Chapter 7
The Stranger
After cleaning the Driftwood’s tiny one-bedroom cottage, I walk back to the inn to get started on the rooms upstairs.
Today’s my first day on this new live-in assignment.
When I checked in with my boss this morning, he told me the owner, Maddie Rickter, had offered me a room so I could work and sleep here, and she added a five-hundred-dollar bonus.
I make a mental note to pick up something small at the store and thank her as soon as I see her.
Most of the guests have left for the day, but a few men and women are gathered in the living room watching television and talking.
Listening to bits and pieces of their conversation, I’ve gathered that they’re a documentary crew here to film Carter’s Drop, an underwater blue hole that lies about thirty miles offshore.
Carter’s Drop.
It fascinates me.
When I first arrived on the Key, I picked up a few brochures at the general store, eager to explore the island.
One pamphlet caught my attention right away: Carter’s Drop, the sinkhole that put Maverick Key on the map.
It chronicled the two prior exploration attempts and the controversy surrounding the man who discovered it.
Cave explorer and archaeologist Dr. Nathan Carter. Maddie’s brother.
In the brochure photo, he’s wearing scuba gear and a mask, one hand lifted in a casual wave to whoever’s behind the camera. Even through the mask, his smile is unmistakable. Self-assured, carefree. A man comfortable in his own skin.
The article described his discovery, the subsequent beginning of a caving expedition, and his disappearance more than six years ago.
About the time I washed up in Miami.
According to the article, he’d been conducting unsupervised night dives when he failed to surface from one of them.
Presumed to have drowned, he was lost somewhere deep in the caves.
It turns out a friend of his, Mark Glassier, sabotaged his dive equipment.
And then there were more murders last year after this guy tried to cover up his crime.
The university funding the project temporarily put the expedition to map the caves on hold due to the controversy.
It’s been nearly a year, and they’re preparing to restart it.
Interesting.
I’ve done a lot of scuba diving with my friends in Miami. Not cave diving yet, but I’ve explored a few wrecks closed-circuit on rebreathers. When I took the required training to get certified, most of it came easily. I didn’t have to think. I knew what to do.
Cave diving is a different animal, but I’ve watched vlogs, talked to friends who dive caves, and I know everything about it.
I had already planned to do it when I lived in Miami, but it’s expensive.
It must have been part of my life. I feel a small spark of excitement.
Exploring Carter’s Drop is something I can do. It fits.
A woman’s voice rings out from the hallway. She doesn’t notice me as she joins the group in the living room.
“Y’all are growing sprouts.” She’s carrying gear, cameras, and dive bags. “We may be in a holding pattern on the Drop, but we can still get lots of supplemental footage of the local wildlife.”
“Sid, you had us down three hours longer than we planned the other day. There’s probably a hotline out there for reporting this kind of abuse,” one man says.
“Nonsense,” she replies. “You think it’s bad now? You won’t know what to do with the sixteen-hour days we’re about to pull. I need to work y’all up to it… because I care.”
This girl looks like she’s just graduated, and she’s already leading a film crew into underwater caves? Impressive. Like the others, she’s wearing swimwear and pull-up shorts. They’re about to dive.
There’s grumbling, but they all gather up their equipment stacked against the living room wall and follow her to the door. That’s when she notices me.
“Hi there. Sorry if we disturbed you. Are you staying here too?”
“Yeah, I’m moving in tonight. I’m the housekeeper. Elliot Trevor.”
I’m going to go for it. You don’t get anything if you don’t ask.
“I just got to town and am doing cleaning jobs to make ends meet. What I’m really interested in is diving. I heard you guys talking. You’re filming Carter’s Drop?”
She looks at me closer, hesitant but curious. “Yes, we’re coordinating with Scott Rickter’s dive team. They’re mapping the caves—we’re making the movie.”
They’re obviously in a hurry. I’d better spit it out and see where it lands. “I know this is a long shot, but is there any chance I could get signed on as a volunteer for the shoot?”
“You’re certified for caves?”
“Yes,” I lie. I’ll figure that out later.
She glances past me toward the door, then back again. “Well, it’s not something I’d usually agree to on the fly like this, but we do need more hands. Had a guy quit yesterday.”
“Jeremy took the bribe we all got from Garrett,” an older, red-headed man adds. The rest of the group laughs.
“That’s because Jeremy has no balls. And I only need crewmates who have balls.” She gives a short nod to the other women. “She-balls are perfectly acceptable.” Her eyes sweep the room. “Anyone else missing their balls?”
They all snap into mock seriousness. They love her.
“I’ve got balls.” Seems like an easy enough prerequisite to me.
She looks at me again for a long minute. Uh oh. I don’t think I’ve impressed her.
“All right, I’ll give you a try if everything you’re telling me checks out.” She purses her lips. “Get all your documentation together. We’ll talk it over with Scott tonight. He’s got the final say.”
She heads for the door, her crew falling in behind her.
I stand there, stunned.
Did I really just land a cave-diving job with a film crew?
I’ll clean the upstairs rooms after lunch. What I need to do right now is find a place where I can think and figure out how to get the cave certification quickly.
I drive until I find the sign for Sunset Strand, the locals’ favorite beach.
It’s not too far from the lighthouse. I park in the sandlot and grab my sandwich.
Being the weekend, it’s packed. Swarms of people crowd the beach—swimming, playing, and lounging.
There’s barely an inch to move. I consider leaving. But I’m already here.
After weaving through the crowds, I finally find a spot where I can sit.
While eating my peanut butter sandwich, I take it all in.
Maverick Key is beautiful. Even if I don’t find any answers, it’s been worth it to come here.
If I can get this gig with Sid, I’m going to stay.
I hate to bail on Maddie so fast, but I can still help with the inn’s chores and breakfasts.
Soft, bright sand stretches along clear turquoise shallows that blend into a vibrant blue-green ocean.
Today’s waves are gentle ripples, nearly invisible except for the light froth of sea foam brushed onto the shore.
Gulf waters are calm in general, but as a barrier island, the Key does get choppier surf more frequently than its nearest neighbor, Naples, FL.
I try to envision this place without the crowds.
The noise of the beach drifts away. Then, a wave of nostalgia washes over me. I’ve been here before. This place matters to me. I push into the corners of my mind, sifting through the landscape, searching for anything I might recognize.
Getting up to walk it off, a beach ball rockets across my face.
Barely dodging it, I stumble and catch myself in the sand a few feet away from a woman lying on a blue beach towel.
She’s wearing sunglasses that cover her eyes, but then she raises them to her head, and I can see her face.
Eyes closed, she looks like she’s dreaming.
And it looks like a good dream. There’s a small smile, just lifting one corner of her rose-colored mouth, and her skin is flushed.
She opens her mouth slightly, relaxing. Her blonde hair is tied in a loose bun, and she’s fair, her skin lit with a golden undertone.
I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Trying to get myself to calm down, I ignore the pounding in my chest and force myself to breathe.
What the hell?
It’s her. It must be.
Shocked, I stare silently, begging her to open her eyes. She looks exactly like the woman from my dream. If I can see those blue orbs, I’ll be certain.
Unsure of how much time has gone by, I continue to stare until a little girl with bright blonde curls runs up to the woman. She shouts and points in my direction. Terrified she’ll see me gawking like this, I turn and dart back to the car.
“Wait!” I hear her call to me. But I keep walking. It’s too soon.
Sitting in the car, I debate whether I should go back to her now or try to find out who she is later. She might have answers about my identity. What if it’s her?