Rising Tide Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Titles by Patricia Twomey Ryan Published by Severn House

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Titles by Patricia Twomey Ryan published by Severn House

  WINDSWEPT

  RISING TIDE

  RISING TIDE

  Patricia Twomey Ryan

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  This first world edition published 2014

  in Great Britain and the USA by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

  19 Cedar Road, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM2 5DA.

  Trade paperback edition first published

  in Great Britain and the USA 2015 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD.

  eBook edition first published in 2015 by Severn House Digital

  an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited

  Copyright © 2014 by Patricia Twomey Ryan.

  The right of Patricia Twomey Ryan to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  Ryan, Patricia Twomey, 1946- author.

  Rising tide.

  1. Murder – Investigation – Fiction.

  2. Weddings – Aruba – Fiction.

  3. Romantic suspense novels.

  I. Title

  813.6-dc23

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8407-7 (cased)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-84751-547-6 (trade paper)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-594-9 (e-book)

  Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

  This ebook produced by

  Palimpsest Book Production Limited, Falkirk,

  Stirlingshire, Scotland.

  To John

  With Love

  PROLOGUE

  The sun appeared − at first, a rosy glow on the dark horizon, but soon bright orange streaks followed by a sizzling yellow ball that seemed to burn the sky. Manchebo Beach was deserted this early in the morning and the white powder sand was unspoiled. The waves were gentler now, not steady and brisk as they were during the day, but still strong enough to carry discarded objects to the shore. A lone figure stood in the shadow of the Bucuti resort, watching silently as the waves rolled inward. The soft glow of a cigarette could be seen, but otherwise the world seemed empty.

  The surf picked up and the waves quickened. An object, floating on top of the water, drifted in. Almost invisible, it took shape as it neared the shore − a body, long legs and arms outstretched, moving only to the rhythm of the waves. Long blonde hair streamed sinuously around the head that turned neither left nor right. With each incoming wave the figure grew closer until with one final push it was deposited on the sand. There it lay inert and still, oblivious to the brightening dawn.

  The lone figure stared for a lingering moment. He knew it wouldn’t be long before the body was discovered. With a slight shrug, he stamped out his final cigarette and walked away.

  ONE

  Emily stood facing her opened suitcase and started sorting through the neatly folded piles of clothes on her bed. She knew she had too much, but she was having the worst time making final choices. The navy-blue silk dress she had worn the last time she visited Island Bluffs hung on her closet door, but it was accompanied by soft aqua, lime green and bright coral dresses. Too many, she thought. She’d just take two, the navy and the aqua. Well, maybe the green also; it was, after all, a wedding. Perhaps the coral had been a mistake.

  Taking a break, she headed into the kitchen, a galley like many New York apartments, and made a second cup of coffee. She was tired this morning. The last few days had been incredibly busy and she was looking forward to getting away.

  The holiday had been lovely – Christmas Eve dinner at her father’s big old house in Croton with her sisters, Jane and Kate, their husbands and children in tow, and her brother, Brian, finally engaged to the very lively Rebecca. Her father had been in high spirits. Emily hadn’t seen him so happy in years. After her mother’s death from breast cancer ten years before, he had become quieter, more thoughtful and introspective. But this Christmas he’d seemed more like his old self, telling funny stories, playing with the grandkids and relishing the noise and laughter that filled the house. Emily had been taken aback when, after dinner, he broached the subject of selling the house. It was much too big, he said, and it was time he found a new place for himself. At first, Emily had tried to dissuade him.

  ‘Dad, you’ve always loved this house and it’s not that big. You have your office here, and all your books,’ she reminded him.

  But he had seemed pretty determined and her sisters and brother had been no help. ‘It’s time, Emily,’ he had finally said with a rueful smile on his face. And in truth, Emily recognized that it was she who hated to think of the old house being sold. So many memories.

  Checking her watch, Emily realized she had only an hour before the car arrived to take her to the airport. ‘I better get moving,’ she said out loud and, getting into vacation mode, she put on the Bob Marley CD she had bought at the airport last year.

  It was small things like this that Emily most enjoyed about living alone. Michael would never have wanted to hear that music. Oh, it would be great to listen to if you were in the Caribbean but not back home, here in New York. Everything in its place. He would have rolled his eyes at her and she would probably have turned it off. But now she relished her freedom, and for just a moment she danced.

  It had been a long year since she had been to the Bluffs. A long year and a lot of changes. She had known it was over with Michael when she left the Bluffs, but he had been stunned when she’d told him.

  ‘Em, you’ve been through a terrible ordeal. You’re upset, not thinking right.’

  But she had been adamant. She knew that she would never really fit into his corporate law world, the white-shoe firm and his very conservative partners. And she knew Michael expected her to be the perfect partner’s wife – maybe join the junior league or perhaps a book club, and the organizing commi
ttee for some acceptable charity. It was something she could never be. It wasn’t the life for her.

  They had discussed it endlessly those first few weeks. Michael had at first been apologetic: ‘If I’d known what was happening, I would have come to the Bluffs no matter what. You know that, Em.’ But she didn’t know that. She thought of all the times over the last couple of years that Michael had not been there. Times she tried to ignore or make excuses for. And then he was angry. ‘I don’t know what you mean, Emily. The firm is so important for our future. Not just mine, both of ours. You knew what being a partner’s wife involved. I thought you wanted that. That job of yours, those causes, I believed you’d give up all that.’ And it was then she realized that Michael didn’t know her very well at all.

  After the anger came resignation. They’d put the apartment on the market and tried to be civil as they divided the furnishings. Emily noticed how few of the things Michael wanted. Not surprising, she realized, since most of the purchasing and decorating had been done by her. Michael never had the time. Now he had taken to saying they didn’t really fit his ‘lifestyle.’

  Her new apartment was in the same building where she and Michael had had their two bedroom place. It was smaller, and had no fireplace, but the bedroom was large enough to do double duty as her office, and when she awoke in the middle of the night, anxious about giving up the stability and safety of Michael, her computer was only a few feet away, calling to her.

  She actually loved her new job – business, really – ECH Consulting, for Emily Claire Harrington, of course, and her early fears of not getting enough work had not materialized. She was able to use the skills and the contacts she had developed over the past six years with the state advocacy program, and she was always busy, sharing her talents and knowledge with foundations, human rights and environmental organizations – mostly NGOs, but even a few small government departments. She had always been an effective community organizer but now she was advising organizations on ways to be more effective responders. And she had done some traveling – San Francisco for the Carlton Foundation, Miami for the Dressler Group and Chicago for Bethechange.org.

  Yes, she was content with her new life. She was beginning to find those pieces of herself she had left behind all those years before – an enthusiasm for adventure, a willingness to take risks and a healthy sense of humor. The pieces she had left behind the summer she graduated from Cornell. The summer her mother had died.

  Michael had moved to the Upper East Side, a bigger apartment in a modern building. Emily had seen it once when she’d had to drop off some signed papers to him. It was stunning, just what a young law firm partner would want.

  Right, she thought, time for final choices. She knew there would be several formal events, the rehearsal tomorrow night and the wedding for starters, and certainly a beach barbecue. Dinner was always dressy at the Bluffs, so maybe the short silk print dress and her white linen trousers. Other than that, beach clothes and casuals would do. OK, these three, she thought, putting the long, softly flowing dresses carefully in her suitcase. Now for her jewelry. Her mother’s sapphire earrings, definitely, to go with the dark blue; and gold − the hoop earrings, a couple of bracelets, and maybe the rose-gold necklace with the turquoise stone for the aqua dress. Done, she said, and then, without thinking, she slipped the gold bracelets into her pocket.

  It wasn’t long before the buzzer rang and Eddie was calling up to her. ‘Your car is here, Miss Emily. Do you need help with your bags?’

  ‘Not this time, Eddie,’ she said, remembering last year’s trip to the Bluffs − a freezing cold, snowy winter morning when she’d had to manage both her and Michael’s bags. ‘I’m traveling a lot lighter these days.’

  The ride to the airport was uneventful. This January was milder than last year, and there were only traces of snow on the ground. Still, the rush to warmer climes was evident. When Emily got there, the airport was packed. But this time she headed for the first-class lounge, a benefit of her new business’s success. She poured a cup of coffee and pulled out a book to read, but within a few minutes, her flight was being called.

  It was easy settling into the wide leather seats with spacious overhead compartments and helpful cabin staff. Emily had the window seat. The older woman in the aisle seat just smiled as she sat down and soon took out a book. Emily was delighted; the quiet of the flight gave her time to think. In reality, she had had little quiet time in the last few months – certainly no time for a vacation – and although she loved every minute of what she was doing she knew it was time for some rest and relaxation.

  She had been pleased when the invitation had arrived. She and the Maitlands, Annie and Martin, the owners of the Island Bluffs resort in Aruba, had stayed in touch since her visit the previous February. Not surprising really, that they had grown quite close during the course of what had been a sometimes difficult stay. They rarely revisited the circumstances surrounding Roger’s death and, once the guilty plea had been entered and justice served, they all just wanted to leave it behind them. It had been months before references to the murder stopped appearing in every article about the resort: ‘Island Bluffs, the beautiful Caribbean resort that was the site of last February’s gruesome murder of travel critic Roger …’ but eventually the press attention had died down.

  Annie and Martin’s daughter, Sarah, and her fiancé Jon Peterson had finally set the date for their wedding. Things had picked up for Jon since the trouble with Roger ended. His restaurant had been getting consistently great reviews and Annie said there was always a waiting list for reservations. The wedding was to take place at Island Bluffs on Saturday evening. Annie and Martin had closed the resort for the week, permitting wedding guests only – unprecedented, but they had warned all their regular guests early on, and a number of the regulars would even be at the wedding. Island Bluffs, as Emily had discovered the last time she was there, was much like a family, and Emily found herself looking forward to seeing them all again, especially one in particular …

  TWO

  ‘Fasten your seatbelts, ladies and gentlemen, as we prepare for landing.’ The captain’s voice alerted the passengers as the cabin crew bustled up and down the aisles, quickly collecting empty cups, old newspapers and plastic wrappers. Emily peered out the window for that beautiful first glimpse of the island and could easily make out the blue roof of Aruba’s Reina Beatrix Airport. As she watched the white sand beaches and turquoise water come closer, the stewardess tapped the older woman sitting next to Emily, rousing her from sleep. ‘The seatbelt light has come on, we’re preparing for landing,’ she said, and the woman quickly complied. Emily took a minute to reorganize her carry-on, putting in her iPad – her lifeline these days – her reading glasses and an unread magazine, and taking out her sunglasses and passport. As she walked through the airplane door the sun bathed her in its warmth and she quickly took off her blazer.

  Even though Emily was in first class, the arrivals hall was crowded and there was already a line at customs. That was always the way with these winter flights. They arrived one after another and visitors often had to wait. Families struggled with carry-on bags, one being dragged by each of the adults, while each of the kids wheeled a rolling backpack. One father, with some impatience, trying to herd them on: ‘Tommy, I told you to put the game away and the same goes for you, Sally – put your phone in your pocket until we get through customs.’

  It took a while for the line to wind down, but Emily was not impatient. She believed she could have endured anything in this new-found warmth. And the three-piece steel band playing in the corner lifted everyone’s spirits. Once through, Emily stopped to help a young woman, who looked close in age to her, with a baby. Emily saw she could not quite manage the car seat, diaper bag and documents she held in her hand. Emily was just reaching for the car seat when a young man, tall and with shaggy blond hair, brushed roughly by her, knocking her carry-on and blazer to the ground. She caught only a fleeting glimpse of him as she bent down to
pick up her things.

  ‘Really, watch where you’re going,’ the young woman exclaimed loudly. The young man turned, picked up Emily’s blazer and threw it back to her, but walked quickly away, leaving her bag lying on the floor.

  ‘Ugh, some people,’ the young woman said, turning back to Emily. ‘I’m so sorry. I just need to reorganize myself then I’ll be fine. Thank you so much for the help.’

  ‘Are you picking up a bag? I’m headed toward the baggage carousel – why don’t we walk together?’

  ‘Oh, that would be a big help. As soon as I can get her in the stroller I’ll be all set. Thanks again.’

  The baby’s stroller came through right away and the young woman strapped her in and thanked Emily again.

  ‘Sure you’re all right?’ Emily asked.

  ‘We’re fine now. I imagine our bag will come around soon.’

  Emily found her own bag quickly, and as she walked towards the exit she saw Nelson, Martin and Annie’s number two at the Bluffs, standing just beyond the door. ‘Oh, Nelson,’ she called, ‘it’s so good to be here.’

  ‘Bon bini, Miss Emily,’ Nelson said, reaching for her bag. ‘It’s good to see you again − and on such a special occasion.’

  ‘How is everyone, Nelson? They must all be so excited. Tell me about the wedding. What are the plans? Are Annie and Martin going to be able to relax and enjoy it? Are we picking up anyone else? Such a big undertaking and—’

  ‘Whoa, Miss Emily. One thing at a time. First thing, into the car. Yes, we are waiting for one more guest. Ah, here she is now,’ Nelson said as he hurried to help the young woman still struggling with baby in tow.