Page 77 of Skin and Bones

“Help me right into an early grave,” I muttered and then sang, “But I will survive. I will survive. Come on Mabel. Get it together.”

I moved as silently as possible, making my way toward what looked like a cluster of small buildings farther along the marina. One had a light on—a small, shabby structure with a sign identifying it as the harbormaster’s office.

The beam of Reynolds’ flashlight swept dangerously close, and I dropped to my hands and knees, crawling beneath a pier. The water lapped at the wood just inches below me, and something slimy—I refused to think about what—pressed against my cheek as I flattened myself against a piling.

Reynolds’ footsteps thudded overhead, boards creaking under his weight. Through gaps in the planks, I could see the flashlight beam playing across the water, so close I could see the particles of dust dancing in its glow. I held my breath, counting the seconds, certain he could hear my heart trying to pound its way out of my chest.

“Stupid woman,” he muttered above me. “Where did she go?”

I remained frozen until his footsteps receded, then counted to thirty before daring to move. My muscles screamed in protest as I uncurled from my hiding spot, knees and palms scraped raw from the rough wood.

I emerged onto the walkway, orienting myself toward the harbormaster’s office, then made a desperate dash for it. My heel caught on a loose board, sending me sprawling forward with a startled cry. I landed hard, the impact driving the air from my lungs. For a terrible moment, I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

When I managed to get up, I realized my left shoe had broken beyond repair. I quickly slipped off both shoes—better to run in bare feet than with one heel missing—and continued toward the harbormaster’s office, splinters immediately pricking the tender soles of my feet as I ran across the rough wood.

The door was locked, but through the window I could see an elderly man with a shock of white hair dozing in a chair, a portable TV flickering silently on the desk before him.

I knocked frantically, startling the poor man so badly he nearly fell from his chair. He squinted at me through the glass, clearly trying to make sense of a bedraggled woman appearing at his door in the middle of the night.

“Please,” I mouthed, gesturing urgently. “Help.”

He hesitated, then shuffled to the door, opening it just enough to peer out. “Marina’s closed,” he said, his voice gravelly with age and cigarettes. “Come back in the morning.”

“I’ve been kidnapped,” I said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “By a police officer. He’s after me right now. Please, I need to use your phone. Please.”

The man’s eyes widened, taking in my disheveled appearance, the blood on my wrist, the wild panic I knew must be written across my face. He stepped back, opening the door wider.

“Come in, come in,” he said, locking the door behind me. “Phone’s on the desk. You want me to call 911?”

“No,” I said quickly, lunging for the phone. “I need to call the sheriff directly. The one who’s after me, he’s with the department. I don’t know who to trust.”

The old man nodded, understanding darkening his weathered face. “Not the first time Grimm Island’s had trouble with its lawmen,” he said. “Make your call. I’ll keep an eye out.”

My mind went blank as I tried to remember Dash’s number. I visualized it in my mind, a trick I’d learned in college, and dialed. My hands shook so badly I misdialed twice before finally getting the number right. He answered on the first ring.

“Beckett.”

“Dash,” I gasped, relief flooding me at the sound of his voice. “It’s Mabel. I’m?—”

“Mabel!” he interrupted, tension vibrating through the connection. “Where are you? Are you hurt? We’ve been searching everywhere.”

“I’m at the harbormaster’s office at the marina,” I said, words tripping over themselves. “Reynolds kidnapped me. He was going to hand me over to whoever killed Elizabeth. Dash, I think he’s still out there looking for me.”

“Stay where you are,” Dash ordered, and I could hear the sound of a car engine revving in the background. “I’m five minutes out. Harris and Jackson are closer. I’ve given them the address. Do not leave that building, you understand?”

“Understood,” I said, peering anxiously through the window. “How did you know I was missing?”

“The Silver Sleuths,” Dash replied. “Deidre got worried when you didn’t come back with Reynolds. When they couldn’t reach you they called me and we tried Reynolds’ radio and it was turned off. Deidre’s threatening to shoot Reynolds on sight.”

Despite everything, I smiled. “That sounds like Deidre.”

“Stay on the line with me,” Dash said, his voice gentler now. “I’m almost there.”

The harbormaster tapped my shoulder, pointing urgently toward the window. “Someone’s coming,” he whispered.

I peered carefully through the blinds and my blood froze. Reynolds was approaching the office, his service weapon drawn, a dark stain visible on the side of his head even in the dim light.

“He’s here,” I whispered into the phone. “Reynolds is outside the office. I can see him through the window.”

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