A WOODPECKER ATTACKED THE RAILING, ITS SHARP rat-a-tat against the weathered wood the only sound that broke the stunned silence on the deck. The naked pleading in Dr. Eastman’s eyes the moment before he nearly ran out of my house had left me disoriented. I sank back into my chair and reached for my cup. I sipped the tepid tea and tried to organize the chaos of my thoughts.
Had Joline Eastman lied to me about how her daughter was conceived? I broke off that thought. Wait. She hadn’t actually told me anything. I had assumed a scenario that might explain her strange reluctance, but I had not one shred of evidence to support it. So why had her husband been so determined to steer me away from the subject of Kimmie’s biological father? The notion that the man who had contributed half the child’s DNA wouldn’t be a good candidate for a bone marrow transplant made absolutely no sense to me.
I tried to picture Joline as a young woman, fiercely proud, defying everyone to do what she thought was right and keep her baby. That must have cost her dearly. College would have been out of the picture as she embarked on a life of struggle and sacrifice as a single teenaged parent. Jerry Eastman must have seemed like a knight on a white horse, offering her and her child comfort, security, and stability. And now, suddenly, all that was about to become meaningless as she faced even more pain, more than any woman should have to bear in one lifetime.
What if she’d been attacked, raped? The idea appeared out of nowhere. That could be the reason both she and her husband refused to discuss Kimmie’s biological father. I chewed on the scenario, twisting it around in my mind from all angles. It fit all the known facts, of which, I had to admit, there were precious few. It would explain a lot. I had no idea what kind of emotional—or physical—trauma Joline might have suffered, how such an experience might still be affecting her even this many years later. But if the man who attacked her could be found, he might be the brightest hope for saving Kimmie’s life. But how—and where—could I begin to look?
I dumped out my half-eaten scrambled eggs and tried to settle back in with the crossword puzzle, but it was no use. My mind kept flitting to all the dead ends we’d encountered in our search for Joline Eastman’s sisters. And the near impossibility, it seemed, of locating Kimmie’s biological father. I tossed the pencil angrily onto the folded newspaper and sprang from my chair. I grabbed my keys from the console table, tucked my cell into my pocket, and shoved on my sunglasses. A moment later I jogged down the steps and back over the wooden walkway across the dune.
The bright sun in a pristine blue sky had lured locals as well as the scattered tourists onto the sand. Couples strolled hand in hand while children and dogs dashed in and out of the gently rolling surf. Overhead, gulls wheeled and squawked. I turned away from the Westin Hotel and the condominiums farther down, wandering aimlessly in the direction of the sandbar that jutted out into Port Royal Sound, disappearing now beneath the incoming tide. The farther I walked the fewer people I encountered until I reached a stretch of nearly deserted beach. I flopped down in the soft sand above the tideline, gathered my knees in my arms, and stared out over the water.
The rhythmic shushing of the waves stilled some of the turmoil in my head, and the sun beating down felt like a soft blanket wrapping me in its warmth. I let my mind wander, refusing to allow it to settle on any one of the secrets and tragedies that had occupied me for the past few days. I thought about Red and his earnest apologies I’d so cavalierly swatted aside. I missed the kids. I never thought I’d hear myself say that, but it was true. Their ready acceptance of my change of status from distant but indulgent aunt to leading candidate for stepmother made me smile. I’d been so afraid of their rejection, of a situation arising in which Red would be forced to choose between me and his children. Instead, I’d somehow managed to alienate him all on my own with my stubborn refusal to forgive.
Pride, I thought, just like Joline Eastman. False pride, in my case. Red loved me. He’d proved it in a hundred different ways over the years since Rob’s murder. And now I seemed willing to jeopardize all that because I was too proud to accept my role in our argument. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I reached into my pocket and hit the speed-dial for his cell before I could stop and analyze what I was going to say. That was one of my biggest problems, I thought, as the phone buzzed in my ear. Sometimes I just had to think a problem to death. Sometimes it was better just to—
“Hey! It’s you.” His voice held a mixture of surprise and relief. “Where are you?”
“I’m sitting on the beach looking across at the islands wondering when I turned into such an idiot.”
His laugh lifted my heart. “I’m not touching that line. Loaded with possibilities, none of them good.” He paused when I didn’t reply. “Want some company?”
“Where are you?”
“Sitting in your driveway trying to work up the nerve to knock on the door. I checked to make sure your car was in the garage.”
“Head toward the sandbar. I’ll meet you halfway.”
“That’s all I’ve ever wanted,” he said, the double meaning of his words not lost on me. “See you in a few.”
We decided on lunch at the outdoor patio by the Westin pool. We didn’t talk about the fight or its aftermath. In fact, we said hardly anything at all as we strolled back down the beach. Red’s hand had automatically reached for mine the moment we met, and I’d made no effort to break the contact. Our silence had the quality of contentment, of an understanding that needed no words. Besides, an idea had begun to form as I’d sat on the beach, and I needed time to think it through.
We ordered pulled pork sandwiches and fries, the pungent aroma of barbecue sauce carrying me back to Patience Brawley’s backyard the day before. I shoved that image away. We had to break our handclasp to squeeze lemon into our sweet teas, and I used the opportunity.
“I want to talk to you about something.”
I felt him pull back a little, but his smile held only a trace of apprehension. “Okay. Shoot.”
“How committed are you to this charter thing? I mean, have you and your friend signed any papers or anything like that?”
I sensed his wariness level increase, but he kept his gaze locked on my face. “Nothing formal,” he said. “The new boat won’t be delivered for another few weeks, and business is still pretty slack right now. I thought it would give me time to learn the ropes before we make it official. Why?”
I ignored the knot in my stomach and plunged ahead. “How would you like to work for me? For the agency, I mean. For a while. Until you’re ready to go full-tilt into chartering. I—” I realized I was babbling and forced myself to back off. “What do you think of the idea in general?”
“You’re serious?”
I nodded. “Yup.”
“You know I was only kidding about that before, right? I mean, I wasn’t angling for a job.”
“I know. This doesn’t have anything to do with that. I need your help on this case, and we don’t have a lot of time.” I swallowed and shoved aside the picture in my head of a smiling Kimmie Eastman in her tennis whites. “The case is going to resolve itself, one way or another, probably in less than a month.”
“What’s it about?”
“I need to have you on the payroll before I can give you any specifics.” I held up my hand when I saw the protest rise to his lips. “It’s the way the license works. Once you’re an employee, the confidentiality agreement in the contract binds you as well as Erik and me. And the Judge, since he’s a partner.”
“Got it.”
The waiter slid plates in front of us at that point, and I took him up on his offer of extra sauce. We sat silently for a few moments, shaking salt on the fries and getting cutlery arranged to our satisfaction. When the boat of spicy red barbecue sauce sat between us, I risked a look across my dripping sandwich at Red. His face was creased in concentration. I wiped my chin and shoved a few fries in my mouth to cover what was becoming an awkward silence.
“If you aren’t interested, just say so. No harm, no foul. I realize it’s come out of the blue, and—”
Red reached a sticky hand out and covered mine. “Where do I sign?”