On Deadly Tides (A Wendover House Mystery Book 3) by Melanie Jackson Read Free Book Online

storm that melted the snow had been local as well. The weather report said that much of the rest of the state was still locked into winter weather.
    I stayed on deck as the ferry crossed to land. I breathed deeply of the sea air, finding it pure and utterly unlike my nightmare. It seemed odd in the light of day that I had feared the deep waters that surrounded the island even in my sleep. But I recalled quite clearly that I had feared the ocean in my dream. Just as all supposedly sensible land-dwelling, air-breathing creatures should. It had appeared to me as a ravenous thing, full of storms which might swallow up ships and men, and that had brought that terrible creature to kill me.
    That was just fancy, of course. My imagination fueled by that horrid book. But it had drowned at least two men, hadn’t it, and left them on the island as a cat will sometimes leave its prey for his mistress?
    I glanced over the delicate wavelets toward the mainland. The sea was calmed, no hint of the storm remaining. There was no fog and the pastel outlines of cheery houses and well-kept boats were reassuringly close. There was nothing bad here. No need to fear anything. I was safe at home.
    It took me until ten to reach the mainland and another forty frustrating minutes to rent a car. I filled the time with having breakfast and a visit with a nice mother of two who was also renting a car while hers was in the shop having new seats installed. She also had a puppy, a mastiff, and it had apparently consumed the better part of her upholstery on her last trip to the market when it was left in the backseat unsupervised. Since she had children to chauffer, she got the larger car and I was left with an economy two-door, which suited me fine. I was traveling light, just me and my thoughts.
    As the car warmed it began to smell faintly of ashtray and chewing gum—mint—and it reminded me of my parents’ blue station wagon and trips up to the lake where we would swim and Dad would fish.
    The first part of my journey was pleasant enough. I was feeling a little nostalgic, thinking of road trips from childhood. The weather remained mostly clear and I had fun visiting many of the towns and hamlets and picking up jam and syrup, or having coffee with friendly strangers as I subtly questioned them about rooms for rent and a visitor who had come to stay for the winter. There was a feeling of liberation and the pleasure of doing something purposeful, however grim the reason for the task.
    But after a while it began to pall. I was tired of drinking coffee, exhausted by small talk, and frustrated that I had learned absolutely nothing. I began to wonder if I was asking the wrong questions. Not that I could think of anything else to do when I was trying hard not to let the word out about Kelvin being missing from his grave. People seemed to grow less friendly, too, the farther south I went.
    There was also this feeling that something was waiting, maybe a storm, and it was hiding in the woods just waiting for dark when it would attack. I needed to hurry, and with every mile I traveled, I felt more depressed and dreading. Even the air seemed to change, to grow thicker and less wholesome.
    I was also feeling close to my great-grandfather. The quest was, in an odd way, a shared experience—never mind that he could be dead and the sharing was likely one-sided. For the time being, we were in sympathy, involved at a very personal level even though we had never met. As the hours wore on my task was less and less an intellectual exercise in detection and more of a pilgrimage to the truth. I wanted—needed—to know what had happened to Kelvin.
    Have you ever looked for a stud in the wall? You go along, tapping and tapping until something sounds just a little bit different. I was tapping along, inch by inch, town by town, but wasn’t finding anything solid to bore into. Still, I remained sure that I was heading in the right direction.
    It was nearing four o’clock and I