Amanda Doucette Mystery 3-Book Bundle. Barbara Fradkin

“She’d need a whole lot of prayer and luck for that trip. Twenty kilometres on open seas.”

      “Then if it’s as bad as you say, my friend might be stranded just a few kilometres down the coast.”

      “There’s fishing boats about. All he has to do is flag one down.”

      “I know, but … well, my friend might be running scared.”

      “Running scared.” The fisherman scrutinized her. She could feel the doubt and disapproval in his gaze. “And what are you going to do if you find them?”

      “Bring them back.”

      “Could be dangerous.”

      “He’s my friend. He’s not going to hurt me.”

      “You never know what a man’s capable of.”

      “I know him. He’s probably frightened. Desperate.”

      “All the more reason. If he killed Old Stink —”

      “He didn’t!” She broke off to recapture calm. Above all, she needed to appear rational. “But if he did, it would have been an accident. I know him, Thaddeus. He needs help. And he’s got his son with him.”

      Thaddeus said nothing. Amanda looked around at the half-dozen small boats moored at wharves or pulled helter-skelter up on the shore. Most in varying stages of rust and rot. She pointed to the only one with a motor.

      “What about that one?”

      He shifted his gaze from her to the boat. A frown creased his brow. “Know anything about piloting a boat?”

      “I’ve piloted plenty of them overseas. Much more decrepit than that.” It was an exaggeration, but all for a good cause. Most of the boats she’d piloted had nothing but a paddle or scull. However, she had driven a speedboat across the lakes in Quebec, so that experience would have to do.

      “Ocean?”

      “Big lakes.”

      Thaddeus grunted. “Lakes is nudding. I’ll get my boy to take you down the coast. He’s just up at the garden helping my wife harvest the potatoes.”

      Amanda’s heart sank. She’d dug her own hole on this one, persuading Thaddeus that Phil would never hurt her. In truth, who could ever be sure? In Africa she’d seen kind, gentle neighbours rendered savage in the swirl of bloodlust. Never, ever, would she put a child into the middle of that again.

      “No, I won’t take him away from his chores. Helping his mother is much more important.”

      Thaddeus’s eyes twinkled. “He won’t see it like that.”

      “All the same, I won’t hear of it. I have a hundred dollars hanging around just waiting for a good cause. I’ve got a compass, maps, and some emergency gear. All I need is a boat that won’t sink and a couple of life jackets, and I’ll be fine. I promise to be back before nightfall.”

      He gave her a long look. A man of few words, but many reservations. A man honed to expect the worst over a lifetime of struggle and resistance. She pasted a look of determined cheer on her face.

      “She can’t handle the big waves,” he said.

      “Then I’ll stick close to shore.”

      He shrugged. “Your funeral.”

      Chapter Fourteen

      Amanda made it out of Conche Harbour and around the tip of the headland out of sight of the villagers before the engine sputtered and died. The wind ripped across the open sea, and the boat pitched and wallowed in the swell. With each slapping wave, water splashed over the gunwales and tossed the boat like flotsam toward the jagged shore. Kaylee cowered under the seat in the bottom of the boat, her ears flattened and her eyes wide with reproach.

      Amanda spread her legs to brace herself as she bent over the engine and struggled to prime it. Her arm ached from pulling the cord, and the rocks were metres away before the engine finally coughed and rattled to life. Gasping with relief, she fell into the seat and spun the boat away from the rocks.

      To the north and south, the coast wove in and out like a ragged seam, splintering and crumbling into bays, fjords and points. Phil could be in any of the hidden inlets. She had told Thaddeus she was going south toward Englee, but now that she was out on the ocean, she wondered whether Phil would choose to go north instead, toward St. Anthony.

      She forced herself to think the unthinkable. If Phil had killed Stink, he’d be in full flight, and if he were thinking at all logically, he’d be trying to get as far away as fast as he could. St. Anthony had a small airport, allowing him to get off the island within hours.

      And even if he were simply seeking oblivion, the land to the north was as wild and empty as he could ever hope for. So she pointed the nose of her boat north.

      As the boat fought its way along the coastline, she tried to find an ideal distance from shore — far enough that a strong wave would not throw her on the rocks but close enough that the land provided some shelter from the open sea. Close enough that she could see into the nooks and crannies of the shoreline.

      Her progress was slow. She had to keep one wary eye on each approaching wave while she scoured the cliffs and dark woods and barrens that formed the ever-changing shore. Noon sun washed the land in greens, silvers, and shadowy black. Her eyes ached from squinting against the glare and the constant bucking of the boat.

      This could all be a fool’s errand. Phil could be anywhere by now! Even across the peninsula, as Jason Maloney claimed. Through her worry and fatigue, fury began to take hold. The man might be desperate, he might even be suicidal, but damn it, he had a son to take care of! A son who was probably bewildered and frightened by now. He had friends who were moving heaven and earth for him. And yet he couldn’t spare a single, fucking word? Not even “sorry”?

      The boat growled and whined as it inched up the coast. Kaylee ventured out of hiding and finally took up a sentry’s post at the bow. They wasted precious time exploring every inlet and cove along the way. After three hours the sun was beginning to slip toward the western hills, and Amanda knew she was running out of time. No one knew she was heading north, and if she failed to return as promised, Chris and the villagers would be worried. There might even be frantic searches launched for her, drawing precious resources away from Tyler and Phil.

      But worry drove her on. Just into this one last cove, around this one rocky point. By tomorrow the police would have descended, with their much greater manpower and equipment. If they found Phil before she did, he would get no mercy or sympathy, only the harsh, by-the-book judgment of Sergeant Amis. In his desperate state, who knew what he’d do?

      She finally set herself a limit. Ahead in the distance she could see spumes of spray breaking over a barren point of land that jutted into the ocean. She wondered how many unsuspecting sailors had been caught unaware and had cracked up on the rocks. If Phil had come upon it in darkness or fog, he and Tyler might well be stranded there.

      She slowed and approached cautiously, watching the water ahead for rocks lurking just below the surface. The boat pitched and rolled. Her hand ached from gripping the tiller and she shivered in the cold spray. As the point drew nearer, she steered the boat farther out toward the safety of the open sea. Her eyes raked the slick stones for signs of a wreck. A person standing on the shore. A distress beacon.

      Nothing. Just bleak, empty rock littered with ocean junk.

      She was just preparing to turn back when her eyes caught a flash of light on the shore. She spun the boat around and hardly dared to breathe as she inched closer. Her heart pounded. It could be anything. But it was something! Sunlight was dancing off metal, and, as she drew close, she could make out colours. Red and white against the grey shale of the shore.

      Closer still, she made out the shape of a small boat aground on the shore. Once white but patched with rust and faded red paint. Its motor glinted black in the glare of the sun. The tide was coming in, and