Stormcatcher
Authors: Colleen Rhoads
“I thought you and Max were worried about him hurting me,” Wynne replied. “Was that just hype to get me interested in him?”
Becca sat up. “No, no. I was concerned, but now I see how vulnerable he is. And you’re so driven, Wynne. Your career is everything. Can you imagine living on Eagle Island and not going off on a new adventure?”
“For the first time I’m actually considering what that might be like,” Wynne admitted in a low voice. “The thought of leaving for Australia isn’t very attractive, and I was really excited before I came here.” Was she losing her drive? Had meeting Simon changed her that much?
Her sister went silent at her admission. Then she cleared her throat. “You’ve got it bad, big sister,” she said softly.
Becca wasn’t telling Wynne anything she wasn’t already beginning to suspect.
loves to convey the compelling truth of God’s love and grace through her fiction. Colleen and her husband reside in Indiana when they’re not traveling the globe looking for new adventures to write about. She loves to hear from her readers! You can e-mail her at [email protected].
COLLEEN RHOADS
Of what use is money in the hand of a fool, since he has no desire to get wisdom?
—Proverbs
17:16
For my critique partners and wonderful friends,
Kristin Billerbeck, Denise Hunter and Diann Hunt
Dear Reader,
Lake Superior has a wonderful mystique. Vast, cold and deadly, it’s the perfect backdrop for this final story in the Great Lakes Legends series. In Ojibwa legend, the Thunderbird is said to flap its wings and stir up the ferocious storms that sweep over Superior, and there are storms aplenty in
Stormcatcher—
both dangerous ones and romantic ones.
I’ve been fascinated with my research into the legends of the Great Lakes. I hope you enjoy the final excursion!
I love hearing from my readers. Visit me at www.colleencoble.com and e-mail me at [email protected].
G
rinning, Corbin Griswall whirled his reel and ran his line in, fighting the heavy pull on the other end. It had been a slow day for fishing, and the two small crappies he’d caught hadn’t put up this much of a struggle. He was panting by the time the object surfaced. Corbin started at the realization that it wasn’t a salmon he’d landed.
A man, perfectly preserved by Superior’s cold water. He either hadn’t been dead long enough for the fish to feed on him, or he’d been enclosed in a boat where they couldn’t get to him. Corbin thought of the old Gordon Lightfoot song about Superior never giving up her dead. She’d probably released this poor soul reluctantly in last night’s storm.
He reached for his thermos. Coffee would help him wake up before he called the Coast Guard. He was already planning how to regale his buddies with the tale in Turtle Town.
“S
ounds like she’s ready to eat.” Wynne Baxter shifted baby Isabelle from one shoulder to the other as the infant made tiny mewling noises and stuck her fist in her mouth.
The noise did funny things to her insides—Wynne felt as soft as a marshmallow at the feel of her tiny niece. She marveled at the helplessness of the tiny limbs and the screwed-up face that was a perfect replica of her sister Becca.
Becca smiled and held out her arms. “It’s past time.” She cradled the baby in her arms and settled herself on the sofa to nurse her.
Wynne watched her sister, amazed at the transformation over the past year. Becca had blossomed under Max’s love and care. The baby snatched a lock of blond hair in her tiny fingers and gave a grunt of contentment. She burrowed deeply against her mother.
“You act like you’ve been a mother forever,” Wynne
told her. She heard the note of envy in her voice. Some days she wondered what she’d missed by her obsession with old ships.
Since she was a little girl she’d been fascinated with tales of pirate ships, of clipper ships plying the waters off Boston, of the great discoveries of Columbus. Stories like that held her in thrall, and she’d translated that passion into her life’s work.
The work felt paltry and worthless when she looked at her niece.
Becca glanced up. “Your turn will come soon enough.”
Wynne didn’t want to go there. Give Becca an inch and she’d be calling all the eligible bachelors on the island. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself all summer. I’m enjoying the time with you and Jake, but I’m not used to just sitting around.”
“I was thinking about that,” Becca admitted. “Have you ever thought of doing some searching in Lake Superior?”
Wynne stopped swinging her foot back and forth. “You think there are some wrecks close to the island?” She knew there were wrecks in Lake Superior, but the thought of searching there hadn’t crossed her mind.
“I’m sure of it. There are dozens of schooners lost in the lake, and their whereabouts are unknown. You might find something really important. One of the most hotly sought ships is the
Merchant
. Someone claimed to have spotted her masts thirty feet below the surface in the Grand Island area, but she’s never been located.”
Wynne knew she should be content to spend time with her family for the summer until her new project in Australia started in the fall, but the prospect of three months of inactivity took its toll on her spirits. Her mind danced with visions of a century-old schooner, masts still intact, and wonderfully preserved by Superior’s cold water.
Becca must have caught Wynne’s fascination because she chuckled. “You marine archaeologists are all alike,” she teased.
Wynne returned her smile. “I’ll have to check into it,” she said. “Do you think I could find a boat to rent?”
Becca put Isabelle over her shoulder and patted her back. “Max’s best friend, Simon Lassiter, has just the boat you need. He’s even got sonar equipment on board.”
Sonar wasn’t common equipment. “Why would he have a boat all decked out for deep water searches?”
“He’s been searching for Viking longboats for ten years. He’s convinced the Vikings made it this far, and that the remains of a boat is out there somewhere just waiting to be found. And it helps that he’s part owner of a yacht building company.”
“And this crackpot is Max’s best friend?” A memory teased the edges of Wynne’s thoughts. The name sounded vaguely familiar. “Is he some old codger with more money than brains?”
Becca bit her lip, but the smile she was trying to hide broke through. “I think I’ll let you discover that for yourself. He’s coming to dinner tonight. You can ask him about his boat then.”
For one, horrifying moment, Wynne thought her sister might be matchmaking, then she dismissed the ridiculous thought. Becca knew better than to try to hook her up with a fool. Her sister knew Wynne didn’t tolerate idiotic science. And believing a Viking ship had made it this far inland was as idiotic an idea as they came.
She smiled. “I’ll try to keep my cool long enough to sweet-talk him into taking me out on the water. This summer might turn out to be fun after all.”
“What is Isabelle, chopped liver?” Becca deposited the sleeping infant into Wynne’s arms. “Here, enjoy your niece and quit thinking about leaving us.”
Simon Lassiter guided his yacht to the Windigo Manor dock. While he enjoyed Max Duncan’s company, he had a feeling there was more to tonight’s invitation than the discussion of football and hockey over coffee in the living room. Max had been much too casual when he mentioned his sister-in-law, Wynne Baxter, would be there as well.
After years of escaping the clutches of matchmaking mamas, Simon could sniff out romantic intent like a lynx on a rabbit trail. In Simon’s experience, most women were interested in his money, not in him. Maybe he was too cynical and saw dollar signs in a woman’s eyes, but he’d been burned too many times. And since his fiancée, Amanda, had betrayed him, his cynicism had deepened.
He thought he might have met Wynne when they
were kids. The name sounded familiar. He looped the rope around the piling and stepped onto the dock. Max had given the weathered wood a new coat of paint, he noticed.
He lifted his face to the dying light. The early June sunshine had softened to the gentle quality of late afternoon illumination that bathed the world in a warm glow. With an evening like this, it was hard to let even a possible matchmaking situation bother him.
He flicked a bug from his otherwise impeccably clean khaki trousers and bounded up the hill to the house.
Max answered before Simon had a chance to rap on the door. “Hey, buddy, right on time.”
“You sound surprised. I’m never late.” Simon stepped onto the oak floors inside the house.
Windigo Manor never failed to enthrall him. The ornate woodwork and thick plaster walls had weathered storms both inside and out. History no one would fully know had played out inside these ten thousand square feet. Sometimes, Simon imagined he heard the echo of voices from another time and wished he could eavesdrop on the life lived here a hundred years ago.
Max clapped him on the shoulder, and Simon noticed a spot on his friend’s shirt. “Looks like the princess couldn’t quite keep her milk down.”
Max glanced at the wet stain. “Trust you to notice. You’ll likely have one of your own before the night is out.”
Not if Simon could help it. Infants terrified him. The
thought of being responsible for someone so tiny and fragile made him want to run. He followed Max down the hall to the parlor. The thick carpet muffled their steps, and he could hear Isabelle’s cooing. He stopped in the doorway and glanced into the room. The young woman holding the baby must be Wynne Baxter.
Strands of curly black hair sprang from their confinement in a braid that hung nearly to her waist. The unruly curls circled her head like a halo. Her tiny bare feet barely touched the floor in the rocker, and she was dressed in white capris with a red V-necked top that revealed tanned and toned arms. Something about her dark eyes was familiar. Then he remembered, and he nearly took a step back. Seeing her brought back an embarrassing time in his teen years.
He cleared his throat, and her gaze intercepted his. Her dark brows winged up, and she gave a tentative smile. He saw the recognition on her face, and heat flooded his own. He knew it was irrational, but his shoulders tensed. How stupid to stress over a childish indiscretion now.
“Simon. I forgot that was your real name.” She shuffled the baby to her shoulder.
Max looked suddenly interested. “What did you think his name was?”
“Never mind,” Simon said hastily. The last thing he wanted was to get that nickname going again.
Becca looked uncertain from the tension jumping between them. Wynne was sure her sister felt it. Becca scrambled to her feet and hurried to hug Simon. “I was
just telling Wynne about you. She needs to rent a boat for the summer.
Thunderbird
would be perfect!”
“Oh?” He tried to put a hint of discouragement in the word. He glanced back at Wynne. “If you’re wanting to go deep water fishing, there are some other boat owners I could recommend.”
“That’s not quite what I had in mind,” Wynne said. “I’m a marine archaeologist, and I thought I might explore some of the old wrecks in Superior, see what I can find.”
His eyes widened before he could stop himself, and his hackles rose even more. Over the years, he’d seen searchers come and go. “Superior doesn’t give up her secrets to the common passerby.”
The corners of Wynne’s lips lifted. “I hear you’ve been looking for a Viking ship.”
He could hear the amusement in her voice. Most people thought he was nuts, and sometimes he wondered about his mental state himself. Aware he couldn’t be rude, he forced a smile. “Sounds crazy, huh? About like teaching a fish to fly. But there’s real evidence for it.”
Her dark eyes danced with humor, and he found his forced smile turning to a genuine one. There was no malice in her amusement, and he knew his dream sounded far-fetched.
Dimples appeared at the corners of her mouth. “I could sink my teeth into a find like that. If you ever come across remains, this summer would be a good time so I can take part. If you’ll have me, of course.”
Was that mockery on her face? He could only hope and pray she never told anyone what she’d seen. Max would never let him live it down. “I have an opening on my team right now for a chef.” His grin broadened, knowing she would refuse.
One dark brow lifted. “Oh dear, I hope your crew has a penchant for peanut butter sandwiches and chips. I’ll take it.”
His smile faltered, and his gaze connected with Max’s. His buddy shrugged and grinned. “Wynne is always up for a challenge. I hope your crew has cast-iron stomachs. I’ve sampled her cooking.”
His wife elbowed him. “Wynne is a good cook.”
Wynne burst out laughing. “Only a sister could call that concoction I fixed last night good. You know how our housekeeper can be. Moxie will be horrified when she gets back tomorrow and sees the remains in the refrigerator. But I’m game if Simon is.”
Her gaze challenged him. “Why am I suddenly afraid?” He couldn’t help it. He liked her spirit. His cell phone chirped, and he dragged it out. “Lassiter,” he said.
He recognized the new sheriff’s voice. There was no trace of warmth in Mitch Rooney’s voice. “Simon, Jerry has been found.”
Simon’s muscles tightened. He had something to say to his cousin when they met. Though in hindsight he knew he and Amanda were wrong for each other, he’d never expected Jerry to try to come between them. “Where is he?”
“In the morgue. A fisherman snagged his body.”
“His body—wait. You mean he’s dead?” Simon sank into a chair. He pressed his fingers against his eyes. Jerry couldn’t be dead.
“Didn’t you at least suspect he was dead?” Rooney’s cynicism was showing.
“He’d taken off like this before. I thought he and Amanda—” Simon broke off. He’d been sure Jerry had taken off with Amanda, and they would both show up sooner or later. They’d been gone three months.
“Last night’s storm must have released him from the boat or wherever he’d been trapped,” Rooney said.
Simon’s stomach was clenched. “Have you called Brian?”
“Not yet. I thought you might want to tell him.”
At least the sheriff was showing a bit of compassion. Simon didn’t like the suspicion he felt radiating through the phone. There was no love lost between him and Rooney.
“I’ll go there now.” Simon clicked off the phone and turned to his host. Max was looking worried.
“Jerry?” Max said.
Simon nodded. “Jerry’s dead. They found his body. I have to go tell Brian.”
“You doing okay? Want me to come with you?”
A wave of grief engulfed Simon. His cousin had been as close as a brother. He shook his head. “I’d better do this alone.” Jerry’s brother, Brian, was a private person. He wouldn’t want anyone but family to see his grief.
Max nodded. “Call if you need anything.” He squeezed Simon’s shoulder then dropped his hand.
Simon nodded. His throat felt tight. “I need to find the boat, figure out what happened. It was to be our flagship, a yacht that would change the world. Brian and I need to determine what went wrong.”
Wynne watched Simon’s broad-shouldered form jog down the hill to the waiting yacht. Seeing him again brought back memories of her childhood. And the crush she’d had on him.
She let the curtain fall back into place and turned back to look at her sister. “Tell me what’s going on,” she said to her sister.
Becca took the baby and began to rock her. “Simon’s partner and cousin, Jerry Lassiter, took out a new prototype yacht they’d built. Jerry insisted on taking it out alone because it was supposed to be completely automated where one man could handle it, in spite of its size. That was three months ago. He never came back.”
“Didn’t anyone try to find him?” Wynne asked.
“When Simon’s fiancée, Amanda, went missing as well, we assumed the two had run off together. Jerry had done that once before with his brother’s girlfriend. From what I hear, Jerry liked what he couldn’t have. He could sweet-talk an oyster into giving up its pearl.”
“No one thought of a tragedy?” Wynne asked. “That’s an expensive boat. They would have wanted to salvage what they could. And collect the insurance.”
Becca shook her head. “It was a beautiful summer day. Light breeze, blue skies. No reason for the boat to be in danger. Simon checked different ports but no one had seen them. Everyone assumed it was just Jerry pulling another of his stunts. We all thought he’d be back when he was ready. He’d done it before, and he was the primary owner of the business. Simon just dabbles for fun. He was left a boatload of money by his parents.”
“Still, I would have thought they would have looked for a wreck.”
“I think the old sheriff did a cursory flyover of the area, but when nothing turned up, we all assumed he’d return when he was ready,” Becca said. “Maybe he’d made it to port somewhere and garaged it.”
“No wonder Simon was upset. Does he still think Amanda was with him? Maybe she’s dead, too.”