“What is it?” Curiosity tinged Sherlock’s voice.
“She won’t say.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Because she’s hinted at it.” This was his chance to lure Sherlock here. “A couple of days ago she caught some poachers on the reef, and they pulled a gun on her. Georgie decided Penelope needed to know about Stonefish, and Amy gave her a copy of the journal with the details of the treasure.”
“Amy trusts her?”
“Yeah, but I’ve got to be certain.”
“Is Amy in danger?”
Finally some genuine concern for someone else. It had been missing for a long time. “I don’t know. It’s possible.”
“What’s your gut telling you about Penelope?”
Sam swore under his breath. “I like her, Sherlock. My gut might be ignoring signs.”
“You always pick the difficult ones.” A quiet laugh.
“Then you’ll help?”
Another pause, this one longer. “Email me her details, but I won’t promise anything.”
Relief filled him. “That’s great. Thanks. You need any help to get settled down there?” Sam hoped the question wouldn’t shut him down.
“I’m fine. I’ll contact you if I find something.” Sherlock hung up.
Sam sighed. It was the most he’d got from Sherlock in weeks. Hopefully it meant he was improving. Perhaps visiting him every day hadn’t been the right thing to do. Maybe it had just reminded his friend of all he’d lost. He should have thought of that.
But he wouldn’t regret it.
He would never abandon his friend.
***
This was absolutely the worst idea Penelope had had in her life. It beat her decision to move to Retribution Bay hands down. Why she’d thought she could do this was beyond her.
The sick swirling in her gut had started last night when she’d woken from a nightmare about that terrible day. Then she’d tossed and turned, unable to get back to sleep. When she’d admitted defeat and got up, making herself a very strong cup of coffee, her eyes were grainy and her head thumped.
Going into the room where she’d stored her scuba gear had increased the uneasiness to storm-like proportions.
Penelope placed a hand on her stomach and focused on her breath like her psychologist had taught her.
She could do this.
Scuba diving had once been one of her greatest joys.
Until…. Her breath quickened and her gut clenched as she pushed the thought away, trying to clear her mind and focus on her breathing.
Long, slow in-breath, long slow out-breath.
When she could breathe without gasping, she methodically reviewed what she might need, placing the items into her backpack in case they fell out of her BCD jacket in transit: waterproof pad and pen to take notes, dive torch, waterproof camera, safety marker buoy. She made sure her dive watch was working correctly and cycled through the functions, placed her weights in the BCD, and examined the regulator hoses for signs of wear. All looked good. All she had to do was fill up her tank on the way to the marina.
She should tell Declan what she had planned. He would tell her to leave things alone. With the thought giving her hope, she packed her equipment into the back of the car and drove to work.
By the time she arrived, she’d convinced herself Declan would tell her not to get involved, and her steps were confident as she walked into the building.
