Free Daughter of Deep Silence by Carrie Ryan

house, clearly anxious.
    “Good.” After listening a moment more, he cringes. “Oh, um . . .” His eyes snap to mine. “No, I . . .” He takes another step away. His voice drops. “I left early—decided to walk home.”
    He glances at me again. “No, I’m not—I’m . . . I’m by myself.” He rubs that spot behind his ear, shoulders pulled tight. It doesn’t take a master sleuth to figure out the other side of the conversation. If Grey’s lying, clearly he’s doing something he doesn’t want his father knowing about.
    And I’m guessing that something is anything involving me.
    The call ends abruptly and Grey inhales sharply. “Sorry about that,” he says, sliding the phone back in his pocket.
    “Everything okay?” I ask.
    He lifts a shoulder, having a hard time meeting my eyes. “My mom wasn’t feeling well so Dad took her home. He was just calling because he couldn’t find me at the party and was worried.”
    I feign surprise. “Oh no, is your mom okay?”
    “Probably just something she ate or a bug. Dad says she’ll be fine. But, uh, I should be going.” He takes a step backward and then another. There’s a stretch of silence between us and I can see the way his mind churns, trying to figure out how to fill it.
    I wait, knowing that it’s in the silences where truth often comes.
    But not tonight, apparently. He simply nods and then turns, jogging for home. And I smile, knowing it’s not the last I’ll see of him.
    This is just the beginning.

TWELVE
    I ’m up early the next morning, anticipation making it difficult to sleep in. After showering I drive into town. Caldwell is a collection of small islands, some of them protected by Cecil’s conservation easements, but most dotted with high-end, expensive beach houses set on large lots. Though the town itself sits on the biggest island, it’s still only a few blocks long. I pull into one of the many open parking spaces along the street and make my way into the specialty food store.
    The thing about small towns is that everyone knows everyone else. And while I may be a stranger, Cecil wasn’t. When I approach the manager, he greets me warmly, immediately expressing his regrets over my father’s passing. I tell him I’m looking for a get-well gift for Mrs. Wells and he helps me fill a sweetgrass basket with some of her favorite items: 80-percent-cocoa dark chocolate; organic scuppernong grapes; and several vials of Refreshergy, the energy drink she takes every morning.
    “Looks disgusting,” I comment as the manager rings them up. He shrugs, claiming that the Senator’s wife swears by them.
    Once I’m back in the car, I flip open the glove compartment and pull out another Refreshergy vial, tucking it into the basket with the others. Except for the fact that the seal is broken, there’s no way to tell the difference between them.
    That done, I grab my cell phone and dial a number I’d memorized this morning. After two rings, a soft voice with a drawn accent answers, “Good mornin’, Caldwell Island Country Club, how can I help you?”
    “Yes, this is Mindy Gervistan and I work for Harrison Cheefer, Senator Wells’s chief of staff?” I let just a touch of nervous energy come through in my voice. “I was just going over his calendar for the day and I have on here that the Senator’s playing golf, but somehow I don’t have the actual tee time. Do you mind letting me know when it is?”
    “Of course,” the woman says. There’s a rustling of paper. “We have him and his son down for noon with their usual caddies.”
    “Oh, thank goodness,” I gush, sounding relieved. “You’re a lifesaver. Thank you!”
    She chuckles as she says good-bye and I check the time before slipping the phone back into my purse. It’s ten fifteen now, which means I’ve got at least an hour to kill. For a moment I think about heading toward the Caldwell Island Marina where the
Libby Two
is still docked, but I’m not quite sure I’m ready