Charmed

“Where does that door lead?” Ashley asked, pointing to a door flanked by two tall windows on the ocean side of the room.

“The widow’s walk. It’s a long narrow balcony that runs the length of the original section of the house. Amelia Langdon, the first mistress of the house, is reported to have paced it night and day, hoping for some sign of her husband’s clipper ship coming back from trade in the Indies. This was the master bedroom then.”

“I see.”

The housekeeper’s thin lips curved in a faint smile. “Amelia’s lonely watch never brought him back that last time. His ship was wrecked at sea. Some say she’s still waiting and watching. Sometimes on moonless, stormy nights, the poor lady’s ghostly form has been seen walking right outside that door.”

“Really? How exciting. All these old mansions have their own delightful ghost stories, don’t they?” Not for all the world would Ashley let the housekeeper spook her. “Thank you for your help, Mrs. Mertz. I appreciate it.”

“Good night, then,” she replied in a tone as crisp as burnt toast.

Ashley closed the door after her and then leaned against it, struggling to control her emotions. She wanted to cry and scream and throw things. Never had she felt so close to being totally out of control. Slightly panicked, she drew in long, shaky breaths to steady herself. It wouldn’t do herself or her sister any good if she fell apart.

She bit her lip, straightened her shoulders and went into the small adjoining bathroom. It had obviously been renovated; the fixtures were modern, and the tile was an expensive mosaic pattern.

She stripped off her damp clothes, turned on the shower and held her breath until the spray changed from cold to a satisfying warm temperature. Grateful for scented soap and shampoo, she showered and washed her hair. As she dried herself, she caught her reflection in a gold-framed mirror above an oval-shaped sink. Worry and fear were etched in her face. Yesterday she’d been immersed in the challenges of her business. Now the success of Hollywood Boutique seemed hollow.

Lorrie. Her sister’s name caught in her throat. Tears eased out of the corners of her eyes. I’m here, Lorrie. I’m here.

THE STORM passed over during the night. Ashley thought she must have slept a bit, even though she had twisted and turned restlessly. She was aware that sometime in the night, the rain had stopped and the wind had died down. Darkness outside the door and windows began to lighten to a dull gray. She got out of bed and dressed quickly in designer jeans, a cotton blouse and a jacket.

Despite Brad Taylor’s assurance that he’d put out information on her sister’s disappearance, Ashley decided she wasn’t going to sit and wait for him or anyone else to respond. Her pent-up emotions demanded release. She was convinced that somebody on the island knew what had happened to Lorrie. She’d brave the chilly, foggy morning and walk down to the wharf. People might feel freer talking to her. She really didn’t care whether Officer Brad Taylor liked it or not.

Cautiously she opened her door. With only a vague idea of how to find her way out of the house, she began walking down the gloomy hall. All of the doors along the corridor were closed and there was no hint of anyone occupying the rooms. She must have covered the entire length of the wing the housekeeper had said was closed before she came to a narrow staircase that descended rather steeply to a closed door at the bottom.

She hesitated. Were these the same stairs she’d climbed last night? No, they were too narrow and steep. Was it going to take her half the morning to find her way out of the house? She knew it was early. The only sound she heard was the whisper of her steps and the creaking of the dark planked floorboards. High, gabled windows let in rays of feeble early sun. Maybe the household would not be stirring for hours.

When she came to a carpeted hall that widened, she sensed a difference in the surroundings. The musty smells disappeared as she hurried forward. When she came to another staircase, she thought it was probably the one she’d climbed the night before.

She peered over the banister and searched for a glimpse of something familiar in the hall below. When she reached the bottom of the steps, her ears picked up a clatter of kitchen noises and her nose sensed the odor of cooking.

She turned in the opposite direction. Her choice turned out to be the right one. She found herself in the front foyer. The heavy front door echoed loudly in the early morning hush as it closed behind her.

Drawing her jacket closely around her, she headed down the narrow road through a dark tunnel of trees that had hugged Brad’s car on both sides last night as they had driven up from the wharf. Wisps of gray fog rose from needled spruce branches drooping heavily with moisture. The road followed the rugged shoreline, and salty moist air bathed her face.

Slowly, the wooded area gave way to ground vegetation, and as the road descended from the high point of the island, she could see scattered weathered buildings near the wharf. There was a bustle of movement along the pier. Men were loading their boats for a day’s fishing and hauling on the water.

Ashley hurried to the small, whitewashed Wharf Café. Once inside the door, she was assaulted by the warmth of bodies, a clamor of loud voices and stares from the male customers.

She was out of her element and she knew it. Approaching these strangers was a far cry from relating to city merchandise buyers, but she was desperate. Moistening her dry lips, she began to circulate through the crowded tables. As she explained who she was and pleaded for any information about her missing sister, a ripple of quiet began to descend on the café.

“My sister was working for the Langdons. She’s a blonde, small and—”

“We know,” an older man with gray whiskers interrupted.

A rough-looking fisherman nodded. “Nice gal. Came in here once in a while for lunch, she did.”

“Heard about her disappearance,” offered a woman in work clothes sitting at one of the tables.

Ashley’s anxious gaze traveled around the room. “If anyone has any idea about what could have happened to my sister, please tell me. Anything…anything, at all.”

“Officer Taylor’s been all over the island,” a gruff man boomed.

At that point, a young waitress hurried over to Ashley. “I’m so sorry about your sister. Lorrie’s always so friendly and nice. I just love waiting on her.” She pressed Ashley’s hand. “She has to be all right…she just has to be! I can’t believe—” She broke off as someone came into the café. “Brad! Any news?”

“Not yet, Betsy.” Brad’s eyes settled on Ashley. “You’re out early, Miss Davis.”

“Yes, I am,” she replied, keeping her head erect and squarely meeting his eyes. “I thought I’d meet a few people on my own. Just in case—”

“I missed something?”

“I just want to help.”

“Good. I’m just heading to the office to make radio contact with as many boats in the area as I can. Would you like to come along?”

The invitation surprised her. Being at the heart of the investigation was better than letting her imagination run wild.

“Yes, I would. Thank you. I’ll call the Langdons and let them know where I’ll be.”

“Have you had breakfast?” When she shook her head, he turned to the waitress. “Betsy, send a couple of breakfast specials and coffee over to the station.”

BRAD WAS SILENT as they walked a short distance to a municipal building that also housed a volunteer department and the island’s post office.

He had no idea why he had impulsively invited Ashley Davis to come to the office with him. Something in her dogged manner had surprised and rather pleased him. He wouldn’t have expected her to have that kind of determination and self-sacrifice. His annoyance at her lack of faith in his abilities had been tempered by a begrudging admiration. He wasn’t used to having a woman challenge him on any level, but as she matched his step and walking rhythm, he suspected he might have found one.

“This is it,” he said as he ushered her inside. He wasn’t about to make apologies for its stark ugliness. The Greystone police station amounted to two rooms: an office and a small, windowless back room that served as a temporary jail. More often than not, the cell was occupied by someone needing a place to sleep off a hangover. The boatman, Jenkins, had been a guest more than once.

“Sorry, the place is a mess.” He quickly cleared a chair of a pile of folders. “I was attempting to clean the files when the Langdons called about your sister. Have a seat. Coffee and breakfast will be here soon.”

She surprised him with an apology. “I’m sorry if I was out of line going to the café like that. I just couldn’t stay at the house and wait.”

“No harm done. I’ll get started on the radio calls.” He turned his back to her and sat down at an old desk.

“Isn’t there something I can do to help?” she asked, still standing.

“Not at the moment.”

She fell silent as she sat down in a chair behind him. She picked at the breakfast order when it arrived, but Brad barely touched his, only pausing for hurried sips of black coffee.

He kept on the radio, referring to a record of various craft that had listed call numbers with the Portland authorities. He asked each commercial and private pilot to relay any information that might help locate the missing woman.

As the minutes ticked by, he could sense Ashley’s frustration as she began to move restlessly around the small office.

Welcome to police work. Tedious, boring and exacting.

His own exasperation was at a high level when an urgent call came in from a fishing boat heading out into deep Atlantic waters.

“We weren’t sure what we were seeing,” the captain said after giving his location. “Looked like something floating loose and the closer we got, we could tell it was an old rowboat. We weren’t equipped to chase and snag it, but we got close enough to plainly see it. I’ll be danged if there wasn’t a woman lying in the bottom of it.”