Chapter 17
The Ducati rumbled to life, and she wrapped her arms around Braden. Wind whipping around her as he accelerated out of the parking lot, she tightened her hold on him. This model didn’t allow a lot of room, and so she was pressed against him as close as humanly possible.
She could feel the muscles in his back and his core.
She tried to think about something else. Braden wouldn’t like what Diggins’s text said, so she’d paraphrased and then left off the last part . . .
“It’s too dangerous.”
Those words only fueled Cressida to want more information. And on the ride to get that information, she enjoyed the stunning display of God’s creation—sometimes speeding by in a blur, and other times, when Braden slowed, she enjoyed the view of the ocean through the trees.
With Braden to assist and protect and discover, she would finish Dad’s project. She’d prayed for God to help her when she’d been floating, pretending to be dead. He’d answered her prayer, and she had a feeling that maybe Detective Sanders was part of that help.
He steered through the marina parking lot that was being transformed into the Pirates’ Bash, opening Friday—tomorrow—and running through the weekend.
The chandlery, the burned-out museum, and the collapsing dock on the far side and the rusty older boats docked at the newer part of the marina gave Hidden Bay an uncommon charm hinting at times gone by.
And actually, now that she thought about it, she felt more comfortable here than at the other modern marinas with fancy yachts only afforded by millionaires and billionaires who reminded her of the elites and the circles her mother often ran in. She wanted no part of that group.
As usual, thoughts of her mother sent pain stabbing through her. She hadn’t spoken to her in too long. Yes, she was still angry and hurt, but she missed her mother. She just didn’t know how to get over it. How to reconcile.
Lord, I’m sorry that I feel the way I do about my mother. Help me to work through it.
The motorcycle slid into a parking spot, and Braden shut off the engine. She hopped off first, then Braden followed. He secured their helmets like before, though if someone really wanted them, it wouldn’t take much to steal them.
He gestured toward the chandlery. “We’ll need to rent a skiff.”
“The county doesn’t have a dedicated boat?”
“We don’t have an official marine department.
But even if we did, would you really want me to take you out there in the county sheriff’s official marine department boat?
I thought you were afraid my presence would prevent you from learning more.
” He didn’t wait for her answer and started toward the buildings.
“That was the initial plan.” She stared off at the cluster of boats as she kept pace with him. What was the best way to go about this?
At the door of the chandlery, he paused. “Before we head out, I’d like to know if there’s something you haven’t told me.”
Oh, he’d picked up on that, had he? He was good. In her experience, talking to people in a relaxed environment, getting them to open up without the threat of law enforcement or reprisal wasn’t easy to do, and she’d prefer if he didn’t have to be with her.
“It’s getting late. We need to make this happen.” Tonight. “We can hash through everything else later.”
He subtly shook his head, then opened the door, and she stepped inside first. Kit was on tonight, and she quickly rented Cressida the skiff.
Braden handled the single-engine skiff like a pro as she watched the constellation of anchored boats out in the middle of the bay for movement.
Would the Sea Reaper pull anchor and head out to the ocean if Diggins spotted Cressida and Braden heading his way?
“I’d like to know if there’s something you haven’t told me.”
“Braden?” She wanted to make sure she had his full attention. That he could steer a small boat and talk at the same time.
“Yeah?” He kept his eyes on their destination.
“You need to know that in his text, Diggins didn’t want to meet because he thinks it’s too dangerous.”
She expected Braden to react. But he remained focused.
“Well? Aren’t you going to say something?”
“I figured,” he said.
“How could you possibly figure that?” And really, she should ask if there was something he hadn’t told her.
“Not to be cliché, but this isn’t my first rodeo.”
“About that. What did you do before?” She should look him up.
Research him. Find out more. But her father’s old-school methods had grown on her.
She actually enjoyed learning about someone naturally and organically without any preconceived information she pulled from an internet search.
She’d never used that strategy before in her journalism.
But there was something to this method, she now saw after reviewing Dad’s work, that offered a better perspective.
They neared the collection of liveaboard boats, and Braden still hadn’t answered.
“Do you know which one is Diggins’s? The Sea Reaper?” she asked. “I don’t see it anchored where he told me he would be.”
“I know the boat. I’ve interviewed him before,” he said, and steered them around the clustered boats until he found just the one.
He navigated until the Sea Reaper—clearly painted on the stern—appeared, and then slowly piloted to the lee side of the trawler. That would protect them from the wind and minimize drift. As if he practiced this maneuver every day, he floated up next to the trawler. She could reach out and touch it.
“All this trouble and he might not even be here,” he said.
“I had to try,” she said.
“And you’re not concerned it’s dangerous?” he asked.
“I have you with me, so . . . no.” She hadn’t expected the look he gave her. He liked what she’d said. “Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t turn us around. Or, if you suspected the text I got, that you even agreed to this.”
“I know that you would have gone without me,” he said.
“I’m not stupid.” She wouldn’t have come under these circumstances without Braden, or someone of equal authority and ability.
“I know that too.”
“Text him and let him know you’re here,” Braden said. “Tell him that I’m with you, in case he doesn’t already know.”
She texted Diggins. “Now what?”
“We wait.”
“It’s darker out here on the water than I would have thought.”
Beautiful and yet creepy, and the wind had picked up.
She was glad for the windbreaker. Cressida glanced at the wide Hidden Bay beach.
She wasn’t exactly sure where she’d nearly been murdered.
The fog had truly disoriented her that morning, and the images were now beginning to blur.
That was a good thing. And here she was, pressing onward and forward. She must have nerves of steel.
Like mother like daughter.
A figure appeared at the railing and let down a ladder. Cressida and Braden climbed up, and Braden secured the boat to a cleat on the trawler. “That’ll have to do for now.”
Then he turned to the man Cressida could only assume was Diggins—with his white hair and weathered face. With a genuine smile, Braden shook the man’s hand.
“It’s nice to see you again, Diggins,” Braden said. “Thanks for agreeing to see Cressida.”
Diggins released Braden’s hand and dipped his chin, looking at Cressida. “I didn’t agree. You shouldn’t have come.”
The man rubbed the back of his neck, and his hand came back with blood on it. He grimaced.
Shock rolled through Cressida.
“What happened?” Braden and Cressida both asked.
Diggins glanced around the area, looking at the smattering of nearby boats floating with the setting sun as their backdrop.
He glanced to the bay, then finally motioned them to follow him.
Slowly, he led them across the deck, leaning into each step as if negotiating an unseen current, then down a set of short steps leading belowdecks.
“You need a doctor, man,” Braden said.
“Ain’t trusting no doctor. I’m fine.”
He gestured for them to take a seat, and Cressida followed Braden’s lead, sliding into the booth behind a table. “I’ll make coffee since you insisted on talking. We might as well make this conversation worth the risk.”
“What’s going on?” Cressida asked. “Why is it dangerous to talk?”
“I’ll get to that, eventually. Why don’t you ask your questions. The faster we’re done, the better.”
“Shouldn’t we take care of your head first?” Braden asked.
“It’s just a bump. I’ll handle it when we’re done.”
“You never said what happened.” Braden had shifted back to his detective tone.
“I don’t know,” Diggins said. “One minute I’m warming up leftovers, and the next minute I’m on the floor.”
“Did you slip and fall?” Cressida asked.
“Uncertain.” He frowned. “What did you need to talk about?”
He would shut down sooner than later, and she should make these moments count.
Get to the point. “Captain Malloy delivered me to Hidden Bay and suggested I talked to you about the Specter’s Bounty.
What can you tell me that I didn’t learn about at the local museum?
Do you believe the lore that say these waters are dangerous?
” Shut up, Cressida, and let him talk. Did you meet my father?
He scoffed. “Just an old boat, like the museum says. Nothing more to know if . . .”
Diggins let his words trail off and gave her a look she couldn’t misread.
If you want to live.