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At that moment, I recognized him. The honeymooner. Where was his wife? Was she lost at sea?
Then she surfaced, taking a deep breath and laughing. “Oh, God, honey! That was amazing. I lost my bottoms. Let’s go find it.” She was about to go under again when her husband pulled her toward him and stared at me.
“Hi,” he said.
I wasn’t an idiot. Okay, I was an idiot, I just wasn’t stupid. I put two and two together and gotsex on the beach.
“I—didn’t mean—sorry—I thought—” I was making the uncomfortable situation even more awkward.
The wife finally noticed me. “Oh,” she said. Then she brightened. “Mia?”
“Yes?” My voice was a whisper.
She pointed next to me. “Grab that for me, will you?”
I looked. Her pink bikini bottoms were floating just beneath the surface. I tossed them to her. She wiggled into them, half swimming, half bouncing off the ocean floor. I wanted to disappear, to float out to sea and never be seen again. Instead, I was frozen, looking up at the sky to avoid looking down through the far-too-clear water at their nearly naked bodies.
She smiled at her husband and said, “I love you, Mr. Kent.”
He grabbed his wife’s waist and pulled her to him, making her giggle. “I love you, Mrs. Kent.”
I stared. They weren’t going to—not with me just five feet away. Then they smiled at me, and Mrs. Kent wiggled her fingers and said, “See you later!” They half swam, half walked to shore.
I stayed right where I was, the waves softly hitting me, worried that someone might realize what had happened. I watched the pair walk up the beach, heading toward their cabin, her hand down the back of his swim trunks. The family was still playing, oblivious to what had just happened.
Movement near the lounger where I’d been reading caught my attention, and I put my hand on my forehead and squinted against the bright sun. Someone was next to my chair. Between the sun and the salt water and the umbrella partially obscuringthe person, I couldn’t see anything other than a blur. Were they going through my things? I called out as loud as I could, “Hey! That’s my stuff!” then swam to shore. By the time I walked up from the water, no one was there.
But my book wasn’t on the chair where I had dropped it; it was now on the table next to my drink. Why would someone have moved it?
“Mia, you’re making a mountain out of a molehill,” I muttered. A staff member might have been cleaning up. They didn’t take anything—my book was here, my bag, my nearly empty drink.
After what I’d interrupted in the ocean, I needed another drink. But it was getting late and I should shower and get ready for dinner at the Sky Bar—and maybe take a few minutes to lament one of the most embarrassing moments of my life.
As I stuffed the book back into my beach bag, the newspaper fell out. I picked it up and glanced at the caption.
New Orleans.
I unfolded the newspaper, sat on the edge of the lounger, and reread the article.
Diana Harden, the missing woman, was from New Orleans. The article didn’t say what she did there, where she worked, if she worked, but it couldn’t be a coincidence that the book I now held contained a business card with a New Orleans address.
Had the owner of this tattered book known the missing woman? Maybe they met on the ferry. Or had a drink together. Had something in common—reading, antiques, two single women traveling alone? Ireallywanted to find the book owner now. She might have an idea what happened to Diana. It could be as simple as her mother having a medical emergency. Maybe Diana didn’t tell the resort she was leaving.
Or maybe... could Diana Harden, the missing woman, have left the book herself? Couldshebe the one who wrote these notes? Was she my Harriet the Spy?
A thrill ran through me. I would find outexactlywho had this book before me, and I knew where to start. Trina at thegift shop. I might even have time to talk to her before I went to dinner.
“May I see that?”
I jumped up, hit my head on the umbrella, stumbled backward, tripped over the table, and knocked over my near-empty drink, leaving a trail of fruit in the sand as I fell heavily on my ass.
“Shit,” I muttered.
“I shouldn’t have snuck up on you.”
The man smiled and offered his hand to help me up.
Flushed and embarrassed, I took the hand because it would have been more awkward to ignore it.