Mystic Memories Read Online Free Page B

“I was about to turn in. I ’ave second watch, y’know.”
    “Oh—yes, of course,” stammered the mothers, apologizing for keeping her too long.
    Moments later, Cara pulled out a small penlight she’d hidden in a deep pocket. After hanging it from the same hook as her gear bag, she shucked the wool jacket and boots issued to her as part of her costume. Cara’s watch would be the same as Andrew’s had been, starting at midnight, or eight bells. Instead of the regular four-hour watches described in Dana’s book, the Mystic observed “anchor watch” of two-hour shifts.
    The short, narrow bunk seemed barely large enough for Cara’s five-foot-six height, let alone a man of larger size. She wondered if sailors in the 1800s had been smaller in stature than today’s standards or just more adaptable to tiny spaces. She shifted to her side, then yanked the top of the sleeping bag over her, leaving it unzipped.
    Listening to the gentle creaks and moans of the floating antique, she contemplated the conversation between the two women. Centuries of superstition surrounded the change of seasons in many cultures. What if the winter solstice had played a role in the disappearance of Andrew? Stranger things had been known to happen.
    Like private investigators who used psychic senses to solve cases.
    Cara couldn’t turn her back on any possibilities, no matter how far-fetched. Could the approaching spring equinox next week be a factor? If so, tonight might be a waste of time and she would need to return on the twenty-first.
    Then again, there were fault tests to consider. She had read about them. Some people were afraid the underground explosions would trigger an actual seismic tremor, perhaps even a full-scale earthquake. So far, not so much as a geological hiccup had occurred, at least not anything that registered on the Richter scale. But what if the electromagnetic field had been disrupted? Cara wasn’t a scientist, but she had long ago learned to open all mental doorways to let in any ideas, giving them equal importance. Nothing was ever discarded. Not until the case was closed.
    The quiet knock came through the dark recesses of her sleep.
    “Eight bells, sir,” said a young male voice in a loud whisper, despite the order of total silence when rousing the next watch.
    Instantly awake and alert, Cara quietly answered, “Aye-aye, mate.” She knew from training that the new crew had ten minutes to relieve the sailor on the previous watch.
    After switching on the flashlight that dangled overhead, Cara slipped her legs out of the sleeping bag and dropped them over the wooden lip of the berth. Sitting hunched over, she plowed her fingers through her hair, then took down her gear bag and pulled out a knit watch cap and a pair of leather gloves. As a thin-blooded native of Southern California, she didn’t like the slightest drop in temperature. To her, March was one of the coldest months of the year. Especially on the water. And especially in the dead of night.
    Turning to stow her bag, she was startled by a sudden image out of the corner of her eye. She swiveled to her left and pointed the halogen beam at the dark wood panel.
    Nothing was there.
    The skin on her arms prickled. Without a doubt, she had seen something a moment earlier. But it had been too fleeting to even register in her brain. Maybe she wasn’t as awake and alert as she’d thought.
    She stared at the blank wall. It was old and worn, scarred and scratched. Stretching toward it, she traced a long gash in the wood with her fingertip. White-hot heat radiated up her hand.
    Anger.
    Fear.
    Terror.
    She yanked her hand away from the marred wood, severing the painful sensation of the heat as well as the wrenching emotions. An adrenaline rush of anticipation quickened her heart rate. She closed her eyes, drew a deep breath, and let the air slowly leave her lungs. With each deliberate exhale, she emptied her mind of all thought, all preconceived ideas, all speculation