Chapter One
Dane leaned on the accelerator, feeling the salty breeze whip through his hair. He inhaled deeply. He could even taste the ocean. It had been many years since he'd felt the roll and plunge of a good yacht beneath his feet, and yet it was almost like yesterday. The memories remained sharp.
A lone gull circled above, then plunged to the rocky coast to snatch the mollusk trapped in a tidal pool. Dropping its booty to crack the hard shell on the rocks, the gull returned to swallow the morsel before lifting again to soar above the low-laying mists of a downeast sunset.
Dane felt a bit like the gull. Alone, hungry, sailing on the wind without a care, and without anyone to care about him. For years he'd been ignoring the growing emptiness that now threatened to overwhelm him. At first he'd tried to defy it with adolescent rebelliousness. When that failed, he tried to find meaning through education, graduating summa cum laude with degrees in music, mathematics and history and a master's in theology. Finally, he attempted to fill the vacuum with faith, but that too, had been empty.
His tires squealed as the shiny red convertible hugged the curve at twice the posted speed. He wondered at the calm he felt. There was no anticipation, no increased heart rate, no rapidly beating pulse to convince him that he was more alive than dead. Dane let up on the gas. He might be afraid of living, but he surely did not want to cause anyone else harm.
He pulled onto the rocky shoulder and killed the engine. The ocean looked nearly black as it slipped away, reared up and slapped the rust-colored rocks. Odd, he thought. He'd practically grown up on the water, docking at ports all around the globe, but he could not remember ever seeing anything as ruggedly beautiful and uncomplicated as this Maine coast.
The gull landed a few yards away. Although graceful in the air, the large bird staggered clumsily towards him, stopping frequently to repeat its demands for a handout. Dane chuckled.
"Sorry, Bud," he said, fishing in his pockets. "I've got credit cards, more money than I could spend in six lifetimes, and a St. Christopher medal for good luck, but I haven't a thing for you to eat."
The gull ogled him suspiciously. It squawked again, then with a flip of its disgruntled tail feathers, it took to the air. Dane wished he could follow.
"Enough," he snapped at himself. He'd promised his confessor. And unlike his aunt and uncle, he believed promises should be kept.
The sun perched on top of the tree line in the west. Orange and red puddles dappled the black water. The temperature abruptly dropped another two degrees. Dane shuddered. He might not know where he was headed, but he didn't want to get there after dark. "Wish me luck," he called to the lonely gull. Then he jogged back to his car.
A few miles down Scenic Highway 1, Dane saw a green and white road sign for the next town. The population was only a couple hundred, but it claimed to have a motel and several restaurants. Piper sounded like a friendly place to begin his quest. Dane drew in a deep breath and forced a smile on his tired face. He was an outsider, a "flat-lander" as the locals had called him at the last place he'd stopped for gas. He would be greeted with cool politeness and reserved distrust. A smile might smooth things a bit.
He turned off the highway and drove another six miles before the rough road spilled him into the small cluster of buildings that comprised the town of Piper. The buildings looked old and neglected, although Dane knew the harsh salt breeze was to blame. It chewed up paint and aged the wood with alarming ease. That the small patches of lawn were trimmed and green, weed-free and blossoming with small flowerbeds said more about the locals than the peeling paint and potholes. He stopped in front of Shirley's Motel, pocketing the keys and wondering momentarily if he should put up the roof and lock his car. Two old men sat on birch wood rockers on the front porch of Jordan's Grocery across the road, and just next door a workman was shingling the roof. If anyone touched his car, there'd be witnesses. He gave a slight wave and smiled at the old men before going inside.
A burly, balding man stood behind the counter. He had a large head and practically no neck at all. His shirt was threadbare, but it was clean and the sharp crease down the short sleeves implied it had been freshly pressed that morning.
"I'd like a room," Dane said stupidly. Of course that was why he was here, he chided himself.
"Aye-uh," the big man drawled. He pushed a book and pencil towards him.
Dane signed the book, filling out the information requested. "I don't know how long I'll be staying," he said. He pulled out a credit card and waited while the man slowly ran it through the antiquated machine and gave him the slip to sign.
"So, who's Shirley?" Dane asked conversationally.
"That's me," the man said.
Dane almost laughed out loud, biting back a sarcastic comment. The man didn't look like he had much of a sense of humor. No doubt he'd put up with flack about his name for most of his life. Dane couldn't help wondering what his sisters were named, though. The man handed him a key and his receipt.
"Can you recommend a good place to eat?"
"Aye-uh."
Dane waited. Shirley wouldn't win the Conversationalist of the Year award. The big man stepped around the counter and lumbered towards the front door, leaning heavily on a cane. He stepped onto the porch, then indicated the two restaurants across the street. "They's both good," he said slowly. "I eat there m'self a times."
Dane nodded politely. They might be the best places in town, but that was because they were the only places in town. "Thank you," he said.
Shirley leaned against the doorframe, doing an odd shuffle to turn himself around. "Town's purdy quiet, mister. No excitement for a young feller like yerself. We like it thet way."
"I'm just here to do a little fishing," Dane answered vaguely.
The man grunted something that might have been acceptance. Then he slowly made his way back inside.
Dane tucked the motel key into his pocket, digging around for the car keys, when he noticed the kid sitting in his Corvette.
"Hey!" he yelled. He ran to the passenger side door and yanked it open. "What do you think you're doing!"
The kid grinned at him. She was kind of a cute little thing, a dirty face and skinny arms, baggy overalls and bare feet. "Nice wheels, mister. Can I have a ride?"
"No, you can't have a ride," he sputtered. "Get out of my car!"
She opened the glove box and nosed around the papers inside. "It still smells new," she said. "I bet it goes really fast. Do you like to drive fast? It would be a crime to buy a car like this and drive like a blue hair."
"Blue hair?" He shouldn't be encouraging her, but the words were out of his mouth before he could think.
"Aye-uh. Y'know, the old ladies with hair so white it looks blue? Driving with their eyes peerin' through the steering wheel, almos' too short to see ovuh th' dash?"
Dane clenched his fists, wanting to physically haul her out before she got something sticky on the leather seats. "Where's your mama, kid?" he demanded.
"Around. You sure you won't gimme a ride?"
"No. And you shouldn't talk to strangers."
She grinned at him. "But you're the one talking to me. You don't look too strange, neither."
"Fine," he snapped. He was out of patience. He clamped his hand around her wrist and tugged. "Come on. Out. Now."
"Okay, okay, I'm goin'," she said. She slammed the glove box several times before the catch engaged, then stumbled out of the car. Dane caught her, holding her for a second until he was sure she wouldn't land on her butt. Her small hands pressed against his chest and her eyes widened, a look of fear briefly shading them. He released his grip on her. She giggled nervously, taking a step back. "Uh, thanks, mister," she said. "Uh, I'd better go. Bye!"
He shook his head as he watched her run off down the street, her braids flying, one strap of her overalls sliding down her narrow shoulder. He shut the passenger door, then put up the roof. He would be sure to lock the car from now on.
The two restaurants were just across the street; it didn't make sense to move the car. Tom's Restaurant and Lobster Pound and Maud's Café flanked either side of the post office. Dane tossed a coin and started towards Tom's, figuring he'd try Maud's for breakfast. He patted his coat pocket to make sure he hadn't locked his wallet in the car, stopping abruptly when he didn't feel it at all. He turned back and peered inside the glass, but he hadn't left it on the seat. He'd had it only a few minutes ago, to pay for the motel room. Dane dashed inside Shirley's, but the wallet wasn't on the counter.
That kid! She'd robbed him! Dane clenched his teeth, furious with himself for falling for the oldest hustle in the book. She'd pretended to stumble, and when he'd been gallantly supporting her, she'd frisked his pocket. When he got his hands on that skinny brat, he'd haul her off to her parents for sure! And he'd give them a good piece of his mind. Allowing her to run barefoot and wild, and climbing inside a strange man's car! What was she thinking! She wasn't thinking, and that was the problem. That kid could end up in serious trouble. He shuddered at the image of her pretty little face after some bastard hurt her. All those thoughts flashed through his mind in a matter of seconds, before he dashed down the road after her. "Hey, kid!" he shouted. "Stop!"
He could just see her duck around the corner of a building, pigtails flying. She threw something into the bushes and disappeared. He heard a scream, then nothing. Dane put on a burst of speed. He rounded the corner, searching for any sign of the kid.
The well-manicured lawns existed only in front. Back here the ground was rocky, with sparse grass filling in the crevices and tall weeds buzzing with insects. A stack of lobster crates leaned up against a rotting boat. Cans of paint, nets, and a few colorful buoys jumbled across the landscape. There were dozens of places to hide. Dane called again, not really expecting an answer.
Shards of broken glass crunched under his feet. Dane glanced down, noticing a large, jagged beer bottle and the bright red spot around it. Damn. The kid had been barefoot. She must have cut her foot. Dane gulped. He looked for more signs of blood, but saw nothing. Maybe she hadn't hurt herself badly. Still, it was a small town. With a detailed description of the kid and her cut foot, no doubt the sheriff would know just whom to go after.
It wasn't the money. Dane had never cared about the money. And it wasn't just his pride that some snot kid had robbed him and made a fool of him. No, it was more. He felt protective. He needed to talk to her again, to make her see just how dangerous a game she was playing, and warn her against ever climbing in a man's car again. He had half a mind to turn her over his knee for a good, solid spanking. He doubted that her parents ever did, or she wouldn't be stealing and talking to strangers.
Dane scanned the landscape one last time, then retraced his steps. He found his wallet in the bushes where she'd tossed it, all his credit cards and identification there and only the cash missing. He shook his head as he pocketed it. The kid was no dummy.
Tom's Diner was crowded. Rough, unshaved fishermen, aging couples, and clusters of awkward adolescents filled the mismatched tables and wobbling chairs. Centerpieces of fat red candles sandwiched between bottles of ketchup and mustard graced every red-checked vinyl tablecloth and over the din of a dozen conversations played a CD of hits from the sixties and seventies.
Dane would have preferred a table in the corner where he could observe without being observed, but he had to take the only table left, right in the center. A waitress plopped a plastic coated menu in front of him and poured him a cup of strong coffee he hadn't ordered. "Sorry for the wait, sugar, but one of my employee's is late. It may be awhile 'afore you kin eat. Coffee's on the house."
Dane read the name pinned on her apron. "Thanks, Charlie. I don't mind a wait."
"You're a doll," she said warmly, her entire face lighting up in a smile wreathed in wrinkles. "For that, you get pie, too."
Dane watched as the heavy-set, aging waitress danced between the crowded tables efficiently. Periodically she'd bump the swinging doors to the kitchen with her hip and holler something at the cook. "Tom, make it a double! Tom! Where's my number three!"
Tom, also aging and quite heavy, grumbled under his breath as he slammed glass plates filled with hot food onto the steel pass-through shelf. What Dane could make out of the words weren't repeatable in polite company, but he saw the way Tom's eyes twinkled. Once, when Charlie went in back to get something, Tom pecked her on the cheek. She swatted his hand, complaining how backlogged they were, but there was no mistaking the faint blush that crept up her powdered cheeks. Dane shook his head, smiling. His aunt and uncle had had that kind of love. The forever kind. He'd always admired that in them, even though it had hurt that they'd had so little love left over for him.
Eventually Dane got his Surf 'n Turf, a double serving of seafood and steak. The food was abundant and tasteful, although the strong coffee and hunk of blueberry cheesecake he'd had before dinner nearly spoiled his appetite. He ate slowly, lingering over more coffee he didn't want, to delay the moment he'd go to his lonely, empty room to find nothing on television to while away the hours he couldn't sleep. The crowd thinned. The teenagers talked about driving down to the city for a movie. The fishermen were on their way out with the tide, and the old couples were going to a card party at the Grange. Charlie wiped down tables and refilled the ketchup bottles. She gave Dane a friendly smile.
"Not from around here," she said, stating the obvious.
"No, I'm not."
"Me either," she replied. "My folks moved here when I was a little girl, and I'm still a flat lander."
Dane stared. He knew small towns could be cliquish, but the waitress had to be in her sixties. Surely she had made friends in all that time?
"My kids was born here," she continued. "They still aren't considered local. But maybe my grandkids will be. Towns are funny that way."
"You can't have any grandchildren yet," Dane said politely.
"Lordy, but aren't you a sweet thing," she laughed. "My five kids done give me seventeen grandies. And the eldest, she's nineteen, she's gonna give me a great-grandie before Christmas."
"You must be very proud," Dane said, amused at just how inane he could be. What was to be proud of indiscriminate procreation? Still, she sounded like she loved her progeny.
"So, you planning on sticking around? Or just passing through?"
"I haven't made plans," Dane answered truthfully.
"Ah. Yer looking for yerself, then. Well, Piper is as good a place to look as any."
Dane clenched his teeth. He wasn't "looking for himself". He had more sense than to waste time on such a childish endeavor. He would have told her something about minding her own business, but the cook came out and planted a wet kiss on her cheek. "That's good enough, Charlie. Let the girls finish cleaning up in the morning."
"Nonsense," she huffed, casting a glance at their last customer.
Dane tossed a few bills on the table to cover the tab and a healthy tip. "Thanks, ma'am." The sooner he left, the sooner the old woman could take a load off her feet. With a nod towards the cook and a comment about the food, Dane hunched his shoulders against the chilly night air and hurried across the street to his room.
All the next day Dane kept thinking about the skinny little thief. He never did fill out a report, although twice he drove past the farmhouse where reportedly the part-time constable lived and worked when he wasn't policing the tame little town. Something always stopped him. Maybe the kid would get in real trouble? Maybe she'd be uprooted from her home and slammed in foster care? Or maybe she had abusive parents, who would take discipline to the extreme? He wanted to know more about her, but he held his tongue. He didn't dare ask questions. A strange man in town asking about some kid girl, that would really sound suspicious.
Instead, he watched the kids playing, looking for one who limped, and he watched the store, half expecting her to come buy candy or toys with the cash she'd taken. After two days, he'd about given up hope of ever seeing her again. He'd walked the entire length of Piper, tried both the restaurants and even dropped a postcard to his confessor. He'd spend one more night, but come morning he planned to leave. He didn't know where to find the answers to the mission he'd been given, but he was sure he wouldn't find them here.
Maud's Café served great breakfasts, but her suppers were all deep-fat fried. Dane didn't feel up to the smell of hot grease again, so he returned to Tom's Diner. This time he was able to snatch a corner table.
Charlie didn't have to wait tables tonight. She played hostess, passing out menus and refilling cups of coffee while three employees did the work she'd done by herself two nights ago.
Two of the waitresses were older women, younger than Charlie, but with graying hair and wrinkled hands. The third was a young thing, and vaguely familiar. Thin, tanned arms stuck out from the short-sleeved white waitress uniform. Long blonde hair was pulled back in a single braid. She looked older than the skinny thief, but enough alike to have been siblings. Dane hoped he was sitting at one of her tables. He needed to talk to her.
She smiled at a customer, and for a moment Dane couldn't even breathe. She had a beautiful smile. It was a wide, friendly smile, one that could make the customer feel important, special, even if he was just some old man. He couldn't tell the color of her eyes, given the dim lighting in the diner, but her hair was definitely golden and every bit as long as the kid he'd found inside his car, only she looked to be around seventeen or eighteen.
She'd taken down the order and tucked the menus under her arm, but she limped noticeably as she went to pin the order up for the cook. Dane stared. Just like that, he'd found her! Thank heavens for small towns! But she was older than she'd first appeared? Had she been intentionally disguising herself? If so, then this was more than a simple case of childish pranks. She was an accomplished thief. But if she supported herself by stealing, then why did she work? Waiting tables in a small town had never been lucrative. Not like robbing rich boys in sports cars. He couldn't wait for her to take his order.
She turned, ready to greet her next customer, and their eyes met. Her eyes were green, Dane thought, even while he noted the myriad of emotions playing across her features. First was shock, recognition, then fear. The same fear he'd seen on her face when he'd steadied her in his arms. Her eyes darted around the café and Dane half expected her to bolt, but that would look suspicious. She obviously didn't want anyone to know she was a thief. She must only steal from tourists. She handed him a menu and a glass of water.
"I'll be back to take your order," she stammered, her hands shaking noticeably.
"We have to talk," Dane said.
She nodded, blinking back tears that suddenly filled her wide, green eyes. "Later," she managed to say. Then she turned and limped quickly into the kitchen.
Dane didn't have to read the menu. He wasn't hungry enough for any of the dinner entrees. Maybe he'd just grab a burger, and offer to drive the waitress home so they could talk. He waited, but she didn't return. When he saw another waitress deliver food to the old man who'd been her customer first, Dane knew she was gone. She'd ditched him again.
Angrily, he tossed the menu on the table, no longer hungry at all. He let the door slam on his way out.
She had been limping - that glass had cut her foot, just like he'd thought. She couldn't have gone far. Of course, she might have driven herself, or ridden a bicycle, and he'd never find her, but Dane crossed his fingers for luck as he started the engine. There were only two roads leading out of Piper. He'd try them both, and hopefully, he'd find his thief.
She wasn't on the main road, but about a mile from town he saw her limping along the shoulder of the gravel back road. He pulled over and jumped out before she disappeared into the woods that lined the road.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he stated firmly, grabbing her by the wrist.
Her frightened eyes told him she didn't believe him. He opened the passenger side door for her and gestured for her to get in. "We're just going to talk."
She hesitated. Dane chuckled. "Yesterday I couldn't get you out of my car. It's the same car."
"Talk," she whispered. She sat down, wincing when he slammed the door. Dane climbed behind the wheel and pulled out. "I'll drive you home. Tell me where to go."
"This way," she said vaguely.
"Why'd you steal my wallet?"
She didn't answer him. He hadn't really expected her to. She pressed up against her side of the car, trying to put as much space between them as physically possible. For some reason that made him feel better. Maybe she wasn't as stupid as she'd first seemed. Being afraid of strangers was a good thing. Although, stealing from them was really stupid. Maybe she wasn't afraid of him, but of her parents.
"I need to talk to your parents," he said. "Will they be home?"
She shook her head.
"When are they coming back?"
Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. She winced at his exasperated gasp. Dane gave up trying to talk while he was driving. He'd get her home, and then, face to face, maybe they could figure out where to go from here. He didn't give a damn about the money, but the next tourist she robbed might not be so forgiving. A ten-year-old stealing was bad enough, but an eighteen-year-old could go to jail.
"Turn here," she whispered.
Dane blinked, straining to see the driveway in the dark. A few potholes told him he was more or less on the right trail. A long, dark wooded tunnel twisted and turned, bumping along. Up ahead he could just barely make out a house, when the girl suddenly opened her door.
She jumped out of the moving car with a yelp of pain, before she dodged into the woods. Dane cursed, fed up with the whole scenario. He chased after her. He was much bigger and could easily have overtaken her, except it was dark and she knew where she was going. She was running too fast though, and she was scared. He could hear her breathing, hear her stumble and cry out. Dane lunged for her, but just then he tripped over an exposed root. He fell, knocking her to the ground. Her foot was trapped beneath him.
She screamed, "Don't touch me! Don't touch me!" Then she went completely still.
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