He hadn’t said kelp. He’d said help. He thought she needed help.
But why? What gave him the idea in the first place?
Miriam searched the island and figured it to be about five hundred yards away. Not a huge distance for a former competitive open-water swimmer like herself. But this man wouldn’t know she swam out to the lighthouse for exercise each day. He probably thought only a stranded and injured person would be this far from land.
Miriam supposed she could try to speak aloud to explain, but a long time ago she’d vowed only to use her voice when absolutely necessary. And giving this stranger her personal information wasn’t necessary.
In fact, the only thing necessary was to get off this rock quickly. Miriam didn’t believe she faced any danger from him anymore, but she also wasn’t inclined to be friendly.
She cagily followed his movements to the other side of the rock, where his boat was anchored.
He gestured with his hand for her to climb in, pointing toward the island.
Before thinking, she naturally lifted her hands to sign. After the first few signs, stating she would swim back, she stopped and waved her hands to say forget it. He wouldn’t understand anyway. She stood on the edge, still keeping him in her sight while preparing to dive in. But before her feet left the rock, Miriam glanced back at him one last time and froze.
His hand pointed to his chest, then rose to the side of his temple. She watched his index finger slowly point up toward the sky. “I understand,” he signed.
She nearly stumbled over. He knew her language? Would he say more? She waited, hating herself because deep down she hoped he would. How quickly she willingly trusted this man just because he understood her.
For so long, though, she’d been a foreigner in this hearing world, desperately seeking companionship. Now she stood face-to-face with the one thing she sought. Forever on the lookout for someone like her, or someone who understood her. Or at least wanted to try.
Poor Nick earned his pay and then some. But there were only so many current events and prime-time television shows to talk about with one person.
Miriam knew her traitorous face was lit in anticipation of finding a friend, but even so she tried her hardest to be nonchalant about the situation. Tentatively, she raised her hands and swirled her fingers in circles. “You sign?” she asked in her language.
His eyes darkened to those murky depths again. He gave one negative shake to his head and averted his gaze past her shoulder.
He didn’t sign.
Miriam did her best to express a lack of caring with a blasé shrug even though disappointment washed over her like a cold wave. Then her mind reminded her of the man’s answer to her question. If he wasn’t able to sign, then how did he understand her enough to answer her?
Unless he did understand her and didn’t want to talk to her.
Fine...whatever. She dismissed him and his possible insult with a wave of her hand and lifted off the rock in one clean arc. Miriam sliced through the cold water with precision, letting it cool off her piqued temper, amazed her anger could still boil over so easily. She thought God had helped her with that unwanted emotion a long time ago, but sometimes her anger reared its ugly head and reminded her she still had some things to contend with.
Another day, she told herself...again. She wondered if there ever was a good time to reopen old wounds. She thought not, but especially not right now.
She was in the midst of a troubling drug investigation. She had a drug supplier to find. Making friends and digging into her past were at the bottom of her list.
In fact, her past was one thing better left buried. Nothing good could come out of unearthing those dreams—or rather, nightmares. Miriam trembled, and it had nothing to do with the frigid northern waters she swam in.
The unnatural bulging eyes from those old nightmares stared at her from behind her closed eyelids; a large hand and a flash of something gold blinded her. Images as real today as they were when she was ten years old. She pushed through her strokes as she pushed the childhood terrors down into the dark abyss.
Mother always said they were figments of a child’s imagination. Except children weren’t supposed to be imagining such horrifying things.
No, I can’t go there. She swam faster, pushed harder. Her hands sliced through the water, propelling her forward. Miriam had a feeling if she continued to delve deeper into that nightmare, she would never emerge. Not even the dark-haired rescuer she left in her wake would be able to save her from the dangers of that dark and menacing grave.
TWO
“You really think the principal is your number-one suspect?” Owen waited with Sheriff Wesley Grant outside the high school’s glass entrance doors. The buzzer signaled their authorization for admittance, and Wes pulled the door open.
“Her assistant’s got a prior arrest for possession of marijuana,” Wes discreetly informed Owen over his shoulder as they entered the school. “They neglected to share that little tidbit with the school board and don’t know I uncovered it. I’m keeping it to myself until I have enough evidence for a search warrant of their homes.”
“You seem to be putting all your efforts on these two. What is it about them you don’t like?” Owen eyed a well-dressed man at the end of the corridor sweeping the shiny floors with an oversize dust mop.
“You’ll see why when you meet them,” Wes answered. “I feel like Ms. Hunter’s constantly laughing at me. I’m a big joke to her.” He sneered.
“Well, you are funny-looking.” Owen jutted a chin at Wes’s head. “And you need a haircut, man. Have I been gone from Maine so long that the ladies dig the unkempt look now? Perhaps your principal is one of them. Maybe she isn’t laughing at you at all. Maybe she’s sweet on you. How old is she? Fiftyish?”
The green-clad sheriff chuckled. “Not quite.” Wes pointed to a door off to their left. He cleared his throat a few times. “So, you haven’t mentioned Cole since you arrived yesterday. How is your son?”
Owen’s back tensed. “He’s still living with Rebecca’s parents over in Bangor. It’s best that way. So, how do you think the drugs are getting here? This island’s pretty secluded.”
Wes nodded, taking Owen’s cue. No more talk about Cole. “My guess is Ms. Hunter and her assistant have a connection with a Canadian drug cartel. They’re helping to get the marijuana across the border by coming through my island. Then distributing it to their dealers on the mainland.”
“But some marijuana was found on school property. Why release it and take the chance of shutting down their operation?”
“Well, that’s where you come in. I need your, um, eyes to listen in on a few conversations.”
“You need my eyes to listen? I don’t understand.”
The men reached the principal’s office and entered. “Hey, Steph,” Wes said to the cute, pixie-like secretary at her desk. “I’m here to see Ms. Hunter.”
“Yup,
