The Sea Keeper's Daughters by Lisa Wingate

Author:Lisa Wingate [Wingate, Lisa]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781414387239
Publisher: Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.
Published: 2015-09-06T16:00:00+00:00

I heard the noise at the bottom of the stairs before turning the corner from one landing to the next. The soft moan echoed against the walls and wound its way upward like a curl of smoke. Stopping, I peered over the rail, saw someone—a man in a dark sweatshirt and muddy jeans—sitting in the shadows with a hood pulled over his head. My heart slapped against my ribs, then fluttered upward. I’d locked the alley door last night . . . hadn’t I? In all the excitement over bringing Clyde back from the marina, maybe I’d forgotten it after Casey left. . . .

Who would be down there at this hour? The street was still quiet. The shops wouldn’t be open for a long time yet. Silently rounding the landing, I moved closer, stood balanced between two steps, ready to turn and run.

His head rolled sideways against the weathered wooden banister, long strands of sun-bleached blond hair sifting from beneath the hood. Something about it was familiar, even in the dim light.

“Joel?” What in the world would he be doing in my stairwell at this hour?

Mark’s warnings whispered in my head. He doesn’t necessarily hang around with the most savory people. Had he sneaked in here last night to see what he could find on the second floor? Surely not. Joel was such a nice kid—smart, helpful, interested in the antiques. He wouldn’t do something like that.

Huddled on the bottom step, he looked sick or . . . really hungover.

“Joel, are you okay?” I stopped just out of reach, uncertainty creeping in. He’d been at some kind of a party when I’d called him last night. He could be under the influence of . . . who-knew-what right now.

He rolled his head upward, using the banister for support. One eye opened in a thin slit. The other was bruised, puffy, and swollen shut. “Huh-uh. I mes-s-s-sed u-up. . . . I did-didn’t mean. . . . Mark’s g-gonna kill umm-me. . . .” The words were a thin muddle, echoing up the silent stairwell.

I moved closer, squatted beside him. He didn’t sound dangerous, just confused and fairly out of it—like a kid who’d overdone the partying, maybe even tried the hard stuff. This wasn’t my first go-round with teenagers who’d been on a bender, then gotten scared and ended up at work because work was the only stable place they could think of to go.

“What happened last night?” The shiner and the dried blood were evidence that it was nothing good. The arm dangling between his knees was cut up too. I took his hand, turned it carefully. Just nicks and scrapes. Not life-threatening.

“Mark’s gon-n-nna kill ummm-me,” he moaned again. “Oh, man . . . I s-s-screwed up. D-did we umm-mess up the sh-shop?”

“What shop? Mark’s shop?” A sense of doom slipped in. I’d been through this scenario too—had seemingly random restaurant break-ins end up being traced to employees. “Were you in Mark’s shop last night?”

He bobbed forward with sudden ferocity.

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