The Drowned Woman Read online

  About the Author

  TERRY LYNN THOMAS grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area, which explains her love of foggy beaches and Gothic mysteries. When her husband promised to buy Terry a horse and the time to write if she moved to Mississippi with him, she jumped at the chance. Although she had written several novels and screenplays prior to 2006, after she relocated to the South she set out to write in earnest and has never looked back.

  Terry Lynn writes the Sarah Bennett Mysteries, set on the California coast during the 1940s, which feature a misunderstood medium in love with a spy. The Drowned Woman is a recipient of the IndieBRAG Medallion. She also writes the Cat Carlisle Mysteries, set in Britain during World War II. The first book in this series, The Silent Woman, came out in April 2018 and has since become a USA Today bestseller. When she’s not writing, you can find Terry Lynn riding her horse, walking in the woods with her dogs, or visiting old cemeteries in search of story ideas.

  Praise for Terry Lynn Thomas

  ‘Intriguing and page-turning’

  ‘I really enjoyed this fascinating historical thriller’

  ‘An absorbing novel’

  ‘A marvellous historical suspense that had me engrossed from the start’

  ‘I read it in one sitting’

  ‘A fabulous page turning, mildly paranormal whodunnit’

  ‘A good read, difficult to put down!’

  ‘Brilliant! Thoroughly enjoyable read’

  ‘I look forward to reading the next in the series’

  ‘A real page turner!’

  Also by Terry Lynn Thomas

  The Silent Woman

  The Family Secret

  The House of Secrets

  The Drowned Woman

  TERRY LYNN THOMAS

  HQ

  An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2019

  Copyright © Terry Lynn Thomas 2019

  Terry Lynn Thomas asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

  Source ISBN: 9780008330743

  E-book Edition © April 2019 ISBN: 9780008328887

  Version: 2019-02-25

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  About the Author

  Praise for Terry Lynn Thomas

  Also by Terry Lynn Thomas

  Title page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Extract

  Dear Reader …

  Keep Reading …

  About the Publisher

  In loving memory of Lillian Harper Tombaugh for instilling in me a love of all things Gothic and for her ability to make the ordinary come alive with magic.

  Chapter 1

  June 10, 1943

  Wade Connor’s blue Chevy was the only car on the street not covered with a fine patina of dust. I swore under my breath as I stepped off the bus, my document case in one hand, the meager groceries I scrounged with my ration coupons in the other, and headed toward home.

  Hoping to slip up to our flat and avoid seeing Wade altogether, I climbed the steps that led to our entryway door and set my bags down, careful not to make too much noise as I reached for my keys. Zeke and I lived above our office, a spacious ground-floor storefront nestled against the hills of Sausalito. My desk and typewriter were tucked into a small office in the back, where I did the transcription work for my boss, Dr Matthew Geisler, who wrote textbooks on paranormal phenomena. Zeke didn’t have a title. Instead, he had Wade Connor. Wade worked for the FBI. Zeke worked for Wade on a freelance basis. From my perspective, Wade sent Zeke on secret operations, often putting Zeke in grave danger, and then took the credit for Zeke’s heroics. Wade’s voice met me as I stepped into the hallway.

  ‘Sarah needs to be told. And she needs a gun, so she can protect herself.’ I tiptoed to the door and pressed my ear against it.

  ‘She’ll never agree to carry a gun,’ Zeke said.

  ‘She will when she finds out what’s happened. And you’d better tell her. She’ll sense you’re keeping something from her, and then she’ll wind up in some sort of mess and compromise my entire operation. Be quiet. Someone’s there.’ The door burst open, and Wade stood in the doorjamb, his eyes ablaze. I raised my hands.

  ‘It’s just me.’

  Zeke limped to the door. He smiled when he saw me. ‘Come in, love. We need to talk.’

  I followed them into the office. Once we were all inside, Zeke locked the door and engaged two brand new deadbolts.

  ‘Extra locks?’

  ‘We have a situation.’

  The ghost shimmered in the corner of the room, her eyes fixed on me. Wade and Zeke carried on, impervious to her.

  ‘Sarah, are you listening?’ Zeke asked.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. The ghost smiled and winked at me. I ignored her.

  ‘I want you both out of here.’ Wade barked out his orders. ‘Go upstairs and pack. Bring enough clothes to stay away for a month or two.’

  I stood, ready to lash out at Wade, but one look at Zeke changed my mind. His brow was furrowed with worry. ‘What’s happened? Where are we going?’ I asked.

  ‘Millport,’ Zeke said. ‘I need to go home.’

  ‘And you’re not safe here,’ Wade piped in. ‘Zeke’s going to tell you all about it, once you are on your way.’ Wade peered between the blinds again, surveying the street below us, keeping his eyes riveted on the foot traffic as he spoke. ‘I’m sorry, Sarah. I don’t mean to be short. Zeke will explain everything. I want you two on the road in fifteen minutes. You’re in danger. Can you please just go pack?’

  ‘I started to pack for you, but I didn’t know what you’d want to bring. Your typewriter is loaded up already. I put the extra ribbons, ink, and a case of paper in the trunk, too. I’ll take those.’ Zeke nodded at the sack of groceries I had carried in. ‘We can bring them with us. No meat, I suppose?’

  ‘Not a scrap,’ I said. ‘Do we have gasoline coupons?’

  ‘I’ve taken care of that,’ Wade said.

  ‘Of course you have.’ I sighed and left the room.

  ‘Stay away from the windows,’ Wade called after me.

  With a shaking hand, I unlocked the door to our upstairs flat, frightened now, thanks to Wade Connor. I loved our flat. The bay windows faced the
water, angled just enough to the west to allow floods of afternoon sun to fill the room.

  The ghost stood before the window now, her image stronger than it was downstairs. She looked like the type of woman who rode horses over tall hedges while perched in a tiny saddle, fearless and bold. Her hair shimmered with golden light. She wore an evening dress of cream silk. It fitted her body and flowed to the floor like liquid pearls.

  ‘Why have you come?’ I asked. Although I could see ghosts, most of the time I couldn’t hear them. I pointed to a scratch pad which sat on the table near the sofa. ‘Can you write your answers?’

  She floated over to the tablet in that particular way of ghosts.

  ‘Good. I’m going to pack.’ I turned my back on her and headed down the hall toward our bedroom. Zeke’s suitcase sat on the floor. Mine lay open on the bed, ready to be filled with the clothes I would need. Something about Wade’s manner and the look on Zeke’s face struck a chord with me. I realized with a start that I had seen fear, not only in Zeke, but in Wade Connor as well. Urged on by this, I threw clothes into the suitcase without thinking or taking the time to fold them. I jammed the black Lanvin evening gown on top of the pile, not caring that the tiny pleats around the waistline would need to be ironed again – a tedious job that I loathed. I grabbed four sweaters and tossed them on top of the gown.

  A blast of cold air on the back of my neck told me that my ghost had joined me. She stood by my small writing desk, holding the tablet that I had left for her to write on. When I moved close to her, she disappeared. Her writing was schoolroom perfect. I am Zeke’s sister-in-law, Rachel Caen. You must find the emeralds to discover who killed me.

  Rachel had dumped all the sweaters I had packed onto the bed, and was now replacing them with cotton blouses and light-weight summer clothes. She folded the clothes and placed them in neat stacks inside my case. When everything was properly stowed, she snapped the latches in place with a resounding click. The smile she gave was a sad one. She pointed to the tablet on the table one more time before she disappeared. New handwriting had replaced her prior message. Be careful. And just like that, she was gone.

  * * *

  It was ten-thirty by the time Zeke and I headed north on Highway 1, through the Marin headlands, a picnic basket on the backseat and a sinful amount of five-gallon fuel ration stamps tucked into the glove compartment.

  ‘You’ve been suspiciously quiet,’ Zeke said.

  ‘Tell me about Rachel and the emeralds.’

  Startled, Zeke steered the car off the road and parked on the dirt shoulder.

  ‘She came to me.’ I bit back the desire to apologize. I had long grown tired of apologizing for something over which I had no control.

  ‘Who—’

  ‘Rachel Caen.’ I watched Zeke, trying to gauge his reaction. ‘Actually, she came to you. She was in the room with you and Wade when I came home.’

  ‘Oh, just what I need,’ Zeke said.

  I looked ahead, not quite sure how to respond.

  ‘I’m sorry. Truly.’ He grabbed my hand. ‘I just forget. Your ability to see – it interferes with my logical brain at times.’

  ‘You said no secrets between us, Zeke. I promised you that I wouldn’t keep anything back. I am telling you that Rachel came to me.’

  ‘What does she want?’

  ‘She said if I find the emeralds, I will find her killer.’

  Seconds ticked past. He didn’t speak, and neither did I. Zeke took my hand and kissed it. He handed me the newspaper. ‘Read the headline.’

  I took the paper from him and scanned the front page. Resting in between the news of the war overseas and the threats of the striking miners, the headline that so worried Zeke screamed,

  ‘FIRE DESTROYS SAN FRANCISCO BARRACKS – ARSON SUSPECTED!’

  ‘I don’t understand. What does this have to do with you?’

  ‘The arsonist is one of Hendrik Shrader’s men,’ Zeke said.

  White fear washed over me. A cramp formed in my stomach and my mouth went dry.

  Hendrik Shrader – kidnapper, murderer, Nazi sympathizer, and Zeke’s mortal enemy.

  ‘I thought he and his collaborators had been arrested.’ I would never forget being thrown into the back of Hendrik Shrader’s car by one of his henchmen. Hendrik Shrader’s threats haunted my dreams to this day.

  ‘When they raided his apartment, he was gone, but they found a piece of paper with our address on it. And I agree with Wade, we’ll be safe in Millport. It’s a small town. If anyone comes looking for me, I’ll soon hear about it. Wade Connor can take care of Hendrik Shrader. Once it’s safe, we’ll come back and life will return to normal.’ Zeke rested his hand on my thigh.

  ‘Will it ever be safe?’ I imagined Hendrik Shrader had an army of men, and when one was thwarted, another would step up to take his place.

  ‘Hendrik Shrader isn’t my only enemy, Sarah. I have to be diligent. Making enemies like Hendrik Shrader is a component of the life I’ve chosen to live. I will spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, for Hendrik Shrader and others.’

  ‘I admit to being a little afraid,’ I said.

  ‘Caution is the operative word,’ Zeke said. ‘We’ll be safe in Millport. It’s about time you met my family.’

  I believed him. ‘Tell me about Rachel. How did she die? Tell me about the emeralds.’

  ‘Rachel is – was – my brother William’s wife. My father didn’t approve of the match. Rachel didn’t come from an influential family. Instead, she pulled herself up by the bootstraps. She was a smart girl. Wanted to be a doctor. Not a nurse, mind you, a doctor. And she probably would have succeeded. We all went to an annual Christmas Eve party at the Winslows’. The Winslows are our closest neighbors. There’s a path from our property to theirs by way of a lake that my grandfather built. Rachel left the party early. She brought walking shoes and put them on under her dress.’ Zeke laughed and shook his head. ‘I remember how she looked, in that long flowing dress, that gorgeous necklace around her neck, those bulky shoes, and her fur coat. She claimed a headache and left the party early. She walked home and disappeared. There was speculation. Many thought she had run away, cracked under the pressure of living in the same house with my father, who was very vocal about his disapproval of William’s marriage and Rachel’s desire to go to medical school. Her body turned up two weeks later in the lake. She had been drowned; murdered. Rachel’s death almost destroyed my brother. He loved his wife very much.’

  ‘And the emeralds?’

  ‘Gone. Disappeared without a trace. My father hired divers to search the lake. He offered a generous reward for their return, but they were never found. They are unusual in that they are round, perfect orbs shaped like pearls, with gold filigree over each stone. My words don’t do them justice. They were stunning. Every now and again a journalist rekindles the story, and the speculation starts all over again.’

  ‘I wonder why Rachel came to me now?’ I asked.

  ‘Because one of the stones has turned up at a jeweler’s in Portland, Oregon.’ I took in Zeke’s words, playing out in my mind what they meant. ‘Surely they can trace the stone?’

  ‘The police are trying. Wade’s father, Ken, was the detective on the case. He spent the last three years trying to solve it. He retired last year. I imagine he is still trying to figure out who murdered Rachel. He was very fond of her – we all were. I haven’t had much contact with anyone in Millport since I left.’

  ‘What a sad story for Rachel,’ I said. ‘I think I would have liked her.’

  ‘You would have. Everyone did. William never recovered. That’s why he volunteered to go to Germany with me. I made it home. He didn’t. Now my father and I hate each other.’ Zeke stared at the road ahead, lost in his own thoughts, and didn’t speak for a period after. ‘I’m glad you’re coming with me. I will be better able to face them with you at my side.’

  I smiled.

  ‘There’s something I’ve been meaning to discuss with
you,’ he went on.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked, worried now.

  ‘I need you to be careful. I’m not going to tell you to ignore Rachel’s ghost because I know you wouldn’t listen to me anyway. And don’t look at me like that. You know I’m right. But the woman was murdered. All I’m asking is that you take caution. If you think you are coming close to uncovering any information about Rachel’s killer, come to me. I will help you. I will listen to you, and I will do whatever you ask. I just need you to be smart. You have a tendency to put yourself right in the middle – enough said. Just promise me you’ll be careful. Because I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.’

  He took my hand and kissed it. We drove like that, hand in hand, connected, each with our own thoughts. We drove along craggy cliffs with the waves pounding beneath us, enjoying the estuaries teaming with wildlife and sea birds and the warm summer sun.

  ‘I should tell you about my family, so you can prepare yourself,’ Zeke said. ‘My father and I don’t get along. I’ll leave it at that. I’ve not seen him in almost four years, so maybe he’s changed. I don’t know. My brother Simon is a ne’er-do-well. My father spoiled him since the day he was born. He hasn’t done a day’s work in his life. Father just throws money at him. Simon gambles, and I would tell you that he is just as bad as my father—’

  ‘But?’ I asked.

  ‘But he has a wonderful wife, Daphne, who is trying her best to force him to grow up. They have a little boy, Toby, who I haven’t seen since he was a baby. My family’s mill has always manufactured textiles, namely velvet for curtains and upholstery. They’ve switched gears since the war and now manufacture silk parachutes. That’s about all I know.’

  ‘Did you work at the plant?’

  ‘Of course,’ Zeke said. ‘We all did – Simon, William, and I. Father demanded it. I returned from Germany in 1939 and moved to San Francisco to work with Wade. He wasn’t happy. I have no idea how things are situated now.’

  ‘You haven’t missed your family? I never hear you speak of them.’