Sound and deception, p.1
Sound and Deception, page 1
Published by EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ® at Smashwords
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2023 Nancy E. Polin
ISBN: 978-0-3695-0864-5
Cover Artist: Jay Aheer
Editor: CA Clauson
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
To my people. You mean the world to me.
SOUND AND DECEPTION
Nancy E. Polin
Copyright © 2023
Prologue
This one wasn’t as much fun. Not to say she wasn’t fun at all. Of course not. They were all fun. She just didn’t face him with the level of feistiness he’d expected.
Mildly disappointed, he followed by several feet.
She continued to creep away from him, so he guessed that was better than nothing. Little mewling sounds escaped her, which was the best she could do, considering she’d started out as a screamer. One downward slice with his buck knife had fixed that. No tongue, no screaming. Pretty simple fix, as far as he was concerned.
The woman stopped, shoulders thrusting with sobs.
Patient, he waited.
She inched forward once again, leaving very little blood. This one had believed him after he hit her femoral artery with his punch knife. The ramifications would be swift if she removed it. She did, however, leave a snail trail of snot. What was once beautiful had turned ugly pretty damned quick, and he wondered if he should wipe down her face with a Wet One or something, before he ended it. The action seemed pointless, but staring down into that disgusting wet and swollen face might annoy him. He didn’t like to be annoyed.
The noise in the woods hadn’t ceased. Birds continued to call out to others, and answer in return, little creatures went about their foraging, and predators hunted. This was the natural state of things. As long as they weren’t lunch for something bigger, the animals went about their day’s business, unbothered by the human and its prey.
This woman had been an unexpected gift. He’d gone hiking in one of the more remote areas, and had found he wasn’t as alone as he’d thought. Serendipity.
He’d watched her come up the trail from one of the many rock overhangs. She used a pair of hiking poles to help keep her footing, which hadn’t been a terrible idea. Taking a header in the wrong place would have her rolling off a cliff before she could even snap her fingers.
She’d stopped to take a healthy swig from her high-end water bottle, and pour a tiny bit onto her fingertips to smooth over her face. He wouldn’t waste water like that, but he understood. This year, the mountains wore summer like a heavy cloak, despite the elevation. Even the bugs were sweating.
The woman hid her eyes behind sunglasses and had wrapped some kind of paisley bandana thing up over her forehead and the crown of her hair. Dark strands squiggled out from the sides and down to her shoulders. A delicate nose and full lips met his gaze, and he wondered what she looked like without the shades. It didn’t really matter, but he preferred them attractive.
He’d decided to ‘accidentally’ bump into her when the trail folded in on itself and led her through trees spearing into the sky. In that moment of feigned awkwardness, and embarrassed smiles, he’d struck her with his trusty leather sap. She’d gone down like a pile of bricks.
Now he observed while she gave up, and lay still. She was still alive, he knew, but the little kitten-like noises had stopped. It was an unfortunate situation. He generally liked to give them hope, just that little spark to convince them they might be okay after all, but up here there was none to give.
The man glanced at his watch. He needed to get back to the city. This was a lovely encounter, but he didn’t have the time to savor it as much as he would have liked.
Undergrowth snapped under his boots when he made his move. He flipped her over, and she landed like a dead fish, arms outstretched to her sides, eyes dull.
Disappointment once more needled him. He shook his head, straddled her, and ended it with his hands.
At least his itch would stay satiated for a little while.
Chapter One
Klahanie and Noah sitting in a tree k-i-s-s-i-n-g, first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Hiney with a baby carriage!
I blinked and shook my head in surprise. How long had it been since I’d even heard it, let alone thought about it? I probably shouldn’t have been surprised. Coming back to the island after all this time would throw lots of old doors open. It was inevitable.
And boy, oh boy, I could hardly wait. The dry tone of my internal voice summed it up. She tended to be sassy, and sometimes rolled into my outer voice, slicing and dicing all in her path.
I flipped down the sunshade and dared a peek at the mirror, unsurprised to see a tired looking twenty-eight-year-old with swollen baggage desperate to be stowed. A solid 48-hours of sleep ought to do it and then my sassy-self giggled. I told that part of myself to shove it.
The line of cars in front of me started to move, so I cranked Corinne over, always pleased when the little SUV started right away, purring happily despite almost 180,000 miles on the odometer. I followed the car before me as orange-vested workers guided motorists aboard the ferry, pointing me toward the left ramp and second level of parking. I cut the engine several moments later.
It wasn’t a long ferry ride, not quite even a half hour, so I debated if I wanted to stay put, or go upstairs for a snack and coffee. Twenty minutes after deciding to go up the passenger compartment galley, I still sat staring blankly, trying to wrap my overtired brain around the next few months.
Coming back wasn’t the issue. I mean, it wasn’t like I hadn’t come home here and there, but I’d be here for a few days, maybe a week, and then I wouldn’t have to worry about it again until guilt flicked at my heart and head. In fairness, it would always be nice for the first day or two, then I’d feel the old restlessness, the old itch that seemed too deep in my marrow to scratch.
Now, duty brought me back. Gram had fallen off her lawn tractor and broken her leg. Never a good thing, let alone for someone in their 70s.
With a sudden burst of energy, I pushed open the vehicle’s door, sucking in a gasp at the burst of freezing wind smacking me across the face. I pulled my beanie down around my ears and yanked up my hood as well. In late autumn, the island would be chilly, but the ferry trip over made it feel like Hawaii in June. I’d decided to wear my anorak, and now congratulated myself on a fine choice.
Despite the sudden streaming of eyes and nose, I forgot about coffee, and wove through parked cars to approach the railing. The barrier stood chest high on me and I was able to fold my arms on the edge and watch as one of the inhabited San Juan Islands appeared before me. The ferry cruised by another one, tiny and close to perfectly round. I remembered how kids told stories about the hermit who lived there and how he’d eat trespassers and couldn’t stifle a smile. There wasn’t an actual population there, so it was possible. Maybe.
Heavy mist hung over the fir trees, erasing the tips from view, while seagulls glided near, some racing the ferry, their calls plaintive and echoing. It wasn’t raining, but tiny droplets hung in the air, dampening exposed skin, and adding an extra layer to all outerwear.
Despite my ambivalence, I never tired of the view and the crisp ocean air in my lungs. I watched my island loom ahead, a splinter of peace and excitement piercing me. I savored it, knowing it wouldn’t last long. When the captain announced arrival, I returned to Corinne to wait while the ramp lowered from the dock to permit cars to disembark the ferry. Several minutes later, I followed the vehicle before me down to the main parking hold and up onto the island. The familiar wooden welcome sign hung above us, wrapped in orange and purple lights to wink at all visitors for Halloween. It wouldn’t be long before they’d update them with red and green.
I followed the gentle curve of the road left because there was nowhere else to go. The ferry terminal was located on the south tip of the island and everything the community offered waited a little further northeast, as dubious as those offerings might be.
Dense foliage pushed in from both sides to tamp out the waning daylight earlier than the weatherman reported. I flipped on my headlights, knowing inky darkness would soon coat the island. Fatigue from ten hours of driving pushed me to just want to get to the house already. I could picture settling in the warmth of Gram’s kitchen with hot chocolate, or maybe an Irish coffee, before scooting off to my childhood bedroom to prepare for the mix of joy and mild horror I’d experience in the morning.
The sudden splash of blue and red behind me made me touch my brakes on instinct, my stomach sinking when I glimpsed the speedometer. Thirty-two. In a twenty-five. They were probably lying in wait for visitors looking for quiet while forgetting to ease off the accelerator.
Welcome home, Klahanie.
Less than four miles to the farm and I had to get snagged by one of, likely, two cops on the island. I wasn’t even sure who those cops were anymore. According to Gram, Bob Bekins retired and his deputy, Charlene Hays, prom queen of our class totaling a whopping twenty-four students, had moved back east somewhere.
I turned off the engine, aware I was being silly, also very aware my city was rearing its head. In fairness, a girl can never be too careful. Even on a quiet island where nothing really happened.
A figure with a flashlight strolled up toward the driver’s side window, just as a frown pulled at my face. The sway to this guy’s gait seemed familiar. He leaned down to peer in at me and all official sternness melted away, leaving friendly, with a touch of goofball. Everything inside me relaxed.
“Is that you, Klahanie Bishop?” Jay Patterson grinned huge from his long, narrow face. “I heard you were coming home.”
I rolled down the window, genuine pleasure and curiosity shoving aside extreme fatigue. “Hey, Jay! What the heck are you doing playing like local law?”
“Life sometimes puts you in odd places, Hanes.”
“Yeah? Is there a story in there somewhere?” I ignored the Hanes crack, having always hated the old nickname.
“Eh. I was a cop in L.A. for about eight years, started burning out, and decided to come home to visit Mom, before she moved to Florida, I mean. That was right around the time Bob was getting set to retire and, well…” He shrugged his shoulders. “Besides, Hannah, my wife, was tired of worrying all the time.”
“Understandable.” I couldn’t imagine being a cop’s wife myself, but more power to her. “How long have you been together?”
“A little over five years. She and Josh are my world.” He flashed an even larger grin that threatened to swallow his entire head.
“Josh?”
“Our baby boy. Well, he’d get mad if he heard that. He’s almost four.”
“Holy crap, that’s awesome!” Out of nowhere, a tinge of melancholy flicked at my heart. A little surprised, I shoved it aside. “So, I guess you’re not bored after L.A? When was the last time anything happened around here?” As far as I could remember, there’d only been the time one of the wealthier college kids came back on summer break with a substantial supply of weed from the mainland. We’d all benefited from his generosity. Mark Reyes was considered a god by the senior class, but the sheriff was none too pleased.
“Other than you speeding?”
I cringed just a little.
He grinned without comment before it slipped away. “Honestly? It’s quiet, sure, but I’ve learned to appreciate it. I guess almost ten years away made all the difference. Especially, after some of the stuff I saw down there. Nah, it’s better here.”
“You the only one pulling cop duties these days?”
“More or less. Town wants to hire a deputy, but is going about it like a snail and sloth race.” He shrugged. “Maybe this coming spring.”
I nodded. “Anyone else back, or has our generation all found fame and fortune elsewhere?”
“Most are gone, but a handful have come home. Maybe we’ll be able to count you in the boomerang bunch soon.” He waggled his brows.
“Boomerang bunch, huh?” I laughed. “Seriously. I’m here to help out Gram until she’s back on the tractor, then I’m out of here.”
He continued as if I hadn’t responded, naming a lot of names I recognized and little tidbits about their lives on the island. Warm memories and a couple of questionable ones cascaded over me. I had to acknowledge the flicker of homecoming, knowing it would be gone soon.
“Anyway…” He pulled out his citation book, and I snapped back from my lapse, and goggled at him in astonishment. My shocked expression was enough to incite his laughter again. “Just kidding, Klahanie. I’m not gonna welcome you back with a speeding ticket. Not this time, at least. Just remember all the critters and how dark it gets around here, so no more lead in the foot. Got me?”
“Well, yes, sir, of course, officer.” I grinned at him, and saluted.
“I’ll let you go. I’m sure you’re all worn out and your Gram is looking forward to seeing you.” He patted the car door, turned before whirling back. “Hey, most of us meet at Salty’z a couple times a month. Wanna join us this Saturday?”
I hesitated, having never been over-the-top social. “I’m not sure what’s going on with Gram … “
He nodded. “I get you. Just in case, though, we usually meet anytime between 7:00 and 9:00.”
“Thanks.” I smirked. The two-hour window was typical island time.
He smacked the roof. “Be good, safe, and get some rest.” Jay loped back to his vehicle, but waited until I pulled out first.
In less than five minutes, I reached the turn leading to the farm and guest cottages where I’d grown up, my mind scrambled. On autopilot, I took a right and followed the narrow trail, gravel crunching under tires, thick trees pushing in from both sides. At the next “T,” I made a left, the big, white colonial house rising before me in seconds. Warm yellow light eased from behind paned glass windows out into the darkness, and the sense of homecoming returned and settled deep within.
I parked facing the house, the tiny welcome building just to my right. It was an overt way to give guests the privacy they were often looking for. Gram or Aunt Sunny would prepare the cabin and hang the key on the pegboard with a note, a practice unthinkable off the island. A few Radio Flyer wagons stood parked against the far wall for guests needing help with luggage. Opposite the house, a huge paddock circled a small three-sided barn supplied for shelter and dry hay. Inside the enclosure, the resident alpacas, Hades, Persephone, Eurydice, and Orpheus, would already be cozy for the night. Come late spring, they’d be relieved of their wooly coats, in exchange for socks, scarves, and the occasional sweater that my grandmother and great-aunt would be sure to create. Just adjacent, a large chicken coop protected the dozen or so hens that provided fresh eggs to the guests. Bart the rooster hung out in his own attached quarters.
A couple hundred yards beyond the welcome building, a hot tub spanned the deck of a gazebo partially hidden by privacy fencing. Just on the other side, the paved walking trail passed through the tree line and away from the big house and barn where five private cabins appeared. Since Gram’s accident, only two were available for occupancy since my aunt couldn’t handle all five. She was tipping toward 70-years old herself, with a bum hip that slowed her down. Because my parents were gone, and my big brother, Jeremy, lived in Toronto with his wife and kids, that pretty much just left me to help out. I had every intention of hiring a part-timer, even if it came out of my own pocket, but I couldn’t fool myself regarding what the future might hold for the old place.
I climbed from the little SUV, grabbed my purse and suitcase, and stepped toward the path leading toward the front porch. Closer to the door, I could hear a mini-Michael Jackson belting out his ABCs, and couldn’t hold back a smile. They loved their oldies. Some agitation leaked from my bones, and I let myself into the big house.
“Gram? Sunny?”
A grey blur darted from around the corner and several high-pitched excited barks filled the room. Happy mewling followed when I crouched down to hug the resident Catahoula, Asta. She shoved her cold nose into my ear and deafened me with a snorted welcome.
“Well, it’s nice to see you too!” I straightened, but continued to scratch the dog’s ear, who leaned against me, tail vibrating.
The foyer was warm and inviting, with natural wood, and rustic touches. The old elk head my grandfather had lugged in a couple years before I was born still hung in its place of dubious honor above the door leading to the Gram’s office. I hated the thing, but Gram wouldn’t part with it.
