“How’d you manage that one?” Barb leaned back in her chair, her bright yellow shirt spilling over the sides.
“I sat him down and had a heart to heart. Sometimes that’s all they need,” Joe said between bites of a sandwich from the deli that delivered to him nearly every day.
“Well, that’s good.” Grace couldn’t help but think of Amy and wonder if she knew her dad was getting help.
“Just gotta get him on the right track. He’s been stuck in a hole for too long and he’s gonna continue sliding down deeper if he doesn’t get help.”
“Good work,” Grace said as she headed down the hall toward her office.
“What about the lady? How is she doing?”
Every time Miriam came up unexpectedly, Grace felt a shudder, like someone was onto her. She had to step outside her world of visions and look at it from an outsider’s perspective. Nobody suspected this innocent old lady to be a criminal.
“Oh, she’s fine. Going back to her volunteer duties and stuff.”
“Yeah, I saw you chatting with her outside the school earlier while she was working as the crossing guard. Does she want to press charges against Michael? Has she been bugging you about that?”
“No, not at all, I was just checking in with her.” If he only knew, Grace thought. She slipped into her office before he could ask any more questions. As soon as she crossed the threshold, she was blinded by a burst of red. A bouquet of perfectly plucked roses sat in a pale blue vase in the middle of her clunky, metal desk. There was something so out of place about the roses in the office that was so outdated and free of any type of aesthetically pleasing décor. Sticking out of the bouquet was a rectangular card with the writing she recognized so clearly:
“It’s the last day of school… Let’s celebrate… Meet me for a picnic on Honan Beach at 5:00.”
Love, Mark.
Mark was giddier than a school girl this time of year, and he had shared his annual tradition of celebrating the last day of school with her. In years past, Mark would take his little sister Rain out to dinner, but now that Rain was away at college, Grace got to be the fill-in. Mark loved everything about the summer, especially since it allowed him to participate in all the outdoor activities he loved so much. Having recently picked up surfing, he was already gearing up to get his board down by the section of the beach unofficially dedicated to surfers. She had two hours before she had to get there. As with most places in Bridgeton, the beach was walkable from the police station if one didn’t mind a little exercise.
Flipping through the file one last time, Grace realized she needed a signature from Michael to close the case.
“Shit.” She reached for her landline and called Joe.
“Hey, kid.”
“Hey, Joe, so, looks like we never got a signature from Michael. I gotta somehow track him down. Do you know where I can find him?” Grace could hear the TV being muted in the background and some papers being shuffled around.
“Actually, well, it’s 2:55 now… so he should be just getting out of an AA meeting down at the church on Chapdelaine Ave. If you hurry you may be able to get there on time and get a sober signature from him.”
“Thanks, Joe.” Grace closed the file, hugged it to her chest and raced out of the station. Luckily the church was only two streets away. In the short time it took her to walk there, she passed two people she knew. One was the lady from the CVS who was always telling her about teenagers trying to steal candy and the other was the “exercise guy.” In his mid-eighties, “exercise guy” stood out in the town simply because he never missed a day of exercise. He ran in the snow, rain, sleet and horridly high temperatures in the summer. And it showed, because he looked 20 years younger. Grace waved to him as he passed by in a slow trot, dressed in a tucked-in T-shirt and exercise shorts pulled up a little too high. Grace could hear the music blasting from his headphones. After he passed her, he did a set of pushups on the wall that outlined the funeral home across from the church. Naturally, Mark talked about “exercise guy” all the time and looked up to him more than he did his own father. While Grace and Mark saw him running the Bridgeton streets on a regular basis, neither of them knew his name, so they deemed him “exercise guy.”
Just as Grace approached the church’s community center, the door swung open and a surge of meeting attendees flooded out. A girl with a stylish haircut and office attire carrying a briefcase beelined toward a red Mercedes, not befitting what Grace had envisioned for an alcoholic. A middle-aged man and woman leaned up against the building and took hefty drags off their cigarettes in between a conversation about their summer plans. Everyone seemed normal, and Grace wanted to kick herself for being so judgmental, assuming alcoholics were all homeless gutter drunks. Just as the door was about to shut, Grace caught it, pulled it open and entered the building. The scent of coffee hit her hard, making her crave a cup. Michael was busy by the coffee station, wiping the table and tossing the used cups into the trash.
“Michael?”
“That’s me. Can I help you?” Michael looked at Grace curiously, his blue eyes revealing themselves for the first time absent of the drunken cross and the streaks of red. It was obvious he didn’t remember her from a few days prior, his blackout having gotten the best of his memory.
“I’m Detective McKenna. I’m handling your case from the other day and I just needed to get your signature so I can close it.”
“Sure thing.” He tossed a used coffee filter in the trash and wiped his hands on a pair of worn jeans. For a moment, Grace saw beyond the sidewalk drunk to a man with a future. She could see through the slurred speech and how he quite possibly once dominated a courtroom and won big cases in the city. He set the paper on the freshly cleaned table and angled it sideways like left-handed people do before he effortlessly scrawled out his signature. As he stood up to hand it to Grace, he started talking.
“So…how’s…how is the woman?” Michael asked, making direct eye contact with Grace for the first time. She could see how he was a looker in his day, his eyes two pools of pale blue, and signs of an angular jawline showed underneath a slight layer of sagging skin. He had a full head of light brown hair slightly tinted with streaks of gray, and his forearms were muscular, like those of a man who did physical labor for a living. Grace thought about the lobster trapping he was well-known for and imagined the strength it must take to pull traps up, struggling against the weight of the water.
“She’s okay. You’re lucky, Michael. If you were two inches closer, she could’ve been hurt badly.”
“I know. I’m sorry, I… I don’t even know what to say.” Michael crossed his arms across his chest, as if he was coming to terms with his mistake and owning it for the first time. “I…. I wasn’t always like this, you know.” Grace could see the embarrassment spread across his face as he acknowledged his behavior.
“I know.” Grace offered him a warm smile and turned to walk away.
“Detective…”
“Yeah?” She turned back to look at him just as she was about to push through the glass door covered in prints.
“Well, who is that woman, anyway?”
“The one you almost hit? Her name is Miriam Haskell, just a woman who lives in town. If I were you I’d stay away though, she’s not pressing charges and it’s probably best to just let her get on with her life and…”
“But who is she?”
“She’s just a grandmother who volunteers for a lot of activities, that’s all. A grandmother who almost got hit by a drunk driver.”
“But, I’m sorry, I just have this feeling like, like I’ve seen her before,” he said, his eyes wrinkling in confusion. “Ever since that day, I can’t get her out of my head. Listen, I know I was drunk, and I know that I’ve spent more days blacked out than not, but I can’t rid myself of this feeling…about her. Like I knew her before or I’ve crossed paths with her in the past.”
Grace, beyond intrigued, could see Michael’s unsettledness, like he was struggling to
figure out the name of a song bouncing around in his head.
“Michael, sit down.” Grace pointed to the folding chairs arranged in a circle.
Keeping his arms crossed, Michael sat and slid in the chair so he was leaning back, his long legs taking up half the circle.
“What exactly are you saying?” Grace sat across from him, trying to read his thoughts. Was he a witness to whatever crime Miriam had committed?
“You know that feeling you get when you see someone familiar? Well, I can’t get rid of it. Since that day that I almost hit her, I’ve been walking around town trying to find her again just to settle my mind. I’ve backtracked every place I’ve spent time in town… that I can remember, at least.”
“Where are some places you visit regularly, Michael?” The more Michael talked, the more questions Grace had, like a balloon filling with air.
“Well, obviously the liquor store… Geez, been there more than anywhere the past few years. I go to that little coffee shop a lot…the Bridgeton Depot. Let’s see… The hardware store… the deli. I’ve probably frequented every convenience store in town on several occasions. I mean, I haven’t been spending a lot of time on my boat, but I’ve been to the yacht club a couple of times. I can’t imagine she would go there. You don’t see a lot of women like her at the yacht club, except, of course, in the women’s bowling league.”
“Wait, the yacht club? You have a boat, right?” The mention of the yacht club reminded Grace of her vision of the water slowly dripping onto the white floor, of the gentle rocking side to side.
“Yeah, but gosh, it’s been so neglected. Now that I’m on the straight and narrow again, I’m hoping to spend more time on my boat.”
“Michael, any chance you can take me out to see your boat? Maybe if we go out there it will drum up some memories… And more selfishly, I’d like to check your boat out because my boyfriend and I are in the market for one. Thinking about buying a boat and finally succumbing to this little ocean life we have here.” Grace didn’t know where these words were coming from. She had never even gone in the ocean past her knees, let alone out on a boat in the middle of the wavy waters. But that white floor with dripping water was taunting her and she hoped she’d find her answer when she set foot on Michael’s boat.
“When?”
Grace looked down at her watch. She had an hour and a half before she had to meet Mark on the beach for their date. “Are you free right now?”
***
Michael pressed the intercom button as Grace stood behind him before the big wooden door that led inside the yacht club. The old building was set on the water at one of the corners of town, and if you stood at the seawall you could see an impressive view of Boston. Slightly to the left of the city’s skyline was the airport where one could have front-row seats for watching planes land and takeoff. Some townies complained of airplane noise even after decades of living there. It was an easier commute via water than it was by car to reach the city, as the town and the city were joined by Boston Harbor. Grace remembered when she had to arrest a cab driver for pulling over on the side of the road before jumping in the water and attempting to make the trek from Bridgeton to the airport, which sat east of the city. He got about halfway across when security at the airport contacted the Bridgeton PD about a strange figure in the water headed in the direction of the airport.
“Michael Kennedy,” Michael spoke into the speaker.
“It’s open, Georgie,” the gruff voice on the other end replied as a loud clicking noise made the door jerk slightly, allowing them to enter.
The door led to an entryway that opened into a ballroom. The original hardwood floors were still shiny after all the years of hosting events for the members. To the left of the entryway was another wooden door with a sign that read “The Captain’s Room,” which everyone knew was the club’s watering hole. Back in the day, only men were allowed in the bar, but over the years as feminists stood their ground, women were welcome, and now even kids were allowed in before 8 pm.
“We gotta go through the bar to get to the deck. Sorry.”
Grace wasn’t sure why Michael was apologizing, and she guessed the trek past the liquor bottles would be harder for him than for her. As soon as he pushed the heavy door open, the bartender greeted him like an old friend.
“Georgie! What can I get ya…whiskey today?”
“Hey Paul, nah, I’m just giving some…lessons on… how to tie a boat up.” Grace was impressed with Michael’s quick thinking.
“Ahhhh.” Grace could feel the bartender’s eyes click into place and settle on her, and she knew he recognized her. “You’re that detective gal, aren’t ya?”
“Yeah, a detective gal who is interested in getting a boat, if you can believe that. Who knows… maybe I’ll even become a member.” Grace went along with it.
“Well, I’ll save you the trouble of printing out an application online.” He leaned under the bar, retrieved a single piece of paper and, pushed it across the bar with a flattened hand.
“Thank you, I’ll be sure to fill this out and who knows, maybe I’ll even sign up for sailing lessons.”
“Now you’re talking.” An excited smile spread across the bartender’s face before he leaned across the bar. “Between me and you, we could use a little more law enforcement around here. We get some riffraff around here sometimes, especially when boaters come in from other towns. They think they can dock their boats and take over the bar like it’s their living room. I’ve had to break up a few fights between locals and out-of-towners, and it’s no fun pulling drunk men off one another.”
Grace could feel the tension permeating from Michael and she wanted to get him out of the bar as soon as possible. He had only been off the booze for a couple of days, and his likelihood of faltering was high at this point in the game. Grace had dealt with enough alcoholics to know that the further away from the booze they were, the better.
“Here’s my card; call me if you need any help with the riffraff.” Grace slid her card across the bar top, which was coated in a brown and green map of the Atlantic Ocean.
“Thanks, detective,” Paul lifted a hand to his forehead in a salute.
Michael was starting toward the door before Paul finished his last word, eager to get as far from the bar as possible. He pushed open the door that led to the deck, and Grace was hit with the exhilarating scent of the sea air and the sound of the tide gently pulling away from the seawall. And then the sound of the waves crashing back into the seawall, a reminder to the wall that the water was still there and in charge. Grace slid her glasses from the top of her head to shield her eyes from the bright sun.
“So, this is where all the sailing happens?” Grace said as she followed Michael, taking it all in. They went down a set of stairs that led to one big deck with several docks extending in all different directions like tentacles reaching outward. Boats of all sizes were parked along the maze of docks, some extravagant and others just big enough to hold two people.
“Yeah, that and… other things.” Michael kept his pace up as he explained the many events throughout the year. “One of my wife’s favorite things to do when the kids were little was to watch Santa ride in on a boat the week before Christmas. All the little kiddies would stand by the window and just go wild when they saw him. He’d come into the club with a big bag on his shoulder and the kids would line up, anxious to meet him and get their present. My wife loved anything that had to do with bringing joy to the kids. She was a far better person than me.”
Grace could feel the honesty trickling out of Michael, who seemed to be learning to own his feelings, and accept the sorrow he’d hidden from for the past two years. Maybe his accident with Miriam would turn out to be a good thing for him, a means to get him sober and on the right path.
Tied up on one of the furthest docks from the club was Michael’s boat, modest-looking but certainly a vehicle that could hold a handful of people. “Sail Away Susie” was written in cursive navy-blue print on the rear
of the boat.
“Here she is.” Michael effortlessly hopped onto the back of the boat, which rocked side to side, gently tapping the dock. As if he could read Grace’s mind, he answered her question. “Susie was my wife. She was so mad at me when I named the boat after her. She always wanted this to be my special thing. Don’t get me wrong, she loved being out on the boat, but she wanted it to be my outlet. She had her thing…her book clubs, her garden, her weekly date with her group of friends in town. And the boat was mine. But, the thing is, I saw how happy it made her to be on the water. She loved being on the boat, especially with the kids. She would hold Amy and Jake when they were little, back when those bright orange life jackets that went over the kids’ heads were our only option. They would bounce up and down with big grins on their faces. And she certainly didn’t mind when I brought her lobsters home.” Grace could see Michael’s eyes start to well up with tears before he changed the subject. “Now they have all these fancy life jackets and gear.” He paused before extending a hand to Grace. She accepted and took one giant step onto the back of the boat. Old fishing poles were strewn about on the floor.
“Can I look inside there?” Grace pointed to a door that led to an inside section of the boat.
“Sure, be my guest.” Michael walked over and tugged at the door before it finally pulled open to reveal a little room tucked away for someone to get shelter or take a nap. A couple of cabinets for storage and a tiny space that looked like it could only hold two people if they were standing motionless with their arms at their sides. Everything that happened on this boat had to happen on the deck.
“Do all boats have white floors like this?” Grace knelt and rubbed her hand along the damp floor, drumming up the vision in her head.
“Not all, but some. Others have wood flooring, mahogany, teak, holly. It all depends. Why do you ask? Is the type of floor gonna be the deciding factor on what type of boat you get?”
Grace had forgotten she had told Michael she was in the market for a boat and almost gave herself away.
Buried Secrets Page 8
