Chapter 28
Cressida stood so fast the chair rocked back and almost toppled. “What? I don’t understand.”
“It’s clear that someone didn’t want her talking. It’s also clear that this is dangerous, Cressida.” He wished they weren’t even here in this house. “I hate that you’re involved in this.”
“Well, I am, and it’s too late to back out now. I wish . . . I wish my father was alive to finish his book. But if he died because of it, I want justice for him.”
“What if Madeline was a plant?” Braden asked.
Cressida crossed her arms and leaned against the desk. “You mean a spy of some kind?”
“I don’t know. I’m grasping at straws. Nothing shows up as a red flag in her background.”
“Well, what do we know about Collins?”
“Trent sent me the information, but nothing connects them, at least not yet.”
“I know a little bit from my work as a journalist. Sometimes people’s past, their history, can be scrubbed or a fake one created, and even law enforcement struggles to find the truth.” She pressed a finger on the globe and spun it slowly, as if looking for a specific place in the world.
“I assure you, we’re looking into it.” He wanted to reach out to his federal connections, but his gut instinct told him he should keep this very low-key.
He couldn’t tell who all the players were.
Octavia was keeping it low-key, using him, and that had to be for a reason. He just didn’t know what that was.
“In the meantime, I made some coffee. It’s in the kitchen. Why don’t you take a break and stretch your legs?”
“Actually, we missed supper.” She stretched her arms.
Braden looked away, but not before he caught a glimpse of her graceful neck as she stretched. She left the old diary on the desk and followed him through the house and to the kitchen on the opposite side of the mansion.
“Maybe I can learn what it is that Diggins wants to know without having to ask Mrs. Monroe directly,” Cressida said. “But I need to know what he knows about my father.”
“Or I could grill him as a detective,” he said.
“You think he’ll tell you because you’re a cop?”
“He shouldn’t be holding back possible evidence regarding a suspicious death.”
“Let’s do it my way first,” she said. “The more information we have, the better.”
“Have you talked to your mother about your father?” Yes, he was going there. He needed to steer her in this direction. “Maybe she knows something about his death that she hasn’t shared with you.”
Cressida’s face fell. He’d overstepped. She was angry but controlling it.
“Why don’t you look at police reports? You have connections.
You can dig deeper into the fatal traffic accident in which a pedestrian was killed in DC.
Maybe I haven’t been told everything about his death. ” She sounded furious. Incredulous.
“My question wasn’t unreasonable, and as for yours, I’m already working on it,” he said.
She narrowed her eyes. “Why would you think my mother would know?”
He lifted his shoulders. “Just looking at all the angles.”
Tell her. Just tell her.
But . . . Elise depended on him. He couldn’t be the reason that sweet little girl’s health failed her.
Change the subject. He poured coffee into mugs.
She opened the fridge. “What’ll it be for you tonight?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Sure you are. I’m having the pasta e fagioli. I’ll make some for you too,” she said. “This seems like a soup night.”
“Actually, that does sound good.”
“Two soups coming up.”
“You don’t have to do it,” he said. “I can heat them up.”
“You made coffee. I’ll make the soup.”
“Thank you,” he said. He drank the black brew from the mug.
“Earlier today, after we chased away the intruder, we were all in the room that he’d ransacked.
That’s when I saw someone in the woods, peering at the window through a scope.
Thought maybe he was the escaped intruder.
It would have been about right in terms of the distance he had to run from the house.
Nothing was caught on the camera, by the way.
They’re disabled on that side of the house.
I’ll get permission from Evelyn to get her cameras fixed and possibly add additional security measures. ”
“I remember,” she said. “Evelyn was having chest pains, and you suddenly exited.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize she was having a health crisis.”
“It’s fine. She got the care she needed.”
“Because you were there for her.” He smiled, hoping to chase away her irritation with him.
“Go ahead and tell me the rest.” The microwaved soup was ready, and she grabbed it, along with their spoons, then pushed a bowl over to him.
He paused and said a blessing over the food and was glad that Cressida joined in.
“When I got to the woods, I followed someone heading down the old steps in the cliff’s edge to the beach. The ones you took before, possibly. He took a boat out to a vessel waiting for him in the fog—it was the Mariner’s Gambit.”
Cressida’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”
“I had the images I took analyzed.” He showed her a blown-up image.
“It’s Malloy’s boat, all right. But I don’t understand. He helped both me and my father.”
“I think it’s clear. He warned you and for good reason. He’s involved somehow.”
“But he delivered the journal back to me. It’s a combination journal now because it includes both my father’s notes and mine.”
“Because he read it first, looking for anything that could help him. I don’t see you as someone who would leave the journal behind.”
“You could be right. Dax, his son, lowered my things to me in the skiff. It’s possible he could have quickly snatched it without my knowledge. But you should know, from the beginning, ever since I took this on, there were pages missing from the journal.”
“Do you think they were related to the Specter’s Bounty?” Before it got cold, Braden finished his soup while they talked.
“It’s hard to know, but with all that’s happened, I suspect they were related. I don’t know who has them now, or if they were destroyed.”
“As for the journal, my guess is that Malloy or his son, Dax, read it and then delivered it back as if you’d simply left it behind.”
“Isn’t this all an assumption?” she said. “Circumstantial stuff.”
Braden got that she really didn’t want to believe Malloy could be involved. “Possibly. It’s a theory. I have to have theories.”
“So you’re going to try to question him?” Cressida had finished her soup.
He grabbed their plastic bowls and added them to the trash he should take out soon, then washed their utensils and put them away.
“I’ve been trying to find him from the start. After all, he warned you, remember? I want to know why. Want more coffee?”
“Please. I need to stay awake all night, if necessary, and read as much as I can.”
“I saw some cookies in the pantry,” he said. “We can eat those for dessert. Coffee and sugar up so we can work through the night.”
He opened the large pantry and grabbed a box of butter cookies. Thank you, Evelyn Monroe. At the counter, he opened up the box and let Cressida grab some first.
“In the end, all this research will help you understand more about the Specter’s Bounty. Do you think, in keeping with your father’s book, you’ll stick with the folklore, or will you write in what you learned about the truth, if that turns out to be different than what is shared at the museum?”
Sitting on a stool, she leaned against the massive island and drank her coffee.
Nibbled on a butter cookie. “You and I both know there’s much more going on here.
I’ll see what the truth is and decide. This isn’t the usual kind of thing.
I’m not even sure what Dad would want. His books have previously been published by Anchor Point, and the editor knows I’m working on this last one.
I want it to be special. Everything Dad would have wanted.
But until I know how he died, whatever it is that Diggins might tell me, I’m on edge and it’s hard to focus.
But that just makes me all the more determined. ”
Yeah, he figured. He wasn’t talking her out of this.
“I understand.” More than she knew. He’d always been up-front and honest, and to find himself in this predicament was like being in a moral-dilemma nightmare.
Be honest and up-front, tell her, and she was gone. Done. And what about Elise?
Don’t tell her now, but when she eventually learned the truth, she would be done with him. That shouldn’t be a problem, except he was really into this woman and could see himself falling for her.
“I bet you were a top investigative reporter. What did you work on before you took on your father’s book?”
Crunching on another cookie, she frowned. “I don’t like to talk about it, but for you? Maybe it’s a story you should know. The reason I won’t call my mother. She’s kind of a big deal in her position.” She shook her head, deep lines forming between her brows and around her mouth.
He wished he could take the question back, but he needed the answer.
“She used her power to shut me down. I can’t get a job working in the same world as before. So I took on this project. Afterward, who knows. Maybe I’ll start a podcast.”
“What would the podcast be about?”
“Exposés. See, I was looking into a story about the environment and the fishing industry when I followed the trail to toxic materials leaching from underwater wreckage. I had a source I really needed to interview, and I asked Mom for help. That’s when she learned the details and asked me not to do it.
” Cressida rubbed her eyes while she finished talking.
“I didn’t stop, and the next thing I know, the magazine let me go for some made-up reason.
That’s when I got a clue, and I confronted her.
I figured, in the end, it would somehow lead to her. ”
“Lead to her how?” He’d considered the same.
“She’s done a lot of work with those negotiating with foreign entities over international waters.
All that maritime stuff is how she met Dad to begin with.
” Cressida blew out a big breath. Grabbed another cookie.
“They were an unlikely couple if there ever was one. Dad was quiet and laid back and into his books and history. He just couldn’t fit into her world. ”
Their failed relationship was a rabbit trail. “So you didn’t finish the article?”
“I had some roadblocks. Dad died, and then . . . I focused on this project to get me through. Who knows, maybe I’ll finish it on the other side of his book.”
How did he get more out of her without drawing suspicion? What kind of scumbag was he to even be here asking questions like a covert operative? He felt like it was a dark spot on his soul.
Please, Lord, let her see the connection between her article and what’s going on here—if it’s connected.
She angled her head. “So, Evelyn’s reaction to you suggesting that Caleb wasn’t on the Specter’s Bounty but another boat . . .” She scrunched up her face—a look of confusion and incredulity. “What do you make of that?”
“I’ve made a note to contact the DNR to learn more about the Specter’s Bounty and get a list of any other similar derelict boats in this region of the Pacific.
It could be as simple as what Sheryl at the museum told us—it was towed but broke away during a storm and was lost again.
Or it could be like Evelyn said—there’s much more to the story.
And maybe I can find out if they know something about another lost boat—the one Caleb was on. ”
If it was something far more sinister, what could it be?
She hopped off the stool. “I have an idea.”
She moved around the island to stand close to him. He wasn’t so sure it was a good idea.
“And what’s that?” He turned and leaned on his elbow against the counter.
“We need to find the Specter’s Bounty and board it.”
He straightened. “If it was that easy, do you think it would still be floating out there?”
“I didn’t say it was easy. Finding the truth can be hard, but in this case, it could be as simple as getting information out of Evelyn or Diggins. Let’s find it and board it. I can add that to the book. I’ve dived to see sunken vessels. This is something I want to do.”
“And end the folklore and all the intrigue wrapped around the ghost ship supposedly appearing with the marine fog?”
“I don’t think the book or the truth will end anything.
Something terrible happened, and we might never know what that was or what happened to the crew.
Those untrue or fantastical stories aren’t going to die, and the warning of danger the Specter’s Bounty represents will remain.
Dad used to say that the ocean remembers, and it is both a graveyard and a cradle.
So we need to get out there”—she pointed west to the Pacific—“as soon as we know where to go. As for the boat on whatever secret mission that Caleb was on, we’ll board that or dive to see it.
Finding it is my priority. I might add one more vessel to Dad’s book. ”
The sugar and coffee were getting to her—firing her up—but she made good points. He’d have to remember that for the future.
Before Braden could respond, the light flickered and went out, leaving them in utter darkness.
He felt the warmth of Cressida’s body as she stepped closer, but even that couldn’t chase away the cold chill of dread that gripped him.