CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 29

"You sick fuck," she whispered to the empty cabin.

With quivering fingers, she picked up the bit of jewelry with its tarnished sailboat and damning date.

When had he been here?

Months ago?

Yesterday?

She felt her heartbeat kick a little faster.

How long had he stayed?

Had he stayed here? Slept in their bed?

Don't do this, Brooke. Don't let your imagination run wild. He probably dove for it that very same night, sailed south, and left it here months, possibly a year ago. Maybe by now he wouldn't even remember doing it. If it was the original.

She snorted out loud.

Didn't believe her own rationale for a second.

Turning slowly, she looked around the kitchen, then stepped into the living room. She eyed every inch of the living room, with its built-in bookcases and battered, hand-me-down furniture. She imagined him walking through here, an apparition she'd never wanted to envision.

He'd known how to get inside of course. Because she'd shown him. On the weekend they'd come down here, she, still giddily in love or lust or whatever, had retrieved the hidden key from the spot where it always hung behind a crossbeam in the woodshed.

He'd seen her play with Shep, feed him, and stash his toys in the cupboard.

And all the while he'd taken note.

To use the information to haunt and terrorize her.

As she passed through the dining area, she imagined him possibly putting on his wet suit and diving down to retrieve the bracelet where she'd tossed it into the frigid waters of the marina. That was how laser-focused he was. But when he couldn't find it? He'd just had another made.

Who would do that?

Who would go that far?

Who would then come down here and break into the cabin and stash the bracelet here, where it might not be found for years, if ever?

A man obsessed.

She shivered, cold from the inside out.

That was just plain crazy.

What if she hadn't been the one to find the bracelet? What if Neal or Marilee had discovered it? They would have recognized it in a heartbeat, remembered finding it on Shep's collar the day he'd disappeared for a while.

And yet Gideon had left it for her, a brutal reminder.

She found herself still clutching the bracelet so tightly the beads left impressions in her palm.

She had to get rid of it.

She heard the front door open and quickly slipped into the kitchen and laundry room.

"Brooke?" Neal called.

"In here," she yelled back.

Quickly, she shoved the bracelet along with the stuffed toy back into the cabinet. She would get rid of the bit of jewelry permanently, throw it into the sea or bury it deep in the sand on the beach when she had the chance. Forcing a smile, she stepped into the kitchen while Shep bounded across the dining area and wiggled wildly.

"You're doing laundry?" he asked, scratching the dog's ears before walking into the kitchen and dropping a small bag on the counter.

"Checking to see that we had detergent," she lied, then gestured to her wet, sandy running pants. "We're about out."

"Damn." He snapped his fingers. "I was just at the store, almost home when I got your text."

"You went to the store?"

"Yeah, while you were out with Shep the lights flickered a couple of times. I checked the flashlights, all dead. So I ran to the store to get some batteries. While I was there I picked up a quart of eggnog, because it's the holidays and all. Didn't think about laundry soap. Sorry. The trip took longer than I thought because I Ieft my wallet there, so I had to turn around to go back to retrieve it. I thought I'd be home before you, but . . . guess not."

"Doesn't matter, but . . . eggnog, really?" she asked, surprised. She'd never known him to pick up anything that wasn't on a list. At least not recently.

"Yeah," he was saying. "I saw it in the dairy case and thought, why the hell not?" He grinned, and in a flash she remembered other holidays, usually parties where they would sip eggnog laced with rum or brandy and topped with a dash of cinnamon.

"Why the hell not," she repeated, puzzled. "Okay, sure. But later, okay? I need to shower and unpack and settle in."

"Take your time." He was peeling off his jacket. "I'll see if there are any Christmas decorations around."

"Should be—somewhere," she said, curious about his enthusiasm, his newfound Christmas spirit. It was odd, but better than workaholic Neal who was worried about his growing business, or disappearing Neal who spent endless hours at the golf course. "I'll be down soon."

It was a lie.

She was still freaked out at finding the bracelet.

The words that she'd tried so hard to forget, returned:

One way or another, you and I, Brooke, we will be together. Forever. I will never let you go.

Never.

She didn't bother unpacking.

After stripping off her wet clothes she gave herself a quick sponge bath while trying to convince herself that Gideon hadn't been here recently. Certainly the bracelet had been left months ago, and by now he'd long forgotten about her. In the past year he'd had to have found some other woman to obsess over.

She scraped her hair away from her face, snapping it back in a ponytail, and didn't bother with makeup. Rather than unpack, she found a pair of yoga pants and a sweater in her suitcase, threw them on, then flipped on her laptop. Wi-Fi on the island was iffy at best, and with the storm the connection kept failing. The wind howled outside, and as she took a look outside, she noted that the rain had given way to a steady snowfall. Still, she had to find out if Gideon had resurfaced somewhere. "Come on, come on," she muttered, biting her lip as she searched the Internet.

She scoured websites for any information she could find on Gideon Ross and sailboats named the Medusa. She searched local Oregon newspaper websites, along with those in Seattle. In the back of her mind she knew she was grasping at straws. She would find little information on the man she knew as Gideon Ross, but she couldn't help herself. She had to try. She had to do something.

Then there was the simple fact that his name, common enough to be confused with so many others, could be an alias. That could account for a lot of things, questions that had no answers. Maybe he'd been seen at a hospital the night of their near-death struggle under a different name. Hadn't the woman at the marina been confused and stopped talking when she'd mentioned Gideon Ross? What if—no, she'd seen his driver's license. She was letting her wild imagination get the better of her and that was what he'd hoped to do by leaving the bracelet: to remind her. To never let her forget. To mess with her mind.

Don't let him!

In those weeks that she'd been seeing him, she hadn't cared about his past and had thought any mystery surrounding him was all the more intriguing.

"Idiot," she muttered under her breath.

After their last brutal struggle, she'd hoped she'd never hear from him again.

No such luck.

Now she prayed that this reminder was the last.

And now she knew for certain that he hadn't died that night. Even though she'd seen him haul himself out of the water, she'd wondered if he'd survived his wounds or bled out later. There had been so much blood.

Her only confirmation that he'd survived had been the fact that he'd sailed out of Seattle. She also hadn't trusted the woman she'd talked to at the marina. She was too anxious to get off the phone. Brooke had double- and triple-checked that Gideon hadn't returned. She'd driven by the marina several times and taken note that the Medusa had not returned to her berth, or any other one that Brooke had noticed. Also, she hadn't found any death notices, no hospitalizations she'd unearthed, no police reports posted. She'd checked for what seemed weeks on end and finally accepted that he'd left, that he was out of her life.

Until now.

A chill ran down her spine just knowing he'd been here, had walked down these hallways. Possibly he'd been in this bedroom. On her bed. Fantasizing and—

"Stop it!" she growled under her breath. Gideon loved mind games and she was letting him get to her, falling right into his trap.

The lights flickered and she glanced around the pine walls nervously.

Great.

The last thing they needed was to lose power. The last!

Checking her watch, she realized that nearly two hours had passed. She closed down her laptop, preserving its battery life.

The house was quiet aside from the storm outside and the quiet hum of the old furnace. She didn't hear Neal downstairs.

Weird. She'd heard signs of life earlier, the creak of his footsteps on the stairs, his off-key whistling, and Shep's claws on the old hardwood.

But as she opened the bedroom door, she sensed she was alone.

"Neal?" she said, the scent of coffee reaching her as she padded barefoot downstairs. She reached the archway to the living room and stopped short. "What the hell?"

While she'd been upstairs Neal had put up some Christmas lights around the window, strung another set over the Christmas tree, such as it was, a little artificial pine that made Charlie Brown's look like it belonged in Rockefeller Center. And he'd found the crèche. The Nativity scene with its miniature creatures sat on the mantel. Except something was wrong. Baby Jesus, who usually appeared on Christmas Eve, was already in his manger—a common mistake in Nana's opinion—but there was no Joseph. Mary was in the stable, shepherds and animals were all situated around them, the Magi farther away. Even the perennially broken angel was in her spot over the stable's roof.

The back door opened with a gust of cold air and Neal, wearing his parka and heavy work gloves, deposited a basket of firewood on the hearth. "Hey!" he said. "Thought you'd died up there." He hitched his chin toward the ceiling.

"What on earth are you doing?" She motioned to the decorations he'd arranged, all old, some cracked, all filled with memories. Dusty boxes lay open and she recognized a string of oversize bulbs and ancient glass decorations that Nana's mother had purchased long ago at a sale in a Woolworth's in a previous century. "I didn't even know we still had these."

"Rescued them from the attic."

"Really?"

"Um-hmm." He smiled, pleased with himself. "I figured we'll have a retro Christmas! Do you know there's an old portable stereo up there and some LPs from fifty-sixty years ago?"

"Probably longer," she said, remembering her grandmother with a mug of hot chocolate laced with peppermint schnapps in hand as she decorated the forlorn little tree while singing along with the recordings of "White Christmas," "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree," and a host of other favorites.

Brooke recalled those Christmases past with Leah, Mom, Nana, and Nana's lazy cat, Tabitha. They'd spent many Christmas vacations on the island, weathering winter storms, dealing with power outages, and even cooking chili and cornbread in the massive fireplace once when they'd lost power. She'd been six or seven the last time she'd seen snow on the island, a rare occurrence.

As a child she'd been thrilled by the snow; she and Leah had built a snowman that listed far to one side. They'd created snow angels in the small open area off the deck. They'd been freezing cold, ice clumps hanging on their matching wool caps and gloves, which Nana had knitted for them.

Those thoughts touched a part of her that she'd pushed down deep, stirring happier memories of a childhood that had been partially tragic but also a little magical. As taciturn as Mom had been at home when they were in school, here on the island she'd let them run free. Brooke and Leah were allowed to explore the island with few restrictions and they'd felt a freedom and connection to the wildness of nature that few children, including Brooke's own daughter, had experienced.

And now?

What about this Christmas?

She was "celebrating," if that was the correct word with a husband who had become a stranger and a daughter who, at "almost sixteen" thought she was an adult.

"So where's Joseph?" she asked, touching the edge of the mantel where the ceramic characters were displayed. "We're missing a key player here."

Neal followed her gaze and lifted a shoulder. "I know. All of the other figurines were wrapped in plastic, but Joseph has left the building." He paused, then said, "Maybe he realized that his wife wasn't faithful and just took off."

Did his eyes darken just a tad? A silent accusation? Or just a bad joke?

She felt the muscles of her neck tense but managed a half smile. "That's sacrilegious."

"Since when do you care?" Again, he seemed more serious than the conversation warranted.

"I just think it's a little odd." Was there something more to his words or was she just overreacting because her nerves were frayed, her emotions strung out from finding the bracelet?

"Things sometimes get lost," he said as he dusted slivers of wood from his gloves.

Once more the underlying meaning. "We are talking about this, right?" she said, touching the mantel above which the crèche was displayed.

"What else?"

"I don't know, but it seems like you're saying something more here."

A beat.

"Something metaphorical," she clarified. If they were going to have this discussion, it may as well be now. Before Marilee arrived.

Another bit of hesitation. Then he shook his head. "No."

She folded her arms over her chest and stared at him. "This"—she motioned with one hand to include the entire house—"the decorating, the whole getting into the Christmas spirit, is so not you."

"Maybe that's part of the problem," he said.

"The problem?"

"Our problem."

"Oh. So now we are talking about something else?"

The intensity in his expression softened a bit. "Maybe we—both of us—have lost our ability to have a little fun."

That's what this is about?

"What do you mean?" she asked but remembered how the two of them had once enjoyed being together. Simple things were a part of their lives: playing cards or video games or drinking cheap wine and beer with old friends who seemed to have disappeared over the years.

Once all-encompassing and filled with expectation, the holiday "season" had slowly eroded to a company party, maybe an open house, and a small celebration with their tiny family on the big day. No midnight mass, no caroling, no eggnog drinks by the fire, no hiding presents or playing Santa Claus, no feeling of eager anticipation as the holidays approached.

He raised his eyebrows, daring her to argue, but she couldn't.

"Okay," she said, trying to get into the spirit and tamp down her anxiety about Gideon Ross. She was here, now, with Neal, waiting for Marilee, hoping to mend fences and strengthen their little family. She couldn't let anything get in the way. "Okay, I'm in! Retro Christmas it is."

"Good!" One side of Neal's mouth lifted. "Let's get started. I'll be right back." He picked up a second basket and headed for the door. She watched through the window as the dog followed him to the woodshed that angled off the porch.

Relax, she told herself. Everything was going to be fine. Despite finding the bracelet. If Neal was more into the holidays and the family thing this year, that was good, right? Odd, yes, but good. She poured herself a cup of coffee, considered adding a shot of booze if she could find one, and glanced at the woodshed through the windows. The shed's plank door was hanging open, the light inside on, but Neal wasn't visible near the stack of dry cordwood.

No big deal, except that Shep was standing at the edge of the porch, ears cocked, looking behind the door expectantly. His tail wagged slowly, brown fur ruffling with a gust of wind.

Again, not all that odd.

She took a sip, her gaze glued to the window.

Soon Neal hurried from around the door and stuffed something—his phone?—into his jacket pocket. He paused to slip on his gloves before stepping inside to take up the axe again.

So what? He took a call. But why hide behind the screen of the door?

He didn't hide, that's just where he was when the call came in. For the love of God, don't go all hypersuspicious.

Her cell phone buzzed and she swept it from her pocket.

Marilee's number and smiling face, a picture taken her freshman year at Allsworth High School, flashed onto the screen.

Brooke braced herself, expecting her daughter to try to bag out. No way. She wasn't going to let her daughter weasel out of coming to the island. They'd already had the discussion two days earlier when Marilee had called with different plans.

"It's just such a hassle getting to the island from here," she'd complained, "and Wes really wants me to go skiing at Mount Baldy." Wes Inskeep was Marilee's current boyfriend, a senior, and as far as Brooke knew they had only been dating for about six weeks.

"I thought you planned to go for a day after Christmas."

"Yeah, I know, but his parents were able to get the condo for the whole two weeks. You understand, don't you?" Marilee had wheedled. "It's our first Christmas as a couple."

Brooke had been bitterly disappointed, as had Neal. She hadn't said, But you're only fifteen, or You don't know the family. They'd already had that conversation. She and Neal hadn't budged. They'd insisted she come and spend the holidays with them as a family and grudgingly, over pained protests, Marilee had acquiesced, but now—

Brooke answered, "Hey, hi."

"Hi, Mom." Marilee sounded tense, no lift to her voice, and of course here the connection wasn't the best; the Wi-Fi signal on the island was always iffy and, with a storm brewing, it was even worse.

"What's up?"

"There's kind of a change of plan," Marilee said, a touch of rebellion in her voice.

Brooke didn't let the argument start. "You're coming," she said, forcing a smile into her voice. "Tonight. We discussed this."

"Of course I'm coming. Duh! I'm already in Portland. Just landed. What's wrong with you, Mom?"

"What, then?" Brooke asked as she heard the back door open. Shep galloped inside. Neal, carrying a basket of wood, followed.

"I've been talking to Aunt Leah."

Uh-oh."O-kay."

"Yeah, well, you know we keep in contact."

Brooke did, though she wasn't privy to how close her sister and daughter were these days.

"Whatever's going on with you two, that's not on me. Right?" Marilee pointed out. "Whatever happened, I mean." Then more clearly, "Your fight with her."

"I know what you're talking about," Brooke said but tensed. Neal had dropped the basket onto the hearth and was obviously listening as he removed his gloves.

"I think it's stupid that you two don't talk," Marilee said.

Brooke didn't say anything. Couldn't argue the fact. Just set down her cup on the counter.

"Anyway, she called the other day, and I told her I was coming up to the island for Christmas, and she . . . Mom, she wants to come and spend the holidays with us."