Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 106797 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106797 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
“I know where the note came from,” I blurted out. Rhodes’ brows turned in and he eyed me curiously. I wasn’t sure if it was because I was an hour early to training or what I had just said or both.
“What?”
“Just,” I stopped his question with my hand, motioning to the woman on the bench. “Wrap this up and come back to the office.”
“I’m in the middle of a session, Natalie,” he warned. Even though he had his new job at the restaurant, he still needed his training job and I knew that. But this couldn’t wait.
I gave him a pointed look to emphasize the urgency and he blew out a breath through his nose, motioning with a nod of his head for me to go back to the office. I heard him tell his client to take a water break and hit cardio. She whined, literally whined, and I ground my teeth. Before I acted on my annoyance, I closed the glass office door behind me and paced around the desk.
Rhodes opened the door moments later and I started rambling before he had the chance to close it again. “It’s from the marina. The note. It’s Dale’s stationery. I knew I had seen this mark before.” I unfolded the note and smoothed it out on the desk, pointing to the small orange markings where the tear line was. The note was torn at the bottom edge, like someone had tried to tear off the logo, but even with just the top of it there — I recognized it.
“I don’t understand.” Rhodes shook his head, brows furrowed.
“This is the top of Dale’s stationery logo. But see how it’s an ugly orange color?” Rhodes nodded. “It’s supposed to be red. Sometimes, the notepads like the one this paper came from get printed incorrectly. It drives my mom absolutely insane because she’s a perfectionist. But, she hates being wasteful, too. She won’t let Dale use them for anything customer-facing, so she takes all the misprints down to the Poxton Beach Dry Boat Storage Marina. They’re always writing notes and putting them on the boats so the employees know where to put them and what customer and such. Since it’s just them that see it, Mom figures it’s a way to get use out of the stationery without hurting Dale’s ‘brand’ or whatever.”
Rhodes lifted a brow. “Your mom is strange.”
“Rhodes, did you hear what I said?” I asked, ignoring his attempt at humor. “The note came from the marina. It was in your sister’s handwriting.” I swallowed. “We may be able to find some answers. We may be able to find her.”
Rhodes frowned, leaning back against the edge of the desk. He raked his hands over his stubble before crossing his arms hard across his chest. “How?”
“I know where Dale keeps his keys,” I whispered. “All of his keys.” Rhodes’ eyes widened at my implication. “Are you up for a little recon mission?”
“I don’t even understand the concept of this place,” Rhodes whispered as I unlocked the large gate guarding the boat barn. I used to find it funny when Mom called it that, but that’s exactly what it was really — a big metal barn full of boats.
“It’s just a different way to store your boat. It’s actually better for a lot of the ones around here. Keeps them from sitting in salt water and stuff.”
Rhodes didn’t comment further as we slipped through the gate. I locked it again behind us and we made our way toward the large building.
The night air was warm and wet against my skin and the small tendrils of hair hanging from my bun onto my neck were already soaked. Rhodes didn’t seem nervous or tense as we approached the entrance to the building.
I was both.
We gazed up at the columns and rows of boats once we walked inside the barn. I clicked on the flashlight I’d taken from Dale’s garage to illuminate them better and scanned the length of the barn. They were stacked ten high and hundreds across, all facing us stern side.
“What are we even looking for?”
“I don’t know, Rhodes. Anything that might connect that note and your sister.” His brows were furrowed, his jaw set. “Why do I get the feeling that you don’t want to be here?”
He sighed. “Sorry. I’m just not sure how to feel about all of this.” It was then that I noticed the worry hidden behind his strong eyes. I knew what he was feeling. He didn’t want to get his hopes up only to be let down. Or maybe he was afraid of what he’d find. Either way, it was apparent that he may not have been nervous or tense, but he was clearly uncomfortable.
“Try not to think too much about it. If we find something, great. If not, then we move forward and figure something else out. Okay?”