Deep Waters

interest to you."
    Elias gazed at Otis through the office doorway. The bird was sidling impatiently back and forth along his perch. It was closing time. "What news?"
    "Remember Garrick Keyworth? The guy you had me do some work on?"
    Elias went still. "What about him?"
    "Word has it that he tried to commit suicide last night. Took a whole fistful of pills."
    All of the air went out of Elias's lungs. With no warning, the river that flowed out of his own past suddenly revealed the pale form of his mother. She lay sprawled on a bed, an array of pill bottles neatly arranged on the night table beside her.
    With an act of practiced will, Elias sent the image back into the darkness from which it had come.
    "Did he succeed?" Elias asked.
    "No. Nine-one-one was called. They got him to the hospital in time. He'll recover, but you can imagine what the news will do to the company. Once the shock wears off, Keyworth International is expected to go into a tailspin. You know how it is in an operation like that where there's no clear successor poised to take over the leadership slot. Everyone panics."
    "Yes."
    "Too bad Keyworth never took his son into the firm. If he had, there would be someone at the helm now to calm customers and creditors."
    "Keyworth and his son are estranged," Elias said.
    "So I heard. Well, I'd say this will be the end of Keyworth International."

7

    A man can drown in passion as surely as he can drown in the sea,

    —"On the Way of Water," from the journal of Hayden Stone

    Something was wrong.
    Charity closed the new issue of Gourmet, which she had been poring over for the past half hour. She could feel the wrongness in her bones. The feeling of unease had been growing steadily since late this afternoon when she had seen Elias lock up his shop for the night.
    He hadn't even bothered to wave good-bye to anyone, let alone see Charity to her car, as had become his habit during the past few days. He had set off toward the parking lot without a backward glance, empty travel cage in one hand. Otis had perched like a vulture on his shoulder.
    For some inexplicable reason, the sight of man and bird pacing down the pier had sent a chill through Charity. Now, several hours later, the cold feeling was getting worse.
    She tossed the glossy magazine onto the whimsically designed, frosted-glass coffee table. It landed on a bevy of cookbooks that she had brought home from Whispers. She had spent the entire evening scouring the collection for interesting recipes. Elias's tastes, like hers, were distinctive and a little eccentric. Nothing had been said aloud, but Charity sensed that a gauntlet had been thrown down. Elias had deliberately challenged her. She intended to hold her own in the next round of the Truitt-Winters cook-off.
    But what she was feeling now was not a form of chef's anxiety. This restlessness was different.
    She could not get the image of Elias's grim silhouette against the evening sun out of her mind.
    Something was definitely wrong.
    She uncurled from the curved lipstick-red sofa and walked across the small living room to open the front door. She stepped out onto the porch. It was after nine. Nearly full dark. There was a new chill in the air. Fog was gathering over the cove.
    She curled her hands around the old, white-washed rail and studied the maze of trees that stretched the quarter-mile distance that separated her cottage from Elias's. She could not make out any sign of light through the thick foliage.
    On impulse she straightened, locked the front door, and went down the porch steps. She paused again, listening to the sounds of the onrushing night. She thought she could hear the distant chants of the Voyagers, but it was difficult to tell for certain.
    She walked out to the bluff path. Once again she gazed in the direction of Elias's cottage. From here she should be able to see lights from his windows through the trees.
    Nothing. Not so much as a glimmer from his porch light. Perhaps he had gone into town for the evening.
    The sense of wrongness grew stronger.
    She took one step and then another along the path. She had covered several yards before she acknowledged that she was going to walk to Elias's cottage.
    This was probably a mistake. Checking up on Elias could prove to be an embarrassing move in the cat-and-mouse flirtation game that the two of them seemed to be playing. He'd probably view her curiosity as a sign of eagerness or even desperation. She would lose the upper hand.
    But she could