Page 5 of Light of Day
But that was so long ago. When she was six or so, “No Trespassing” signs had been posted and no one ever went there anymore.
The pilot’s voice on the intercom jerked her back to the present moment. “West Dock is our first stop. We’ll be disembarking from the lower deck. Please make sure to collect all your belongings.”
Heather blinked at Annie, who was peering at her curiously. “You okay there?”
“Fine.” She checked her phone one last time. Still nothing from Gabby. It was Sunday now, which made it two days without a peep from her. If only she’d gotten out of town in time for the last boat on Saturday, but she hadn’t quite managed that.
Just got to the dock. Where the f are you?
She stood up and grabbed the handle of her carry-on-sized wheeled suitcase. The dock lay ahead, only a few dozen yards away. The usual collection of islanders were reeling in their lines or chatting under the shelter of the freight shed. Later in the summer, kids in swimming suits would mill around, waiting for the ferry to depart so they could jump into the churning wake. But right now the water was still too cold for that.
No Gabby.
“Annie, did you by chance see my friend here the last few days? She was here with me the last time I came. We ran into you at the grocery store.”
Annie was busy gathering up her tote bags. “You mean that Black girl with the braids?”
Heather nodded, with a mental apology to Gabby for the reductive description.
“Yeah, she was here. I heard she got some folks upset with all her questions.”
“What folks?”
The ferry bumped against the tarred wooden posts of the pier. A deckhand flung the looped end of a thick yellow rope across the gap between the boat and the pier, where it settled around a cleat.
“That’s not my business.” Annie signaled to her husband, waiting on the dock with a gorilla cart for her groceries. “You should talk to Luke Carmichael.”
“LukeCarmichael? Why would I do that?” Luke Carmichael was the second-to-youngest son of John Carmichael III, though still a little older than Heather. She knew him mostly by reputation as the black sheep of the family. Certainly that was a point in his favor, considering what snobs the Carmichaels were. But still, in general, Carmichaels and McPhees had very little to do with each other.
“He’s the constable now. Didn’t you know?”
3
Any jobthat could be done while fishing off the dock behind the office was a good one, if you asked Luke Carmichael. He had his phone on him, and a note on the office door directed drop-ins to come around back. The lockup was empty at the moment, and his desk mostly empty of paperwork. A light northeast breeze was blowing off the sound, the bees were humming in the lilac bushes.
Perfect moment to catch a few mackerel off the dock.
Until your phone rang while you were in the midst of reeling in a feisty one.
“We have a missing guest at the hotel,” said Judy Griffin, once he’d dropped the mackerel onto the dock and fished out his phone.
In the three years since he’d taken on the job of constable of Sea Smoke Island, Luke had dealt mostly with petty crime, noise complaints, and the occasional turf war among lobstermen. Domestic violence incidents came across the scanner on a regular basis, fueled by Sea Smoke Island’s biggest troublemaker, alcohol.
A missing guest—that was a first.
“How long have they been missing?” he asked Judy. She’d been the supervising manager of the Lightkeeper Inn for the past twenty years. He used to be terrified of her because she had a sixth sense for when he and his friends were sneaking into empty rooms to smoke weed.
“She. Since Friday. She was supposed to check out today, but when the chambermaids went to clean the room, all her things were still there. But there was no sign of her. I asked around if anyone had seen her, but no one had after about noon on Friday.”
It was Sunday now. He didn’t have regular hours; he was more or less always on call. Occasionally his assistant would fill in for him when he needed a break. But Marigold was newly engaged and he hated to interrupt her giddy wedding planning.
“What do you know about her? How long had she been staying at the hotel? What was she doing out here? Also, I’m going to need a list of everyone who interacted with her, as far as you know.”
With a sigh, he picked up his flopping mackerel and tossed him back in the ocean. He wouldn’t have time to clean it now that an actual case had come his way. Fishing rod over his shoulder, bucket in hand, he headed back to the office so he could jot down some notes. The constable occupied one end of a mid-century gray-shingled warehouse structure that also housed a diesel mechanic and a pottery studio.
“Gabrielle Ramon is her name. She booked a room for a whole week, which…well, you know that’s pretty expensive. I was surprised that someone her age could afford it. But these days, you never know. There’s a fellow, no more’n twenty-five, who wants to buy the resort, can you imagine? I thought he must be from money, but it turns out he’s something called an influencer.”
Luke tried to imagine his autocratic, old-school father selling his legacy to an “influencer,” and let out a brief laugh. “Good luck with that.”
