Page 15 of Cursed Waters

Wood creaked against linoleum as Dad got up from his chair, heading for the door. “Have fun out shopping,” he said, leaning down to tuck a folded wad of cash into the front pocket of my bag. I went shopping so infrequently that I had plenty of money of my own to spend, but I knew better than to protest. He’d make me take it anyway.

“Thanks, Dad.”

Before I could call out my goodbyes, Gram yelled something about letting all the heat out of the house, and the door eased shut behind me.

Chilled air hit my face as I walked down the front steps, and I held the heated pot closer. The weather sure had turned cold fast.

I chased after my breath as I hiked the mile to the strip, the little icy puffs tickling my nose as I went. The colder it got, the emptier the streets were, and the tighter everyone pinched their pennies. But I needed some retail therapy, and the fewer locals around to run into, the better. Not that I didn’t enjoy talking with them, but I actually wanted to get some shopping done this trip.

Personally, I enjoyed the stillness that came with the cold, which made today the perfect day for shopping. It was a short walk to the O’Malleys’, but I took my time, humming as I strolled down the sidewalk.

“I’m looking for a fisherwoman,” a loud voice called from a shopfront, and my boot paused mid-step. Two women stood in the doorway to the bait shop, and judging by how pink Mr. Terance’s face looked through the window, they seemed to be giving him some trouble. Veering from the sidewalk, I shuffled across the street.

“Fisherwoman?Nah, nah, now don’t be going around disrespecting our anglers like that, miss. Calling someone a fisherman ain’t a gender thing. Nah, it’s a respect thing. We’re all out on the same boats, tinkering over the same nets and spoolers, and we get the same title. FISHERMAN.”

“Excuse me,” I said, and all three faces turned.

“Claira, my dear. How are you doing this fine fall evening?” Mr. Terance’s slow drawl called from behind the counter. The lazy store owner hadn’t even bothered to stand up from his stool. There wasn’t much, save hurricanes, that got him moving these days.

“Sorry to butt in, Mr. Terance, but I overheard these ladies are looking for someone?”

Two pairs of green eyes stared back at me. Sporting the same bleached, wavy hair, they could have easily been sisters. From the tension between the closest one’s eyebrows, Mr. Terance must have been giving her a hard time as well. Blotting dark lipstick with the tip of a well-manicured finger, the woman flashed me a fake, toothy smile.

“Yes, we are,” she said, stepping through the doorway. The other woman mirrored the first’s movements, shifting behind her like a shadow. The bell over the top of the bait shop’s door chimed as the door slammed shut behind them. With the shop now empty, Mr. Terance hunched forward, getting back to his usual chore of clipping out coupons he’d never use from the newspaper.

“I know just about everyone there is to know here in town. Maybe I can help?” I tucked the slow cooker in to give them more room on the sidewalk. The heat from the pot was nearly roasting my stomach, which meant I had plenty of time to send them on their way before the chowder got too cold.

“How very kind of you.” The lipstick-stained woman clapped a hand over my shoulder and began leading me down the strip, her companion falling in line behind us. “We are looking for a fisherwo—I mean, we are looking for alady fisherman.”

“Sorry about that. You can call us fisherwomen. Mr. Terance is a bit stuck in his ways.” I glanced back at the quiet woman trailing us. Something about her silence and the way she moved made me nervous. “There aren’t too many of us around. Do you have their name?”

The woman beckoned me down the pavement, her tight grip on my shoulder pulling me forward. Even stranger, her long legs carried us at a pace that suggested she had some idea where she was headed.

“No name, no, but Idoknow she lives in a little shack overlooking a pier.”

Well, that sure narrowed it down. She’d pretty much described every house in the entire town.

“Why are you looking for this specific woman? If you need an angler, there are plenty of hardworking, honest ones I can point you to, woman or man.”

“Just a moment,” she said suddenly, and she let go of my shoulder. Despite the chilly breeze, I started to sweat.

Dumpsters sat between two surf shops on a path to our left, and the woman behind me ushered me forward, all three of us turning down it in unison before I could protest.

When we reached the end, both of them halted so abruptly I nearly lost my grip on Gram’s slow cooker.

This didn’t feel right. Why were we off the sidewalk?

“Gray eyes. Matted, disgusting red hair.” The woman laughed, twisting back on her heels. “And here I was, worried you’d be prettier than me. Ha!”

My jaw opened. The word “what?” was locked and ready to slingshot off the tip of my tongue, but a loudcrackthundered through my eardrums, and everything went black.

8

Claira

Aburlap sack was over my head. A freakingsack.

My steel-toes pummeled every angle, but my boots were met with walls in every direction. An engine revved, and my stomach lurched. A trunk. They’d locked me in a trunk!

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