Page 14 of Light of Day
It was a sunny day, bright and clear, the sky the kind of blue that made you want to sing. Heather found a comfortable position braced on the cushioned bench along the starboard side. It took a moment to focus the binoculars and adjust to the gentle rise and fall of the boat as it crept slowly along the shoreline.
Heather shoved aside that grim thought and focused on scanning every rock, every granite cliff-face, pine grove, grassy meadow, and stretch of beach that passed through her field of vision.
They searched the east side first, since Gabby had been staying at the Lightkeeper Inn. On this end, sheer cliffs soared high above the ocean, facing stubbornly into the wind and waves. Constant surf churned against their bases, forming pebble beaches and crevices in the rocks. Heather had heard rumors of caves in those rocks, but saw no signs of any.
Seagulls wheeled at their approach, anticipating a treat of bait tossed over the side. Cormorants posed on a reef, black wings spread so the wind could dry their feathers.
God, it was beautiful here.
As they approached the fishing end of the island, homes came into view, tucked into the woods above the shoreline. Many had private docks, some belonging to the older fishing families, some attached to more expensive summer homes. Over the past few decades, off-islanders had been buying more and more properties and tearing down the old homes.
For so many fishermen, the big payday of a house sale was irresistible, especially because the next generation often wanted nothing to do with the hard life of a Maine lobsterman. Best to sell and live off the profit. The rise in property values put more and more houses out of reach for anyone who wasn’t an off-island lawyer or surgeon or financier. That meant the year-round community kept getting smaller and smaller, and those who were left had to pay higher and higher property taxes.
Heather wouldn’t be at all surprised if her mother sold their house. The prospect made her sad, in a way, but she’d already steeled herself for the day when a huge chunk of her past got signed over to a demolition crew.
For the first hour or so of their slow-mo cruise around Sea Smoke, Heather didn’t see anything unusual. The only flashes of color she spotted came from buoys that had washed up, tangled in kelp and stranded above the tideline. In each cove they passed, someone was swimming, or paddling a kayak, or offloading lobster traps. Presumably, if Gabby was stranded or lost there, she’d be able to shout for help.
It wasn’t until they reached Shell Beach that she finally called to Luke to slow down. He did so, bringing theIzzy Cto an idle.
“See something?”
“It looks like a visor.” She pointed out the scrap of fabric caught on a piece of driftwood emerging from the shells like a bleached bone. “Gabby has one like it. She plays tennis.”
Her throat tightened as Luke brought the boat closer to shore. This was bad…or was it? Maybe Gabby had just lost her visor. But what had she even been doing out here on this strange beach? No one came here to swim; the currents were too strong here on the southern point. It wasn’t easy to reach, either, requiring a mile-long trek down a muddy, swampy footpath. Growing up, Heather had been here only a few times, although those memories had really stuck with her. The whole place had a deserted, windswept feel—almost haunted.
But sure enough, the closer they got, the more that visor screamed “Gabby.” White, with a green stripe and a Nike symbol—what were the chances that someone else had lost the exact same kind of visor out here?
Luke dropped the anchor and pulled the Zodiac they’d been tugging alongside the boat. He rowed while she scanned the area with the binoculars, looking for any more signs of Gabby’s presence. But the beach, as usual, was empty of any life other than a seagull perched on a log, watching them with a cocked head and a bright eye.
Running on the shell beach was like moving through quicksand. Heather was out of breath by the time she reached the driftwood. She plucked the visor off the branch and checked the inside of the strap. GR.
“It’s definitely Gabby’s,” she told Luke as he came alongside. “To me it looks like she hung it here on purpose.”
“Or maybe someone else found it and put it there so its owner would see it.”
“True. I guess that’s why you’re the constable. What?”
Luke was frowning at the visor. He pointed to a brown spot on the strap. “That doesn’t look like sweat to me.”
Heather went ice cold. No, it certainly didn’t look like sweat. It looked like blood. “Oh my God.”
“Hey hey. It’s just a small stain, it could have been from a cut or a mosquito bite she scratched. Don’t jump to conclusions.”
Heather took one of those calming in-and-out breaths people were always recommending. He made a good point. “If she was hurt, there would be a lot more blood, right?”
“Most likely.” He scanned the beach. The sunlight reflected glints of iridescence in the bits of shell, which ranged from pink to apricot to bleached ivory. Surely blood-red would stand out. But blood faded as it dried, and it might have been washed away by the tide.
“Too bad it rained yesterday,” he said.
Heather’s heart sank. Maybe there had been a trail of blood, but if so, it was gone now. On impulse, she cupped her hands around her mouth. “Gabby!” she yelled. “Are you here, Gabby? Can you hear me?”
Only the constant lap of waves hissing on the shell beach answered her. “I guess that was silly,” she muttered, dropping her hands.
“No, it’s not. She was here at some point. Let’s try the woods too.” They climbed up to the top of the beach, where tangled green clouds of wild mustard and beach peas grew. Beyond that, they entered the hushed shelter of a pine forest, its thick moss and pine needle floor cushioning their steps.
As they walked along the footpath, they called Gabby’s name and looked for broken branches, muddy footprints—anything that would indicate someone had been here recently.
“Who owns this land?” Heather asked after they’d walked for half an hour and seen nothing out of the ordinary, as long as you didn’t count the red-headed woodpecker they startled, or the tiny orange mushrooms sprouting from a nurse log. She found it charming that Luke crouched down to take photos of the fungi. Family outlaw, constable and wildlife photographer? Luke wasn’t at all what she’d expected.
