Chapter 1

RORY WOKE AT THE sound of a pot clattering into a sink. It was sharp; a loud smack of metal against metal echoing down the hall to her room and penetrating the closed door. Eyes now open, she admired how the warm yellow morning sun hitting the lace curtains made them glow, and waited. It followed as sure as the sun follows the moon; Uncle Ethan swearing, “Fudge-ruckle!”

Rory had to smile despite hunger gnawing at her. She’d rarely heard her uncle swear like a man; to actually use a real cuss word. He had a dictionary of words he used instead, all of them funny. You couldn’t take him seriously. He was far too amusing.

With a yawn and stretch, Rory flipped the sheet off and headed to the hall bathroom. As she did every morning, she turned the shower on, went to the toilet, then stripped off her pajama top, pajama shorts, and panties, checked the temperature of the water with her hand, adjusted it, and stepped in. First hair - shampoo twice, rinse well, then conditioner. Next body - soap neck down, then rinse. Mindless.

She thought about today as she did every year. It was her eighth anniversary and she wondered what Ethan had planned. He did it every year - celebrate the day she came to live with him. He’d insisted it was his celebration, not hers. She knew better. She knew, in the beginning, it was his way of making her feel better, but it had continued and become a tradition right up there with birthdays and Christmas and, she thought with a smile, any other crazy holiday he liked when the mood took him.

She turned the shower off, stepped out and set about drying herself. The mirror over the sink was fogged, a shadow of her reflecting. She leaned over the sink and wiped the mirror. Wrapping the towel around her, she studied her face, inspecting her skin for blemishes, pleased when she couldn’t find pimples or blackheads.

With her special soap, she scrubbed her face, applied cream, and brushed her teeth.

When she left the bathroom, the familiar smell of the Atlantic Ocean hit her in the bedroom; salty and fresh. The solid wood floor, aged to a honey brown, felt cool against her bare feet. A lazy breeze stirred by the overhead revolving fan wafted her lace curtains. She paused and inhaled deeply. She enjoyed living here, on the edge of the ocean with the calming sound of surf reaching her. The air was humid and heavy. It was going to be a stinker of a day.

Excitement pulsed in her. It was the first week of summer holidays and she loved summer; the freedom to do what she wanted, no homework, no pressure, just laze around.

She pulled her dresser drawer open and selected a clean pair of panties, a soft cotton bra and, in the next drawer, soft pale yellow sweatshorts and a sky blue tank top.

Dressed, she walked down the hall giving cursory looks at the framed pages of old parchment on the walls. At the doorway to the combined kitchen and family room she paused.

Uncle Ethan was placing a pancake on a pile already made, his back to her. Through wide sliding glass doors she could see the lush vegetation of their back garden and, beyond, through the palms, a flash of tan sand and sparkling water - the Atlantic. Surf was low today.

Ethan, sensing her, turned and smiled. “Blueberry pancakes today.”

Rory asked, “What would you do if I want cereal instead?”

“Eat all the pancakes myself,” he answered, his blue eyes twinkling.

While he finished cooking, she set the old, heavy, oak kitchen table. It was war-scarred and ring-stained from decades of use.

Despite eight years living with him, she still couldn’t see Uncle Ethan as the Forensic Document Specialist he was. He didn’t look anything like an old fuddy-duddy. Just into his thirties, he was lean, average height, with sandy blond hair that, while short at the sides, was a little too long at the top. A fringe kept falling into his eyes. She noticed he wasn’t wearing his horn-rimmed glasses; contacts meant some sort of physical activity was planned.

She’d never understood his love of old documents or why he was hired to validate them. Who cares about old paper? It was his forensic handwriting investigations for criminal and civil cases that caught her imagination; proving or disproving someone had signed a document; a death or murder hanging in the balance.

Sitting down at the table, she studied him. Her friends agreed with her: Ethan looked far younger than his age and their consensus was he was a gorgeous man. He was more than just good-looking. It was the whole package. It was eyes that sparkled with intelligence and a hint of fun, a smile that crinkled his blue eyes and, perhaps most important, a personality that her friends gravitated towards. He was so comfortable in his own skin.

“Here ya go,” he said, placing a stack of pancakes in front of her. “Eat up. We have a busy day ahead and you’ll need your energy.”

Rory reached for the syrup. “What do you have planned?”

Ethan took a large bite of maple syrup-covered pancakes, chewed, swallowed, and grinned. “I just told you, a busy day.”

With a quick laugh, she took a bite; light, fluffy, with summer-sweet blueberries and sumptuous syrup. “Mmmm.”

Ten minutes later, Ethan finished, checked his watch, stood and took his plate to the sink, informing her, “You have fifteen minutes to get ready.”

“Ready for...”

She was interrupted by the front door bell chiming. Ethan, rinsing dishes and the frying pan, asked, “Will you get that?”

Rory shoved the last forkful of pancake into her mouth and stood, still chewing. The front door bell chimed again. Waiting at the door when she opened it, Susie, Hannah, Peter, and several more of her school friends were milling around.

Susie smiled. “Hi, Rory! Great day for it, isn’t it?” she said, squeezing by Rory to enter the house. The others followed.

“Great day for what?” Rory asked.

“A beach party! Ethan invited us. Some sort of celebration.”

Rory smiled to herself. So this, she thought, is how he wants to celebrate this year - throw her a beach party!

Hannah asked, “What’s the celebration for?”

Jimmy explained, “It’s her birthday.”

Susie immediately spoke. “Damn, girl! I didn’t buy you anything!”

Rory, following the troop towards the kitchen, laughed, “It’s NOT my birthday,” and explained about the annual celebration of her coming to live with Uncle Ethan.