“Edgar died—”
“The sea took him,” Lily said. That haunting voice again.
Pippin glanced at Grey. His face had grown pale, and she knew he was remembering how their mother had kept them away from the beach when they were little—not an easy feat given the fact that they lived in a beach house. She had a recollection of her mother holding tight to her hand. To Grey’s. Why had she kept them away from the water? Why had their father never let them on his boat after Cassie was gone?
“And Annabel…” Cora paused for effect. “She died giving birth to our mother. To Lacy.”
Pins pricked behind Pippin’s eyelids. Just like their mother had died giving birth to their brother.
“Artemis went crazy,” Lily said. “He’d lost almost everyone. He walked into the surf and drowned there. People say he died of a broken heart.
Pippin turned to Grey. “That’s why mom was raised by Aunt Rose.”
“Our mom, too,” Cora said. “Rose never married. Cassie and Lacy were her girls. But your mom didn’t want to stay in Laurel Point. She left, but Lacy—our mom, she stayed.”
“And Lacy…your mom…” Pippin’s voice stuck again. “She…died?”
“Having us.” Lily spoke matter-of-factly. Beside her, Cora nodded. They knew this story. They’d experienced all the emotions with it over the years, but Pippin felt like her insides were coming apart. “Aunt Rose raised us, just like she raised our mothers.”
That single trip to Cape Misery in Laurel Point had changed Pippin and Grey forever. They’d learned the truth about their Great-Aunt Rose who’d raised their mother. And about the tragic fate of Trevor, Edgar, and Artemis.
Pippin hadn’t thought about Cora or Lily in years. Had she blocked their story out of her mind so she wouldn’t realize the truth? People said they saw Leo Hawthorne return to the marina, dock his boat, and walk away. A chill swept through Pippin. Just because he’d left his boat at the marina didn’t mean he hadn’t gone to the pier, or to the beach. He wasn’t a Lane, but he’d been married to one. What if the sea had taken her father, too, just like every other Lane man?
Chapter 4
“Human beings need loyalty.”
~Atul Gawande
The boat in the side yard was an eyesore. A tattered tarp, torn and frayed from years of sitting in Carolina weather covered the vessel, but it had long ago given up actually keeping the water out. Pippin grimaced at the mere thought of what she and Grey might find when they pulled back the covering.
She needed someone to assess the boat’s condition then advise them on what to do with it. The marinas, she thought. Surely, they’d be able to recommend someone to her.
The Outer Banks was home to an array of marinas, from smaller outfits that offered inshore or sound fishing, offshore fishing, wreck-diving, and boat moorage, to the larger ones that housed fleets of charter vessels. Devil’s Cove, though, only had a few marinas. Pippin sat in her tiny office and did an Internet search on her laptop, looking at pictures of each marina. One, Devil’s Cove Landing, sent a spark of familiarity through her. It was a full-service marina at the south end of Devil’s Cove, with close access to the Atlantic and to the Gulf Stream, where the warm currents host a myriad of sport fish. It had only sixty slips, whereas the other marinas were much larger. This smaller marina would have been the type of place her father would have chosen. A place where he knew everyone, where he was friends with the dockmaster. Where it felt like a hometown business rather than a big charter marina.
Pippin dialed the phone number and drummed her fingers against the desktop as she waited. It rang and rang and rang, but no one answered. Maybe the office staff was helping someone outside.
She made a split second decision, and three minutes later she was pulling her coral Electra Townie bike out of the garage. Grandmother Faye had bought it for her after high school, as if a bike would have been enough to keep Pippin from leaving Greenville.
She hadn’t wanted it at the time, but now she silently thanked her grandmother. The island was small enough and had enough bike and pedestrian friendly streets and paths that she could cycle most places without a car. Grey had replaced the tubes and aired up the tires for her when they first arrived, so it was ready to go. She straddled the bike and placed her wallet in the wicker basket that hooked onto the handlebars. She felt the weight of someone watching her and looked around as she rode down Rum Runner’s Lane, but no one was out. Once she left her street and turned onto Devil’s Cove Highway, which the locals all called Main Street, the feeling passed and she shook off her apprehension. Her mind was playing tricks on her, that’s all. She pushed her worry aside as she rode.
Before long, she pedaled past Dolphin Marina with its signs advertising offshore wreck-diving, inshore and sound fishing, and boat dockage. It was the biggest marina on the island, with its own small fleet of charter vessels. She pedaled past the sun and surf shops that attracted tourists who’d forgotten their towels or sunscreen, or who wanted a new swimsuit or some other Devil’s Cove memorabilia. She pedaled past the taco shop with the homemade corn tortillas and the best crab tacos on the Eastern Seaboard.
Then she spotted it. Devil’s Cove Landing, a full-service marina. She directed her bicycle onto the paved path leading to the marina’s office, releasing the kickstand and setting the bike off to the side.
A boat was being backed out of its slip, two people sitting on the edge of the dock watching, legs swinging, floppy hats on their heads, soda cans in hand. Fishing trips would leave at the crack of dawn, so she’d missed that commotion. Other than a few people milling about on the dock, standing around and chatting, the place was pretty quiet. It was still early in the season, so it wasn’t as busy as Pippin was sure it would be in June, July, and August when the tourists started coming.
From what she’d read online, the marina had been around going on fifty years now. From where she stood, it looked like half of it had been upgraded with beautiful docks, new pilings, and wide berths, each that could fit two large boats. Boats of all sizes were moored to the pier, tied to cleats mounted on the docks. White dock boxes, as well as cute white lighthouse shaped covers for the electrical outlets added a quaint touch.
The other side of the marina looked about fifty years old. The docks were worn and the berths were narrower—no room for the big boats that were on the updated side. The pilings looked old and were lower in the water.
The dockmaster’s office was housed in a building that looked like an old house with wide steps leading up to a wraparound deck. The siding was worn from the saltwater, wind, and the occasional hurricane, but the place had the potential to be stunning. It looked like whatever maintenance had been done to the marina over the years had been reserved for the dock itself. The building had seen better days but was still standing.
Inside, safe from the elements, the place didn’t look a whole lot better. A large poster was thumbtacked on the main wall behind the information counter, its edges torn. It depicted the shape of the state of North Carolina, inset with the vertical blue and horizontal red and white panels of the state flag. They sold fishing gear, knives, nets, a few sun staples, and charter boat trips, which, along with slip fees, were probably the bread and butter of the operation. Photographs hung haphazardly on the walls featuring boaters, arms around one another, anglers holding their prizes for posterity, and people standing on the decks of their boats waving for the camera. Could her father be up there? Pippin scanned each photograph, searching each face, but her father wasn’t among them. One of the photos caught her eye, though. Three men, all of them holding onto a giant fish. It wasn’t the triumphant smiles on their faces that caught her attention, though. It was the little girl in a lifejacket standing next to the men, one of her little hands on the fish.