Chapter 9
Cressida opened her eyes to strange surroundings.
Memories rushed at her, and for a heartbeat, panic set in. Her pulse soared.
Oh, that’s right. Last night she’d moved into Cedar Trails Lodge instead of the cabin.
She was safe here. Nothing to fear. She took in a few long breaths to let her heart rate slow, then rolled over to stare out the open window that faced west. She felt rested, which surprised her after the last couple of days she’d had.
Unfortunately, her body still ached, and she was sure she’d find a few new bruises this morning.
But she wouldn’t let the pain stop her.
She listened to the mesmerizing lull of waves lapping the beach, some crashing on the rocks.
Maybe the soothing sounds of the ocean were the reason she’d slept.
Pulling herself from the bed, she looked out over the vast blue water.
How had she ended up in such a beautiful place?
The original cabin was great but couldn’t beat this.
Thank you, God.
He was looking out for her. She just had to trust that. To believe it.
She grabbed her camera and peered through, using the zoom feature. She searched the horizon but couldn’t get beyond the thick cloud of marine fog rolling in again. Did this happen every morning, then burn off in the afternoon?
Just once she’d like to see the Specter’s Bounty, but given that was a rare event, she was holding on to false hope.
She’d been able to secure a guided scuba dive tour down to a couple of shipwrecks for Dad’s book and could adequately write the details and experiences.
But the Specter’s Bounty remained floating, lost in an endless cycle of currents that carried it around the Pacific, so it wasn’t a wreck she could dive down to see.
Still, it must have a history—that included both truth and lore—the stories people built around the mystery. Cressida was here to learn more.
She put her camera away and got ready. After breakfast, she was supposed to meet Remi in her office.
If her laptop wasn’t retrieved soon, she would need to get a new one at the nearest store so she could work.
She would use her digital wallet on her cell to buy it.
She’d never much appreciated that feature until this moment.
She hadn’t heard the exact time she would meet with the forensic artist, but she would remain here at Cedar Trails Lodge for the morning, and Braden could track her down.
The rental car company had left her an email informing her about a delay in getting the rental car to her, so it might be tomorrow before she got one.
Not a problem. Having Braden take her to the museum or show her around could be productive.
She could learn more about the area and feel safe with him.
In researching shipwrecks or ghost ships for Dad’s book, she followed his travels and also used his tactics.
Instead of trusting she could find all the answers online, she interviewed the locals.
Visited marine history museums. Cressida had a list of local places, but often once she got out and looked around, she found shops or pictures that weren’t listed online.
Visiting in person was always best. All in all, there was much information to gather.
Notes to keep. Thoughts to get on the page.
The journal was important, but she still needed a computer.
After dressing, Cressida headed downstairs, then stood in line to order her coffee and a breakfast sandwich. While waiting, she moseyed over to the photographs and sketches on the wall near the panoramic window.
The photographs of the ocean were breathtaking.
Someone had actually caught what resembled a monster’s face, maw wide open and menacing.
In another shot, the waves formed a woman’s face, or at least that’s how it appeared.
How long had the photographer had to sit and wait to capture these phenomenal images?
How many photographs were taken before these few incredible shots were captured?
This photographer really stood out to Cressida, and she should know.
As an investigative journalist, she’d spent plenty of time with incredible photojournalists.
Her breath caught when her gaze landed on one specific photograph.
Thick marine fog . . . and there, just inside the fog, a rusted vessel appeared.
Though blurry—barely there, really—she could still make out the shape, and it looked much like the image in the sketch that Dad had stuck in his journal.
She searched for the credits, the photographer’s name, but found nothing.
The barista approached and handed her a coffee cup.
“Who took these?” Cressida asked.
“You’d have to ask the manager, and there she is. Hey, Remi . . .”
Cressida turned as Remi approached with a smile.
“Just the person I was looking for,” Remi said.
The barista left them and headed back to her counter.
“It’s nice she brings us coffee, and we don’t have to stand around and wait for it.”
“I’m pretty sure she called your name.” Remi chuckled.
“Oh, wow. Well, this won’t let me go. Who took it?”
Remi flicked her gaze to the picture. “The photographer chose to remain anonymous for a reason.”
“I’d really like to talk to the photographer. If you know this person, maybe you can pass my information to them.”
“We’ll see. Why don’t we head to my office, and we can talk about that interview.”
Inside Remi’s office, Cressida sat on the sofa, and Remi sat in a side chair. This had the feel of two old friends drinking coffee and catching up. Remi was obviously well-suited to her job in hospitality. Cressida shared the details about her father and why she wanted to finish his book.
“And the Specter’s Bounty is the last boat to be included in the book.
I have so much information on everything else but not nearly as much on the boat depicted in that photograph on your wall.
I’d love to know more. Anything at all you or anyone else can tell me?
Something I can’t find in a museum? I understand fishermen and sailors can be superstitious, so there must be some talk around the Hidden Bay area about the Specter’s Bounty.
” She kept to herself that she hadn’t been to the local museum yet. But one thing at a time.
Remi sipped her coffee and stared at Cressida over the rim, possibly giving herself a moment to digest everything Cressida had said.
Cressida continued. “So you can understand why I’d want to speak to this photographer. I’m here to talk to everyone and immerse myself in the area, the Hidden Bay culture. And then, voilà, I find a photograph—an actual photo someone took—at this lodge. I’d say that’s fortuitous.”
“Fortuitous?” Remi’s laugh sounded warm and friendly. Good-natured.
“Yeah, I kind of slip into my father’s way of writing and thinking at times. That’s a word he loved. I want to keep his voice as I continue with the book.”
“Ah.” Remi nodded, then said, “To be honest, the photographer has no issue with sharing her name now, but in the past, sure. I didn’t want anything to draw attention to myself.”
Cressida stared. “You took the picture?”
“I did.”
“I’m impressed. You’re quite accomplished with running a lodge like this and taking such exceptional photographs.
With that kind of patience and talent, you could work for—I don’t know—National Geographic.
” Cressida could potentially reach out to her contacts in her world .
. . except that wouldn’t do anyone any good.
She was now well-removed. Besides, she knew nothing at all about Remi.
The woman could very well have been working for a magazine as prestigious as National Geographic before she came to Hidden Bay.
She’d mentioned that in the past she wanted to hide. Interesting.
Cressida set the coffee mug on the side table and opened her notebook. “Do you have time to talk about your photographs now?”
“What’s there to say?”
“What about the Specter’s Bounty? When did you take that shot? I’d love to hear the circumstances. Did you know what you were looking at when you took the picture? I guess I need to schedule a longer interview with you.”
Remi smiled. “I think that’s a good idea. For now, let’s stick to the reason you want to speak to Evelyn Monroe. You’re here about the Specter’s Bounty, so why the interest in Mrs. Monroe?”
“You sound like her gatekeeper, Madeline.” Cressida wanted to keep things light and friendly.
She leaned forward and held Remi’s gaze.
“I want to talk to her because my father had her name in his sparse notes of the vessel.
He had one question—““Does Evelyn Monroe know?” No other notes.
She got the sense it was all tacked on to his otherwise well-organized plans.
“What? You think she has a connection to the ghost ship?”
Cressida lifted a shoulder. “That’s what I hope to find out.”
Remi pushed to stand. “She’s eccentric and keeps to herself for the most part, but she’s generous beyond imagination. I’d love to know more about her story as well. Honestly, this might be harder than I thought.”
Remi pursed her lips and paced. She was overthinking, and this could be bad for Cressida.
“Listen, don’t worry about it,” Cressida said. “I spent years in investigative journalism, and I can find another way to talk to her.”
“No, no you won’t. She’s an enigma, and she rarely leaves her house. I just didn’t realize there might be a possible connection between her and the Specter’s Bounty, and now you have me intrigued.”
“Weren’t you curious at all about it before? After all, you took the photograph.”
Remi lifted a shoulder. “I guess. Maybe. I let my curiosity go because everyone has so much fun with the fact that a few have seen an actual ghost ship, an abandoned boat appearing in the fog, and it looks so creepy and adds to the atmosphere.”
“Of this storm-watching lodge, too, I’d imagine.”
“That’s fair. And I guess now that you’re here bringing it to my attention, I’d like to know what it’s about.
What happened to the crew? Why has it been left to float out there?
The answer is probably at the museum. But if there’s anything unknown about it, you’re going to find that out for us, aren’t you? ”
“That’s the plan. I have to talk to the right people first. Mrs. Monroe’s assistant told me last night that she was traveling and not at home.”
Remi’s face tightened. “I’ll look into things and see if I can get you that interview. If I can’t, I’ll let you know, and you can work your magic as a journalist. It’s all I can offer.”
“That’s all I can ask. Thank you very much, Remi. And I’d still love that interview with you, so can we set that up?”
“Of course.” A knock came at the door, and Remi rushed to open it while saying, “Let’s talk in a day or two. I’ll carve out some time for you.”
The door opened, and a woman with long dark hair stepped inside.
“Hi, Jo,” Remi said.
Jo’s eyes landed on Cressida. “I was told I could find Cressida Valentine here.”
Cressida stood. “And you did.”
Stepping forward, the woman thrust out her hand. “I’m Jo Cattrel, and I’m a forensic artist.” She glanced at Remi. “Was I interrupting anything? I can come back, and we can work together at another time.”
“No, this is fine,” Cressida said.
“Great. I have an art studio here on the grounds. Follow me, then.” Jo smiled. To Remi she said, “I’ll see you later.”
Cressida perceived that they were friends, and she started to relax, if only a little. Though she’d been attacked on the beach and warned to watch her back, then Madeline had been nasty, there were still some solid and kind people around. She’d count Braden in that group as well.
And she wouldn’t forget his urging that she shouldn’t go anywhere alone.
Jo led Cressida away from the lodge and toward the woods.
“I have a special cabin that serves as both my quarters—because I continue to work with Remi at Cedar Trails—and my art studio as well. I’ve been working so frequently as a forensic artist, though, I’m not sure how much longer I can work for Remi. ”
As she talked, she led Cressida through the thick and beautiful woods, not so far that they couldn’t see the lodge, though.
“I’m so sorry that you were attacked on the beach.
I know that had to be terrifying. Hidden Bay is for the most part a peaceful and safe place.
” Inside the cabin, Jo motioned for Cressida to have a seat in a comfortable chair across from where she sat with a sketch pad.
“Any danger that comes is usually brought here from the outside.”
“You mean people bring danger with them when they come?”
“Yes.”
So you have to ask yourself—what danger did you bring with you? Jo hadn’t said the question out loud, but Cressida had the feeling she was thinking it.