Cloaked in Malice (10 page)

“I’m not sure I want to know about my past,” Paisley said later that night, after a wonderful seafood dinner, as we pulled into the driveway of my father’s house. “Maybe I’d rather forget the past and just have a future.”

“Pardon me for sounding philosophical,” I said as we went into the house together, “but, Paisley, I’m not sure you can have a future without making peace with your past. Especially if…”

“If what?” she asked at my hesitation.

Nick raised a finger, like he wanted to field that question. “
If
there’s an honest to Teddy Roosevelt reason why you’re afraid of guns,” Nick said.

I nodded. “And a reason you’re nervous about being safe.
I mean everybody worries, but you were afraid of this house, even after you got the local police detective’s approval of me, before and after you agreed to come home with me.”

“I’m going overboard? Is that not normal? How would I know from normal? Why Teddy Roosevelt?”

“He started the FBI so he’s somewhat of a hero to me,” Nick admitted. “You were smart to talk to Detective Werner before agreeing to stay at the home of someone you didn’t know. Smarter than most.
However
, I believe that you need to look into your past to find out what
your
normal is and
why
.”

Paisley sighed heavily. “That makes sense, but don’t expect me to sleep tonight,” she said at the doorway to her room.

I squeezed her arm. “The way you were forced to work today, I think you’ll sleep just fine. Take a hot bath first, and don’t spare the bubbles.”

“Good idea,” she said, turning on one foot, already bubbly, even before the bath. “Thanks.”

Nick cupped my shoulder and pulled me along. “Very good idea,” he whispered, but we fell into bed still dressed, and the alarm rang ten minutes later, or so it seemed. I tried to throw the clock across the room, but Nick stopped me. “Up, up, right now. Stewart McCreadie is an early riser.”

“How do you know that?” I rolled over and pulled my pillow over my head.

Nick removed it. “McCreadie’s a guide. You know, he takes out sport fishermen. I read the posted list of departure and return times on his website. The
Concertina
leaves the dock at five
A.M
.”

“The damn fool.”

Nick chuckled. “Nothing designer today.” He opened my door, stood in my doorway, and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Paisley, can you hear me? Wear ratty clothes. Nothing designer today.”

“I hear you!” she called back. “Maddie’s father can hear you four houses up.”

Paisley stepped into the hall, arms crossed, a long blonde curl hanging above one eye.

Nick chuckled. “Good, both of you wear clothes that can get muddy, wet, dirty, spiderwebby, and cellar dusty.”

“Ugh. Cut it out, or we’ll barf before breakfast.” I poked him in the chest.

“Oh, it’s worse than that, Mad,” Paisley said from her end of the hall.

I peeked around Nick. “How much worse?” I asked.

“You’ll have to walk through a farmyard with chicken, turkey, and duck poo everywhere.”

“No dead animals, though, right? I mean, you didn’t just leave the sheep, cows, and chickens there, did you?”

“Of course not. When Pap knew he was sick, he butchered and dressed everything, so Mam and I would have provisions. The animals are all smoked, canned, pickled, or frozen.”

“But the chicken poop is still there?” I asked.

“’Fraid so. It makes great fertilizer, though, so I’m guessing the grass is tall and green, and full of snakes.”

“I think I’ll stay home,” I said, passing her to head for the stairs in yesterday’s outfit, but Nick took me by the shoulders and turned me back toward my room.

“We’ll be ready in ten minutes, Paisley,” he said. “Jeans and boots and slickers or trench coats, against the sea spray,” he said, shutting my door.

“What about breakfast?” I asked him as he prodded me into my bathroom.

“We’ll catch some at a drive-through.” He turned on the shower.

I crossed my arms. “We don’t have time for one of
those
kinds of showers.”

“Too bad,” he whispered, nuzzling my neck until he got to my ear. “I looked up Paisley on the computer yesterday,” he whispered. “There is no such person as Paisley Skye
on record
. No birth certificate, no social security number.”

“So her name is fake. Even she suspects as much. What? You don’t think it’s an alias, do you?”

“No, her legitimate birth might never have been recorded, if she was born in the backwoods somewhere, but I thought you should know. Keep up your guard.”

I saluted, kissed him a good one, then left him to the shower while I went to my dressing room.

When we met in the hall, Paisley and I compared outfits
—jeans, T-shirts, and hoodies against the sea air. Cowboy boots for me, gun boots for her. And then there were the trench coats. Hers was a savvy, rust-colored swing coat. Mine, a black Burberry military trench. We admired each other verbally, even in our worst outfits, though we’d both chosen well in the trench coat department.

“Will you two stop talking about clothes and move your sweet tushies out to the Hummer?”

“Who’s got a sweet tush?” I asked.

“You both do, Ladybug. I may be yours, but I’m not blind.”

“Why, thank you,” Paisley said.

Nick and his Hummer got us to the Noank docks in record time, but we barely caught the
Concertina
.

From a distance, the white-bearded captain seemed unnecessarily terse when he spoke to Nick then looked over at the Hummer, and I wasn’t sure if he saw us or not. Then Nick flashed his badge and the captain grudgingly replied to Nick’s questions.

Twelve

The trench coat is the only thing that has kept its head above water.

—JACK LIPMAN

That we watched the
Concertina
motor away confused me. I’d expected it to take us to the island.

I elbowed Nick when he got back into the Hummer. “Why did you let him go?”

“I had no reason to arrest him,” Nick said. “Though if I could have found one, I might have searched his boat for contraband.”

I silently agreed with Nick’s take on the guy. “I
mean
, how are
we
getting to the island?”

“After that attitude, I wouldn’t have gone with him if I planned to. No, I rented us a boat online early this morning.”

“Where
is
our boat then?”

“Our boat? I love it when you put us together in the possessive.”

“You’re such a romantic for a gun-carrying thug.”

“Barf,” Paisley mumbled. “You two need to get a room.”

Nick winked and I chuckled.

“Our boat is the
Misty Maid
and it’s right there,” Nick said. “Ours for the day anyway.” He jumped onboard, and gave us each a hand down, then he pulled a captain’s hat out of his pocket, slipped it on, cast off the lines, and started the boat.

“You’re a handy one, being a Fed and able to captain a boat,” Paisley said.

“We Feds need the occasional fast getaway, which means we can pilot just about any vehicle known to man. But no, I’m not a secret astronaut.”

“He can give us a ride on a hot air balloon, though,” I quipped. “He has hidden talents, my Fed.”

Paisley turned toward the port quarter. “What in the world is
that
?”

She sounded so traumatized, I went to see. “Look, Nick, it’s a submarine.”

Paisley sort of yipped in surprise. “A real, live submarine? In these waters? Why?”

“It’s on a test run,” Nick said. “They’re built near here. And the only live thing about it is probably the test crew. I’m ninety-nine percent sure they’re not packing live ammo, or if they are, they’re not planning to use it.”

“Then why is that Coast Guard speed boat following it—with a man up front pointing a freaking machine gun? Are we safe?”

There she went, using the word “safe” again.

“This is normal for around here,” I promised her.

She pointed. “So what’s
that
for?”

“Off the starboard quarter? That’s the
Eagle
, a Coast Guard cutter used as a training ship for the Coast Guard Academy. She also takes part in tall ships parades, and sometimes she’s a goodwill ambassador in foreign ports. It’s all quite normal; we just passed a government boatyard.”

“You sure?”

“I grew up around here. I’m sure. My neighbors work at the boatyard as pipe fitters, welders, and such. You name it.”

Paisley crossed her arms. Not a sign of total security, but she nodded. “Okay then.”

My phone rang and caller ID said,
Werner
. “Detective,” I said, picking up. “Just seeing your name on my phone inspires me to say uh-oh instead of hello. What’s up?”

“Good news–bad news,” he said. “We found Dolly.”

“Thank goodness. At a local bed-and-breakfast, right?”

“No, Mad. You don’t think our Dolly would do something so simple, now do you? She’s actually in Paris.”

“France?”

“Well, it’s not Paris, Texas.”

“Is she all right? Does she have amnesia or something?”

“I talked to her and to the physician’s assistant she hired as her traveling companion,” Werner said, “and they both assured me that she’s fine. She’s royally pissed that she was picked up by the
gendarmes,
on my orders, and she said to tell everyone in town that she’s old enough to make her own damned decisions.”

“Did you at least ask her why she was there?”

“Don’t tell me how to do my job, Madeira. Of course I asked her. She said it was none of my business, and she’ll be back when she’s back.”

I winced. “How did Ethel take your news?”

I thought I heard a throat-clearing chuckle at that. “She’s being sedated as we speak.”

“No kidding. No, wait! She’s supposed to be minding my shop.”

“Eve and her mother are doing fine. Ethel’s here at home resting. Where are you anyway?” he asked. “I hear a strange noise.”

“Oh, somewhere in the middle of Fishers Island Sound. Nick’s playing captain. We’re having a boating picnic. Paisley’s with us.”

“Eve’s mother said you were looking for Dolly.”

I huffed, because I knew what was coming.

“You’re sleuthing again, aren’t you, Madeira? I just can’t figure out what crime you think you’re investigating.”

“Let’s just say that I’m trying to connect some dots, and Dolly’s one of them. I promise we won’t step on your jurisdiction, if it comes to that.”

“I’m so glad you’re Nick’s problem now,” Werner said, as if to himself, and then silence.

In my experience, a person only ever says that to convince
themselves
. “I miss you, too, Lytton. Talk to you soon.”

He hung up without saying another word.

“You’d better
not
miss him,” Nick mumbled.

“I miss having a good
working
relationship with him.”

“That’s okay then.”

“I know it is. He’ll always be a friend.”

Paisley pointed out her island, but a storm cloud had descended between us and it, and a cloud elongated and touched the water, then it sucked water up into it. “That’s a waterspout,” I said.

Nick had trouble controlling the boat because the spout caused an unexpected whirlpool that swirled us around, as if we were working our way down a drain or something more sinister.

“Can you get us out of this?” I asked Nick.

“I don’t know why McCreadie didn’t warn us about this. He was listening to the weather and making notes when I got there. He knows these waters well enough, and I took the route he suggested.”

“The
Concertina
captain’s name was McCreadie, then?”

Nick gave a distracted nod.

“We’ll be out of it in a minute, won’t we?” I asked.

“Either that or we’ll get sucked under and eventually dashed against those rocks. I just can’t seem to pull away from it.”

Thirteen