Free Firefly Beach by Luanne Rice Page A

hunting, he celebrated life more. He loved nature. His adored his daughters. The world couldn’t hold his passions; he had wanted excess and abundance for everyone, especially his family. But after the accident he turned inward. Michele had watched him mourn that young man every day, drinking alone in a dark corner of the Renwick Inn bar, his head bowed in silence.
    Artists would approach him. He would be polite, sometimes let them buy him drinks. He could stare at the spot on the bar between his elbows for hours, watching the level of scotch in his glass rise and fall. Although he chose to drink at her inn, he couldn’t stand to be with Caroline. It had killed Michele to watch her approach him, try to talk to him. He would turn surly, even belligerent. It was as if she reminded him of what was most precious in life, what he had failed to protect again and again. More than once, Michele heard him say that he had ruined Skye’s life.
    Three of his paintings hung in the bar. Hugh had done them when his daughters were young. Vivid and pure, they left no doubt about the love he had for the girls. Hunting scenes, set on Redhawk Mountain, each portrait depicted a different season, with each subject holding a different dead creature and weapon. Clea, in spring, held a rainbow trout in one hand and a fly rod in the other. Skye, in autumn, held a large knife and a writhing snake.
    But it was Caroline in winter who took your breath away. Cradled in her arms was a small red fox. Blood dripped from its mouth. Snow covered the mountain and Caroline’s cheeks were red. Her black hair blew across her eyes, but they showed through, clear blue and haunted. In her left hand she held the rifle that she had used to kill the fox. Her father had caught her compassion and regret; he had flooded the portrait with love for his oldest daughter. Michele shivered every time she looked at it.
    Caroline walked out of her office. She had on her half-glasses, which gave her the look of a sexy librarian.
    “What’s this message?” she asked, ruffling a sheet of paper.
    “Oh,” Michele said, reading it. “He called first thing this morning. He left some rather complicated instructions about dialing ship-to-shore. I think he’s one of those sailors who was here last night, drinking in the bar. They have Rooms Six and Nine, but I guess he’s out on his boat.”
    “Did he say what he wanted?” Caroline asked.
    “No. Just for you to call.”
    “Thanks,” Caroline said. She walked into her office and closed the door.
     

     
    Caroline dialed the marine operator and asked to be put through to the R/V Meteor. She held the line while the connection was made, staring out her window at the Ibis River, at egrets striding the shallows. She watched a kingfisher dive straight down, craning her neck to see what he came up with.
    “This is Research Vessel Meteor, ” a man’s voice said, the transmission crackling with static. “Over.”
    “This is the high seas operator. I have a call for a Mr. Joe Connor.”
    “Hold for Captain Connor,” the man said.
    A minute passed. Finally Joe’s voice came over the line. The operator signed off, and Caroline said hello.
    “It’s Caroline,” she said. “I got your message.”
    “Is your sister okay?” he asked.
    “Why do you ask?” Caroline asked, surprised that he would know.
    “She left a message at the dock office,” Joe said. “Last night. Something about needing to see me, it was important.”
    “Did you talk to her?”
    “Not in person. She said she was coming right over, but she never showed up. I wasn’t sure where to reach her. So I called you.”
    “She’s in the hospital,” Caroline said tensely.
    “Oh, no,” Joe said, shocked. “What happened?”
    “She had an accident,” Caroline said.
    “I’m sorry,” Joe said. “Is she okay?”
    “Not yet,” Caroline said, her eyes welling up. His voice was kind. Speaking to him about Skye reminded her that they had once been close