Secrets By The Sea Read online

  Secrets by the Sea

  by

  Kathi Daley

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 by Katherine Daley

  Version 1.0

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  I want to thank the very talented Jessica Fischer for the cover art.

  I so appreciate Bruce Curran, who is always ready and willing to answer my cyber questions; Jayme Maness for helping out with the book clubs; and Peggy Hyndman for helping sleuth out those pesky typos.

  And, of course, thanks to the readers and bloggers in my life, who make doing what I do possible.

  Thank you to Randy Ladenheim-Gil for the editing.

  And finally, I want to thank my husband Ken for allowing me time to write by taking care of everything else.

  Books by Kathi Daley

  Come for the murder, stay for the romance.

  Zoe Donovan Cozy Mystery:

  Halloween Hijinks

  The Trouble With Turkeys

  Christmas Crazy

  Cupid’s Curse

  Big Bunny Bump-off

  Beach Blanket Barbie

  Maui Madness

  Derby Divas

  Haunted Hamlet

  Turkeys, Tuxes, and Tabbies

  Christmas Cozy

  Alaskan Alliance

  Matrimony Meltdown

  Soul Surrender

  Heavenly Honeymoon

  Hopscotch Homicide

  Ghostly Graveyard

  Santa Sleuth

  Shamrock Shenanigans

  Kitten Kaboodle

  Costume Catastrophe

  Candy Cane Caper

  Holiday Hangover

  Easter Escapade

  Camp Carter

  Trick or Treason

  Reindeer Roundup

  Hippity Hoppity Homicide

  Firework Fiasco

  Henderson House – August 2018

  Zimmerman Academy The New Normal

  Ashton Falls Cozy Cookbook

  Tj Jensen Paradise Lake Mysteries by Henery Press:

  Pumpkins in Paradise

  Snowmen in Paradise

  Bikinis in Paradise

  Christmas in Paradise

  Puppies in Paradise

  Halloween in Paradise

  Treasure in Paradise

  Fireworks in Paradise

  Beaches in Paradise – July 2018

  Whales and Tails Cozy Mystery:

  Romeow and Juliet

  The Mad Catter

  Grimm’s Furry Tail

  Much Ado About Felines

  Legend of Tabby Hollow

  Cat of Christmas Past

  A Tale of Two Tabbies

  The Great Catsby

  Count Catula

  The Cat of Christmas Present

  A Winter’s Tail

  The Taming of the Tabby

  Frankencat

  The Cat of Christmas Future

  Farewell to Felines

  A Whisker in Time – September 2018

  Writers’ Retreat Southern Seashore Mystery:

  First Case

  Second Look

  Third Strike

  Fourth Victim

  Fifth Night

  Sixth Cabin

  Seventh Chapter – August 2018

  Rescue Alaska Paranormal Mystery:

  Finding Justice

  Finding Answers

  Finding Courage – September 2018

  A Tess and Tilly Mystery:

  The Christmas Letter

  The Valentine Mystery

  The Mother’s Day Mishap

  The Halloween House – July 2018

  Haunting by the Sea:

  Homecoming by the Sea

  Secrets by the Sea

  Sand and Sea Hawaiian Mystery:

  Murder at Dolphin Bay

  Murder at Sunrise Beach

  Murder at the Witching Hour

  Murder at Christmas

  Murder at Turtle Cove

  Murder at Water’s Edge

  Murder at Midnight

  Seacliff High Mystery:

  The Secret

  The Curse

  The Relic

  The Conspiracy

  The Grudge

  The Shadow

  The Haunting

  Road to Christmas Romance:

  Road to Christmas Past

  Table of Contents

  Books by Kathi Daley

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Next From Kathi Daley Books

  Books by Kathi Daley

  Chapter 1

  Monday, June 11

  Some secrets are meant to be shared, others are better off forgotten.

  Sixteen-year-old Naomi Collins disappeared on April 12, 2002. She’d been a troubled teen living in a dysfunctional home, and most people assumed she’d simply run away to start a new life in a new town under an assumed name. In theory, I suppose that made sense. Based on the information I’d been able to dig up, Naomi had been brought up in a home fraught with alcoholism, abuse, and long periods of abandonment. She was the only child of a hard, sadistic man, a fisherman by trade, who, according to witnesses, beat and berated his weak and timid wife whenever the mood struck.

  Shortly before Naomi disappeared, her mother suffered a nervous breakdown and was voluntarily admitted to a psychiatric facility. Naomi was left alone with her father, who, it was said, spent more time in the local pub than at home. Naomi was an average student who seemed to enjoy school, although she had few friends. I assumed that was a byproduct of her father’s refusal to allow her to engage in social activities other than an occasional event sponsored by the high school.

  So, why, you might ask, if this missing persons case seemed to be cut and dried, would I spend an entire week of my six-week vacation in the seaside town of Cutter’s Cove investigating some random girl who’d lived in town before I’d ever set foot on the sandy shore of the majestic Oregon coast? The answer to this understandable question began, as so many events in my life have, with a dream.

  “You’re up early,” Mom said when she joined me on the deck of the mansion she and I had renovated when we first lived in Cutter’s Cove. The historic home was not only magnificent structurally but perched on a bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. It was the perfect place to while away a lazy day.

  “Couldn’t sleep,” I answered with a yawn as I watched seagulls glide over the aqua ocean, searching for their morning meal.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Mom sympathized as she sat down on a lounge chair next to me. We both sipped our coffee from sturdy ceramic mugs as we waited, along with my dogs Tucker and Sunny, for the sun to peek its brilliant head over the horizon. It was nice to be here in this place together again after so many years. Mom and I had first moved to Cutter’s Cove twelve years ago, after I witnessed a gangland shooting that landed my mother and me in the witness protection program. I thought the transition would be difficult, and it was, at first. But then I met my new best friends, Trevor Johnson and Mackenzie Reynolds, and suddenly, a middle-class life didn’t seem so bad. For two years, I lived here as Alyson. Then, seemingly out of the blue, the murderers I had run from were eliminated by their own family, a
nd my new life in Cutter’s Cove was no longer a necessity. After a long discussion, Mom and I decided to go back to New York, where I went to college and, after graduation, went on to work for a top advertising firm as a graphic artist. Mom bought an estate in the country and, for the most part, we were happy. Still, there was a part of me that would always belong to Cutter’s Cove. I just didn’t know how literal that actually turned out to be.

  “Are you feeling all right?” Mom asked.

  I reached my arms over my head, yawned again, and let out a long sigh. “I’m fine. It’s just the dream I’ve been having for the past few nights that’s been keeping me awake.”

  “Dream?” Mom asked as she turned toward me and angled her head slightly to the side.

  “It’s a long story,” I said, and I realized my fatigue was evident in my voice. I leaned back, closed my eyes, and ran my fingers through Shadow’s long black fur as the waves crashing in the distance soothed me.

  “I’d like to help. Especially if you feel this is more than a simple dream. Do you think it’s a portent?”

  I opened my eyes and momentarily considered my mother. She was one of the few people who knew about my power to see ghosts and, occasionally, glimpses of the future in dream form. She was one of the few people in my life who knew everything about me, the normal and the strange, and never judged. If there was anyone I could always talk to, it was her. “No,” I answered, “not a portent exactly. I think I’m being drawn into something that took place in the past.” I adjusted my position on the chaise so I was sitting up straight rather than leaning back, as I had been. “The dream always starts off with me walking up a long, narrow trail that leads from a parking field of some sort, then climbs up to a bluff overlooking the sea. It’s foggy and visibility is limited. Basically, during the walk, all I can see is what’s directly in front of my feet as I go. It occurs to me as I make the journey that something’s very wrong, and that I should turn back. Yet, despite my own thoughts about doing just that, I continue to walk. It’s almost as if I’m being pulled along against my will.”

  “It sounds frightening.”

  “Not so much frightening as heavy. I feel as if I’m carrying a great weight, and the farther down the path I go, the more burdened I become. As I continue, I’m aware of a tightness in my chest. My breath comes in gasps and there’s a feeling of fear blanketed by a sort of acceptance. When I get to the top of the bluff, the fog clears. I pause to look around. I find not only a gorgeous view but an abandoned gravesite marked by a handmade wooden cross. The fear I’ve been experiencing on the hike up is replaced with a deep sorrow that cuts my soul.”

  “And the grave? Do you have a sense of who’s buried there?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know for certain, but recently, I’ve been picking up the name Naomi. I did some research and discovered a Naomi Collins disappeared from Cutter’s Cove sixteen years ago.”

  “You think the grave in your dreams belongs to Naomi Collins?” Mom asked.

  I lifted one shoulder. “Maybe. I don’t have a sense that Naomi is dead necessarily, but I do know she grew up in a very unhappy home. I spoke to Woody,” I said, referring to my friend, Officer Woody Baker. “Officially, it’s assumed Naomi ran away. And maybe she did. Based on what I’ve been able to find out, she certainly had reason to. But the more I look into things, the stronger my intuition is that it’s Naomi’s grave I’m dreaming about.”

  “Talk to Woody again,” Mom suggested. “He can look in the area you sense and find out who, if anyone, is buried there.”

  “I’d do that, but I don’t know where the grave is. I see it in my dream, but though I’ve tried, I can’t figure out the exact location of the bluff in my dream. Woody’s already shared with me everything he knows about Naomi, which isn’t much.”

  “Maybe if you have the dream often enough, eventually you’ll develop a sense of where the bluff is,” Mom offered.

  I stretched my long legs out in front of me. “That’s what I’m hoping, although I hope it happens soon. I’m exhausted. I’m ready for the dreams to stop messing with my sleep.” If I was honest, I’d gotten very little sleep since I came back to Cutter’s Cove three weeks ago to track down the killer of an old friend.

  Mom stood up. “I’ll make us some breakfast and you can fill me in on what you know to this point. It’s Monday. Do you think Trevor will be by?” Mom was particularly fond of one of my two best friends. “He mentioned coming for breakfast on his day off.”

  “I’ll text him to confirm, but if I know Trev—and I do!—he won’t pass up the opportunity for some of your cooking.”

  Mom smiled. “I enjoy cooking for that boy. He’s always so appreciative.”

  Not really a boy anymore, I thought to myself but didn’t say aloud. “We all enjoy your cooking. In fact, I think it’s one of the reasons Mac’s arranging to come back to town so quickly. She doesn’t want to miss out on any of the delicious meals she knows you’ll be cooking while we’re here.”

  “Do you know when she plans to arrive?” Mom asked about Mackenzie Reynolds, who currently lived in California.

  “Last I heard, she’s flying in on Wednesday, but I’ll check to make sure her plans haven’t changed.”

  After Mom went inside, I returned my attention to the sea. The sky grew bright as the sun began to poke its head over the horizon. We’d had rain overnight, and the lingering clouds were brilliant with shades of red, orange, pink, and purple. God, how I’d missed this place. Yes, I’d been busy with my life in New York and hadn’t dwelled on what I’d left behind, but the longer I was here, where I’d been the happiest, I wondered if I could bear to leave. Mom owned the house, and I had more than enough money that I didn’t need to work. From that standpoint, staying in Cutter’s Cove wouldn’t be a problem. But if I decided to stay, there were other things to consider. I had a job I enjoyed and a boyfriend I was fond of but probably wouldn’t miss. Mom had her own life in New York, and I doubted she’d want to stay here all the time, but she’d visit as often as she chose.

  As each day passed, I wondered more and more whether my life was here in Cutter’s Cove, with my dogs and my cat, and Trevor. California was a short flight away, so Mac would be able to visit often. I didn’t know whether Alyson Prescott, the part of me who’d stayed behind in this house when I left Cutter’s Cove and had appeared when I’d returned for a short visit, would somehow magically make her way back inside me if I recommitted my life here. When I’d first arrived and found my teenage self running around the house as if she were a real person, I was less than thrilled, but now that I’d gotten used to her, I thought if we eventually reconnected, I’d miss her. I hadn’t mentioned the idea of staying to anyone yet. I wanted to come to a firm decision before I did.

  “We should take a photo of the sky and the sea,” Alyson said, and there she was, as if thinking about her had made her appear, and hopped up on the railing that separated the deck from the sharp drop to the sea below. “It’s exceptional this morning. I bet Mom will want to paint it.”

  “It is an exceptional sunrise.” I smiled at the apparition who was in a lot of ways just like me, yet in many others very different. “Where did you come from? I haven’t seen you in days.”

  Alyson frowned. “Really? It doesn’t feel as if I’ve been away. I think maybe we’re beginning to merge for short periods of time.”

  “Merge?”

  “You said you hadn’t seen me, but I’ve known what you saw, felt, even thought, so I must have been with you.”

  “You can do that? Pop in and out?”

  “I guess. I’m not certain, but I know things I only could if I’d been with you. Yesterday we had lunch with Trevor. He had a burger and we had a seafood salad. A woman Trev knows came over to our table and sat in his lap. He was polite but pushed her off, and the whole time we were thinking how satisfying it would be to pull her fake platinum hair out by the roots.”

  Now it was my turn to frown. “You’re right. I
think maybe I need to talk to Chan again.” Chan, the magic shop owner, seemed to know what was going on between Alyson and me a lot better than I did. “I thought at some point we’d just get slapped back together. I imagined it as a single move, not a gradual assimilation.”

  “You know we can’t merge for good unless you decide to stay here,” Alyson pointed out.

  I tucked my bottom lip into my mouth and nibbled on a corner. “Chan did say that.”

  “And I know you’ve been considering it,” Alyson added.

  “I have,” I admitted.

  “Not surprising. We love it here. Even though you only lived here for two years, in your heart, Cutter’s Cove is home.”

  I acknowledged the truth in that. “It is home and I do love it, but I have a job and a boyfriend to consider.”

  “A job you’ve tired of and a boyfriend you know you won’t miss if you never see him again. A boyfriend you were thinking of breaking up with anyway.”

  Alyson really could read my mind. It was a little disconcerting, even if she was part of me. “Can we change the subject?”

  “Sure.” Alyson waved her hand in a panoramic gesture. “Don’t forget to take the photo for Mom.”

  “Hang on a sec.” I got up and jogged into the house, where I’d left my Nikon. I could have taken the photo with my phone, but this sunrise deserved special treatment. I took dozens of photos, changing lenses, filters, and perspectives several times. Mom would have a lot of good options to choose from. It was too bad she’d gone in to get dressed before the big show had begun.

  I think one of the reasons I’d gone into graphic design was because of my love of working with shapes, colors, angles, and light. Mom was an artist both as a hobby and a part-time profession, so I supposed I’d inherited my artistic instincts from her. She was a genius with a paintbrush, but I’d found the medium I enjoyed most was photography. Catching the perfect image at just the right time and in the right light truly was an art form not everyone understood.