Dark Moon Walking (23 page)

“Man! Dead!”

“Yeah. Okay. Anything else?”

There was a pause, a snuffle, and then the answer came. “Red hair. Beard.”

Another pause, then, “Wood shirt.”

“Wood shirt? What the hell is a wood shirt?”

Annie's patience was obviously wearing thin and her voice was rising. Tom's moan started up again.

“Okay. Okay. Wood shirt. What color was this wood shirt?”

There was a silence lasting several seconds and then Annie's voice could be heard again. “So where is this guy with the red hair and the wood shirt?”

Another pause, another moan, then two words that turned into a shriek that set their teeth on edge and drove them all back from the porthole. They also sent Annie back out of the cabin with Tom's words twisting on the air behind her.

“In water!”

“He's off again,” Annie said as she joined them on the aft deck, as far away from the shrieking as they could get. “But at least it's the same story. I thought at first it might be one of his invisible friends he was talking about.” She saw Dan's puzzled look and gestured at Walker. “Ask him. We've all heard him talking to them.”

Walker nodded. “Yeah. But this seems pretty solid. I mean, red hair and a beard? But what the hell is a wood shirt?”

“He's talking about the same thing I'm wearing,” Annie answered, pointing at herself. “You couldn't see him from out here, but he kept pointing at me when he was saying it. Finally figured out he was pointing at my shirt.” She shook one of her lapels. It was made from a heavy flannel cloth in a green-and-blue plaid design. “Loggers wear them.”

Dan looked at her shirt. “Yeah. It's called a lumberjack shirt.” He smiled. “Lumberjacks are loggers and loggers cut wood. A lumberjack shirt—a wood shirt. Guess that makes some kind of sense.”

“So where's this dead guy supposed to be?” asked Walker.

“Said he found him floating in the water by his shack.”

“Where's that?” Dan asked.

“About five miles up that way.” Walker pointed northeast.

“Huh. Maybe it's someone from that crew boat,” Dan said.

“Could be, I guess.” Walker didn't sound convinced.

“He's not from the crew boat.”

They had completely forgotten about Claire. Now they all turned to stare at her. She was clinging to the stern rail, looking as if she had seen a ghost.

“Claire?”

She continued to stare off into the distance, her face ashen.

“Claire? Are you okay?”

“His name is Robbie. He's my boss.”

NINETEEN

“Jesus! Yeah, you told me your boss was coming up,” Walker said. “You think this could be him?”

Claire swayed and Dan stepped toward her, gripping her arms to steady her. She stared up at him, a pleading look on her face. “I completely forgot about him! How could I do that?” Her eyes were begging him for forgiveness, for help, for relief from a sin she seemed to think was so huge, it was unforgivable. “I didn't even think about him once.”

“Why would you, with everything else that's been going on?”

Claire pulled away from him, then buried her face in her hands. “Oh, God! This is insane.”

She started to crumple to the deck and Dan reached for her again, pulling her to him. He felt a brief moment of resistance, but then she leaned into him and pushed her face into his shoulder, her body racked with sobs. Instinctively, Dan's arms wrapped around her, cradling her against him, and he lowered his chin to rest gently on her head. He inhaled the scent of her hair: fresh, clean, a mix of sunshine and the ocean that seemed to run along his nerve paths like a mild electric current. Over the top of her head, his eyes met Walker's and he saw not only concern but also approval. That was . . . interesting. He was not sure if he approved himself. If he had still been on the job, he sure as hell wouldn't be doing this. She was both a witness and a victim. But to hell with the job. He was out of that now. Those rules no longer applied and this felt right. And good.

He held her and let her cry, listening as Walker and Annie discussed what they should do.

“Sounds like him, huh?” Annie's attempt at a whisper sounded more like a croak. “I guess you'll have to go over to Tom's shack and check it out. Better make it soon too. The tide'll be turning in half an hour, and if there's a body floating there, it'll be carried out on the current and you ain't never gonna find it.”

Dan met Walker's gaze and a silent communication passed between the two men. There was no doubt that Walker thought Tom's description of the body made it pretty well a certainty that it was Claire's boss, but it needed to be checked out, and they needed to do that as quickly as possible.

There was no way Tom was going to go back to his shack until he was convinced the body was gone, and Annie couldn't—and wouldn't—leave him. That meant Walker had to go, as he was the only other person who knew where Tom lived. And he needed Dan to help him move the body if they found it.

But they needed Claire to go with them. Robbie was her boss, and she was the only one who could identify him. A troubled silence fell as the two men looked helplessly at her shaking form. It was something that neither of them could find the courage to ask her to do.

“You have a camera?” Dan asked Annie quietly. If they could take photos, they could get the
ID
later—assuming the body was still in decent shape: immersion in salt water meant rapid decomposition, and scavengers would not be slow to use the opportunity presented.

She shook her head. “Nope.”

“It's okay.” Claire's voice was muffled against his chest, but she had obviously picked up on their concern. He felt her take a gulp of air, and then she lifted her head and looked up at him. “I can do it.”

He started to shake his head, but her hands pressed against him and stopped him.

“Really. I'll be okay.” She moved away from him, and he felt a chill on his chest. He touched his shirt, feeling the dampness from her tears.

“I'm sorry,” she said as she saw his gesture, and he felt a surge of . . . what? Concern? Compassion? It couldn't be anything more than that. He barely knew her.

He wanted to hug her to him again but knew she wouldn't allow it. All he could do was watch helplessly as she straightened her shoulders in an effort to prepare herself for what lay ahead.

The three of them crowded into the dinghy and stowed the tarp and rope that Annie had provided under the seat. Annie stood at the top of the plank walkway, watching them go. Tom, of course, didn't make an appearance, although his moans followed them as they moved away.

Dan would have liked to keep Claire close to him, but the requirements of the dinghy made that impossible. Instead, she sat by herself on the thwart in the center of the boat, her shoulders hunched, a forlorn and lonely figure that wrenched his heart. He half hoped that Walker would provide some distraction with more of his commentary, but he too remained silent, his eyes focused on the water ahead.

The body was easy to spot, floating face down among the rocks close to shore. It was almost directly in front of Tom's shack, so it couldn't have moved much since Tom had seen it, and Dan wondered if the shirt was caught on something that was holding it in place. They would have to drag it to shore if they were going to be able to wrap it up, although what they would do with it then, he had yet to figure out. They could maybe drag it over closer to Annie's boat and leave it on the shore till they could get hold of someone from the coast guard or the police to come and get it, but a tarp wasn't going to keep animals away.

Over the top of Claire's head, Dan saw Walker nod toward a shingle beach where a huge driftwood log lay half buried. It was well past the body, and if they could get Claire to wait there, they could spare her the worst of it.

The dinghy bumped gently as Dan brought it up to the beach. He stepped out and reached down to Claire. “Give me your hand.” He spoke to her gently, as he would to a child. “You can sit here. Walker and I will take care of everything. We'll come and get you when we're ready for you.”

She looked at him mutely, then stepped slowly out of the dinghy and let him lead her, unresisting, to the log. Her quietness was so out of character that it worried him and he exchanged a glance with Walker. They couldn't leave her alone for long. They would have to work quickly.

The two men returned to the dinghy and headed back to where the body floated face down in the water. Close up, the red hair was obvious, although checking the beard would have to wait until they could get the body to shore. The limp form was hung up on some kind of underwater obstacle, and even though Dan jockeyed the dinghy back and forth, a patch of jagged rock that lay just below the surface repelled his efforts to get in close enough to get a hold. He was starting to get frustrated when Walker solved the problem in the simple, direct fashion Dan was beginning to expect.

“Hang on a minute,” he said as he removed his shirt, pulled off shoes and jeans, and slipped overboard into the water.

Dan shook his head. It was typical Walker: no discussion, no argument, he just did what needed to be done.