Salt Island

SALT ISLAND Copyright © 2023 by Lisa Towles First Publication June 2023 Indies United Publishing House, LLC This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblances to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this publication may be replicated, redistributed, or given away in any form without the prior written consent of the author/publisher or the terms relayed to you herein, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. ISBN: 978-1-64456-587-2 [Hardcover] ISBN: 978-1-64456-588-9 [paperback] ISBN: 978-1-64456-589-6 [Mobi] ISBN: 978-1-64456-590-2 [ePub] ISBN: 978-1-64456-591-9 [Audiobook] Library of Congress Control Number: 2023931215 indiesunited.net For Lee whose love makes everything possible “There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact.” -Arthur Conan Doyle Also by Lisa Towles The Ridders Hot House Ninety-Five The Unseen Choke And published under Lisa Polisar Escape: Dark Mystery Tales The Ghost of Mary Prairie Blackwater Tango Knee Deep Table of Contents Title Page Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-One Chapter Thirty-Two Chapter Thirty-Three Chapter Thirty-Four Chapter Thirty-Five Chapter Thirty-Six Chapter Thirty-Seven Chapter Thirty-Eight Chapter Thirty-Nine Chapter Forty Chapter Forty-One Chapter Forty-Two Chapter Forty-Three Chapter Forty-Four About the Author Acknowledgements The Ridders Hot House Stay in touch with Lisa Towles Prologue Imagine hearing nothing but seagulls and rolling surf for hours at a time. No talking, dogs barking, TVs, cars, empty enough to hold a thought in your head, idle enough to inspire daydreams. And when the shudder of fear shakes you back to earth, you’re still in your proverbial hammock drinking in the countenance of paradise with the same hungry, cynical eyes. Could it be real, this place? Was it as safe as it appeared? Yes but for the ephemeral shadow in my heart, warning me that nothing was as it seemed, asking what the hell I was doing here. I’d been half asleep, lulled by the seesaw movement of the ferry and unfazed by a sudden rocking from another vessel. Quality sleep had become a rarity these days, like a shooting star or the aurora borealis over North America. My slitted eyes glazed over the blue expanse leaving everything, everyone, behind. Time, when slowed, allows new things to slip into your awareness. The low drone of the motor under my feet. Squawking seagulls. Coconut sunscreen. And then sometimes the human body prepares you for things, alerts like a buzzing in the hands, stomach clenching, the shadow of a migraine. Uncertain which came first, I spotted a ghoulish shape in the water at the same time an anguished howl sounded behind me at the stern. The first scream was higher in pitch, probably the little girl I noticed earlier, clasping hands with her father beside her; the second a moment later, an older woman, scream muffled by clammy palms, then the sobbing of utter shock. Both its color and shape seemed unnatural, not white enough to be the feathers of a gull, too large and round to be the head of any marine animal, its pallor unmistakable. I’d seen enough of death certainly. It’s the stories that always got me. The jarring interruption, mouths left open as if caught mid-conversation, the dark specter appearing unannounced in its languid cloak. How old had this person been? Married, single, lawyer, lobster fisherman? The body drifted close enough at one point that I caught sight of a wound on the forehead, likely pecked by sea birds leaving a red/brown indentation centered between the already hollowed-out eyes. I wondered if the bottom half of him had been eaten by sharks. Fully awake now and unmoved from my position on the bench seat along the starboard side, I did what I’d been trained to do all those years: watch and listen, observe without reacting, gather scraps of usable intel. I’d learned that from him, my father. The spy. Truth be told, I couldn’t see a corpse without thinking of him. Even now, though he was only technically missing and never actually pronounced dead. This floating cadaver still felt emblematic of that loss and its resulting wound. Whether dead by accident, natural causes, or specific intent, someone would miss this man. Who was he and how did he end up here? The Tortola Fast Ferry crewmembers patrolled both decks gathering passengers to the front of the vessel, evading direct questions, reassuring them we’d be on our way again shortly. We’d been stopped for thirty minutes awaiting a rendezvous with a U.S. Coast Guard vessel. I debated whether to identify myself as former law enforcement to the crew. The risk, of course, was that I wasn’t supposed to be here in the first place, and what could I do, really? One crewmember had already started interviewing the little girl who’d first seen the body. They seemed to have the unexpected crisis well in hand. One crewmember with a short, blonde ponytail was interviewing a man two rows behind me. She introduced herself as the First Mate, asked him if he needed anything, and waited. Tricky, wasn’t it, finding out who knew about the dead body jouncing to the surface without specifically asking. Whether the twenty-something crew had been trained in this type of emergency response, they weaved calmly with discretion through rows of antsy passengers. Listening and attending. “Miss, is there anything you need?” the young woman asked gently from behind my left ear. She stepped around me to the left, crouching in front of my bare, crossed legs.