Tidal Kin Read online

  “Good information.” Norma was relieved Anne was using her head now.

  “I’ve also learned from her that a girlfriend saw Laney this afternoon. They met at Postal I Scream, just down the road off the bike path. And Laney had her bike. That might help locate her. We’re searching the bike path while there’s still some light.” He checked his notepad. “I’m going to meet with the girlfriend and her family. Isabella Miller. She lives back in Red River. You want to come? She might feel more at ease if you’re there.”

  Norma frowned. She wasn’t known for putting people at ease, but detected no sarcasm in his voice.

  “Well?” He stood with his hand on her car door handle.

  “Let’s go.” She grabbed an oil-stained sweatshirt from her backseat.

  Off-Cape, you’d call the Miller home a modest townhouse. On the Cape you called it a Water View and put a million-dollar price tag on it.

  Mr. Miller met them at the door after one knock. With him came a gust of air conditioning scented with air freshener. He might have been good-looking with his deep-set, intelligent eyes, but Norma couldn’t see beyond his hard expression. He offered no greeting, just ushered them into the living room. It looked like a page torn from a coastal travel magazine—white walls, white furnishings, pastel accents, nautical paintings, no personal items of any kind. Mrs. Miller stood to greet them. When she resumed her seat her thighs didn’t splay one centimeter. Norma guessed she worked out and wasn’t a regular at Sydney’s.

  The girl beside Mrs. Miller was a budding stunner. Isabella’s dark hair was pulled back from her face, uncovering a widow’s peak and framing her dad’s dark eyes. But her wide, generous smile, full of innocent mischief, was all her own.

  She gave them a detailed description of Laney’s clothing, reconstructed precisely what the girls had talked about and asked if she could join the search, a request her father immediately squelched.

  Norma thought, Isabella’s a good friend for Laney to have. She also reluctantly admitted she was impressed with the way Coigne was handling the interview.

  He said, “Anything else you remember? Anything that might tell us the direction she was heading in?”

  Isabella hesitated. Norma willed her to think of something solid that would help. When she finally spoke, it was to say a name. “Spider-Man.”

  “What are you talking about, Isabella?”

  The girl ignored her father’s rude tone. “I doubt it helps, but she joked about a biker she saw on the bike path. She called him Spider-Man.”

  “It was probably just some kid,” Miller said.

  “What do you think, Isabella?”

  “Laney didn’t say one way or the other, Lieutenant Coigne. But I figure if it was a kid, she would have known who it was and used his name.”

  Norma had an idea. “What exactly did she say about Spider-Man? Think of her exact words if you can.”

  “It’s kind of silly, the way it came out. She said, ‘Ice cream hits the spot, when you’re hot.’ We laughed at the rhyme and I said, ‘Especially at five on the dot,’ and we went on like that. Then she said she sure was hot from biking, but nothing like Spider-Man, this guy she saw on the bike path who was wearing a long-sleeved bike suit. So now that I think about it, if it was a kid, she would have said kid, not guy.”

  Miller, standing all this time with hands in his pockets, shrugged. “You can’t draw conclusions.”

  Mrs. Miller sat ramrod straight and took no part in the conversation.

  “Why would anyone wear such an outfit? Do you think it might have been one of those guys who delivers balloons on birthdays?” Coigne directed his question to everyone.

  “Could be, but she’d have mentioned balloons,” Norma said. “No, if I know Laney, she called him Spider-Man as a shorthanded way of describing his appearance—his biking attire. It was a kidding kind of shorthand, something she had a habit of doing to describe people.” She added to Coigne in a low voice, “Like Sandal Man.”

  Isabella clapped in excitement. “If she was describing his biking suit and called him Spider-Man, it must have been red and blue, with goggles maybe.”

  “You weren’t there when she saw him, Isabella. Keep quiet.” Miller must have heard the harshness in his voice. “These people need facts, honey, not guesses.”

  “But that’s the way Laney talks. It’s funny. That’s one of the reasons I like her,” she said to Norma.

  Thank you, dear, for ignoring your bonehead father. Norma hoped she’d just thought that and not said it out loud.

  Coigne stood. “I think we’ve kept you up long enough, Isabella.”

  “You’ll let us know, won’t you, Lieutenant? If you hear anything?” Mrs. Miller had decided to join the conversation as they left the room.

  “Of course.”

  They stepped outside and Norma breathed deeply. “This close to the water, you’d think they’d open the window and breathe salt air.” She leaned against the cruiser door. The moths were out with a vengeance, pinging against the amber street light.

  Coigne was still thinking over the interview. “Why would anyone wear that kind of gear on a scorcher like today?”

  “Either the guy’s in training for the Tour de France and has absolutely nothing to do with Laney or...he wore the gear to disguise himself.”

  “Because otherwise Laney would recognize him. Sandal Man?”

  “I don’t want to believe it, but we have to consider it. Where does that get us?”

  Coigne’s cell phone, still on vibrate after the interview, started moaning. “It tells us we need an all-points bulletin out on a dark-skinned, foreign-sounding guy in good shape, and we get more information about him from Gin and Anne. They saw him this morning. They have to know more than they’ve told us.”

  Coigne took his call and Norma waited. She wanted to join the police on the bike path.

  “Hold on, Trooper, got another call coming in.” Coigne held the phone away and squinted at it, then pressed a button. As he listened to his call, Norma watched his slack posture straighten and a look of concentration overtake his normally relaxed features.

  “Go on.” He turned his back to Norma. When he put his phone in his pocket and turned to face her, she knew something bad had happened.

  “Tell me, Coigne.”

  “They found her bike. They found some other signs that she went into Marymac Pond.”

  “Don’t say it, Coigne. Do not tell me they found a body.”

  “They did, Norma. No—wait. It was a man. They found his kayak.”

  “Drowned?”

  “Yes.”

  18

  Laney couldn’t stop shaking. The man who’d hauled her out of the pond dragged her up a hill through the woods to the roadside. Whenever headlights appeared, he’d take a quick look, then yank her back into the woods, his hand pressed against her mouth. They waited.

  He was a giant. His hair was long and once it dried it turned white-blond and curly like a girl’s. His lips were full and red and he spoke only in two-word sentences like, “Shut up” and “Keep still.”

  The giant was worse than any of her mom’s boyfriends. What if he beats me up and rapes me. She started to cry and covered the man’s hand in tears and mucous.

  “Aw shit!”

  They must be waiting for Sandal Man. She was sure that’s who chased her on the bike path.

  A car sped their way. The giant leaned far out into the road, dragging Laney with him. She held her breath. It could be the police looking for her. Before it passed he’d pulled her back. The car’s tail lights winked out of sight.

  “Don’t move.”

  Another car approached, headlights off. It pulled to the side of the road. Black Escalade, like Wheezy Wickersham had. She’d have to remember that. The giant shoved her in the back seat and jumped in.

  The driver was not someone she recognized. His clothes were dry, unlike the giant’s. The men mumbled to each other. The car swerved to avoid hitting something and they tu
rned onto a gravel road. She thought about jumping out of the car and running, but she’d have to get through the thick woods surrounding them. Her hand crept toward the door handle. Click. The driver had locked her door from the front seat.

  Despite the loud popping of gravel against the tires, bits of the men’s conversation reached her. “Happened to Crawford,” and “man in the kayak.”

  She remembered the look of surprise on the kayak owner’s face when he finally heard her cry out. He’d looked all around and must have seen the giant swimming after her. She’d dived in deep again and headed underwater for the kayak. When she came up for air, the giant had changed course and was heading for the kayak too. Her arms were about to give out, but to escape the giant, she’d swum toward the far shore.

  She’d heard the man say, “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” The giant must have tipped him over because she saw his paddle flip into the air. By the time she reached land, the giant had caught up to her. He’d grabbed her around her waist and run her into the woods like a football.

  Huddled at the end of the gravel road was a dimly lit cottage. But for that light, all around was darkness. No moonlight or stars. And it was silent. No lapping waves or chirping crickets, just their own car doors slamming.

  She was hungry, wet and cold, but another need was more urgent. “I need to use the bathroom.”

  “Too bad.”

  She didn’t think she could hold it.

  His voice rose as he pushed her forward toward the cottage. “Get moving.”

  “Jeez, Varn. Relax for God’s sake.” The driver shook his head.

  “You relax.”

  If only she’d not gone for a bike ride and stayed home. The thought of Gran and her mom made her cry again.

  They mounted the front steps onto a screen porch, then moved into a tiny living room. An overhead lightbulb shone on soiled upholstered chairs that may have once been blue, matching the wall-to-wall carpeting. The giant, Varn, pushed her toward the back of the house and into the kitchen. A ceramic lighthouse lamp on the counter was the only light in the room. The floor was covered in torn green linoleum, sticky beneath her shoes. A trash can was filled to overflowing with Domino’s Pizza boxes and beer cans. Without a word, Varn opened the door to a closet and pushed her in.

  “Don’t! Please don’t shut the door.” She leaned hard against it, but Varn’s violent shove against her made her lose her balance and fall back. Twisting the doorknob did no good.

  She felt for a wall light switch, then waved her arms through the air in search of a string. Nothing. The glow from the lighthouse lamp seeped under the door. Her eyes started to adjust. She was in a deep pantry, twice the size of a closet. The shelves were empty. A short broom was propped in the corner. She crossed her legs tightly and began counting. When she reached two hundred a car door slammed. Footsteps on the stairs. Muffled voices.

  “Where is she?”

  Sandal Man! She started to pee. Ignoring the warning from Varn she banged on the door. “I need to use the bathroom.”

  “That’s it,” Varn said.

  “Calm yourself, Mr. Varn. Tony, show her to the ladies’ room. Then bring her here. If you please.”

  When Tony, the driver, opened the bathroom door for her, the stench made them both rear back. In the toilet, a cigarette butt floated in foamy urine. She could hear Tony breathing outside the door as he waited for her. She was past caring.

  Sandal Man pointed toward the living room. At some point he had changed from his biking gear into a tan business suit. “At last, we can have our little chat. You’ve caused me some trouble, you know, but you may yet make it worth my while.” He smiled. “Let us hope so.”

  “Why am I here?”

  He motioned her to a chair. “First things first. My name is Mr. Singh—yes, like sing a song, but with an H. To answer your question, you are here because of who you are, who your family is, and what you know.”

  Laney could not have been more surprised. She’d never felt that who she was could matter to anyone. In her own mind, her background was shameful. And what was she supposed to know? She was thirteen.

  “Your father told you about something before he drowned. It was a letter.” He leaned forward, as though he’d given her a big hint and now it was her turn.

  She could only stare. Then hope flooded her. “You have made a mistake, Mr. Singh. You have the wrong person. I don’t know my father.”

  For a moment he didn’t speak. “I see. The fact that you live five miles from the hotel where he’s been living for months is a coincidence. The fact that you found his body is also a coincidence. But you don’t want to admit this. I see.” He kept nodding. His words were neutral, even gentle, but his face was angry.

  “I’m telling the truth.” Laney wanted to convince him, but she was also afraid of disappointing him.

  “Varn!” All trace of Mr. Singh’s polite voice was gone.

  19

  Norma fought back despair. A man had been drowned, right where Laney’s bike was found. Sandal Man would stop at nothing.

  Coigne had driven her to the diner parking lot where she’d left her car and gotten out with her. She thought he was going to tell her his next move in the investigation. Instead he opened her car door and looked at her, his forehead creased and his eyes questioning. For a second she was confused.

  He placed a hand on her shoulder. “The best thing you can do now—”

  “I don’t need advice.” She brushed his hand off like it was a bug. “I need you to do your job.” She got in her car and drove off. Without knowing her own next move in the search, she headed to Samoset Beach to think about it.

  Standing in the sand where the horror began just the day before brought neither inspiration nor solace. I can stand here and listen to waves lapping or get a move on, she thought. What she refused to do was wonder why she had snapped at Coigne. There was no time and besides, did it matter? She answered her own question in the affirmative. It hadn’t escaped her notice that he was now telling her far more than he needed to and even including her in that interview. He might get angry enough to exclude her from further involvement. She also felt something disturbing after her show of temper—remorse. She wasn’t sure Coigne deserved quite so much disrespect as she was dishing out. But as with other inklings that caused her to reconsider strong positions taken, she tossed this inkling away with a comforting and dispositive, “Whatever.”

  By now, the police would have told Anne about finding Laney’s bike at Marymac Pond, maybe even told her of the drowned man with the kayak. Despite overwhelming fatigue, she stopped by Anne’s to offer support.

  Her friend was playing the piano, one of Chopin’s Ballades. Norma didn’t interrupt, but stood in the doorway until the sound died. Anne’s fingers lingered over the keys and she studied them, as though waiting for what they might play next.

  Norma wasn’t sure Anne knew she’d arrived until she shifted around on the piano bench and said, “I’ve just heard from Lieutenant Coigne.”

  Norma nodded and sat down. Anne told her what she’d learned, then said, “When you called earlier today, you said you wanted to talk about something. What was it?”

  “You feel up to it? You look like hell.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Buddy Todd. All these years, I thought no one knew who Laney’s father was. You never mentioned him. Why?”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about him, Norma, but really, to know him was to want to forget him and believe me, I tried hard.” Anne left the piano and sat down in the armchair across from Norma. “Lieutenant Coigne’s description of Buddy as a low-life drifter was kind. Compared to him, Gin was Mother-of-the-Year. He was no ordinary heroin addict—he was the bad kind you see in documentaries who sacrifice anything and anyone, including their children, to feed their habit.”

  Norma said nothing. She couldn’t imagine what it was like for Anne to know Laney’s father was a monster.

  “Gin’s upstair
s by the way, coping with the news about Crawford’s death. Probably took something to calm down. Helpful, right?” Anne couldn’t resist adding.

  Norma didn’t want the conversation to devolve into a Gin-bash. Anne needed hope and resilience, but all the life and intelligence that usually radiated from her face had drained away, leaving behind a frail, old woman. “The police are pretty certain Laney’s “Sandal Man” is involved in her disappearance. If you still don’t remember any more about him, Anne, maybe Gin will.”

  “Gin doesn’t retain information that long. I’m afraid talking to her would be a waste of time.”

  If Gin had taken a pill “to calm down,” Anne was probably right. Norma would try her in a few hours. In the meantime, she brought Anne a glass of sherry and left.

  Her house was quiet, making Norma relive her loss. Bark wasn’t there to leap at her and convey all that love through his slobbering pounce. “He’s lying on a slab, dead. Deal with it.”

  Her spirits sank further at the sight of her once comfortable home. Coigne’s men had poked around looking for evidence. They’d called in a hauling company to help her get rid of the broken glass, bed stuffing, and other things beyond repair. It was up to Norma to sort through salvageable items like scratched furniture, scattered clothes and torn books. Her head throbbed, trying to figure out where to begin, but it didn’t matter anyway. Straightening up wasn’t her priority.

  Norma had gotten through law school by avoiding subjects that bewildered her and working like hell on those she could master. She’d use that strategy now. Coigne was in the best position to follow up on most leads, but there was one in her sole possession, which she’d picked up at Dunscombe and Dohnan. She needed to understand how the Todd family’s ownership of that slip of property on Samoset Way fit in with everything else that had happened, especially Laney’s disappearance.

  She grabbed a yellow legal pad and on a clean sheet, titled it “Facts” and started a list.

  1. Laney Sager meets Sandal Man at beach, discovers Buddy Todd’s body. Buddy was on his way to lawyer Dohnan, angry and with proof of paternity.