67.
CALLE
“The truth rarely disappears. More often, it waits for someone patient enough to notice what everyone else overlooked.”
— James Sinclair
“What do you mean Ross’s body wasn’t in the cove?”
Everyone around the fire went silent.
Ben’s voice came through my phone.
“We recovered a body from Blackwater. It isn’t August Ross.”
I turned away from my family and walked toward the water.
The waves slipped across the sand, erasing my footprints almost as quickly as I made them.
“How do you know?”
“The medical examiner completed the preliminary examination this afternoon.”
“And?”
“The man has been dead for approximately three years.”
My gaze found Storm.
She stood beside Ward, one hand resting over the silver compass he had given her.
Grandpa died three years ago.
But Grandpa had died on Nathan’s trawler.
We buried him.
Nathan brought him home.
We buried him in San Francisco beside Grandma.
“Is it Grandpa?”
“No.”
The answer came quickly.
Too quickly.
Relief should have followed.
It didn’t.
Because something in Ben’s voice told me that whatever he hadn’t said was worse.
“Who is he?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“Calle.”
I closed my eyes.
Ben always said my name differently when he was worried.
Lower.
Softer.
As if he wanted to wrap it in something strong enough to protect me.
“You called me,” I reminded him. “You told me a second body was found. You knew I would ask questions.”
“I knew you deserved to hear it from me.”
“But you don’t want to tell me the rest.”
“No.”
At least he was honest.
“Why?”
“Because you’re finally safe.”
I laughed without humor.
“You should know by now that my family and safety don’t belong in the same sentence.”
“I know.”
“Then tell me.”
Silence stretched between us.
Behind me, my sisters watched from around the fire.
They pretended not to.
Ivy had stopped lifting her drink.
Willow held herself completely still.
Hazel gripped Storm’s hand.
Mom stood beside Nathan.
Ward watched my face.
They knew.
Whatever Ben told me next would belong to all of us.
“The body was found behind the second gate,” Ben said.
“Near Elias Ross?”
“No. Deeper inside the chamber. A Coast Guard dive team found another passage after the tide dropped.”
“How long has it been there?”
“Approximately three years.”
“The same time Grandpa died.”
“Yes.”
I stared across the ocean.
“Was he murdered?”
“The medical examiner found a bullet lodged near his spine.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“Who shot him?”
“We don’t know.”
“Was it Ross?”
“We don’t know that either.”
The answer frustrated me.
But Ben wouldn’t invent facts to make me feel better.
That was one of the things I trusted most about him.
He would tell me the truth.
Even when he hated it.
“Why do you think this man is connected to Grandpa?”
Another silence followed.
“Ben.”
“He was wearing James Sinclair’s ring.”
The beach disappeared beneath my feet.
Grandpa’s ring. We wondered where it was.
A heavy silver signet bearing the Sinclair compass.
He wore it every day.
He taught us to sail wearing that ring.
He held my first camera with that ring glinting beneath the sun.
And when we buried him, the ring wasn’t on his hand.
Mom said he must have removed it somewhere in the boatyard.
We searched for weeks.
We never found it.
Because a dead man beneath Blackwater had been wearing it.
“Are you sure?”
“I sent a photograph to Nathan. He confirmed it.”
“Why didn’t Nathan tell us?”
“I asked him not to.”
Anger rose inside me.
“You had no right.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“Because I needed to know more before I put your family through this.”
“You didn’t want to put my family through it. But you called me.”
“Yes.”
“Why me?”
His voice lowered.
“Because the man had something else.”
I waited.
“What?”
“A camera.”
I looked down at the camera hanging around my neck. We all had cameras, but Ivy was a professional photographer. She sold her beautiful photos for big bucks.
This is the one Ben had given me.
The one engraved with two words.
KEEP LOOKING.
“What kind?”
“An old thirty-five-millimeter. The film was still inside.”
“That isn’t possible after three years underwater.”
“It was sealed in a waterproof evidence case.”
“Has anyone developed it?”
“The Coast Guard sent it to a forensic photography lab.”
“When will we know what’s on it?”
“They recovered four images.”
My heart began pounding.
“What are they?”
“One shows Mariner’s Crown entering Blackwater Cove.”
“That could have been taken years ago.”
“The date stamp shows it was taken the day James died.”
I looked toward Nathan.
He stood beside Mom, staring at the ocean.
Grandpa visited Nathan aboard his trawler six hours before his death. He died on Nathan’s trawler.
Or that was what everyone believed.
“What does the second picture show?”
“James is standing near the lighthouse.”
Had grandpa gone back to Hawaii?
No.
It didn’t make sense.
“How could he be there? Grandpa died close to San Francisco. Nathan was bringing him home.”
“The lab hasn’t confirmed the date stamp is accurate.”
“But you think it is.”
“I think we need more evidence.”
“What does the third photograph show?”
“Thomas.”
I turned toward the fire.
Thomas sat in a chair with a blanket over his legs. He was arguing with Frank about the proper way to tie a bowline.
Alive.
Safe.
And suddenly part of another secret.
“What was Thomas doing?”
“Standing beside James.”
“When?”
“The same day.”
“That’s impossible. Thomas was in San Francisco when Grandpa died.”
“Are you certain?”
“He told us he was.”
“Calle.”
The warning in Ben’s voice was gentle.
But I heard it.
Thomas had kept secrets before.
He kept Grandpa’s box in the boathouse.
He helped hide Elias Ross’s body.
He refused to say August Ross’s name for decades.
Maybe Thomas hadn’t been in San Francisco the day Grandpa died.
Maybe neither of them had.
“What’s in the fourth photograph?” I asked.
Ben didn’t answer.
I began walking away from the fire.
Farther down the beach.
Away from my family.
“Tell me.”
“The image is damaged.”
“Ben.”
“It shows someone standing behind James.”
“Who?”
“We don’t know. The face is blurred.”
“But?”
“The person is holding a gun.”
The ocean breeze suddenly felt cold.
“Pointed at Grandpa?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
Grandpa had been murdered.
We already knew Ross poisoned him.
But Ross told us he found Grandpa aboard Nathan’s trawler in San Francisco.
The photograph was taken in Hawaii on the day Grandpa died.
Both stories couldn’t be true.
Unless the date was wrong.
Or the man in the photograph wasn’t Grandpa.
“Have you shown Thomas?”
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because the camera case contained a note.”
“What did it say?”
Ben exhaled slowly.
“East carries the eye.”
My hand closed around Grandpa’s compass emblem on the camera.
East.
My position.
The sister who saw what others missed.
“The message was meant for me.”
“I think so.”
“What else did it say?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re lying.”
Ben went silent.
“You’re terrible at it,” I added.
“I’m not lying.”
“You’re leaving something out.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“It feels the same from here.”
A wave broke near my feet.
Cold water rushed over my ankles.
I barely noticed.
“When did you return to Hawaii?”
“Yesterday.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“I wasn’t certain we’d find anything.”
“You call me every night.”
“I know.”
“You said you were home.”
“I said I wasn’t aboard a plane.”
“You were already in Hawaii?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you come to San Francisco?”
“Because I needed to handle this first.”
“You could have told me.”
“And you would’ve come with me.”
“Of course.”
“That’s why I didn’t tell you.”
I almost hung up.
Then I heard a sharp sound through the phone.
Ben inhaling.
Not normally.
Through pain.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“You paused.”
“I’m tired.”
“You don’t sound tired.”
“I’ve been awake for twenty-seven hours.”
“That isn’t what I heard.”
“Calle.”
“Where are you?”
“At the Coast Guard facility.”
“Are you alone?”
Another pause.
“Ben?”
“I’m fine.”
That answer had become the most useless collection of words in the English language.
“Turn on the video.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“The connection is unstable.”
I checked the screen.
The signal was full.
“Turn on the video, or I’m calling Lieutenant Akana.”
“You don’t have his number.”
“Ivy does.”
“Why does Ivy have his number?”
“She collects information.”
“She takes pictures.”
“She does both.”
Ben muttered something I couldn’t hear.
“Video,” I demanded.
The screen changed.
His face appeared.
He stood inside a concrete corridor beneath harsh fluorescent lights.
His blond hair was damp.
Dark circles shadowed his eyes.
The scar from the bullet graze showed above the collar of his black shirt.
And blood streaked one side of his face.
My heart stopped.
“You’re bleeding.”
“It isn’t mine.”
“Whose is it?”
His gaze shifted beyond the camera.
Then came the unmistakable sound of an alarm.
“Ben?”
“Listen to me. Stay with your family.”
“What happened?”
“Do not leave that island.”
“Are you at the Coast Guard facility?”
“I have to go.”
“You told me you were.”
“I was.”
The image shook as he started moving.
“Where are you now?”
“Blackwater.”
The connection broke.
I stared at the dark screen.
Then called him back.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
I ran toward the fire.
Everyone stood as I approached.
Storm reached me first.
“What happened?”
“Ben is at Blackwater.”
Ward’s expression hardened.
“Why?”
“They found another passage behind the second gate. There was a body inside.”
Thomas’s face changed.
Not shock.
Recognition.
I saw it.
“Who was he?” Thomas asked.
“They don’t know.”
“What did he have?”
Grandpa’s ring.
A camera.
A note meant for me.
But before I could answer, my phone vibrated.
A photograph appeared from Ben.
Not one of the recovered images.
This picture had been taken seconds ago.
A metal door stood open inside the mountain.
Fresh blood streaked the floor.
On the wall, someone had painted a message in red.
brING ME THE EYE.
Beneath it was a compass.
The eastern point had been carved away.
Ward read the message over my shoulder.
“It’s a trap.”
“Yes.”
“You’re not going.”
“Yes, I am.”
“No,” Storm said.
I looked at my sister.