from was never solved. The small unknown boy was laid to rest in the Mitchell family cemetery.”
“My father discovered the boy’s body,” I added. “It was back in 1969, I think.”
Edgar nodded his agreement, then said, “I’ve just started the research. It’s going to be a long project.”
“Why the name ‘Barnacle Boy’?” Christopher asked.
“Well”—Edgar hesitated, cringing slightly—“because by the time he was found, barnacles had attached to his body.”
Christopher made a face, and Jimmy clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Not a pleasant subject.”
“Granny Fi had a lovely imagination, and she would entertain me with stories about the lost boy—as she called him—always with happy endings,” I told them, to lighten the mood. “Her stories made me feel as if the lost boy had been deeply loved.”
I went on to tell them the delightful one in which the lost boy had been raised by dolphins.
Just then Laura returned with the package of pills, and the lights began to flicker.
“We’d better all head over with you while we can remain standing,” Edgar said as he and Jimmy took their empty plates to the sink.
“Let us at least make you a plate,” I insisted, but it was Jimmy who began filling a container with a small feast for Christopher. “I’ll add some mini lamb chops for Gypsy.”
Jimmy dropped the serving spoon onto the tablecloth and uttered a curse, “Uffa!”
“My mother used to let that slip sometimes,” Christopher told him. “I’ve never heard anyone else ever use it.”
“Uffa? It’s Italian. It’s like ugh.”
“Hmph.” The man was bemused. “I wonder why an Irish girl from New York used it.”
“Are you kidding? Italians and the Irish in New York are practically the same thing. I’m Irish and I grew up there,” Jimmy told him. “It’s the largest melting pot of the world. We called it Fondue City.”
“I thought that was the name of the restaurant where you used to bus tables.” Edgar joked.
“Ha-ha. Let’s skedaddle.” Jimmy looped his arms with Edgar’s and Christopher’s. “We’ll form a wall against the wind.”
Our guest wasn’t certain how to take his two roommates, though I detected a hint of amusement in his expression.
A few minutes later, the sky lit up in a weird bluish glow, which was followed by a buzzing sound, and then a loud purple boom before the lights went out.
“Uffa,” Laura muttered.
7
Cassandra
The next morning, I shielded my eyes from the few rays of brilliant sun peeking through a mostly cloudy sky, my hair whipping in the remnant winds. I’d walked the property to assess the damage and had ended up at Percy’s Bluffs—named after my great-grandfather, Percy Mitchell—to check out the shoreline. Gazing down at the waters of the bay crashing on the rocks below, I spied two daring surfers taking full advantage of the rolling waves. A cold nose found my hand, and I bent down to give Whistler a loving pet. I turned and saw Laura leaning into the stiff breeze trying to catch up.
I pointed down to where the surfers were riding a wave.
“Brave.” She shouted to be heard over the wind and surf.
“We’re lucky the storm bounced back into the ocean.”
Laura looked to the south. “There’s a hint of blue clearing.”
“By the way, I found the cause of the power outage,” I told her. “That old pitch pine at the end of our lane came down on the wires.”
“Jason says power is out for most of Whale Rock.”
“Thank goodness for our generators,” I said as we started back toward the house together. “Evidently the Parsons crew managed okay. I peeked in on them earlier, and they were all still snuggled in together.”
“How could anyone sleep through those howling winds?” she said.
“They’ve probably learned to tune out the racket from years of living near the noisy harbor.”
I then noticed the dark shadows circling my friend’s eyes. “Did you get any sleep?”
“More than the guys did,” she said. “They just got back now, for a quick change of clothes and something to eat.”
“They’re still searching for the little Kleister boy?”
Laura nodded. “Sounds like it was an exhausting night.”
“This turnaround in the weather can only help.” Though it was unimaginable how a child could survive such a storm.
As if reading my thoughts, Laura said, “Maybe someone saw him wandering and took him in?”
“Let’s hope that’s the case,” I agreed.
“I hear the Kleisters believe he was abducted.”
I stopped in my tracks. “On what basis?”
Laura shrugged. “Jason didn’t go into details.”
Back at the house, I found Daniel raiding our supply closet and stuffing batteries, flashlights, and anything he deemed useful into a backpack.
I rubbed his back. “Sorry about the all-nighter.”
He offered a weary smile. “And here I thought I’d seen the last of those when I left the Bureau.”
His face was etched with the ravages of fatigue and worry, and for the first time Daniel looked every bit his forty-five years.
“Did you eat?”
“I had a banana.”
“Let me fix you something more substantial.”
“No time.” He turned and pulled me into a quick hug. “But I love that you want to look after me.”
As Daniel and Jason were gathering up the gear, Lu arrived to help me pack up more of the wedding food to deliver to folks without power.
“Getting here was tricky,” she announced. “Flooded roads and trees down.”
“I feel helpless,” Laura said to her husband. “Let me do something.”
“Maybe you can help with the canvassing,” Jason suggested. A group was being organized to go door-to-door to check on Whale Rock residents, to see if they were safe and to find out what their needs were. Each canvasser was also going to take along a photo of Lucas to determine if anyone might have seen him or have information about what happened to him.
There was a knock on the door, causing Whistler to jump to attention. Christopher Savage entered tentatively, took in the crowded kitchen while offering his hand to the dog. “Hey, boy.”
Good mornings were exchanged, and introductions made.
“Are you hungry?” I asked.
“Thanks, but I’m good. Edgar and Jimmy brought some muffins.”
It shouldn’t have surprised me that Jimmy would come prepared.
“Speak of the devils,” I said as Edgar and Jimmy entered the kitchen.
“What a night!” Jimmy made a dramatic shivering motion before turning to Christopher. “We worried you were blown away by the storm.”
“Sorry. I took Gypsy for a walk before you were up and about.” He turned to Jason and said, “There must be a lot of damage in town. I wanted to see if there was something I could do to help.”
“We, too, wish to lend a hand,” Edgar said, Jimmy at his side bobbing his head eagerly.
“You could join me in the canvassing for Lucas,” Laura offered while grabbing some water bottles to take along.
“Lucas?” Christopher asked.
“Oh, that’s right,” Jimmy said. “You weren’t here when we were talking about the little Kleister boy’s disappearance.”
“Lucas Kleister?” Christopher was obviously disturbed.
There was a clattering of the water pipes—a signal from Percy and Celeste, or an issue from the storm?
“That’s right.” Daniel asked, “You know the Kleister family?”
“I don’t know the parents well.” His forehead creased. “But I’d often see Lucas and Nicholas on the beach.” He turned to Laura and
said, “I’d be glad to do anything to help. Can I bring Gypsy?”
“Sure. I’ll leave Whistler here to watch over The Bluffs.”
“I’ve got to get going,” Daniel told me. “I’m meeting Teddy Howell down at the harbor.”
“Is Teddy helping with the search?” I had a soft spot for the young man whom I’d first met last summer when he was bartending at a dive bar in a neighboring town. I’d heard recently that he’d started classes at Cape Cod Community College.
“He’s part of a diver rescue team recruited to search the surrounding waters.”
This grim implication had all of us looking down at our feet. Nobody wanted to think about a small boy being lost at sea in the storm. It was a too familiar story for those of us in Whale Rock, with Barnacle Boy’s little body washing up on our shores several decades ago.
“That won’t be easy with the high surf,” I said. For the safety of the divers, I was hoping the waters would calm as quickly as the storm had headed out.
“Times a wasting. Let’s hit it.” And with a quick peck on my cheek, Daniel led the search crew out the door. A minute later, he popped his head back in. “The Parsons are heading back to town.”
“We’ll be coming in as soon as we have the food and water supplies ready and loaded.”
“Be alert out there with these high winds. Lots of trees are leaning precariously and could topple like that.” He snapped his fingers.
“Will do.” I gave him a thumbs-up and he was gone.
Lu’s cell phone rang.
“That was Billy Hughes,” she told me after ending the call. “He has some food to donate and wants to help deliver.”
This announcement was followed by more clanging pipes. Were my spirit roomies issuing a warning against my old boyfriend? Maybe so, but quite possibly the storm had caused some damage. I added a call to the plumber to my to-do list.
Lu’s phone rang a second time, and a few moments later she was collecting her purse and keys. “I’ve got to go open up the gallery for Brooks.”
“Because?” I sent her a puzzled look. Why would the police need entry to an art gallery?
“There was damage to the police station roof—a huge leak—and they need a ground zero location to operate from until they can get it repaired.”
Storm of Secrets Page 4
