Muddy Bottom Read online

  Also By Ashley Farley

  Hope Springs Series

  Dream Big, Stella!

  Show Me the Way

  Mistletoe and Wedding Bells

  * * *

  Stand Alone

  Tangled in Ivy

  Lies that Bind

  Life on Loan

  Only One Life

  Home for Wounded Hearts

  Nell and Lady

  Sweet Tea Tuesdays

  Saving Ben

  * * *

  Sweeney Sisters Series

  Saturdays at Sweeney’s

  Tangle of Strings

  Boots and Bedlam

  Lowcountry Stranger

  Her Sister’s Shoes

  * * *

  Magnolia Series

  Beyond the Garden

  Magnolia Nights

  * * *

  Scottie’s Adventures

  Breaking the Story

  Merry Mary

  Copyright © 2020 by Ashley Farley

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design: damonza.com

  Editor: Patricia Peters at A Word Affair LLC

  Leisure Time Books, a division of AHF Publishing

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, establishments, organizations, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously to give a sense of authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Preorder the Next in Series

  Also By Ashley Farley

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  One

  From her kitchen window, Birdie watches the sun rise over the inlet. Pink sky atop golden marsh and murky water. A new day. A new year. A fresh start. Aside from a gust of wind rippling the water, the inlet is quiet, the world sleeping off last night’s celebration.

  What does this year hold for her? Will she expand her pie business? Or will this be the year she returns to nursing? Baking satisfies a creative side she’s only recently discovered and keeps her connected to friends and acquaintances she wouldn’t otherwise see. Watching her business flourish has become one of the few joys in an otherwise mundane life. Humdrum, her mama used to call it. Isn’t that the norm for middle age?

  Casting frequent glances at the window, Birdie rolls out her first batch of pie crusts. Rum is the pie flavor of month. Her grandmother’s recipe is the best she’s ever tasted, but the directions are complicated, and by the time she places three pies in the oven, it’s going on nine o’clock. She’s surprised and slightly concerned her husband hasn’t returned home from kayaking. Cary rarely misses an opportunity to sleep in, especially on holidays. But they’d gone to bed early, choosing not to usher in the New Year, and he was gone when she woke a few minutes before dawn.

  Retrieving her fleece from the coat closet, she slips out the back door, crosses the screen porch, and makes her way down the path to the creek. On the other side of the wooden storage shed that houses life preservers and fishing equipment, she discovers Cary’s kayak in the bottom slot of the log rack. Turning away from the rack, she sees their center console boat tied to the dock and, up at the house, Cary’s car in the driveway alongside Birdie’s and their daughter’s.

  Where could her husband possibly be at such an early hour on New Year’s Day?

  Wrapping her fleece tighter, she hurries up to the attached garage where she finds Cary’s bicycle hanging from a rack alongside his hunting waders. Birdie enters the house through the kitchen and darts up the stairs to their bedroom. His wallet is on top of their chest of drawers, his iPad and iPhone charging on his bedside table. In their shared walk-in closet, his suits and starched dress shirts hang according to color in a neat row. His carry-on suitcase, the only one he owns, is parked beneath the built-in shelves that house his shoes.

  Heart pounding in ears, Birdie scours the house from attic to utility basement, checking in closets and under beds. Cary is nowhere in sight. Wait! There’s one room left to search. Why didn’t she think of it sooner? Cary must be with Hannah. When their daughter was a child, Cary read to her nearly every night. During Hannah’s teenage years, Birdie often found him sitting in the rocker beside her bed late at night, watching Hannah sleep. He must have gone into her room to kiss her goodnight and nodded off in the rocker.

  She takes the stairs two at a time on the way back to the second floor. Cracking Hannah’s door open, she peeks inside. Her daughter is sleeping in a ball on her side, palms pressed together and wedged between cheek and pillow. The rocker beside her bed is empty.

  Hannah sits bolt upright, her eyes darting about the room as she gets her bearings. She falls back against the pillow and closes her eyes. She’s relieved to be freed from her dream—the one where she’s preparing to take a final exam, but she hasn’t been to a single class all semester. Hannah is a diligent student. She would never allow that to happen. With only twelve hours remaining for the upcoming spring semester, she’s on track to graduate summa cum laude in May.

  Her mother shakes her. “Hannah! Wake up!” Birdie’s tone is urgent, her grip on Hannah’s arm tight. “Did your dad say anything about going hunting or fishing this morning?”

  Hannah swings her feet off the side of the bed. “What? No. Why?”

  “He’s missing. The boat and all the kayaks are here. So is his car, bicycle, wallet, and iPhone.”

  Hannah rubs the sleep from her eyes. “What about his clothes?”

  Birdie paces back and forth, making Hannah dizzy. “His suitcase is in his closet, but considering all the clothes he owns, I wouldn’t know if anything is missing.”

  Hannah stands, hooking her arm around the bedpost until the lightheadedness passes. “This is crazy, Mom. Dad didn’t just vanish. He’s a grown man. It’s not like someone kidnapped him. He probably went fishing with one of his friends. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

  “I didn’t think of that, but it makes sense. Whoever he went fishing with picked him up. Still, I think it’s strange he didn’t mention it last night.”

  “I need coffee.” Hannah brushes past her mother, who follows her down the hall and stairs to the kitchen.

  Hannah pops a pod into the coffeemaker, and as she stares at the steaming brew stream into her mug, she’s struck by a memory of a conversation she had with her dad on her first night home from college two weeks ago. Closer to her father than her mother, she’s always gone to him with all her problems. She expected him to be furious when she delivered the news. Instead, his eyes had filled with tears.

  “Let’s not spoil Christmas,” he’d said. “We’ll wait until after New Year’s to tell your mother.”

  At the time, she didn’t think much of the remorseful tone in his voice. But now, she can’t help but wonder. Was he planning to leave them? Did he know he wouldn’t be here after New Year’s? Was he buying himself time, so he wouldn’t have to deal with Hannah’s problem?

  Her mother returns to baking while Hannah moves from window to window, watching for a car in the driveway or a boat at the dock. Every moment that ticks off the clock on the mantel in the family room makes the situation more of a reality. Her father didn’t go fishing, and he isn’t coming home. Not today. Maybe never.

  After an hour, she returns to
the kitchen where Birdie is preparing the filling for pecan pies. “We should call someone.”

  Her mom looks up from the mixing bowl. “Call someone about what?”

  “About Dad, Mom. Duh.”

  “Oh. That.” Birdie brushes a strand of yellow hair off her face, leaving a smudge of flour on her cheek. “I overreacted earlier. I’m sure you’re right. He’s off fishing with one of his friends. He’ll be home soon.”

  Hannah grips the edge of the granite countertop. “I’m not so sure anymore.”

  Her mother’s body goes still. “What makes you say that?”

  “I remembered a conversation I had with Dad before Christmas. Something was off about it . . . about him. At least call his friends’ wives?”

  “And say what to them at ten thirty in the morning on New Year’s Day? I lost my husband. Is he by any chance with yours?”

  Hannah sees her mother’s point. Word of her missing father would spread through their small community like a slab of butter melting over hot grits. What if he didn’t leave them? What if . . . The scenario that pops into Hannah’s head is too devastating to consider. “Then call Chief Summers. He’ll know what to do.”

  Birdie abandons her spatula in her mixing bowl. “It’s way too early to get the police involved. We’ll look like fools when your father shows up with a cooler full of trout.”

  “What if he isn’t fishing? What if something bad happened to him? What if he got up during the night to pee, fell and hit his head, and now he’s wandering around the island with amnesia?” Having no desire to deal with a hysterical Birdie, Hannah decides to leave out her most serious concerns. “We’re wasting time. The chief is your best friend’s nephew.”

  “Exactly why I don’t want to call him. I’m not ready to talk about this with Max.”

  “Why would the chief tell Max? I’m sure he’s bound by the law to keep situations like these confidential. If nothing else, he’ll tell us whether we should be alarmed.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” Birdie says, removing her cell phone from her apron pocket. “I’ll give Toby a call.”

  Hannah learns little from her mother’s side of the conversation, and the minute Birdie hangs up with the chief, she says, “Well?”

  “Toby doubts your father would’ve gone fishing. Nothing has been biting lately. But he wants me to call his friends, anyway. There’s always the possibility he went hunting, even though his waders are in the garage.”

  Birdie sits down at the table in the adjoining breakfast room, and Hannah brews two cups of green tea before joining her. Birdie calls Eleanor, Cecilia, and Ellen, but Perry, Gerald, and Brendan know nothing of her father’s whereabouts. Ellen presses her mom for more information, and Birdie, a terrible liar, confesses, “He was gone when I woke up. Everything he owns—his car and wallet and phone—is still here.”

  Birdie slams her phone down on the table. “Stupid me. The entire town will know your father is missing within the hour.”

  “Let them gossip. I’m more concerned about Dad.” She nods at her mother’s phone on the table. “Call Chief Summers back. Tell him no one has seen Dad.”

  Toby promises to alert his officers of Cary’s disappearance. “We’ll be on the lookout,” he says. “I’ll make some calls and be back in touch. In the meantime, let me know immediately if you hear from him.”

  Hannah and Birdie remain at the kitchen table, waiting and watching and drinking cup after cup of herbal tea. When lunchtime rolls around, Birdie heats up leftover chili, but their bowls remain untouched on the table in front of them.

  Around two o’clock, when the first of Birdie’s customers comes to claim her pie, Hannah turns her away. “Sorry. No pies today. Mom isn’t feeling well.”

  “Put a sign on the door,” Birdie demands. “Tell them I’m sick.”

  Hannah scrawls the note with a black marker on computer paper and duct-tapes it to the front door. She’s no sooner returned to the table when Toby calls.

  “I’ve checked the local train and bus stations and the airport in Charleston. There’s no sign of him, unless he’s traveling under an assumed name. I’m calling in the Coast Guard.”

  Birdie bites down on a balled fist to stifle a sob.

  “I know this is hard, Birdie, but I have to ask. Is there any reason Cary might have tried to hurt himself?”

  “You mean . . . like . . .” Hannah casts a nervous glance at her daughter.

  Toby finishes her sentence. “Suicide. I can’t ignore the possibility.” He breathes heavily into the phone. “If Cary didn’t take his phone or wallet . . . considering your proximity to the inlet—”

  “Do what you think best,” Birdie snaps and ends the call.

  Hannah and Birdie sit in silence, acutely aware of the helicopters flying overhead and the diesel engines rumbling on the boats searching the waters near their property. The landline rings multiple times with calls from nosy neighbors, but they don’t answer the phone. And when dusk falls over the room, they don’t bother turning on any lights.

  Around seven o’clock, Birdie breaks the silence. “Why don’t you tell me about your conversation with your dad before Christmas? What was off about it?”

  Hannah looks up, but she doesn’t meet Birdie’s gaze. “We don’t need to get into that now.”

  “I disagree. If there’s any chance it had something to do with his disappearance, I should know about it.”

  Hannah pushes back from the table, kicking her chair out of the way as she stands. “Dad didn’t leave because of me, Mom. You’re his wife. If he abandoned us, it’s because of you.” Turning her back on Birdie, Hannah moves over to the window.

  Birdie goes to stand beside her daughter. “I’m grasping at straws, Hannah. If you know something that might help us find him, you need to tell me.”

  “I don’t think Dad wants to be found,” Hannah mumbles. Strobe lights from the rescue boat flash across her daughter’s lovely face, illuminating her olive-green eyes. “I shared some news with him. He said let’s not spoil Christmas, and he wanted me to wait until after New Year’s to tell you. It makes sense, now. He knew he’d be gone and wouldn’t have to deal with it.”

  Fear crawls down Birdie’s spine. “Deal with what, sweetheart?”

  “My pregnancy,” Hannah says, her words barely audible.

  “Your what?”

  “You heard me, Mom. I’m pregnant.”

  Anger pulses through Birdie. “How did this happen?”

  “The usual way,” Hannah says, her gaze steady on the Coast Guard boat.

  “Don’t get smart with me, young lady.” Crossing the room to the pine hutch, she pours a shot of vodka, swallows it, and refills the shot glass. Pointing the glass at Hannah, she says, “I’ve talked to you time and again about practicing safe sex. Did you stop taking the pill?”

  “I went away for the weekend with some friends, and I forgot to take my packet of pills with me. I didn’t think missing two pills would matter. Apparently, it does. I’m sorry. I got careless.”

  “You’re sorry? You’ve just ruined your life, and all you can say is you’re sorry?” Birdie kicks back the vodka and slams down the glass. “Who’s the father?”

  Hannah’s shoulders slump. “I’m not sure. I hooked up with a couple of different guys that weekend.”

  Birdie is grateful for the distance between them. She’s never been this mad at her child before. “Great, Hannah. Just great. How far along are you? Have you seen a doctor?”

  Lowering her head, Hannah stares at the floor. “I went to see Dr. Pendleton last week. I’m almost nine weeks.”

  “Good. You still have time to take care of it.”

  Hannah’s head jerks up. “Are you suggesting I have an abortion?”

  Birdie blinks hard. “Yes! That’s exactly what I’m suggesting. You’re not seriously considering raising a bastard child on your own, are you?”

  Hannah places her hand on her stomach. “Whether or not you approve, I’m keeping this baby.�
��

  Birdie grips the neck of the Grey Goose bottle. “I’ve had enough of this day.” Spinning on her heels, she dashes up the stairs to her room.

  Two

  Birdie cracks the seal on a new Grey Goose bottle and adds a splash of vodka to her coffee. She needs something stronger than Advil to cure this headache. Her husband is missing. Her daughter is pregnant. Her peaceful life is over. She’s entitled to drown her sorrows.

  Mug in hand, she stands at the kitchen window. Heavy fog blankets the inlet, preventing the Coast Guard from continuing their search. How late did they stay out last night? She remembers little after hearing the report of a missing man on the local news at eleven.

  Her phone rings on the kitchen island with a call from Toby. She snatches up the phone. “Did you find anything?”

  “No. And we’re not going to. I’m sorry, Birdie, but we’re calling off the search. Based on my investigation, I have reason to believe Cary left town on his own volition.”

  Birdie’s stomach clenches, and she thinks she might throw up. “What reason? What’re you talking about?”

  “I just got off the phone with Jonathan Hart. He can explain better than me. He’ll be calling you momentarily.” Toby lets out an audible sigh. “I’m so sorry, Birdie. Let me know if I can help in any other way.”

  “Wait—”

  The line goes dead.

  She stumbles to the nearest chair, sets her phone, screen-up, on the table, and waits for Cary’s law partner to call. Her nerves are frazzled. She can’t take more bad news. But she has a sick feeling Jonathan is about to tell her the worst yet.

  Fifteen minutes later, the back door swings open, and Jonathan enters in a rush of frigid air. “This is serious business, Birdie. I figured I’d better tell you in person.” He pulls her to her feet and hugs her tight. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe Cary didn’t tell you. If I had known, I would’ve told you myself.”