Deep Blue Death, page 5
As far back as she could remember, Troy Laramie had always been the reliable, stoic one in the family, someone Jami looked up to with all her heart. Of course, she loved and trusted her mother, too, but Jami had always considered herself a daddy’s girl. He knew it too. Some of her earliest memories were of her rushing into his arms on the days he picked her up from school. He’d scoop her up, and the two of them would go off for a special treat, usually ice cream, before heading home. When she was in high school, he helped with her homework, supported her sporting activities and just about anything else she showed an interest in. When it came time to go to college and she expressed an interest in archaeology, her dad encouraged her to chase her dreams, as he’d always done, even when her mother insisted that a lifetime of digging around in the dirt wasn’t a suitable occupation for a woman.
Yes, he’d always been her rock. If it wasn’t for her dad, she wouldn’t be where she was today.
But now he’d let her down. Hard. Let the entire family down, in fact. How could they ever come back from this? She’d lost part of herself, or that’s what it felt like; and as the pieces of the secure world she’d known scattered, a heartbroken Jami tossed the phone across her bunk and buried her tear-streaked face in the pillow.
CHAPTER SEVEN
After her chat with her father, she’d tried to call her brother several times yesterday afternoon, but the calls went straight through to voicemail. Ryan was either otherwise occupied or he didn’t want to speak to her. Leaving a message about their parents’ situation seemed insensitive, so on the fourth attempt to reach him, she simply requested he return her call.
Stepping under the stream of soothing warm water, she reached for the bodywash and pushed thoughts of her family away, telling herself she needed to focus on why she was here. And focus she would. Not her parents, brother, or even Cole Cadman were going to spoil this experience for her.
Later, freshly showered and fed, Jami approached the Conservation & Cataloging area only to hear loud voices emanating from within. It sounded like an argument, and she paused, wondering whether to proceed. It was a little early after lunch, so it wouldn’t matter if she took a spin around the deck to allow whoever was in there some cooling-off time. Just as that thought entered and exited her brain, the voices stopped. She stood silently in the corridor a few moments, listening. Upon hearing nothing more, she gave a quick rap on the door and stepped inside the room.
Gail Brennan stood on the far side of a long desk, her arms folded across her chest, while John Scali, a member of the diving team, said, “You’ll need to talk with Ian. This can’t be decided unilaterally,” as he looked down at her. John was a tall, angular-looking man with black curls. Jami had met him briefly the evening before when he appeared a whole lot more cheerful than he did right now. They turned and stared at her.
“Oh, I’m sorry … I’m interrupting, aren’t I?” Jami said, assuming she’d barged in on a lovers’ tiff. “I’ll wait outside. I’m a few minutes early, anyway.”
“No, no,” Gail said, rounding the desk. “Don’t go. John was just leaving, and we’ve got a lot to cover today. The sooner we get started the better.”
John acknowledged Jami with a nod as he brushed past her, addressing Gail as he exited. “I’ll see you tonight then.”
Gail beckoned Jami over to a deep tray of seawater in which several heavily encrusted, small artifacts were submerged. “These were brought up just yesterday, so we’ll look more closely at them together this afternoon. It’ll be interesting to see what’s revealed.”
Jami scanned the tray’s contents. It was impossible to tell what some of the items were until the encrustation that had built up over centuries on the seabed was removed.
Gail continued. “But first I’ll introduce you to Linda Arnold, who’s working in the back room—she’s one of my assistants. Then I’ll give you the grand tour so you’ll have an idea of where things are kept.” She smiled, patted Jami’s shoulder. “Don’t worry; I won’t expect you to remember where everything goes, but the process is important, as I’m sure you’re aware.”
“Certainly,” Jami responded. “I’ve had a little experience with restoration and archiving, just not within the maritime arena—I’ve been pretty much a landlubber—so I’m anxious to learn whatever you can teach me.” Then, because she could no longer contain her curiosity, added, “And I do apologize for barging in on you the way I did. Is everything all right?”
Gail turned and flashed a smile. “Sure. Don’t give it another thought. We just didn’t see eye to eye on something, that’s all. It’ll blow over quickly, I’m sure.”
A quick nod, then Jami decided to change the subject. “I met Scott, your other assistant, yesterday,” she said as she followed Gail into the back room.
“I often have him take over for Linda in the afternoons, but I’m considering changing that arrangement because Scott seems to prefer the receiving and conservation side of things, which he’s very good at, whereas Linda is quite happy to sit at the computer, cataloging everything.”
Jami laughed. “To each his own. I couldn’t imagine being confined to a room looking at a computer screen all day. To me, it’s the stuff of nightmares.”
“No doubt that’s why you chose a career in field archaeology.” Gail gave her a wink as she swung the door open to a room containing several computers, photographic equipment, filing cabinets, and a few tools Jami didn’t recognize. At the far end sat a young woman with dark-brown hair drawn up into a simple ponytail—similar to that of Gail’s, only Linda’s hair was straight, where Gail’s wiry red curls appeared far more difficult to keep in check.
After introductions were made, the two retreated so Linda could continue her work, intently eyeballing the computer screen. The technician definitely wasn’t a chatty one, but Jami knew how easy it was to make mistakes when distracted.
“She gets totally focused, as you must have noticed,” Gail commented as she closed the door behind them. “Lacks a few social skills, but she’s good at her job. I can’t complain.”
“Scott is chattier, but he seemed a little down.”
Gail raised an eyebrow. “That’s not like Scott, he’s usually pretty cheerful.”
Jami decided to poke the elephant that had just appeared in the room. “Such a shame about Josh. Were he and Scott friends? Scott seemed to be putting on a brave front yesterday.”
“Oh, yes. They hung out together quite often.” Gail led Jami into yet another room, this one more of a holding area with filing cabinets, tall cupboards, and storage chests. “This is where we keep all our non-computerized records and where de-crusted artifacts are packaged and stored prior to transfer to the museum.”
Jami nodded but turned back to the subject of Scott. “It must be hard on him.”
“Our Scotty is upbeat most of the time. He’ll get through it, as will we all. I’ve no doubt. Now, follow me this way.”
Jami picked up the vibe that Gail didn’t particularly want to talk about Josh. Since it was probably impacting Gail just as much as everyone else, Jami decided to drop the subject as the tour continued. Gail stopped here and there, explaining the various processes in minute detail. After over an hour of her monologue, Jami’s head was throbbing, and she longed for the solitude of her cabin and a chance to kick back a little. Despite the headache, she somehow managed to take in most of the information Gail conveyed, and as the day wore on, she recorded several artifacts and even partook in a bit of girl talk while the two of them worked.
Jami shared details about the situation with her parents, conveying how disappointed and angry she was with her father. Gail listened, not surprised, saying if she had a dollar for every time she’d heard that story, she’d be a rich woman. Her own parents’ marriage had met a similar fate when she was in her late teens.
“At the time I was devastated,” she said. “Yet, as difficult as that first year was, I learned a few things. Namely, there’s just no sense in staying mad at the person you see as being responsible for the marriage breakdown—in this case, your dad. He isn’t going to do an about-face and return to your mother, and you’re just tying yourself in knots over something you have no control over.”
“I’m not sure I can do that. He’s hurt Mom so terribly. It just breaks my heart.”
“Of course, but that’s because the situation is so new … still raw, and your emotions are all over the place. Trust me; things will settle. My advice to you would be to support your parents—both of them—however you can. If you’re thinking about trying to change their decision, don’t. It’ll be futile, and they won’t appreciate your meddling. Just be there for them when you can, even if it’s only by phone or video call. Meanwhile, don’t lose track of your own goals along the way. You have your own life to lead. And don’t let what’s happened with them influence your own relationships or change the course you’ve planned for yourself.” Gail took in a deep breath, let it out, and added, “Above all, don’t get stuck in an emotional hole … because I fear that’s where you might be headed.”
Bold words. Jami bit the inside of her lower lip. She was not ready to hear all this, so she buried herself in what she’d been doing. “Mmm,” was all she could get out. A stark contrast to Gail’s lecturing, though Jami knew she meant well. At least she hoped so.
After several minutes of awkward silence, Gail said in a softer tone, “I didn’t mean to sound unsympathetic. I’ve recently split with a longtime boyfriend. I thought we’d end up married, but in the end, it didn’t work out.”
“That’s such a bummer, Gail. And I get what you were trying to say. I probably am in a bit of an emotional hole right now. Seems we have another thing in common—I’ve also recently broken up with a longtime boyfriend. Probably set the bar too high.” Jami swept a hand through the air. “Ack. I’m just feeling so disillusioned on the relationship front.”
“Same here,” Gail said, then went back to studying a tray full of precious finds.
Jami’s thoughts returned to the argument she’d interrupted between Gail and John Scali. Were they an item, either then or now? Jami figured the answer would present itself eventually, though her tendency toward the why of things often messed with her patience. But patient she would be, as she didn’t want to offend a potential friend and confidant by being too direct too soon.
That evening, Jami concluded Jack had been wise in not allowing her to dive today. Jet lag and her parents’ breakup made it difficult to focus, and diving required an alert mind and sound body. Concentrating on everything Gail Brennan said and taking in the workings of the C&C had been more draining than she’d expected.
A glance in the mirror revealed dark circles under her eyes. They’d been there yesterday, only now they were deeper. Jet lag. Her thoughts momentarily shifted to her father, and she stifled the nausea as best she could.
How much sleep would she get tonight?
CHAPTER EIGHT
As it turned out, Jami had a solid night’s sleep and woke feeling refreshed and strong, looking forward to the dive. The only downside would be having to work alongside Cole Cadman. The grump. Nevertheless, she presented herself on deck at the appointed time, donned a plain black wetsuit, and began running a check on her diving equipment. Cole, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he won’t show up, she mused, and she’d be assigned a different dive buddy.
Satisfied the equipment was in good working order and the air cylinder full, Jami turned her attention westward to the excavation site, where the divers descended to the wreck from a large black Zodiac. Excitement and apprehension gnawed alternatively at her stomach. She had never been down to one hundred feet before, though she was well aware of how dangerous it could be. Nitrogen narcosis was always a worry at such depths, especially if the diver lost track of time and stayed down too long. Additionally, there was the possibility of getting the bends if the ascent was too rapid.
“I’m glad to see you checking your equipment. It’s sound practice.” Jami turned to see Cole behind her. He was clad in a blue wetsuit and carried his tank, mask, and fins. A black stripe on his suit running the length of his sides and down both arms emphasized a strong, slim physique.
“You’ve been assessing me this whole time?” Jami asked.
“It’s in both our interests that I have confidence in your safety knowledge.”
Jami’s brow creased. “You didn’t have to hide in the shadows like a stalker. Any normal person would simply come right out and ask me what I knew.”
“Ahh, lighten up,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “I’m not in the best of moods after what’s happened with Josh, so how about you give me a break? I’m simply looking out for your welfare.”
Jami blinked and took a mental step back. She hadn’t expected a response like that, and upon reflection, she concluded she needed to cut the guy some slack. He was hurting, and she needed to be mindful of that fact.
“You’re right. And I apologize,” she said sincerely. “I should have been more considerate. It’s a terrible thing to lose a friend like that. A truly tragic accident. I’m told you worked together, so I imagine his death must have hit you exceptionally hard.”
Cole didn’t answer for a moment, just sat staring at the deck between his feet. “Yes, more than you know.” After another pause, he added, “And I’m pretty sure it was no accident.”
Jami’s head whipped around to face him. Wow, where did that come from? Was Cole for real, or was he joking, trying to keep her off-kilter? If so, it was a pretty sick game. “W-why ever would you think that?” she managed to spit out.
Cole adjusted the fins on his feet. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Forget I mentioned it.”
A queasiness came over Jami as she realized he hadn’t been joking. Not at all. “Hard to forget something like that.”
Anger—frustration?—flashed in his eyes as he said, “Look, I can’t discuss it now, so let’s not go there. I should have kept my mouth shut. Just forget it.”
“Okaaay,” she said, not knowing what to think about his backpedaling. Had a murder taken place on this very ship? She shuddered at the thought. “So, uh, if you can’t discuss it now, maybe you’ll fill me in later?”
“Just drop it, okay? It doesn’t concern you.”
“Maybe it does, maybe it doesn’t. I’m not entirely clear on your role with this project, but since I’m now part of it, I’d appreciate being kept in the loop about important matters. Such as murder. Hmmm?”
Cole let out a breath that ended in a low groan. But he said nothing more on the subject, including what his position was in the excavation hierarchy.
“So that’s it?” Jami pressed. “You’re not going to respond at all?”
“My mind is running in circles right now, and I shouldn’t be verbalizing any of my thoughts. None of it means much.” He shook his head and busied himself with checking his own equipment.
Well, pushing him was certainly not reaping the results Jami had hoped for. She decided to let it go and told him so, adding, “I’m truly sorry about Josh, however it played out. Really, I am. But as for the job we’re here to do—” she gestured to the ship as a whole “—you have to understand I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I know how to conduct a pre-dive safety check.”
Cole’s back straightened. “Acknowledged.” Once again, they found themselves glaring into each other’s eyes, and once again, it was Cole who cut the tension. “Well then, Miss Latte, we’d best make a move.”
Jami’s mouth fell open. “What did you call me?”
“Nothing you haven’t heard before.” He shrugged, then turned and headed for the stern.
Jami gathered her gear and followed. “I don’t appreciate—”
Cole cut her off with a bark of laughter. “Look, I’m only rattling your chain, just like you do with me. Let’s just call it quits, shall we? We need to find some way to work together without stress.”
“It would be easier if you didn’t call me names and make me feel inadequate, like I don’t belong here.”
“That’s not my intention, and I’m sure you’ve thought up a name or two for me over the last thirty-six hours,” he said, sitting and preparing to strap on his air tank.
No, she hadn’t thought of any names for him. Adjectives? Yes. Such as arrogant, rude, judgmental, exasperating and—she had to admit—pretty darn hunky. But she refused to engage in name-calling.
Cole winked. “Come on, you’ve got to admit it’s funny.”
Jami’s bottom lip protruded, and she turned away.
“Hey, hey, hey. I apologize for coming across like the ass you no doubt think I am,” Cole said.
She turned back to him and nodded. “Apology accepted.”
“We’ll just move on and concentrate on our dive now.”
“Exactly. I’m ready.” She hauled the air tank onto one shoulder, ready to swing it onto her back.
“Here, let me give you a hand with that,” he offered, but Jami cast him a look that had him taking a step back. “Okay, okay, I’ll leave it to you.”
Jami couldn’t contain a satisfied grin while she finished with the fasteners.
“Old habits, you know?” he said. “Anyway, let’s get down to business. Tell me what you know about the Zuytwyck?”
“I’ve read she was typical of the Dutch East Indiamen of the time,” Jami started as she adjusted the tank to a comfortable position. “She was broad of beam, with a high poop and forecastle. She was armed with eighteen small caliber guns mounted fore and aft, and like many of the long-voyage merchantmen, she was crafted from Indian teak in Batavia the year before her demise.” She knew she sounded like an encyclopedia, but she couldn’t resist the chance to wield her sword of knowledge.
