beaded designs that bore her trademark. Lorrie had stayed in the New York area, working freelance for museums and auction houses offering vintage apparel.
Now she’s missing! Presumed dead!
Ashley had left her shop in the hands of a trusted employee, Kate Delawny, and secured a seat on the first available flight. She had endured several hours of layovers in connecting flights across the country. A sense of disbelief had traveled with her every minute of the journey as she tried to absorb the shock.
Now she stood shivering in the foggy night air. Her ears were filled with the sound of the pounding surf lashing the wharf. Anchored boats in a marina tugged at bowlines like captured animals struggling to get free from their chains. Lights in a nearby parking lot did little to illuminate the empty ferry station or the dark harbor-master’s small building with its posted sign for the next day’s public transportation. The bay was dotted with numerous crafts looking like ghostly specters on the black surf. There were signs advertising daily water trips—all daytime hours.
Bracing herself against the wind, Ashley walked slowly out on the long pier. She was prepared to pay the price for any kind of transportation. Small fishing boats and larger cruisers tugged their moorings, and pier boards creaked under her feet. She searched anxiously to find someone aboard one of the boats who would respond to her urgent need.
“Hello. Hello. Anybody?” Her voice was driven back down her throat by the wind. Shivering in the clinging moist fog circulating around her, she brushed her dark brown hair away from her eyes as she peered into the mist. She knew that Greystone Island was one of numerous islands lying out there somewhere in the darkness.
I have to get there somehow!
Turning around and bending her head against the wind, she made her way back to where the taxi had left her. A collection of low structures, all dark and deserted, stretched along the water’s edge. A strong odor identified them as fish houses. A few neon lights blinked where several weathered buildings clustered together, set back from the waterfront. Bracing herself against the wind, she hurried in that direction.
A renovated warehouse with a swinging sign outside the door identified the place as the Dockside Bar and Grill. Signs in the nautical-shaped windows promised food, drink and music.
Without hesitation, Ashley hurried inside.
A huge, high-ceilinged room was crowded with people, and a pungent mix of smoke, liquor and sweat instantly assaulted her nostrils.
Loud voices and a couple of strumming guitars blasted her ears. A group of men in work clothes crowded around the bar, laughing and draining their mugs as if all the beer kegs were going to run out soon. A few women sat at tables, smiling and drinking as heartily as their companions.
When no hostess appeared to greet her, Ashley made her way to the first empty booth. She was grateful for the warmth as a bone-deep chill began to ease. Putting her small suitcase on the seat opposite her, she quickly took off her damp jacket and rubbed her arms to restore some circulation. She was thankful that her tailored blouse was still dry, and the pair of casual soft leather loafers had kept her feet from getting chilled.
A blond waitress wearing tight nautical pants and a brief halter suddenly appeared, her pencil poised above her pad. “What’s your poison?”
“Coffee,” Ashley responded readily.
“Spiked?”
“No. Just black.”
“Okay, but you look as cold as a mackerel on ice.” The waitress was middle-aged, overweight, and showed that her feet hurt by the way she stood. Glancing at the suitcase Ashley had placed on the vacant seat, she said, “I’d have me a little warm-me-upper if I was you.”
Ashley shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
Even though she needed some help getting through this nightmare, liquor wasn’t the answer. She had to keep focused. No telling what news awaited her on the island.
The waitress shrugged and disappeared into a crowd that was growing every minute. Waiters and waitresses darted about with trays of drinks held above their heads to avoid the crush of customers pressing in on them. Ashley was beginning to think she’d never see her waitress again when she finally brought the coffee.
Ashley thanked her and then asked, “I wonder if you could help me? I need to get to Greystone Island as soon as possible…tonight. It’s—it’s a family emergency. Do you know anyone who I might hire to take me over?”
“The weather report don’t look good,” she answered, frowning. “Something’s blowing in.”
“I know, but, surely, one of these men would like to make some easy money,” Ashley insisted. “I’ll gladly pay extra.”
“I don’t know. It’s about a forty-five-minute run out to Greystone in good weather. On a night like this…?” She shrugged.
“Please, it’s very important.”
“It must be,” she said as she studied Ashley’s pained expression. Then she turned and looked over the men at the bar.
Ashley held her breath.
“Jenkins might do it,” she said after a long search. “He’s always up for getting his hands on a little more beer money.”
“Will you ask him, please?” Ashley’s heartbeat quickened.
“Okay, but I still think you’d do better to wait ’til morning.” She turned and Ashley watched her make her way across the crowded room to the long bar.
She tapped a burly-looking man on the shoulder. Ashley couldn’t see his face clearly under the duck bill of his hat as he turned around and listened to what the waitress was saying. Then he looked across the room to where Ashley was sitting. When she saw him nod and the waitress smile, a wave of relief almost made Ashley giddy.
He’s going to do it!
Without hesitation, she agreed to pay the amount he asked after the man had shuffled over. Jenkins had thick shoulders and a ruddy face. He led the way down the wharf to an old motorboat which was probably used to take men out to their fishing crafts.
A dank, fishy smell permeated the air as she stepped down into it. She took the bench seat near the stern, and placed her suitcase at her feet while Jenkins sat on a forward bench, his back to her as he hunched over the motor.
The wind and fog had increased during the few minutes she’d been in the café. Ashley’s uneasiness intensified. She debated asking him about a life jacket, but was afraid anything she said to the man might stop him from taking her out to the island.
He threw off the bowline and started swearing when he had trouble starting the motor. The boat began to rock in the choppy water. She couldn’t have climbed out if she’d wanted to because the boat was already floating away from the pier.
Maybe the boat isn’t even seaworthy!
As the boat swayed in the rising waves and deepening troughs, its old timbers began to groan. When the motor finally caught and the boat lurched forward, Jenkins’ slurred muttering and colorful swearing added to the sickening plunge of Ashley’s stomach.
Too late,
