“And you didn’t know anything.”
“Didn’t say I didn’t know anything. I said I hadn’t seen it. And if I had, the Coast Guard would have, too, and ended the story.”
“Whatdoyou know, then?”
“I know you should talk to Diggins.”
“Did you send my father to Diggins?”
“He didn’t ask about theSpecter’s Bounty. He didn’t ask anything. Mostly let me talk.”
“And you don’t talk much.”
He lifted a shoulder, his face blank. Yeah, he was holding back.
Dad had worked in a museum for a reason. He wasn’t an investigative reporter like Cressida before she’d been blacklisted from working as such, thanks to her mother. How had Dad learned so much for his book?
“Can you tell me—was it real or not? Or is it just a ghost story?” Her job was to get as many answers from the locals as possible. She wasn’t letting Malloy go without asking.
“I sound like a broken record. Talk to Diggins.”
His son, Dax, was sweeping the deck and gave a brief glance up at the wheelhouse. He’d avoided her, and now his father was being short with her. Rude, even. That boat racing toward them had clearly left him unsettled.
Cressida didn’t like the idea of taking the skiff—the water looked pretty rough, even in the bay. Regardless, in her cabin, she gathered her things—a duffel, laptop case, and her shoulder bag—then met Malloy and Dax above deck. She descended the ladder and settled in the much smaller vessel. Dax lowered her items, handing them down into the skiff. From the deck, he crossed his arms and watched her.
Settled in the boat, Malloy turned on the motor. With his deep frown, he looked nothing like the smiling fifty-something man who’d been only too happy to take her money. Once at the pier, he tied off the small boat. “I’ll walk you to the dock. This is where I dropped your father,” he said.
“Any last words that he said to you?” She had to give it one last try.
His only response was the familiar grunt as he assisted her off the boat and onto the pier then handed off her things. Next to her, he lumbered across the rickety boards, passing between a few other fishing vessels and a couple of older cruisers. The wooden slats clanked as she and Malloy walked side by side up what looked like a recently rebuilt dock. Off to the right, she took in the Bayfront Chandlery, which looked like it also offered groceries, and next to that was a dilapidated warehouse. Weirdly, no town had built up around the marina like one would expect. On the other side of the chandlery stood a partially collapsed dock and a burned-out structure.
The fog had caught up with them and hovered around the older dock, wrapping around the building destroyed byfire and turning it into an eerie setting worthy of a chilling horror flick. Foreboding goose bumps crept over her skin. This was her last stop on her research trip. She wouldn’t be chased away by today’s earlier scare or tales of a ghost ship and its missing crew.
At the end of the pier, she stopped and faced Malloy. “How do I contact Diggins when he lives out on the water?”
“Mavis at the chandlery can help you.” He leaned in. “I wasn’t joking when I said it’s not safe.”
Before Cressida could process his words or ask him a question that he probably wouldn’t answer, he turned and walked away. Still, he called over his shoulder, “Watch your back.”
Creepy much?She watched him hurry back to his boat, then head out to the bigger trawler anchored in the bay. Good riddance. Adjusting her duffel, laptop case, and sling bag, she glanced at her surroundings.
So this is Hidden Bay.
About a hundred yards of sand-pebbled beach met high cliffs that spread a few miles in either direction, carving out a crescent-shaped bay of several miles. She made her way to the Bayfront Chandlery, concerned it wouldn’t be open yet. It was just before seven in the morning. Cressida’s cell got no bars, and she wasn’t even sure if a rideshare was available here. She entered the chandlery, and a young female clerk named Kit assisted her. Mavis wasn’t there. Kit called for a ride to pick Cressida up and take her to the Cedar Trails Lodge, where she wasn’t due until tomorrow night. She could sleep in the lobby if she had to. Cressida asked the clerk to store her duffel and computer case so she could walk the beach while she waited for her ride.She kept her shoulder bag containing her wallet with her.
On the beach in the early morning hours, she took in what promised to be an indescribable setting, but with the fog growing thick and suffocating, she couldn’t see much—onlya few people strolling the beach. While the bay water was relatively calm, beyond the crescent edges the ocean violently bashed the rocks on the shore.
She didn’t want to get too far from the marina, so she perched on a rock to relax and listen to the waves. Maybe she couldn’t see everything, but the sounds were calming.
It was too quiet.
Her father’s voice echoed once again in her head.“It’s not the storms that sink sailors,it’s the calm before them.”A reminder that she shouldn’t let her guard down.
Footfalls sounded behind her, approaching too fast and close. She jerked around. “What are you—”
A man gripped her wrist and twisted her arm behind her. He covered her mouth before she could scream. She tried the maneuvers she’d learned, techniques to free herself if she was ever attacked, but against the thick, ropy muscles on this man twice her size and weight, her defensive skills did nothing.
Pain ignited in her head when he grabbed her hair and dragged her out into the ocean, then dunked her. Could no one on the beach see what was happening? Had the fog interfered?
