Page 42 of Forged in Secrets

After Grace had said hello and accepted their offer of a cold soda, Ben asked them about that night.

Unfortunately, their brief streak of good luck ran out just as quickly as it had begun.

“We just got here on Thursday. Last week.” One of the boys flicked a few droplets from his iced water at one of the girls, who promptly whipped him with a rolled up towel. “We stayed out late at the party on Monday. I did run back here to get my hotel room key at one point, but I don’t recall seeing anything of note.”

Ben nodded, trying not to let his frustration show. He asked the boy a few more questions about which one ofthem owned the boat, and the girl who had first greeted them chimed in that it belonged to her stepmother. No one seemed to be hiding anything.

“You know,” one of the girls who had not spoken yet said, pressing a finger to her lips. “There is someone who might know something.”

“Oh, of course!” One of the boys smacked his forehead with his open palm. “I mean, good luck talking to her, but–”

“Who? Talking to who?” Grace interrupted him.

“I don’t know her name,” he said. “Frankly, we’ve been referring to her as ‘cranky marina lady’ ever since we got here. She nearly ripped Corinna’s head off for messing up her cleat hitch.”

“Well, I know how to do a perfect Ashley Bend,” Grace said. “I think I can handle her. Where is she?”

Ben waited as Grace got the directions to the woman’s boat, wondering briefly if he should pull out his phone and Google what on earth they were talking about.

“Well, good luck to you both,” the girl Ben assumed was probably Corinne said as they climbed back down onto the dock.

“We’ve got this,” Grace said, flashing her perfect smile.

They gave the kids a final wave goodbye as they headed toward another one of the main dock’s jutting arms.

“An Ashley Bend is a kind of knot, by the way,” Grace said. “So is a cleat hitch, though that one is a lot simpler. You use it to tie off on those little metal things along the edge of the dock.”

Ben nodded. “Right. Makes sense.”

Neither spoke for several minutes, both lost in their own thoughts as the afternoon breeze washed over them.

Grace walked a little closer to him, letting her hand brush his own.

He reached out and took it without hesitation, letting their clasped fingers swing between them as they walked, not wanting to say a word.

When it came to knowing how to handle the feelings that he had for Grace, he felt as pathetic as a sailor who didn’t know how to tie his shoes.

GRACE

“She looks like she could be Dolly’s cousin. What do we do?” Grace asked in a stage whisper as she and Ben headed toward the woman’s sailboat.

Ben chuckled, but she was only half kidding. She found herself wishing that she was still holding his hand.

The older woman was leaning against the railing of the boat, her long white hair whipping against her face as she stared at them. The woman’s expression held no shame and made no apologies. It was clear before they said a single word that this woman not only looked like their head of security back in San Antonio, but shared her intimidating demeanor.

“Who’s this now?” the woman called out, squinting at them as they drew up alongside the shabby craft. It looked to be a solid three decades older than the Lumeneer II. At least. “I told Wilson I ain’t paying til the fifteenth. We agreed. He owes me big time. You tell ‘im that!”

Grace’s usual cheerful way of greeting strangers felt stuck in her throat. She had no idea what the lady was talking about, and her tone was not the least bit friendly.

Fortunately, Ben was able to turn on the charm once ina very rare while, and he did so now as he introduced them.

“We were told that you know all of the ins and outs of this place, ma’am.” Ben said with a smile, gesturing broadly as though she’d been declared the expert on everything happening on South Padre Island. “We just need a minute of your time to answer a few questions for us.”

The woman–her name was Connie–took her sun hat off and started using it to fan her face. “Now I’m no gossip,” she warned. “Let’s get that good and clear.”

“We wouldn’t dream of expecting you to gossip,” Grace ventured. “But we thought maybe you could help. A friend of ours has been missing since Monday night, and we think one of the sailboats moored here might be related in some way to her disappearance.”

She had expected the woman’s pinched eyes to soften, but instead they filled with fresh steel. “Y’all are cops? Look, I have my gator license, like I says. But I left it at my house on the mainland, and my tenant isn’t interested in letting me come hunt it down. I just need a week.”

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