Today's Reading
The thing was filled with cash. Harley lifted out a soggy stack of bills and picked at the corners. "They're all hundreds. There's gotta be nearly 'thirty' of them!"
'Who'd carry that kind of money around on them?' "Somebody's probably frantic right now, wondering where they lost this thing."
The dog sniffed the wallet, her tail slowing to a stop.
Harley tucked the cash back inside and slid out the driver's license. "Mike Ironwing." He angled it to show Parker the guy's picture.
The guy in the ID photo looked as tough as his name. "So what do we do?" Not that Parker didn't already know. But it was a little game they played sometimes. Ever since Harley had accepted Jesus back in November, he'd been as serious as Parker about doing what was right.
"I say we split the money down the middle and drop the wallet back in the harbor." The teasing in Harley's voice was obvious. "Finders keepers, right?"
Parker laughed.
"Or," Harley said, "I'll call the police while you're cleaning. I'll knock on the hull when they pull up."
Parker reseated his mask and flashed Harley the okay sign. "I'll get busy." The water in his wet suit had warmed somewhat now. He ducked back below the surface and pulled the scraper from the bag. A glint of light caught his eye. He spotted a couple of coins seesawing their way to the bottom from the other side of the keel. They kicked up a tiny plume of silt within inches of where the wallet had been. 'What?'
Nobody was on the boat. So it had to be Harley, messing with him. He'd climbed aboard 'Flight Risk' and was dropping coins over the edge. Maybe Parker should surface on that side of the boat and douse him with water.
Parker dove deeper and grabbed the bottom of the huge, finlike keel. He pulled himself around it—keeping his belly tight to the keel so his tank wouldn't scrape the bottom. He looked up—and screamed into the regulator.
Mike Ironwing hovered above him, his back against the bottom of the boat by the base of the keel. Arms outstretched like he was waiting to embrace Parker. Eyes open—but as dead looking as a great white shark's. Black hoodie framing his face like Ironwing was the grim reaper himself. Except the reaper's face wasn't blue.
Parker gripped the keel, fighting to control his breathing. Ironwing's mouth hung open like he had been just as terrified as Parker. But no bubbles escaped. A few more coins trickled out of Ironwing's pocket and writhed to the bottom.
Maybe it was the moving tide. A wave Parker couldn't see. Or maybe there was a current Parker hadn't noticed. But slowly one of Ironwing's arms moved . . . like he was motioning Parker closer.
Parker totally locked up. Arms. Legs. Every part of him seemed welded in place. Only his brain was capable of movement at this moment—and it was racing at Mach 5.
His instincts—or whatever had warned him against going into the water before Harley had arrived—had been absolutely right. It was wrong to squelch that internal warning system.
Parker also knew he'd been wrong about what the worst part of his job was. It definitely wasn't diving underwater alone. It was what might be waiting for him when he did.
CHAPTER 2
HARLEY POCKETED HIS PHONE and stared into the water. His call to Detective Greenwood had been 'interesting'. Maybe he'd tap on the boat to signal Parker back to the surface. His friend would want to hear about this conversation.
Harley hesitated, reviewing the quick phone conversation in his head. "No missing wallet calls, Harley. Hang on to it for now. I'll pick it up from you later today." Greenwood wasn't rushing right over, and Harley wasn't surprised. The cop had bigger fish to fry.
Greenwood had been laser-focused the last few weeks on all the break- ins on Bearskin Neck—the Rockport Harbor peninsula that was filled with shops and restaurants—and along Main Street. One or two businesses were broken into every night. Greenwood had been meeting with lots of owners, including Miss Lopez, who'd been open to every tip Greenwood offered to make sure the coffee shop wasn't hit by the "Bearskin Neck Bogeyman."
But Harley didn't love the idea of carrying around that kind of cash. "It's just that there's a 'lot' of money inside."
"Tell you what," Greenwood said. "I'll move some things around. I'll meet you in an hour. How's that?"
"Better." Harley pocketed the soggy wallet. "The driver's license was inside. Want the guy's name in case he calls?"
When Harley mentioned Ironwing's name, Greenwood's tone changed. "I'm in Gloucester, but I'm leaving now. Stay put. I'll be there, twelve minutes max. Don't talk to anyone about this."
So what was 'that' all about? Harley sat next to the dog he'd pulled from the harbor and scanned the parking spaces along T-wharf. He half expected Greenwood to roar up in his cop SUV at any instant.
Parker burst to the surface, eyes wild. He clawed at the pier and kicked hard, boosting himself out of the water.
Harley jumped to his feet and helped pull Parker onto the dock. He scanned the water. "Shark?" What was one doing in the harbor?
Parker shook his head. Spit out his regulator—breathing heavy. Was Parks shaking? Parker raised his mask and stared into the water— like whatever he'd seen down there might come after him. Even the dog looked skittish.
"You're 'so' not selling me on this hull-cleaning business," Harley said. "It looks like you've seen a ghost."
Parker's eyes actually looked haunted. "I kind of did."
...
