Chapter Six

Monday, June 2

Adaleigh tentatively left her hiding spot on the third floor. David had worked all weekend, including Sunday, and she hadn’t seen him, nor his siblings. Even Detective O’Connor hadn’t been by again. If Adaleigh was tempted to bolt, her hostess’s vulnerable state kept her in Crow’s Nest. It bothered Adaleigh that she—a stranger—seemed the only person to comfort Mrs. Martins. Or perhaps no one saw the need to help the mother of a suspected murderer.

Mrs. Martins roved the kitchen, cleaning, sampling, gathering more supplies. Muffins and cookies already cooled on racks, and she was now kneading more dough.

“Whatcha making?” Adaleigh approached cautiously. The woman had red-rimmed eyes and a firm set to her mouth. Seemed like she was taking out her frustration on the poor dough.

“Dinner rolls.” She plopped the blob onto the floured countertop and divided it into smaller sections—sorrow and anger in motion.

Adaleigh might conceal her own turmoil, but she couldn’t let a needy soul fester in agony when she had the tools to get someone talking. She ran a finger along the cool tile of the countertop. “How are you holding up?”

Mrs. Martins sighed. “I’m baking more than I know what to do with. Bread goods only last for so long before they go stale.”

“But if it helps you feel better …” The memory of how frugally David had saved scraps the other night prevented her from finishing her suggestion. This family had no money to waste, not like hers had once upon a time.

Mrs. Martins shaped the little dough blobs onto a baking sheet. “Want a cookie? Or muffin?”

“Sure.” Her stomach growled its approval.

After stoking the wood and sliding the rolls into the oven, Mrs. Martins delivered two still-steaming blueberry muffins on a plate, then slid over the butter dish.

“What’s your favorite food to bake?” Adaleigh asked as she slathered butter on half a muffin.

“That’s a good question.” Mrs. Martins leaned her bare forearms on the flour-covered counter. “Pies. I truly enjoy making pies. In fact, that might be something we could make together.” She hesitated before adding, “You’ll be staying, right?”

The muffin hung between plate and mouth as Adaleigh cocked her head, the desire to spend more time with Mrs. Martins—and David—warring with the fear that hummed below the surface. “Do you want me to stay?”

Mrs. Martins gathered up her baking supplies. “It’s foolish of me to ask.”

“Of course not. I’m your guest … or renter … or visitor.” What am I, anyway? “I suppose I should have asked if you would let me stay, considering what happened Friday night. I don’t have to ..”

“Nonsense.” She slapped a wet cloth onto the floury mess. “You’re good for our family. David needs a friend like you.”

Adaleigh’s cheeks heated.

“And perhaps I do too.” She turned away, but not before Adaleigh caught a tearful sniffle.

“Mrs. Martins, has anyone come by to bring food or to talk or …”

Brusquely, she shook her head and Adaleigh suddenly understood. Each day, Mrs. Martins had dressed up for visitors, to show a strong front, but no one had called. Now the poor woman felt deserted by her friends, her community, all because her son was accused of a crime he probably didn’t commit. It must’ve devastated her so much that it caused her to reach out to the only friend at hand—a stranger who hadn’t even shared her real name.

“Rose and Elaine—Mrs. Wittlebush and Mrs. Ward—stopped me at church yesterday. The three of us usually manage any funerals, but seeing as the situation is what it is, I am not helping, which means they are down a person and have their own businesses to run.” She rinsed the rag and muttered, “I hate feeling useless.”

Adaleigh could understand that. She’d been working to prove her worth to her family for years because being useless meant her life had no meaning. What sort of existence was that?

“You look as much in need of a friend as I do.” Mrs. Martins’s voice cut through Adaleigh’s thoughts. Adaleigh had been tapping her knife on her plate. So much for being there for someone else.

“I guess I do,” Adaleigh swallowed her unease at the idea of opening up to her hostess.

“I’ll put the kettle on. Get my mind off …” She waved her hands. “Now tell me about you.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Adaleigh whispered, staring at her plate.

Mrs. Martins chucked her under her chin. “And if I promise not to tell a soul?”

Adaleigh grinned. “Will Detective O’Connor get it out of you?”

She laughed. “I’m still the older sister, no matter what he says.”

What could it hurt to share her secrets? Maybe it would help if someone, somewhere knew the truth. The police already knew her name, her family. How well would Chief Sebastian keep her identity quiet? If he didn’t, Adaleigh would have to go on the run again … and she was awfully tired of running.

Mrs. Martins moved the kettle to a hotter spot on the stove where the water started to rumble. Then she motioned for Adaleigh to sit with her at the kitchen table. She nodded at Adaleigh’s dress, which was the same she’d worn yesterday. “Did I notice correctly that you came with nothing more than a knapsack?”

Adaleigh’s escape from home had not been a smooth one. She’d left everything behind except for two changes of clothes—one of which had dirt stains from the garden, the other smelled like fish—and the coins she’d had on hand. She’d hopped on her motorcycle and driven north, out of state, until she ran out of money, fuel, and energy.

“I’ve found a church charity or two, but my clothing could use a laundry. Might I do that here?”

“Of course.” Mrs. Martins waved a hand in dismissal. “But traveling on your own, visiting charities … Leigh, for a woman, it is not safe.”

Adaleigh shrugged. “Free food and safe lodging could only last for so long before I had to move on.” If only she could find a permanent hideaway. Things weren’t easy, but she’d felt settled while growing up. Yet the adventure her sister’s actions had forced on her fit with the part of her that had joined the all-female swim team—part of her high school’s Girls Athletic Association—or went backpacking on a family trip to Europe. Asking for charity in exchange for work was one thing; now she’d gone and complicated things with the Martins by possibly witnessing a murder.

“Is there no hope for you to return home?” Mrs. Martins asked as the teakettle whistled.

Adaleigh waited for her to pour two steaming cups of cinnamon tea. She stared into the black liquid. “Honestly, I don’t know what home is anymore.”

“Oh, child.” Mrs. Martins covered Adaleigh’s hand with her own.

The older woman’s rough, nearly translucent skin contrasted sharply with her own smooth but darker skin—something for which Adaleigh’s mother would have tsked at her. Ladies cultivated their hands, and they certainly didn’t look like those of a working-class woman. If she stayed here much longer, her hands would become as rough as Mrs. Martins—and somehow, that felt right and good.

“You know a home is not about the walls that make a house, right?” Mrs. Martins gently shook their hands, as if to make sure she had Adaleigh’s full attention. “Home is built first on the foundation of God and His word. Its structure is made of wisdom and understanding. This home no one can take away from you. Storms will try to wash it away, but it will stand. Hide yourself in this shelter, Leigh.”

Adaleigh gripped Mrs. Martins’s hand as hard as she dared squeeze the woman’s fragile bones, trying to keep the tears at bay. If only she could trust that hiding in God would physically keep her safe.

David ran the mop over the deck of the Tuna Mann. The morning’s catch proved less profitable than any of them hoped and resulted in O’Brien quitting. Randell kept quietly busy repairing a line. Captain Mann muttered to himself as he rearranged crates around David’s mop.

What David couldn’t understand is why Captain Mann would let someone rent out his boat in the middle of fishing season. He’d made them fish early—earlier—this morning. Not ideal, but manageable. However, without the afternoon, cleaning and preparing for the next day would keep them late into the evening, which would make the following early mornings increasingly difficult. Was the extra money worth the extra hours? Didn’t seem like it in David’s accounting eyes.

David glanced at Randell. His head was down, his jaw tense. With Randell distracted, seemingly by his task, David would risk it—he needed to know what his boss was thinking.

He sidled closer to the captain and lowered his voice. “Why is Joe Spelding booked this week?”

Captain Mann huffed and moved another crate.

David tried again. “We’re down a man, and going out in the afternoon means more hours. Not to mention I didn’t get the impression you were too happy about Spelding taking over the boat.”

“Well, you’re right, I ain’t happy about it, but it ain’t your business neither. In fact, I won’t need you to join us today.” Captain Mann hauled himself over the side of the boat, dropping onto the boardwalk. “Make sure the boat shines.”

David frowned as he watched his boss disappear in the Monday evening crowd. Something was going on with him and Spelding, something that David was beginning to believe was very much his business.

“Lines are set for tomorrow.” Randell appeared at his side. “What else do you need me to do?”

David handed him the mop handle. “Finish here, then get some sleep. It’ll be a long few days.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

David hid a grin as he leapt to the dock. Maybe Randell would turn out to be an okay hand.

He checked on the other two boats in the fleet, then made his way to the shanty, hoping he would run into his boss on the way. Perhaps if he approached the captain in a different way, he could get a straight answer about Spelding. Not having to go out on the boat tonight, however, meant he could be home for supper. He needed to check on his grandma, and he missed Leigh.

Mindy Zahn waved at David from the outdoor area of the Wharfside, her skirt swishing as she wove between the tables. “You look like you need a cup of coffee.”

Did he ever. “You treat me too well, Minds.”

Her smile faded. “You doing okay? I heard about … everything.”

David leaned his elbows on one of the fence posts, swinging his hat in his fingers. “I don’t know what to think. My dad can’t be a murderer.”

“It’s hard to believe anyone related to you would be a murderer.”

His neck heated. “I appreciate that.”

Mindy patted his hand. “There’s not a better guy around than you.”

David eyed her. “More guy trouble, huh?”

“Someday I’ll learn my choice in men is rotten.” A light blush covered her cheeks. “I can’t seem to get it right. I mean, I know you’re a catch, but why can’t I find someone as nice as you?”

He turned his wrist to capture her hand in his. “Because you need more adventure than someone as plain as me can provide.” Would the same prove true of Leigh? Was he too simple for someone as sophisticated as her?

“But why?” Tears glistened in her hazel eyes. “Why can’t I settle?”

David tightened his grip on her. “Don’t you dare settle, you hear me?”

She dashed at her cheeks, then cocked her head. “What’s that look for?”

“What look?” David bluffed. Mindy could always read his mind, and he didn’t want her to know he’d just been thinking about Leigh.

“You’re thinking of someone. A girl. David Martins, are you calling on someone and didn’t tell me?”

“Shh!” He couldn’t stop the heat from rising all the way to his ears.

“Oh, you are!”

“I’m not. I just met her.”

“Wait, the stranger?” Mindy’s sadness evaporated into excitement. “The one who rescued Matt and was with you—” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “You were on a date when you found your dad. Oh David, that’s horrible! Do you think she’ll say yes to going out with you again?”

Frankly, David hoped she’d still be at his grandmother’s by the time he arrived home. It’d been three days since she arrived, and each day he doubted she’d be there. But she hadn’t left. Yet. “How about I introduce you two sometime?”

“Of course! Wait a minute. Was she with your uncle after Matt’s incident? Brown hair. Nice dress.”

“Probably.” He knew Uncle Mike planned to take Leigh for coffee.

“I liked her. She could manage your uncle, too. I got the impression she could handle a lot of things.”

David agreed on that point. But would it be enough to get her to stick around? Why did that matter to him so much? Maybe he needed to think on his own motives before doing anything rash, like asking Leigh to go on another walk with him and scaring her out of town for good.

After a supper shared between just Mrs. Martins and Adaleigh—none of the grandchildren had come home again—Adaleigh grabbed her journal and found a comfy spot on the front porch step. Her conversation with Mrs. Martins earlier that day had her thinking, and the best way for her to get thoughts out of her head was to write them down.

The night air had a warmer feel than the previous nights. The breeze felt lighter, too, and pink clouds reflected the setting sun. An idyllic summer’s night. With a smile on her lips, Adaleigh put her pencil to paper in an attempt to sort out the chaos that clouded her brain. Half a page into writing, she found herself writing about David.

Adaleigh hadn’t courted much in the past. Her sister went out enough for both of them. Frankly, the young men in her wealthy family’s circle of friends were too stuffy and full of themselves for her way of thinking. In college, Adaleigh went on a couple dates. But most of the men there looked down on a woman who felt the need to get a college education. Every time she risked going out with one of them, it failed miserably. Finally, and after so many hilariously awful attempts, she pushed relationships aside in favor of her career. Once in a while, one brave soul would invite her out, roommates would urge her to go, but she found herself doing all the listening and none of the talking.

Anyway, why get serious with someone if she didn’t know what she wanted for her own future? What did God have in mind for her life? Would she become the wife of a wealthy businessman? Work in psychology and become a spinster? Travel the world and be her own woman? There had been enough money in the family for her to keep on doing whatever it was she loved without having to worry about everyday concerns like a house or food, no matter where she decided to live or whom she married. Follow your dreams had been the mantra of her parents.

So much for that. It took only a few moments for those dreams to be crushed, literally. All Mom and Dad had hoped for, planned for, invested for … it disappeared because of one man’s illegal behavior.

Adaleigh had stopped writing, the hurt inside coursing into her fingers, freezing them in a tight grip around the pencil. To go from all the bright hope in the world to running for her life … it was a hard pill to swallow. She closed her journal. She needed to get out of her head. Spend some time doing something. That’s why she swam. It was action. Purpose. It gave an outlet for all the words she read.

As the sunlight faded, the stars beckoned. He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul … The phrases of the twenty-third Psalm floated through her mind. Yes, she needed to find her way to the lake. Have a long talk with the Almighty.

Adaleigh traded her journal for her sweater and followed the same path she and David had taken the other evening. Closer to the lake, the air cooled, bringing with it a distinctly fishy smell. Lake Michigan itself was a darkening pool of emptiness, as if it swallowed the light, even the light of the stars. The path here would lead to the boardwalk, and Adaleigh found herself walking more quickly. The inkiness of the lake pulled at her. If she wasn’t careful, it would trip her up, yanking her into the abyss.

With a breath of relief, Adaleigh reached the boardwalk only to find the magic from Friday night had disappeared, leaving the shadows dark and clanking boats empty. She got a couple whistles of seeming appreciation as she walked down the boardwalk. Unease had her increasing her pace. She shouldn’t have gone out alone, but she’d expected at least the presence of families and the feeling of safety in such a small town.

“Leigh?” a voice called from behind five steps later.

Adaleigh spun around, pulse pounding.

David turned the key to the door of the shanty where he worked. “What are you doing out and about tonight?”

“Clearing my head.” Relief swept through her, followed by appreciation at seeing how handsome he looked in his gray pullover and flat cap.

“May I walk with you?”

Her heart betrayed her with joy at his suggestion. “Perhaps we can walk toward your grandmother’s home?”

He held out his arm for her to grasp. They strolled side by side in comfortable harmony. Dark waves licked at the boat hulls. Fishy smells wafted through the air—a smell that didn’t wrinkle her nose the way it likely would have a month ago—and a breeze ruffled loose strands of her hair. What had felt sinister now felt homely.

“Good day?” she finally asked.

He sighed. “I like fishing because it’s a generally quiet venture. I missed supper because we had to hire on another new man, and he would not stop talking. Someday I’ll be master of my time and captain of my own boat and can make my own hires.” His eyes sparked.

Adaleigh held his arm a little tighter. “What’s it like out there?”

“On the lake?”

She nodded.

David’s muscles relaxed under her touch. “Water stretches as far as the eye can see. Soft waves sparkle like tiny stars. Lines bob in the water, waiting for a fish to bite. The dull hum of the boat motor mixes with the thump of the water against the hull. Then a fish catches the hook, then another, and another, until we have a whole trotline to haul into the boat. It’s the best feeling in the world!”

Adaleigh widened her eyes as she stared at him, drawn into his description. The man had a way with words.

“Then comes a battle of wits.” He winked. “Hauling in a line of fish takes finesse and calculation. If you allow any slack in the line, fish can spit out the hook, but if you’re too aggressive, the line can snap, and you’ll lose the whole catch. But sure as shootin’, I get ’em.”

Adaleigh laughed, and he grinned down at her.

“I’d be honored if you would …” He stopped, tension bursting from him as his callused hand grabbed for hers. And then he yanked.

“This way,” David hissed, pulling Leigh after him, grateful she didn’t balk. He dashed through the narrow alley between two weathered buildings.

As the light from the wharf’s gas lamps grew smaller behind them, Leigh finally resisted. “What’s going on?” she whispered.

“Conglomerate people.”

A damp wind tunneled through the alley. Leigh rubbed her sweatered arm with her free hand. “Why are we hiding?”

“They were looking at the crime scene.”

“Wait. Conglomerate? You mean that Buck person? His people? The people your dad was working for? They are at the crime scene?”

David scrunched his eyebrows as he processed all her questions.

“I didn’t realize we’d gone as far as the crime scene already. Why would they be looking at the crime scene? Is it still marked off? Is—” She darted back toward the boardwalk, slipping from his grasp.

“Leigh, wait.” He ran after her.

“I have nothing to fear from these Conglomerate people, David. They don’t know me, and I’m not a business owner. What they want with the crime scene, now that I want to know. Not to mention, I blacked out before I got a look at what really happened. If I’m going to help you clear your father, I need to see what I missed the other night.”

The words passed too quickly for David to come up with a response, so he had no choice but to follow her. They emerged onto the boardwalk to find it empty, and David breathed a sigh of relief. Not Leigh. She planted hands on her hips. The crime scene lay ahead of them, and with the memory of his father leaning over Amy, blood on his shirt, still so fresh, he shivered.

Beside him, however, Leigh stood still, her breath hitching, and David moved his attention to her. Her eyes had glazed over, as if she saw a scene not currently in front of her. She was likely reliving Friday night, just as he had been. The sounds, the smells, the feelings. He hated to see such a strong woman plagued by horrors she shouldn’t have witnessed.

He gently wrapped his fingers around her upper arm. “Leigh?”

She yelped. “Don’t scare a girl like that.” She pressed a hand against her chest as if that could slow her heart rate.

“You okay?” David leaned forward, trying to get on her eye level. Assure himself of the truth.

“I’m fine.” Adaleigh hugged her middle. “Would you take me to your grandmother’s house?”

David nodded. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, and they walked side by side, back the way they’d come. He wanted to put his arm around her, but what right had he to be so familiar? Especially when he was the one who got her into this predicament. He should never have asked her out that first night. He knew better. His life was far too messy to invite a woman into it.

“I’m sorry,” he said, meaning so much more than those simple words.

Leigh stopped. “For what?”

“All this.” He flopped his hands as if to encompass existence itself. “Near drownings, drunken men, murder. My dad. I can’t believe you haven’t run screaming for your life.” Any other girl would have, and Leigh seemed to have an exponentially greater reason. Whatever it may be.

She chewed on her lip, moonlight casting shadows on her face. David held his breath.

Adaleigh considered her words as her nerves returned to a more natural level of alertness. David’s uncertainty tugged at her. She had it in her power to reassure him. But was she brave enough to tell him the truth? That she enjoyed spending time with him despite the unplanned excitement?

“You’re an intriguing person, Leigh.” David jumped into the silence she’d let hang too long. “Somehow you’ve pulled out of me things I haven’t told many people.”

Adaleigh prided herself in her ability to read people, and having a degree that supplied the labels for what she tended to notice naturally only deepened that confidence. However, the look in David’s eyes reflected something much deeper. Somehow, this stranger cared about her. She’d never met a man who took the time to see her for who she really was.

“Then you should know something more about me.” She moved casually up the boardwalk. As innocuous as her forthcoming truth might be, her heart still beat wildly at the idea of sharing her secrets with someone. Other men had rejected her for less. “I’m a swimmer and a member of the Women’s Athletic Club in Chicago.”

“Wait.” He stopped square in front of her. “You’re a swimmer? As in, for recreation?”

“Not just recreation.” Adaleigh laughed. “I competed in high school. Won a few times too.”

“No wonder you felt confident rescuing Matt.” He cracked a smile. “I have a feeling there are more surprises you’re hiding.”

“Perhaps.” Adaleigh started walking again. His positive reaction urged her to share more. Could she?

“Okay.” David jogged to catch up. “Besides swimming, what else do you like to do?”

Adaleigh hesitated.

“C’mon.” David nudged her. “Just tell me one little thing that you enjoy besides athletics. I told you about fishing.”

Adaleigh looked out past the bobbing lights of the boats to the inky water beyond. “I also—”

“Boy, howdy,” someone shouted from the door of a building to her left. “Aren’t you the gal who saved the Hitchens boy?”

Adaleigh froze.

“It is.” Another guy barged past the first one. “She also witnessed Martins murder that girl.”

Three more burly guys, swarthier versions of the largest men she’d ever met, joined the first two, blocking her way and separating her from David. The grainy scent of hops swirled around her. Why weren’t the police stopping all this illegal activity at the docks?

“You sure that’s the dame?” Another guy, probably the soberest of the group, managed to part the circle and meet her gaze. “You’re her? What’s your name?”

Her mouth bobbed open, but no sound emerged.

“She’s the one,” the first guy said.

“Never seen her before today,” the second said. “Where you from, doll?”

“Yeah, what’s a pretty gal like you doing here in Crow’s Nest?” another asked.

“How’d you feel, saving the Hitchens kid?” The soberest guy pressed close, sweat overcoming the smell of alcohol. “Did you plan on being a heroine? Did you know Matt beforehand? Did you know Amy? Did you see Martins murder her?”

With every question, he edged Adaleigh toward the side of the boardwalk, the lake at her back. Closer and closer to the rolling abyss. The gas lamp above shone down like a spotlight, casting her in full display. The collective surge of men was too strong for her to push them back, and David was nowhere to be seen.

“My editor would kill me if I don’t get a shot.” The sober man pulled a folding camera from his vest pocket.

Pictures! No, no, no. She couldn’t be in a picture. But the words still wouldn’t come. Her chest tightened, quickening her breathing. Black edged her vision. Trapped. Again. Two choices … which would it be—the snapping of the camera or the lapping of the dark water behind her?