Chapter 1
Maggie's toes curled against the cold as she piloted her launch towards Alki Beach.
It was far too early for Maggie to be out of her nice warm bunk, and far too rainy for Maggie to be out and about in a small craft on Elliot Bay. She shivered, half from the weather, half from panic. It was far too early for Maggie to be having so much emotional drama, too. She coughed and told herself to keep it together.
She'd had a small panic attack as she'd lowered her dinghy into the water, a few minutes of tears that she'd been able to swallow back. Now, she would hold it together. She was not going to make a scene. Perhaps five years ago she'd have blubbered her way through a day like today, but five years ago was five years ago. Today was different. Today was five years of distance. Maggie could hold it together.
Maggie shifted her heading, changing course out of the path of the speeding pleasure boat that had obviously not seen her tiny dinghy. She bounced in the wake as the behemoth passed, her small, electric outboard motor purring towards the public beach. There was a single red-haired figure silhouetted in the gray morning of the beach, and Maggie knew this marked her destination.
She let a wave of panic build and wash over her. She let her eyes water. Moments later, she was back in control, but she didn't trust herself to hold on to it.
She was going to hold it together, she was. She had to hold it together. If she let Rachael see her cry...
The phone had rung an hour earlier. The black slab of an iPhone, the one Maggie kept on a charger in her galley. It woke Maggie from a deep sleep, beeping rhythmically. Maggie had to search her memory to identify the sound. It had been... well, years since the phone had rung. Maggie only really kept it out of habit, paying the monthly service charge out of what few dollars still remained in her dryland bank account. She'd scrambled to answer it, tumbling out of her snug bunk.
“Hello?” she'd asked, half expecting a robo-call.
Silence.
Maggie was about to return the phone to its charger, and herself to her inviting bunk, when a small voice came from the speaker. “Maggie?”
Maggie's heart leapt.
The voice was instantly familiar – instantly welcome and unwelcome at the same time.
“Rachael?” she'd asked the phone, still holding it out towards the charger. Remembering the old habit of holding a phone to your ear to listen to the other party, she quickly brought it to the side of her head. “Rachael?”
“Hi- hi, Maggie.”
“What?” Maggie stammered.
“I-”
“Why? Why are you calling?” Maggie asked, then realized she was being bitchy. “How are you?”
“Good, good,” the soft voice on the phone coughed. “Look, I know I shouldn't call like this, but it's sort of an emergency.”
Maggie's brain scrambled to think of what sort of emergency it could be. What sort of emergency Maggie could help Rachael with. “What's wrong?” she asked.
“You see, um, well...”
“What's wrong?” Maggie asked again, now concerned. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, yes. It's not me, it's... well, there's no other way to say it... they found a body.”
“What?”
“A body, off Bainbridge Island. Washed ashore.”
“Oh,” Maggie replied, her heart still thumping away.
“Well, you see. The body, the girl... it was a young woman... she was barefoot, you see.”
“In the water?”
“Yes, so you understand, everyone – the police – are assuming she's a Rafter.”
“Yes.”
“And since I understand you're sort of what passes for law enforcement out there...”
“No,” Maggie said strongly. “No, it's not like that-” It really wasn't like that.
“But I was thinking,” Rachael kept on. Maggie knew better than to interrupt, Rachael always said her peace. “I mean, if it's going to fall on you to investigate this death... or whatever you do... well, perhaps you wouldn't mind a shadow? You know, someone from the media?”
“What? You?” Maggie replied in horror.
“Yes. There's a lot of interest in the Raft right now. You know, buzz with our readers. People are curious. My editor is curious. You know... about how exactly you people deal with stuff like this. I know it's out of the ordinary, and I know you and I...” she trailed off.
“I don't know,” Maggie said after a long, pregnant silence. “I think you think I'm some sort of cop. That's not what I do...”
“No, I know. I know it's all different out there on the Raft. That's what I want to write about. That's what interests our readers.” Rachael sighed and tried to sound earnest. “Look, I know how weird this is. Five years and we haven't spoken. But... well, this might be good for both of us: the Raft will get some non-critical exposure and I'll get a good story. A very good story. And we can reconnect. Catch up...”
“Your editor told you to call me, didn't he?” Maggie said flatly.
“Yes,” Rachael replied honestly and tried to laugh, but Maggie could almost hear her wince in pain. “But Maggie-”
“No, no,” Maggie interrupted. “If you've got your orders, that's fine. It takes guts to call. I couldn't have called you.”
“I know, Maggie... about...”
It was Maggie's turn to force out a casual laugh. “If you want to come out and write a story about the Raft, that would be great.”
“Really?” Rachael replied with surprise.
“Sure. I can't promise you a good story. I don't know anything about what has happened – there's no reason to believe I'll have anything to do with it. But if you want to get a story about the Raft, then I'd like to help.” Maggie was rambling, she should have kept her mouth shut. The second the words left her mouth she regretted uttering them.
“Great.” Rachael seemed genuinely happy. “I can meet you at Alki Beach. In an hour? Would that work? I don't know the protocol...”
“That's fine, I'm not far from the city. Just bring some boots, I can't come ashore.”
“Great. Great. Great.” Rachael repeated. “Um, Maggie?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know..?” Rachael trailed off, then came back strong. “I have a daughter. I'm married. Married.” She rolled the last word around in her mouth, as if enunciating it could give it more meaning.
“Yes, sure,” Maggie lied.
“Okay then. An hour?”
“Great.”