Anchored Inn Read online

  "That is a massive yacht," I said. "If he's got that, why is he staying with us?"

  "He doesn't like sleeping on it," John said. "He gets seasick."

  "I guess that's good news for us," I said.

  By the time the yacht slowed to a halt a ways from the inn and a small powerboat with Brandon and his entourage launched itself toward the inn, I'd spruced myself up a bit and John had done a last check of the upstairs room.

  "Everything ship-shape?" I asked.

  "I certainly hope so," he said. As we watched, a young woman I was guessing must be a deckhand nimbly tied the boat up to our dock. A moment later, a slight man in a heavy black jacket and dark blue skinny jeans alighted from the vessel, followed by a young man and a young woman, both also clad in black and laden with heavy bags.

  "Here we go," I said, as we walked out to welcome Brandon Marks, prodigy and multimillionaire several times over.

  "Welcome to the Gray Whale Inn," I said in a cheery voice as he mounted the back steps to the porch, his attendants in his wake.

  To my surprise, the young woman, who was carrying a duffel bag almost as big as she was herself, smiled and responded. "Thank you so much. I'm Brandon's assistant, Rebecca Vick, and this is my associate, Antoine Sperry." She had unbelted her black trench coat; beneath it, she was neatly dressed in gray slacks, modest flats, and a silk blouse, her shoulder-length hair cut on an angle sloping toward her chin. Antoine, on the other hand, looked like a club bouncer; his black T-shirt stretched over disturbingly large biceps, and he wore black jeans and black sneakers to match. A tattoo that appeared to involve bones and possibly two skulls wound up his left arm. I presumed he was something of a bodyguard, and I wondered why Brandon felt he needed one. "We'll be escorting Mr. Marks to his room," Rebecca announced. "Do you have the key?" As she spoke, Brandon, appearing completely disinterested in the proceedings, stared out toward the water.

  "Where is the site?" he asked, as if nobody else had spoken.

  "It's a mile or two out. I'll be happy to take you there in my skiff if you'd like," John offered.

  Brandon didn't answer, but continued to gaze out at the water. I was irked at his rudeness; we were not off to a smashing start.

  "Follow me and we'll get you all checked in," I said. John relieved Rebecca of the heavy duffel bag as I led them inside, then through the swinging door that led to the rest of the inn from the kitchen. Brandon followed, ensconcing himself in one of my overstuffed parlor chairs as Antoine lugged the rest of the bags in and I worked with Rebecca to distribute room keys.

  "We'll help you with the luggage," I offered.

  "Wonderful," she said. "You've got everything on the checklist taken care of? Detergent, food requirements, the rest of the upstairs blocked off?"

  "Of course," I said, hoping Catherine arrived before Brandon requested coffee with coconut oil, stevia, and collagen powder in it. I was handing Rebecca the three keys when voices sounded from the downstairs hallway; a moment later, Max and Ellie appeared.

  "Hi, ladies!" I said, smiling at them.

  "Hey!" Max replied with a slight smile. Max was an attractive woman who, she had told me, had twin girls about to start college; combined with her very recent divorce, she was facing a lot of big changes, fast. She'd looked like she hadn't slept for a week when she arrived, but now, there were roses in her cheeks and a bit of a sparkle in her brown eyes.

  "Whatever you're doing seems to be working," I informed her companion, Ellie, who ran a bookstore in Boston. "She looks much better."

  "I keep telling her she'll be in fighting shape in no time," Ellie replied with an infectious smile.

  "The rest of the keys?" Rebecca said with a note of irritation that told me she was used to being top priority.

  "Here they are," I said, handing them to her. "Have fun, ladies!" I called as Max and Ellie let themselves out the front door.

  "We will," Ellie said. "And don't worry about dinner for us; we'll be at Spurrell's."

  "Got it," I told them, adding "Don't miss the clam chowder!" before they closed the front door behind them.

  "Thanks for your patience," I said as I returned my attention to Rebecca, who was now drumming her fingers on the top of the desk. "Do you still want to use the same credit card?"

  "Yes," she said shortly. "And as I'm sure you're aware, Mr. Marks will be needing his afternoon juice in..." she checked her watch "... twenty-three minutes. You can deliver it to my room, and I'll take it to him."

  "Sure," I said, glancing at John, who was watching the proceedings with barely concealed amusement.

  "I'll take care of it," he volunteered, and headed to the kitchen while I finished checking them in.

  "You remember we'll be needing an early breakfast in the morning?" she asked.

  "Of course," I said. "We'll have it ready at seven."

  "I understand your husband has some interest in military history," she said.

  "Yes," I confirmed. "He's really excited about the discovery."

  "Mr. Marks has offered to allow you to accompany him to the research vessel to watch the submersible video the wreck," she said, the twist of her mouth suggesting she thought it was a dreadful idea.

  "Really?" I asked. The big man himself apparently didn't speak for himself; it was a bit odd, but I couldn't complain. "John will be thrilled... thank you so much!"

  "Thank Mr. Marks," she said, pocketing the keys. I glanced over at Brandon Marks, wondering if he would respond, but he just sat motionless, gazing out the window. Friendly guy. "Anything else?" Rebecca asked in that efficient tone of voice.

  "No," I said. "I'll take that duffel up," I told her, "and if you'd like to leave the rest of the bags down here, John and I can take them."

  "I'll take them myself," Antoine answered in a surprisingly low voice. They were the first words I'd heard him say. He appeared to be in his early thirties, with a handsome face and his features set in a pleasant expression, but I got the impression of something dangerous lurking beneath the calm exterior. I was guessing Antoine did more for Brandon than just lug his bags.

  "If you change your mind, let me know," I said. "Your rooms are at the end of the upstairs hall. We'll have that juice up shortly. Would you two like anything?"

  "No thank you," Antoine said, glancing at Brandon as if to warn him off asking for anything. Although I doubted the odds of that were very high, based on our interaction to date.

  "We'll just head up now," Rebecca said. "Thank you," she added in a dismissive tone.

  "You're welcome," I told her, but she had already turned away and was heading up the stairs while Brandon stood silent in the front hall.

  "Aren't you guys going up, too?" I asked Antoine.

  He shook his head. "Not until she's checked everything out."

  "Got it," I said. "When do you head out to see the submersible, by the way?"

  "Eight a.m.," he said.

  Right at breakfast. I wasn't sure Gwen would be able to handle things, but I was hoping Catherine might want to pitch in; I didn't want to miss the chance to be the first to see a U-Boat that had been hidden deep in the ocean since the end of World War II. "Thanks," I told him. He gave me a slight nod in response. Brandon, on the other hand, was still staring out the window. Was he incapable of speech?

  "We'll be there," I said. "Thanks for the opportunity."

  "Again, thank Mr. Marks," he said.

  I did as he suggested, calling out a cheery "Thank you so much for the opportunity."

  "You're welcome," Brandon said in a rote voice, still staring out the window.

  "Please let me know if there's anything you need while you're here," I said.

  A moment later, Rebecca came trotting downstairs and gathered up Brandon like a mother duck retrieving a lost duckling. "It's all good. Follow me please, Mr. Marks," she said in an brisk yet deferential tone.

  He did as she bade him, following her up the stairs, Antoine behind him. I watched them go. What an odd trio, I thought to myself. />
  And what a strange, solitary life Brandon Marks seemed to lead.

  Charlene was pacing back and forth behind the counter when I got to the Cranberry Island General Store and Post Office. I'd left John in charge of the inn, and promised to tell him as soon as I knew more about Tania; now, as I stepped into the familiar little store, I hoped I could do something to help my friend, who was both postmistress and storekeeper, and had created this cozy space.

  The squishy couch and chairs in the front, which was known as the island's living room, beckoned invitingly, and the smell of coffee filled the store. All kinds of necessities, from motor oil to trout pâté from the mainland, lined the small store's shelves, and a cake stand with a few pieces of one of my blueberry coffee cakes stood next to the register—I tried to keep Charlene supplied with sweets for her customers. A wall of mailboxes stood behind the counter; since everyone on the island had to come to the store to pick up mail or send anything off, Charlene saw everyone who lived here, and had her finger on the pulse of the island. If she didn't know where Tania was, I thought with an uncomfortable twist in my stomach, then odds were good she wasn't on the island.

  "No word?" I asked; unnecessarily, since Charlene's normally flawless hair was hanging around her face, and she hadn't even bothered with mascara. She was definitely not her normal self.

  "Nothing," she said. "I call her every two minutes, and no answer. Her friend Megan isn't answering her phone, either." She ran a hand through her hair. "I want to go over there and pound on her door… and Megan's, too."

  "Do it," I said. "I'll watch the store."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Positive," I said. "John said he'll call the mainland police if she's not there."

  "Thank you," she said, and grabbed a jacket off the hook by the door, practically sprinting to the front of the store.

  As I fretted about Tania and waited for Charlene to return, I poured myself a cup of coffee and picked up the copy of the Daily Mail that sat on the counter. At the bottom of the front page was an article on the U-Boat discovery, and the mysterious man who had funded the team that located it.

  "Little is known about Mr. Marks's personal life," I read. "He lives in San Francisco, California, and does not give media interviews. He is, however, known for his fascination with military history, and has funded the Blue Diver research vessel for the last three years as it has scoured the floor of the Atlantic looking for wrecks."

  Nothing I didn't already know, although I did wonder why he was so interested in military history.

  "The vessel located by Marks's team is thought to be the U-Boat 809, a U-Boat that prowled the Maine coast during World War II and is thought to be responsible for the sinking of at least nine boats, including several vessels local to the area."

  I hadn't thought about the terror fishermen and sailors must have felt. Although no foreign power had invaded US soil, the water was a different thing entirely, and most folks in this part of the world had family or friends who spent a good part of their time at sea.

  "The reclusive millionaire is staying on Cranberry Island during his stay; the island is thought to have suffered many casualties as a result of the U-Boat," the article went on.

  No wonder there was so much interest on the island, I realized. The sunken submarine had likely been responsible for the loss of the ancestors of several of my neighbors. Including Murray Selfridge, the real estate developer who had built one of the ugliest houses on the island (in my opinion, anyway) and who until recently had been dating my mother-in-law.

  As I reread the article, Eleazer Spurrell walked into the store. I was very fond of Eli, who was a cheerful, thoughtful man with bright eyes that missed absolutely nothing. He had been the island's boatwright for as long as anyone could remember, and had built both my skiff and John's. His wife, Claudette, was the owner of two goats, Muffin and Pudge, who, although very cute and lovable, were the bane of the gardens on the island. When the door closed behind him, Eli paused and blinked at the sight of me behind the counter.

  "Second job?" he asked.

  "No," I said. "I'm filling in for Charlene; Tania's gone missing, and she's going to see if she might be at Megan's place. Have you seen her at all the last day or two?" I asked.

  "Afraid not," he said. "Maybe she went over to the mainland?"

  "She wouldn't do that without telling Charlene," I said. "She's always been responsible."

  "I'll keep an ear to the ground," he said.

  "If she's not at Megan's place, I'm going to ask John to get in touch with the mainland and file a missing persons report," I told him.

  "I hope it doesn't come to that," he said, eyeing the goodies on the cake plate. "One of those, please, and a cup of coffee."

  "Of course," I said, putting a slice of blueberry coffee cake on a plate and setting it in front of him, then filling a mug. Claudette had Eli on a strict sugar-free diet, despite the fact that he was one of the wiriest men I knew, so I'd secretly been supplying him with baked goods for years. "Mail, too?"

  "If you don't mind," he said. As he bit into the piece of cake, I retrieved the key to his mailbox, unlocked the little cubby, and pulled out a sheaf of envelopes, setting them next to his plate.

  "Thank you kindly," he mumbled through a mouthful of crumbs. "That millionaire's over at your place now, isn't he?"

  "He flew in by helicopter this morning," I confirmed.

  "More money than sense," he said. "Although I'm mighty glad he found the U-boat. That nasty thing probably sank my grandfather's ship; he was a merchant marine at the time."

  "I had no idea," I said. "I'm so sorry."

  "It was a long time ago," he said. "I never got to meet him, but my grandmother was never the same after she lost him. He had about six other local boys working for him; it hit the island hard."

  "That's horrible," I said. "Why does everyone think this missing submarine was responsible?" I asked.

  "Everyone knew there was a U-Boat out there preying on ships. Some of them used to use the lights of towns on the coast to locate boats; there was such fear back then, boats used to move in convoys, like schools of fish, for protection. For months, boats were sinking left and right... and then, all of a sudden, it stopped."

  "So they think it was because the U-Boat responsible sank?"

  "We were still in the middle of the war, so you can bet nobody was callin' off the dogs, so to speak. Something must have happened to it to make it stop, at least that was the idea."

  "How will we know if this was the submarine that did it?"

  "A few of the ships have been investigated over the years, and torpedo damage was confirmed. Even if it weren't, some of the vessels went down in sight of land, so there were witnesses. A few survivors said they went down because they were torpedoed, and the wrecks bear that out. If there is a U-Boat off the coast, odds are good it was the source of it."

  "That must be a horrible way to go," I said. "Sinking in a metal can."

  "They sank a lot of ships before they went down," Eli pointed out. "They only got what they dished out." I could sense the wound was still not entirely healed.

  "Well, we'll find out soon enough. They're going down with a submersible tomorrow morning to film the wreck. Brandon invited John and me to go out with them."

  "Tell me what you see, will you?" he asked. "Everybody always wondered why the attacks suddenly stopped. It would be good to put that chapter to rest."

  "I will," I said as he sipped his coffee. I turned to tidy up some of the mail boat schedules next to the register when Charlene burst into the store.

  "She's not there," she said, eyes wild. "She's not answering phone or text, she hasn't been on social media, and I ran into Theo Fleming, the guy she was seeing a while back, and he said he hasn't seen her in a while. Something's happened to her; I just know it. "

  My stomach twisted, and I caught Eli's eye; he looked as grim as I felt. "I'll call John now."

  3

  "I'll call the mainland r
ight away," John promised when I told him what Charlene had reported. "Who are her closest friends on the island?"

  "She hangs out with Megan a lot," I said, looking at Charlene. "Was Megan home?"

  "Nobody answered the door, and Megan still isn't answering my calls."

  I shared what Charlene had said with John.

  "When was she last seen?" he asked.

  "You last saw her yesterday, right?" I asked Charlene.

  She nodded. "She took the morning shift and left at noon."

  "Did Tania say anything about where she was going when she left the store?"

  "Home for lunch. That's it."

  "Anything weird?"

  "She's been acting distracted lately, but I know she was struggling with one of her online math classes, so I figured that was it."

  "Did she have a study buddy?"

  "Actually, yes," Charlene said. "But she didn't say anything about meeting up when she left."

  "Who is it?"

  "Someone named Hunter," she said.

  "Unusual name, at least. Let's call the school and see if we can find out more about this Hunter person."

  "Good call," she said, sounding relieved.

  I turned my attention to John, who had been listening to my end of the conversation, and relayed what Charlene had told me about her study buddy.

  "I'll get on it; they should be able to release that information to me," he said. I put Charlene on the phone; she gave John details of the school Tania was attending online, and the name of the class, and hung up looking slightly better.

  At least I thought so, until she said, "I hope this Hunter guy's not an axe murderer. Who names a kid Hunter, anyway?"

  "A good swathe of parents twenty years ago, in my experience," I told her, and put my hand on hers. "I'm sure we'll find her," I said with forced cheer.

  The absence of Tania weighed heavily on me the rest of the day, as it did on John. Gwen came down before dinner, looking revived and fresh in jeans, boots, and a black cowl-neck sweater that set off her pale skin and dark hair. For such a small island, Gwen, Charlene, and Catherine sure kept the fashion bar high, I thought. And then there was me, who favored loose jeans, flannel, and big wool sweaters most of the time. Thankfully, John didn't seem to mind.