Dark Seas, page 1
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No part of this publication may be sold, copied, distributed, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical or digital, including photocopying and recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of both the publisher, Oliver Heber Books and the author, Kari Lee Townsend, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
PUBLISHER'S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © Kari Lee Townsend
Published by Oliver-Heber Books
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CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
About the Author
Also By The Author
1
The seas were dark that day. Bob stared out of his tiny Boston apartment window at the ocean before him. He couldn’t afford anything bigger, but at least he had a view of the sea. Whitecaps crested on the tops of massive rolling waves; their power fierce against those who dared brave her cold waters. Late spring in New England could be a bitch, but he welcomed her rage. He could relate. Thirty years with the Bureau, and this is what his life had come to: forced early retirement, a wife who had cheated on and then divorced him, and a son he’d let down, leaving Bob with nothing left but a lonely friend found deep inside a bottle.
He pressed his lips against the rim of the brown glass and sipped slowly, relishing the burn of the whiskey sliding down his throat to warm his insides. Funny thing. No matter how much he drank, he could never seem to chase away the chill and the thought of food turned his stomach. He glanced at the stale, cold, untouched pizza on his kitchen table but didn’t remember ordering it. His brow knit together in concentration, but the ever-present fog lingered in his brain. He felt cold and empty inside. His life used to have purpose and meaning. He’d fought to protect his country and keep its streets safe. He’d helped people, but now he was the one who needed help. He knew that, and maybe someday he would see about getting some, but not now.
“Not until I finish what I started,” he renewed his vow.
The wind whistled a shrill scream, slapping icy rain against the window. Bob took a step back, feeling like someone had slapped him across the face for daring to voice his opinion. No one believed his theories. They thought he was crazy. Obsessed, they’d said, for being unwilling to let the case go. Something about politics and having to play nice with the other law enforcement agencies to keep the peace. What happened to fighting for truth and justice at any cost? Didn’t anyone care that a woman had died? An accident they’d said.
Bull-fucking-shit was what he’d said.
The next day he’d received his walking papers, pulled from the case, confined to desk duty. He let out a harsh laugh. Bull-fucking-shit. He shook his head in defeat. Not long after that, they forced him into early retirement, for his own good, mind you. Several flashes of lightning streaked across the sky, and for a moment he wondered if he’d passed out again. Maybe this was just a psychedelic dream. A boom of thunder cracked so loud it rattled the window, assuring him he was fully awake and matching the storm’s mood.
Anger. Fury. Resentment.
Retiring at fifty-five hadn’t done him a damn bit of good. Being an agent was all he knew. He’d worked too fucking hard to go out this way. What the hell was he supposed to do? He hadn’t been able to cope and had turned to whiskey and taking matters into his own hands. Shit, maybe he had been a little obsessed back then, but for good reason. Too bad his wife hadn’t thought so. He raised the bottle and drained the last of the liquid, admitting he still was obsessed and a little worried his passion would fade someday. Because, if his obsession faded.…
What would he have left?
Picking up a picture of his ex-wife and his little boy, his eyes filled with moisture. He’d known from the second he’d met her when he was on an assignment in Hawaii that she was The One. Long dark-chocolate hair, cocoa eyes, and tanned skin: she’d been the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Still was, even though she’d moved on and remarried. Didn’t matter. He would always love her. And their little boy looked just like her, except his eyes were hazel—a mix of Bob’s green eyes and her brown.
He set the picture down and glanced up into the mirror before him, startling himself for a moment. He’d aged horribly in the last ten years, a mere shell of his former self: thin, balding sandy-blond hair, puffy faded green eyes, and wrinkles. So many wrinkles. Abusing alcohol would do that to a person. He knew that, but he couldn’t stop drinking any more than he could stop thinking about that case. He hadn’t given up, but his hands were “officially” tied for now. Unofficially he would do whatever he damn well pleased. All he needed was a little luck. Some new information. A lead. Anything that would help him crack what had become his life’s work. Somehow, someway, he would prove them all wrong…
Or fucking die trying.
“See, it’s not so bad,” Stacy Buchanan said to herself as she pulled into the parking lot of the marina at Coldwater Cove, in the northern part of Maine, and killed the engine to her Prius.
Her hometown was a small, seaside fishing village with a humid continental climate consisting of cold snowy winters and warm summers. She remembered well the severe nor’easters that would hit between November and March, striking fear into the bravest of sailors. Tourists knew enough to stay far away, but summer was great. As a consolation to their awful winters, direct strikes from hurricanes or tropical storms during the summer were rare this far north because of the cooler Atlantic waters. That time of year had always been Stacy’s favorite. Summer meant her town came alive with people, fishermen filled their boats, and she got to swim in the ocean.
Stacy had thought about her town a lot over the years. Coldwater Cove might be a picturesque little fishing village, but fish weren’t the only thing abundant in the summer. Tourists came from all over during the warm weather months on their tour of Maine’s breathtaking coast, providing most of the town’s revenue. Because, once the brutal winter came, the Cove turned into a dark and desolate ghost town. It was just far enough north that the sun rose and set early, and the harsh weather caused most folks to hibernate.
Late spring could be iffy in Coldwater Cove. Snow turned to rain, the ground grew soggy from the winter’s melt, and flooding was sometimes a problem. Remembering the fall, she pictured the various shades of orange and yellow and red leaves, vibrant and gorgeous, dotting the landscape like paint on an artist’s canvas. Looking around now, she sighed. Spring was a different story. Everything was bare and colorless, but at least it wasn’t depressing like the stale and stagnant days of winter. Spring offered hope of new life to come. Rebirth.
A fresh start.
Clinging to that, Stacy scanned her desolate surroundings as she stepped out of her car, pulled up her hood, zipped up her lined raincoat, and tucked her jeans into her rubber boots. The tourist season hadn’t quite picked up yet and most kids were still in school. The day was a dark and gloomy one in the Cove; clouds an ominous gray bulging with rain that had yet to fall, but she didn’t care. She could brave it. She was a champion swimmer, after all. While growing up in Coldwater Cove, most of her meets were held indoors. But she had always loved a challenge and swam for miles through the ocean to a few of the many islands offshore, pushing herself to go farther each time.
Her father had called her brave, following along beside her as he drove the media in his charter boat. Her mother had been terrified of the water. She’d never missed an indoor meet but drew the line at watching her daughter put her life at risk in the scary sea. Her mother had always said she wasn’t brave like Stacy or her father, that she didn’t have their adventurous spirit. Yet it was her mother whose life had ended after she’d braved much more than nasty weather. She’d died in these dark seas ten years ago, yet it seemed like yesterday.
“I can do this.” Stacy nodded once, sharply, while setting her jaw.
Inhaling the salty air, she smelled fish and seaweed and pine. Someone had a woodstove going, and a dog barked off in the distance, begging to be let back in. She couldn’t blame the poor thing. Even the gulls knew enough to take shelter, leaving the eerie sky bare and calm. Staring out from the quiet cove used to fill her with so much joy. The rugged coastlines consisted of jagged rocks and forested slopes that swept down to the sea as if drowning the coast, while the cliffs were peppered with rocky shores dotted with lighthouses.
Peninsulas had always been her favorite, reaching out to the sea like old arthritic fingers desperately clinging to life. After her mother’s accident, she couldn’t help but think of her and how unfair it was that she’d never had the chance to grow old. Stacy often tormented herself by wondering if her mother had reached out with a desperate plea for help in her final moments, only to have her hands come up empty.
Stacy’s stomach churned like the water before her as she walked to the edge and along one of the piers. She shivered as she forced herself to look down at the water. This was the very spot they’d found her mother’s bloated body floating. The warm salt water had made her nearly unrecognizable after she’d gone missing a few weeks before that. Stacy pictured her mother sinking to her watery grave in the cold dark sea somewhere and then washing up here, which was still so odd because her mother never went near the water.
Stacy loved the water. It had given so much to her, yet it had also taken far too much away. She felt a tear slip down her cheek. She hadn’t been able to stay back then and knew she didn’t have it in her to stay now. Too many sad memories had nearly drowned her as well, and she’d felt the town’s eyes watching her. What were they waiting for? She didn’t have a clue. It had been too much to handle back then, as it was now, but she didn’t have a choice. Her father needed her, even though it meant giving up everything she’d worked so hard to achieve.
Forcing herself to think of happier thoughts, she looked up at the horizon and pictured the summer. Soon the weather would warm, and wildflowers would cover the hills with a fresh blanket of hope and a sparkling new summer wardrobe to fill the landscape with a wealth of possibilities. Maple and Oak trees lined the cove, while various types of pine trees further inland made up the forests which covered the mountains. Those, in turn, were bisected by freshwater rivers and lakes like veins running over the body of land. Her hometown really was a beautiful place when it wanted to be, and a cold dark bitch when it didn’t.
“There’s my little mermaid,” came a scratchy voice from behind her, making her jump out of her Docs.
Ever since her mother had died, this town hadn’t felt like home. It unsettled Stacy, made her skittish. This town had no hope, no future without summer, and summer had nothing left for her but bad memories and heartache. Steady footsteps vibrated the dock, reassuring her. A lump formed in her throat as she thought, Well, almost nothing left for her. She smiled a little sadly then forced her lips to tip up into a wide grin before she turned around.
“And there’s my captain of the seas.” She gave her father a big hug, inhaling his comforting familiar smell--Old Spice After Shave mixed with scents of the sea.
He wrapped his strong arms around her in a massive bear hug that brought tears to her eyes. His mind might be going and age was taking its toll, but he was still her larger-than-life hero. Her mother had been a little bitty thing of a teacher and later the mayor, while her father had been a big, strapping fisherman, who towered over everyone in town. She was smart and sophisticated while he was a bit rough around the edges, but he had a sense of humor that was infectious. No one thought their love would last, but they’d proven everyone wrong.
He’d been forty-five and her mother forty when they’d finally had their miracle baby after years of trying. A cross between the two of them, Stacy’s five-eleven height worked to her advantage, giving her long strides in the water, yet neither of them would get to see her become a success. Death had robbed her mother of her body, and now early onset Alzheimer’s was robbing her father of his mind.
“How come you didn’t go straight to the house first?” He leaned back and studied her with the same amber eyes that she had, but her wild curly auburn hair came from her mother. His hair used to be brown, but had turned silver with age, though it was still as thick as ever.
“I needed to come here first.” She swallowed hard and tried not to let her lips tremble.
She hadn’t been back in ten years, plenty of time to mourn and move on, yet being home for only a few moments had already brought all the emotions to the forefront. She hadn’t counted on her feelings hitting her so hard and reliving everything as if it were yesterday. At first, her father had come to visit her at the University of North Carolina to watch her swim meets, understanding she wasn’t ready to return to the Cove without her mother.
And then, he kept coming to visit when she’d graduated in journalism, working for various newspapers and magazines, understanding her drive and ambition when it came to her career was what kept her away longer. He’d only asked her once if she ever thought of settling down and starting a family of her own, but she had seen what the death of her mother had done to him. He’d never remarried or moved on, his broken heart still evident to this day. Stacy wanted no part of that. She’d always been Daddy’s little girl, and he knew her better than she knew herself.
He’d never asked again.
“I understand,” he said in a quiet voice filled with gravel as he brushed a stray curl behind her ear, the words it doesn’t get any easier left unspoken, but she knew they were both thinking it.
He had no idea coming home meant giving up her dream job of working for ESPN. The company did most of its broadcasting in Connecticut, but they had an office in North Carolina, and they’d made her an offer just after his doctor had called. When it came to her father, there was no question of what her decision would be. He’d given her everything and had been there for her, always. He still was. He was her rock and now she needed to be his, though he stubbornly refused to admit he needed help.
“What I don’t understand is why you’re out here alone, Dad.” She crossed her arms and stared him down, needing to focus on something other than herself.
“I’m old, not dead.” He shoved his big hands in the pockets of his raincoat. “And last time I checked I still had a brain.”
“No one’s saying you don’t,” she responded gently. “It’s just not safe. What if you get confused again?”
She’d noticed his forgetfulness for a while but had thought it was a simple part of growing old. Until the doctor had called her after the police found him miles away, up the coast with no idea where he was or how he had ended up there. Once they brought him home, he remembered, but he hadn’t been the same since; and sadly, more episodes had occurred.
“That’s why I have this here fancy gadget.” He patted his chest with gnarled, brown-spotted fingers. “I don’t have to remember who to call. All I have to do is press this button, and someone will come help. Doc gave it to me.”
Relief took the edge off of her emotions. Dr. Hurn had been a friend of both her parents, and Stacy trusted her judgment. If the doctor thought Stacy’s father was still okay out alone, then that was good enough for her. “Good. I’m glad to see you’re wearing it.”
“I might be stubborn, but I ain’t stupid,” he grumbled while standing a little straighter. “So how long are you here for?”
“The summer,” she couldn’t quite meet his eyes, “then I’ll figure things out after we sell the house and get you settled.”
Even with not meeting his eyes, she could see him set his jaw. “I don’t want to live somewhere else, Stac, and I wouldn’t have to if you moved back home. That house was your mother’s and my first home. It’s where you were conceived and born. You grew up there. How am I supposed to throw all that away?”
“It also has haunting memories, Dad. It’s not the same with Mom gone, and I can’t stay. It’s too hard.”
She pressed her lips into a flat line, trying to pull herself together. She’d tried to get him to leave with her, but he’d refused to let go of the only place he’d ever called home. She knew the real reason. He refused to let go of her mother.
“I have a life I’m building,” she went on. “A career I eventually need to get back to, and you can’t take care of that house by yourself. Not to mention, you need help to remember your medicine, among other things. The assisted living complex Gary Sanders told me about sounds perfect. It’s right in town and close to everything.” She squeezed his hand. “It’s not a nursing home, Dad. You still have all your independence and freedom, and I promise I will come back to visit often this time.”
“Let’s not talk about you leaving already. You just got here. I’ve got a pot of chowder on, and the coffee’s brewing.” He studied the sky with amber eyes so like her own. “It’s gonna be a doozy of a storm, and it’s going to start right…about…now!”
