Liza didn't always wear a watch. Maybe the serial killer supplied a watch if his victim wasn't wearing one and fastened it to the wrist on which a person usually wore her watch. Maybe the watch would be a clue to the killer's identity. Was this what Liza wanted me to discover?
Of course, anyone could have fastened a watch on her, then smashed it. What if someone had done so to make it look like a crime by the serial killer? I shuddered at the idea and dismissed it, for that kind of murder suggested a more personal motive. And no one could have hated my sister enough to kill her.
Sunday morning I went to church. I sat in the back and prayed my visions would go away. I knew it was a dangerous thing to do-God has a habit of answering prayers in ways different from what we have in mind.
When I returned to Drama House, I found a note from Tomas asking if I wanted to hang out in town. I changed into a sleeveless top and shorts, slipped some money and tissues in my pockets, then went next door. Tomas emerged carrying his stuffed backpack, like a snail hauling his shell.
"Would you like to put anything in here?" he asked as he adjusted the pack on his shoulders.
"Yeah, and never see it again," I teased.
We spent an hour visiting shops on side streets, then bought two iced cappuccinos and strolled down to the river. The town harbor had a public dock, a rectangular platform extending over the water and lined with benches-a perfect place to sit and sip.
Tomas pulled out his spiral pad and began to sketch. I lay my head back on the bench and sprawled in what my mother would call "an unladylike manner," happily soaking up the late-morning sun.
"Ahoy!" I heard Tomas call out.
I grinned to myself and kept my head back.
"Ahoy!" he called again.
"Are there pirates on the horizon, Tomas?"
"No, just Mike."
I sat up.
Mike waved. He was in a small boat, maybe fifteen feet long with an outboard, painted in the maroon and gold colors of Chase College. He guided the skiff toward the dock, nosing it in, then lassoing the piling next to us.
"What's up?" he asked.
"Just hanging out," Tomas said. "How about you?"
"The same, only on water. Hi, Jenny."
"Hi." I wished his eyes weren't so much like the water and sky. The anger I had seen in them the other night had disappeared, leaving them a friendly, easy blue. Like the river, they made me feel buoyant.
He turned back to Tomas. "What are you working on?"
"Just sketches-boats, docks, houses, trees, whatever I see."
"Want to see some things from the water?" Mike invited.
"Well-" I began.
"Yes," Tomas replied quickly.
But Mike had heard me hesitate. The light in his eyes dimmed. "Maybe another time," he said. "Your sketches could be ruined if they got wet."
"They won't," Tomas assured him. "My backpack is waterproof. I'll tear out a couple sheets and use my clipboard." He rummaged through his pack, pulling out an assortment of things, then putting them back in.
"What all do you have in there?" Mike asked curiously.
"Everything but a refrigerator," I told him. "I'd like to come, too, Mike."
He smiled and I felt that buoyancy again.
Tomas strung two cameras around his neck, then grasped a clipboard and pencils in one hand and his cappuccino in the other. "Ready."
"Why don't I hold your art supplies and drink while you get in?" I suggested.
Mike, looking as if he was trying not to laugh, guided the two of us down the four-foot drop into the boat. We settled onto its plank seats, Tomas in the middle, me at the bow.
"I'm glad I didn't sign out a canoe," Mike observed as we rocked back and forth.
"Next time," I replied.
"Next time I'll let you go by yourselves," he answered, smiling, then tossed us two life jackets. "When I'm chauffeur, I make people wear these."
"How about you?" I asked, when Mike didn't put one on.
"I can swim."
"So when the boat turns over and bonks you on the head and you're unconscious, you expect me and Tomas to save you?"
"Good point," he said. "After all, I am with two such graceful boaters." He put on the orange vest, grinning at me. Then he untied the rope and pushed off from the dock.
"Can anyone sign out a boat?" Tomas asked as Mike started the motor.
"You're supposed to have experience on the water and be connected to the college somehow," Mike replied. "My grandfather was from the Eastern Shore and used to take me crabbing. He lived down in Oxford, which is where the manager of the college boathouse grew up."
We puttered out of the tiny harbor. With each boat length we put between us and the shore I felt more at ease, free from the things that had been haunting me recently. The sun was warm on my skin and the breeze cool, ribboning my hair across my eyes. I drew an elastic from my shorts pocket, leaned forward to catch my blowing hair, then pulled it through the elastic in a loopy ponytail. When I looked up, Mike was watching me.
"She's beautiful!" Tomas breathed.
Mike glanced at him, startled.
"Yes, that yacht sure is pretty," I said, nodding toward the moored sailboat that we were passing.
Mike laughed and Tomas photographed the boat.
"Cool perspective! Jen, can you believe it? There are so many cool perspectives out here."
In the next forty minutes Tomas found heaven: a house with double-decker porches overlooking the river, an old bridge across Wist Creek, an abandoned mill. "I'm going to have enough stuff to draw for the next year and a half," he said, clicking away on his camera. We motored a distance up Wist Creek then turned around and headed back to the river.
"I'd like to stay out awhile longer," Mike said. "You can stay on or I can drop you back at the town dock."
"Stay on," Tomas replied immediately. "I mean, if Jen wants to." Sure.
We sailed past the town harbor again, then two marinas.
"That's the commercial harbor over there," Mike said, pointing toward shore. "They have all kinds of interesting boats, Tomas. See those long ones with low sides and little houses on one end? They're like my grandfather's. They're used for crabbing."
"Can we stay here a few minutes?" Tomas asked.
"I can drop anchor."
"Great! Then I can sketch."
"Is that okay with you, Jenny? You're not nodding off on us, are you?"
I was.
"I'd hate to see you fall asleep and fall overboard," Mike said, smiling. "It would be useless this time of day. The crabs don't bite when the sun's high."
"Lucky for you, I don't, either."
Mike smirked, shut off the motor, and dropped anchor. "Lift up your seat, Jenny, and slide the board beneath Tomas's, then you can hunker down safely."
I did and Mike tossed me two extra life vests, which I placed in the bow to cushion my back. He did the same thing on his side, then pulled his sunglasses and script from a boat bag.
With the motor off it was quiet enough to hear the light scratch of Tomas's pencil, the occasional turn of a page by Mike. I nestled down happily. The gentle rocking of the boat made me feel safe as a child in a cradle. I fell into a warm, luxurious sleep.
I don't know how long I napped, but I had slept so heavily that I couldn't open my eyes at first. I just lay there, too content to stir, and listened to their voices.
"Do you think we should wake her?" asked Tomas. "I sort of hate to. She told me she hasn't been getting much sleep."
"I'm afraid she's going to get burned," Mike replied.
"We could cover her with our shirts and let her rest a little more," Tomas suggested.
"That's an idea."
There was some movement and a bit of boat rocking, then I felt a soft cloth being laid over my legs and another one over my arms.