Grave Danger. Katy Lee

I considered God dead to me, too. But if it makes you stay, you can believe whatever you like.”

      “I believe you still belong to Him, so for that reason, you can count me in, Sheriff.” A bit of fear mixed with a jolt of excitement coursed through her at the sound of her agreeable words springing from her lips. She felt a hesitant smile form as Sheriff Grant extended his hand to shake. Lydia reached for it and verbalized her confounding thoughts. “I’ve never done anything so insensible. My career could end up in the same condition as the skeleton. Dead.” Or it could skyrocket.

      Whatever Your will, let it be, God. With that, Lydia shook Sheriff Grant’s hand with conviction. “Let’s do it. Let’s identify this woman.”

      As she gave his hand a few good pumps, she noticed how it enveloped her thin-boned one with triple the size and strength. Sheriff Wesley Grant was one strong man and could overpower her in an instant. The thought caused a little fear of him to sprout. Perhaps losing her job shouldn’t be her only concern. Doubts flickered in her mind about this man with whom she’d just struck a deal. Should she have done a little digging into the life of Wesley Grant before she signed over anyone’s death certificate to him?

      Sheriff Grant’s piercing blue eyes peeked through his blond strands again. She got the feeling he was questioning her sincerity, too. Seconds ticked by while she made the decision to fully trust him. She let go and decided only time would tell.

      “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you your island isn’t as safe as you think,” Lydia said, breaking their analyzing silence. “Someone may not want this body found, and that someone is most likely one of your islanders. Other people could be in danger.”

      He nodded solemnly. “I agree the islanders could be in danger, but I can’t believe one of our own did this.” His tough voice from before was now threaded with sadness. “Meet me at 8:00 a.m. at the Underground Küchen Restaurant on the pier. Time is critical. I can’t and won’t let harm come to this island or its people. I owe them that much.”

      “Owe them? For what?”

      Sheriff Grant turned and grabbed the handle to the screen door. “Let’s just say I had my own little brush with the law once. Someone tried to pin a theft on me. The islanders believed in me when no one else did, and for that, I owe them.”

      * * *

      How do you sign “Thank you”? Lydia scrawled out her message on the pad of paper Miriam Matthews carried with her to help her converse with the hearing world.

      The woman’s golden-red hair draped prettily around her elegant face as she bent to read the note from behind the wheel of her SUV. The deaf woman had given Lydia a ride into town on her way to the high school where she worked as the school’s principal. A smile blossomed on her lips when she lifted her pretty face. She brought her right-hand fingertips to her mouth, then pulled her hand straight out in front of her to demonstrate the sign.

      Lydia mimicked the hand motion a few times until she got it right. She wanted to say, “Thank you for the ride,” but with no knowledge of American Sign Language, she had to settle for only “Thank you.” She made a mental note to buy and memorize a sign-language book.

      As she reached for the door handle to exit, the breathtaking view out her passenger window caused her to linger. Beyond the boardwalk and its quaint gray clapboard shops was a long wooden pier reaching out to the expansive, shimmering sea. Sharp rocks with spraying swells dotted the water far below the pier. From inside the car, she could hear their steady, rushing sounds that lulled her into a state of reflection—specifically for what might happen to this secluded gem of a land when word got out someone had been brutally murdered.

      Miriam tapped her on the shoulder, pulling her out of her thoughts. Her pad of paper had a message scrawled across the top. Do you like the ocean?

      “I could listen to it for hours.” Lydia winced and hoped Miriam couldn’t read lips. Here she was, speaking about hearing the ocean, and Miriam couldn’t hear a thing. Empathy, Lydia. Empathy.

      Miriam scribbled out another message, I understand, and Lydia’s shoulders sagged in embarrassment. The woman could read lips.

      Lydia took the pad and pen to write quickly I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—

      Miriam snatched the pad away, her head shaking back and forth, a reassuring smile on her lightly freckled face. “It’s...all right.” Mrs. Matthews spoke aloud, her voice a little squeaky but articulate. “I imagine...the sound is beautiful.” Her face lit up in a friendly, reassuring smile while her hands made the signs for her words. The word for beautiful was represented by Miriam’s long fingers fanning out in a sweeping circle over her whole face. Lydia didn’t think she’d ever seen anything more beautiful. Immediately, her hand went to her face to practice the sign, determined to learn it right away.

      “I can see you love to learn,” Miriam said again. “That tells me...you are good at your job.”

      Lydia’s practicing hand stilled over her face. How did this woman know those were the words she’d longed to hear for the last five years?

      For some unknown reason, this woman who couldn’t hear a word didn’t need words to see deep into people and connect with them. Miriam must make a great principal here on the island. Lydia thought the kids must love this kind, perceptive and encouraging lady.

      For the first time in her life, Lydia didn’t feel pressured to come up with small talk, and yet, all she wanted to do was talk and get to know Miriam Matthews. And couldn’t. The language barrier would stand in the way. Another reason for the book. She’d order it today.

      A knock on the passenger window whipped Lydia’s head to her right. It was the balding deputy who had picked her up in Rockland yesterday and brought her to Stepping Stones. She rolled down the window. “Good morning, Deputy Vaughn, how are you?”

      “Morning, Doctor. I’m doing well, thank ya. I just left the site. Kept watch over the remains all night for you, just like you asked. And call me Derek. We’re not formal around here.”

      “I have a feeling Sheriff Grant would disagree with you on that one. He seems like a by-the-book kind of guy, but okay, Derek, thank you for protecting the scene.”

      The man’s brown beady eyes darkened. Had she said something wrong? “It wouldn’t be the first time the sheriff and I have disagreed,” he grumbled deeply.

      Lydia fidgeted in her seat. There were obviously some unresolved issues going on at the sheriff’s station between Sheriff Grant and his deputy. Lydia knew how that went, having issues with her own boss. This was empathy she could offer. “I’m sorry to hear that, Derek. I know work relationships can be difficult.”

      “For sure.” His thick Maine accent made her smile. He seemed like a nice man. “Do you need a ride over to the site?” he asked.

      “No, I’m meeting Sheriff Grant at the Underground Küchen. He’ll bring me, but thank you.”

      The man shrugged his rounded shoulders and pulled out a pair of leather gloves. “I’ll just head back to the station and do some paperwork then. That’s all I’m ever allowed to do, anyway.” Derek pivoted to his left and disappeared around the back of the car.

      The two women watched him in the rearview mirrors disappear behind a gray clapboard shack with multicolored lobster buoys hanging off the side.

      Lydia swung back around to Miriam with a shrug. “Looks like the sheriff has caused some strife with his deputy. I can’t say I’m surprised. He’s been a little rude to me, too.”

      Miriam frowned for a moment before picking up her pad and pen. After a minute, she passed the pad over. Wesley cares about the islanders more than anything. I know he can be hard on people, but that’s only because people have been hard on him. When I first came here, he was horrible to me. I have forgiven him, and knowing what I know now about him, I hurt for him.

      Lydia read the note, but all she could do was nod and look out to sea. Bad things happen to people.