places like the pier, which has been around for a couple generations, the razor-sharp barnacle shells are three layers deep. If Casey had been thrown against barnacles by the surf, there would have been blood on my sweatshirt.
The silence that followed was cut by Stern. "So then ... where is she?"
Barnes shook his head. "One theory on the beach was that a riptide sucked her out, and she was too tired to swim back very quickly. Coast guard was looking for the down-sea, but it's hard to find in the dark"
The down-sea is an area usually about a mile and a half out in the water, where the riptides from the piers and jetties finally calm. They shift with the weather and the water's mood. The only way to tell where the down-seas are is to look for the start of swells toward shore and strange debris you wouldn't expect to see a mile and a half out—a surfboard, a flip-flop, a kayak oar. Funny tales have been told of things found in the down-sea by boaters, especially if the riptides are bad—everything from beach umbrellas to dog dishes. You just can't imagine how some of this stuff could find its way to the water's edge to get sucked out there.
"If there had been any blood on your sweatshirt, Kurt, it was so little that it washed clean off before the forty minutes it took to catch a wave and roll in to shore," Barnes said. "They found it under the pier, which probably implies that she got out of it pretty close to shore. There's a northern undertow tonight. If she got out of it at the end of the pier, it probably would have washed up a couple blocks north."
"So she
is
alive," Drew said under his breath, and nudged me. "Down-seas, my ass. We're gonna string her up by her toes when we catch her."
I heaved a sigh, though not enough made sense yet. It looked like Casey was alive. But she was still missing, and
someone had fired a gun at her, and I was tired of having no answers.
"You should have heard, um, people ... swearing up and down that blood ran through her fingers and out her neck," I said, trying to ignore Drew knocking me in the ankle. He was probably nervous his dad could get in some trouble if word got out that we had been listening outside the questioning room. "Can seawater wash blood out of a sweatshirt?"
"Dunno," Todd said.
"Definitely not," Stern said. "It would definitely have been a little bit pink. I
think
..."
Drew shook his head in disgust. "Jeezus, we're all lifeguards. You would think at least one of us would know if salt water could wash blood out of a sweatshirt. They'll analyze it if she doesn't show up soon."
"For now all I can tell you is that the only blotches on it were seaweed. It had picked up some chunks under the pier. Your
Naval Academy
lettering looked pretty damn scary, like haunted-house lettering. But it was not bloody, dude."
I thought of how appropriate that was, considering my sudden qualms about the place. The thought dissolved quickly as I watched the still masts of the fifty or more sailboats docked at the club. Not a single one moved. I couldn't decide whether to ask questions or leave things be. God knows I didn't need to end up in a shoving match with Stern. He ended the silence.
"Stacy's nuts, man, buying a gun."
So much for my self-control. "So what were
you
doing passing it around, numb nuts!"
He stepped back as I stepped up to him. "Easy, Kurt. I did
not
accidentally pull the trigger, if you've got that idea in your head."
"So who did?" I exploded again.
Drew gripped my arm, blathering that she obviously wasn't at the club and we ought to leave. I'm sure he sensed what could come down, though I shook him off.
"Who brought the damn thing to the pier?" I asked.
"I did!" Stern blasted, but then lowered both his voice and his head. "But that doesn't mean I wanted to see it go off! I was over at Stacy's house earlier tonight, making small talk with the grandparents. Stacy's so rude to them these days, it's messed up. If I didn't stick my head in the door and
The silence that followed was cut by Stern. "So then ... where is she?"
Barnes shook his head. "One theory on the beach was that a riptide sucked her out, and she was too tired to swim back very quickly. Coast guard was looking for the down-sea, but it's hard to find in the dark"
The down-sea is an area usually about a mile and a half out in the water, where the riptides from the piers and jetties finally calm. They shift with the weather and the water's mood. The only way to tell where the down-seas are is to look for the start of swells toward shore and strange debris you wouldn't expect to see a mile and a half out—a surfboard, a flip-flop, a kayak oar. Funny tales have been told of things found in the down-sea by boaters, especially if the riptides are bad—everything from beach umbrellas to dog dishes. You just can't imagine how some of this stuff could find its way to the water's edge to get sucked out there.
"If there had been any blood on your sweatshirt, Kurt, it was so little that it washed clean off before the forty minutes it took to catch a wave and roll in to shore," Barnes said. "They found it under the pier, which probably implies that she got out of it pretty close to shore. There's a northern undertow tonight. If she got out of it at the end of the pier, it probably would have washed up a couple blocks north."
"So she
is
alive," Drew said under his breath, and nudged me. "Down-seas, my ass. We're gonna string her up by her toes when we catch her."
I heaved a sigh, though not enough made sense yet. It looked like Casey was alive. But she was still missing, and
someone had fired a gun at her, and I was tired of having no answers.
"You should have heard, um, people ... swearing up and down that blood ran through her fingers and out her neck," I said, trying to ignore Drew knocking me in the ankle. He was probably nervous his dad could get in some trouble if word got out that we had been listening outside the questioning room. "Can seawater wash blood out of a sweatshirt?"
"Dunno," Todd said.
"Definitely not," Stern said. "It would definitely have been a little bit pink. I
think
..."
Drew shook his head in disgust. "Jeezus, we're all lifeguards. You would think at least one of us would know if salt water could wash blood out of a sweatshirt. They'll analyze it if she doesn't show up soon."
"For now all I can tell you is that the only blotches on it were seaweed. It had picked up some chunks under the pier. Your
Naval Academy
lettering looked pretty damn scary, like haunted-house lettering. But it was not bloody, dude."
I thought of how appropriate that was, considering my sudden qualms about the place. The thought dissolved quickly as I watched the still masts of the fifty or more sailboats docked at the club. Not a single one moved. I couldn't decide whether to ask questions or leave things be. God knows I didn't need to end up in a shoving match with Stern. He ended the silence.
"Stacy's nuts, man, buying a gun."
So much for my self-control. "So what were
you
doing passing it around, numb nuts!"
He stepped back as I stepped up to him. "Easy, Kurt. I did
not
accidentally pull the trigger, if you've got that idea in your head."
"So who did?" I exploded again.
Drew gripped my arm, blathering that she obviously wasn't at the club and we ought to leave. I'm sure he sensed what could come down, though I shook him off.
"Who brought the damn thing to the pier?" I asked.
"I did!" Stern blasted, but then lowered both his voice and his head. "But that doesn't mean I wanted to see it go off! I was over at Stacy's house earlier tonight, making small talk with the grandparents. Stacy's so rude to them these days, it's messed up. If I didn't stick my head in the door and
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