Message in a Bottle by Nicholas Sparks Page A

the reply. “Well, we’ll find out soon enough. This is getting fun.”
    Deanna then called information again and got the number for the ship registry of Wilmington. After dialing, she told the voice on the line who she was and asked for someone who could help her verify some information. “My husband and I were vacationing down there,” she told the woman who answered the phone, “when our boat broke down. This nice gentleman found us and helped us get back to shore. His name was Garrett Blake, and I think the name of his boat was Happenstance, but I want to be sure when I write the story.”
    Deanna went on, refusing to let the woman get a word in edgewise. She told her how scared she had been and how much it had meant when Garrett had come to their rescue. Then, after flattering the woman about how nice people were in the South and Wilmington in particular and how she wanted to do a story on southern hospitality and the kindness of strangers, the woman was more than willing to help. “Since you’re just verifying the information and not asking for anything you don’t know, I’m sure it won’t be a problem. Hold on for a second.”
    Deanna drummed her fingers on the desk while the sounds of Barry Manilow wafted through the receiver. The woman picked up again.
    “Okay. Let’s see now . . .” Deanna heard tapping on a keyboard, then a strange beep. After a moment, the woman said the words that both Deanna and Theresa hoped she would.
    “Yes, here it is. Garrett Blake. Um . . . you got the name right, at least according to the information we have. It says here that the boat is named Happenstance.”
    Deanna thanked her profusely and asked for the lady’s name, “so she could write about another person who epitomized hospitality.” After spelling it back to the woman, she hung up the phone, beaming.
    “Garrett Blake,” she said with a victorious smile. “Our mysterious writer is named Garrett Blake.”
    “I can’t believe you found him.”
    Deanna nodded as if she’d accomplished something even she doubted she could do. “Believe it. This old woman still knows how to research information.”
    “That you do.”
    “Anything else that you want to know more about?”
    Theresa thought for a moment. “Can you find out anything about Catherine?”
    Deanna shrugged and readied herself for the task. “I don’t know, but we can give it a try. Let’s call the paper to see if anything is in their records. If the death was accidental, it may have been written up.”
    Again, Deanna called the paper and asked for the news department. Unfortunately, after speaking with a couple of people, she was told that newspapers from a few years back were recorded on microfiche and couldn’t be accessed easily without a specific date. Deanna asked for and received a name that Theresa should contact when she got down there, in case she wanted to look up the information on her own.
    “I think that’s about all we can do from here. The rest is up to you, Theresa. But at least you know where to find him.”
    Deanna held out the slip of paper with the name. Theresa hesitated. Deanna looked at her for a moment, then set the paper on the desk. She picked up the phone one more time.
    “Now who’re you calling?”
    “My travel agency. You’re going to need a flight and a place to stay.”
    “I haven’t even said I was going yet.”
    “Oh, you’re going.”
    “How can you be so sure?”
    “Because I’m not going to have you sitting around the newsroom for the next year wondering what might have been. You don’t work well when you’re distracted.”
    “Deanna . . .”
    “Don’t ‘Deanna’ me. You know the curiosity would drive you crazy. It’s already driving me crazy.”
    “But—”
    “But nothing.” She paused for a moment, and her words came softer. “Theresa, remember—you’ve got nothing to lose. The worst that could possibly happen is that you fly home in a couple of days. That’s all. You’re