Death in the Dark

I am not totally alone in this world. He's right. I need help.

"Wait!" My voice strained against the wind. Mulberry was a slow-moving figure several yards ahead, solid looking in the hazy light of dusk. I ran after him. My dog, Blue, stayed by my side.

Mulberry turned when I grabbed his arm. "Wait. You're right. I need your help."

He grinned, pushing his crow's feet into sharp relief as his eyes brightened. "I know," Mulberry laughed. "You're such a mess."

He wrapped me in a hug—one muscular arm around my waist and the other across my shoulders. Mulberry buried his head in my hair and pulled my face into his chest. At first, in that dark intimacy, I felt suffocated. Almost immediately, though, relief washed over me. I am not totally alone in this world; my only companion a limping mutt.

Blue yelped and circled us. Mulberry smelled like clean laundry, sea salt, and carried an unmistakable scent. Pulling away, Mulberry left his hands on my shoulders and looked down into my face. He seemed bigger than me, so much stronger and smarter, and under control. I felt like a blurry image next to his stark silhouette.

"Come on, I'll buy you dinner," he said. We walked back toward the Oyster Farm. I'd been living there for months.

"So, where've you been?" I asked. "It's been months?" After turning our treasure into money, which made us both rich, Mulberry left, and I stayed, despite his invitation to come with him.

The sun was beneath the sea now, and the deep blue of the sky turned black at the edge. "Yeah, Paris, then London. I've been setting up a detective agency."

At my plastic table sat a passport, deep blue and embossed with the American seal, waiting for me to pick it up.

For me to become a new woman: Sydney Rye.