Chapter 3
Detective Sanders wore a black leather bomber jacket over his broad shoulders and had the most intense steel-blue eyes she’d seen.
And those eyes peered at her too long. His scruffy jaw worked back and forth.
She shivered from the cold and not because she grew uncomfortable under his stare.
Her arms and shoulders had ached under the weight of the thick blanket—compliments of the couple who’d been sitting on it on the beach—so she’d let it drop.
They hadn’t seen what happened. Just found her lying there.
Her head throbbed from where the attacker had yanked her hair and dragged her to the ocean. She tried not to think about how his massive hand had gripped her head and forced her under. She hugged herself and let her gaze travel to the cliffs overlooking this beach.
Her attacker could be up top somewhere watching her now, aware she had survived.
Carrying a gurney, two men stumbled along the beach, weaving around rocks, faltering over stones half buried in the gray sand. She didn’t need their help. Did she?
“Ms. Valentine?”
The detective’s voice pulled her back and, after another look at him, she was surprised her attention had drifted to the cliffside—but fear was driving her thoughts at the moment.
I could have died. That thought must have reflected in her expression.
“You’re cold.” He suddenly shrugged out of his jacket and wrapped it around her.
The too-big jacket was nice and warm. The musky scent of leather clung to it and filled her senses.
Her response was delayed. “Oh, I don’t—”
“You do. You’re shivering.”
She couldn’t bring herself to remove it. The man’s action or his jacket, something, enveloped her and made her feel safe and protected and warm.
I’m okay now. Cressida had always been a fighter. A survivor. But never had she been so violently attacked. Still, when the EMTs finally completed their laborious jaunt to care for her, she shook her head.
The detective gently touched her shoulder. “You could be hurt, physically, and in shock. Let them make sure you’re okay.”
Shock? “Of course I’m in shock.” But he hadn’t meant it that way. “They can check me out right here. I need to talk to you.”
“That’s why I’m here. Tell me what happened.”
“I will, but first . . .” She glanced around the beach. The fog had dissipated but still hung thick and gloomy out over the water. “My bag. He took my bag with my ID. Or someone took it. Please, it’s important. Can you find it?”
“We’ll do our best. Can you describe who attacked you?”
Cressida suddenly remembered the rest. “The chandlery. I want the rest of my things now, please.” So she could hold them close.
Cressida took off on shaky legs.
“Hold on, Ms. Valentine!”
Behind her, his words faded as the wind roared in her ears. She was breathless by the time she finally approached the chandlery, where she’d left her stuff with Kit, then she slowed to catch her breath.
The detective was on her heels, but the EMTs and the deputy remained behind on the beach, taking their time.
“I need to make sure he didn’t take anything else.” She opened the door.
“What makes you think he would—”
“I’m so glad you’re okay.” Kit had obviously missed the detective’s words as he and Cressida entered the establishment, and she cut him off as she came from behind the counter.
Confused, Cressida asked, “How did you know?”
Kit’s cheeks turned pink. “Oh, a fisherman was in here.”
“Did he witness it?” Maybe then she could learn who had attacked her and the man would be caught, her bag returned, and she would feel safe again.
“No. He listens to the police scanner.”
“And you knew it was me?” Cressida approached the counter, edging closer to where she’d seen Kit store her things.
“I do now.”
Whatever. “My duffel and laptop case. I left them here earlier.”
“Everything’s here.” Kit showed Cressida her large duffel, wedged into a narrow closet.
Cressida lifted it.
“Wait—” Cressida’s chest tightened. “Where’s my laptop case?”
Kit’s brown eyes grew wide. She whirled around to check the shelves with boxes behind her, and then she bent down to look under the counter. “Here it is!”
Relief welled inside as Cressida grabbed onto it. She opened it to look inside. Empty. “My laptop. Where is it?”
Kit frowned. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know.”
Cressida forced her knees to lock or she might have collapsed.
At least her cell phone had survived tucked away inside her pocket, wrapped in the rugged waterproof phone case.
She’d already lost a phone earlier on this sea-faring adventure when she’d stumbled, and her cell had plopped onto the sand and a wave rushed forward and washed it away.
She’d retrieved it but she wasn’t able to revive it, so she’d learned her lesson.
A commanding older woman stepped through a door behind Kit and lifted her shoulders. She took Cressida in with a quick glance, then focused on the law officer.
“Detective, please find whoever did this. I don’t mean to sound insensitive, but we’re getting ready for the Hidden Bay Pirates’ Bash this weekend.
It brings in the tourists, and that’s how we keep this place running.
News of an assault . . .” She pursed her lips as she looked at Cressida, then lowered her gaze as if ashamed. “Could do us in. I’m sorry, Ms. . . .”
“Valentine. Cressida Valentine,” she said. “Um, Pirates’ Bash?” The name gave her the gist of it.
In fact, the poster to her right caught her attention, proclaiming an adventure-filled day with landlubbers and salty dogs dressed in their best pirate attire offering up swashbuckling fun and maritime mischief.
Whether ye be a salty sea dog or a landlubber, there’s treasure to be found for all!
The post included the details, and on any other day she would be excited to attend.
This was just the kind of thing to help her sink into the local culture and gather information.
But today she felt violated, and Mavis cared more about the bash. Cressida wasn’t sure how she should react, but she couldn’t afford to make enemies.
The doorbell signaled another customer, and a stocky middle-aged man stepped inside. “I hear someone needs a ride. What’s the . . . Oh.” He stared at the group. “What did I miss?”
“Hayes,” Mavis said, “can you give Ms. Valentine a ride up to the Cedar Trails Lodge after we settle things? It seems that someone stole her stuff right out from under our noses.”
They’d done more than that.
“So you’re the one. I’m sorry for what happened to you.” Hayes approached, his compassionate expression sincere.
“You have security cameras, I assume,” Cressida said.
“Outside.” Mavis placed her hands on her hips.
“We can see who comes and goes and watch the boats, but it’s not the best quality.” Kit shrugged.
The detective’s gaze flicked to Cressida. Oh, was she stepping on his toes?
“I’ll need that footage,” he said to Mavis, then zeroed in on Cressida.
“Before we can find your property, I need information. I’d like to get a full statement from you before anything else.
I’ll take you to the lodge myself.” Then he looked at Hayes and handed off a folded bill. “This is for your trouble.”
Cressida should have thought of that, but she wasn’t exactly thinking clearly.
Detective Sanders gestured toward the back of the shop. “Let’s sit down and you tell me everything.”
He grabbed her duffel and empty laptop case and carried them for her as she headed toward the tables.
At the back she spotted a blackboard with a few items scratched on it in white chalk—today’s soup, clam chowder.
Well, one item. And that was it. Nobody was in the back.
Were they closed? Now that she thought about it, she was famished.
But who could eat at a time like this? Maybe they just weren’t officially open yet.
After all, it was barely nine in the morning.
Cressida found a table and took a seat, even though she was sticky and salty from her dunk in the ocean. The pounding in her head increased. Elbows on the table, she rubbed her eyes.
The detective stood at the glass doors of a refrigerator. “What’s your preference? Water, or would you like a soda?”
She shook her head. I can’t believe this day. “Coffee would be nice. Is there coffee?”
“Sure there is! It’s on the house,” Kit called. “Whatever you want.”
“I’ll take a cup too,” the detective said. “Happy to pay.”
“On the house, Detective Sanders.”
She wanted to like and trust Kit and Mavis, but Cressida couldn’t be sure the women weren’t complicit in what happened to her.
After all, she’d left her things with them.
Kit promised they wouldn’t be disturbed.
Her duffel was intact, but her laptop was gone.
Cressida had made the mistake of trusting this down-to-earth establishment.
Trusting Kit, with her warm and friendly smile.
How much did she tell this detective, also a stranger? Dad’s notes about the place were sparse, comparatively speaking, and at the moment, she felt alone and like she couldn’t trust a single person. This wasn’t at all like Cressida. And this new feeling left her hollowed out. Deflated.
Not how she wanted to start this last leg of her research to complete Dad’s manuscript.
Kit rushed forward with two coffee mugs, and Detective Sanders took them, handing one off to Cressida. He sat across from her, then took his time doctoring his coffee with sugar packets left on the table. Finally, he took a long swig from the steaming mug. She drank hers black, savoring the warmth.
Detective Sanders’s hair was brown with a few wheat-colored streaks and looked windblown, which made sense.
Nobody could escape the coast without that hair, but somehow, it looked like it was deliberate on this man, and like he’d been wearing a helmet.
And he had a slight scar from his ear to his jawline, hidden beneath the dark shadow of a closely trimmed beard.