B000FC1MHI EBOK (28 page)

“Come to the trap shed around nine tonight. You can help paint.”

Julia smiled in relief. “I’d like that,” she said and hung up feeling as though she might be able to pay for her keep after all.

Satisfied, she returned to the lounger, but she couldn’t relax as before. Something had changed. The woods were as peaceful, the scent as sweet, the view as soothing, but her thoughts were on the real world now, on painted buoys and Noah, on Kim and her stash, on Molly and Zoe and George and Janet, all the loose threads in her life.

Call Monte,
a little voice said, and she was instantly annoyed. She didn’t want the reminder of who she’d been, not when she was feeling independent and strong. There was a shine in her world right now. Monte would tarnish it.

Zoe was another matter. Within minutes, Julia was inside again and calling her. “Hi,” she said with bated breath, wondering if Zoe was furious at her.

But Zoe’s voice held a smile. “Hi, yourself. I’m glad you called. I was worried.”

“That makes two of us. Between the rabbits and Dad, I’ve abandoned you. How’s it going?”

“Oh, it’s fine. I put George to work with the rabbits. It keeps him busy and gets the work done. He’s not a natural at it like you are—his heart isn’t in it—but he does what I say.”

“He does what Mom says, too—usually, at least. Is it awkward, having him there?”

“A little.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your doing, Julia. It’s mine and his, so we’ll deal. At least I had Molly here for breakfast and lunch. She’s at the Grill now. Tonight’s lobster night. She’s doing an appetizer of lobster crepes.”

“Well, then, we have to go,” Julia said. It was a perfect idea. “Let me treat you and Dad.”

Zoe cleared her throat. “Uh, excuse me? Who wanted space?”

“Me. But I have it now. That means I can
choose
to be with people, and I
choose
to be with you and Dad.”

“Your father and I are not a pair.”

“I’m glad. I still want to take you to dinner.”

“If you’re feeling guilty—”

“Of course I’m feeling guilty,” Julia said. “Feeling guilty is too much a part of me to be gone in a day. But I also want to do this. Please let me?”

Julia went to the Grill early, hoping to see Matthew Crane before the others arrived. Sure enough, he was in his usual corner, nursing his usual whiskey as he looked out over the harbor toward open ocean. He couldn’t possibly see much; fog had rolled in. Still, he looked.

She slipped down on the bench, but he spoke before she could say a word. “Know why Monday night’s lobster night?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“With no hauling on Sundays, the catch is bigger on Mondays, so the price is lower. It’s all about money. It wasn’t always that way. Lobster used to be so plentiful it was thought of as charity fare.”

“Charity fare?”

“For widows and children and convicts and servants. Some of the servants got so tired of eating it, they had it written into their contracts that they couldn’t be served it more than three times a week.”

Julia smiled. “You’re kidding me.”

Matthew shook his head. He sipped his drink and sat it back on his thigh. “Native Americans used to pick lobster right out of the seaweed on the shore. They used them to fertilize their cornfields.”

“Why are there so few now?”

“Fewer lobster? I don’t know if there are fewer. Maine lobstermen hauled forty-six million pounds last year. The problem is demand. It used to be you had your lobster boiled live or steamed. Now you have it baked, stuffed, and grilled. You have lobster Savannah, lobster Newburg, and lobster thermidor. You have stew and chowder. You have lobster salad and lobster roll. You have lobster cakes, lobster pie, lobster puffs, lobster ravioli, even lobster ice cream. What’s he got on the menu tonight—lobster crepes? Where will it end?” Matthew looked up as the waitress approached. “Me, I’m a boiled-live man.”

“Here you go, Cap’n Crane,” the girl said with a wink at Julia. “Our feistiest one-and-a-half pounder with drawn butter and a side of corn-bread.” She set the platter down on the bench in exchange for Matthew’s whiskey glass.

“I thought you were a scrod man,” Julia teased as soon as the girl left.

“Tuesday through Sunday it’s scrod. Monday it’s boiled live. My Amelia loved boiled live, too. ’Course, she could never quite get the hang of pulling the thing apart. She was too ladylike.” He grasped the body in one hand and the tail in the other. With a sharp twist, the two came apart. “I used to do it for her. I never minded.” Just as easily, he separated the knuckles from the body, then the claws from the knuckles.

Julia was amazed. “How do you do that without a cracker?”

Matthew guffawed. “It’s not as easy as it used to be. The arthritis and all.” He took the tail, bent it backward until it split, and neatly removed the piece of meat inside.

“Mrs. Bechtel?”

Julia looked up. A fair-haired man with serious eyes and an intense look hunkered down beside her. She didn’t recognize him, but the voice was familiar.

“Alex Brier,” he said. “Thanks for emailing the pictures. I’m using them in this week’s paper, and my deadline was an hour ago. Want to take more?”

“Of the traps?”

“Of Noah’s buoys and anything else that happens. More will. You can bet on that. I’ve been doing all the pictures myself, only my wife’s expecting a baby in two months, and the doctor is making her stay in bed, so I’m running back and forth, trying to do the newspaper and take care of our two other kids. I could find you a ride out, if you’re willing to do it.”

“What fun,” Julia said, grinning. “I’m willing.”

“Great. Thanks. I’ll pay you for this—”

“I don’t need pay. There are no expenses on my end.” Totally aside from that, she couldn’t imagine being paid. She had no expertise to be paid for. She was simply a visitor to the island who happened to have had her camera with her in the right place at the right time.

Alex stood. “Thanks, then. I’ll arrange a ride and give you a call.”

“I’ll take her,” Matthew said. He held the last of the tail piece, dripping butter onto the plate. “My nephew’s been offering me his Cobalt. Pretty fancy boat for a lobsterman, but not for a lady from New York.”

For the first time, Alex smiled. “All my problems should be settled this easily. Thanks, guys,” he said and left.

Julia wished her own problems were settled as easily. Those problems hit her within thirty minutes of sitting down with Zoe and George, which was as long as it took to order wine, devour Molly’s crepes, and discuss Noah’s sabotaged buoys, which were the talk of the place. By the time dinner salads arrived, George had grown quiet, and by the time lobster arrived—boiled live for Zoe, stew for Julia, and hash for George—he was looking despondent.

Naturally, Julia asked whether he had talked with Janet. When he said he had not, she suggested he call. When he argued that he wasn’t ready to talk with her, he then turned the tables and asked if Julia had talked with Monte. She changed the subject.

Julia didn’t regret having suggested dinner. She would do it again in a minute. George was her father, and he was distressed. Janet was her mother, and she was alone. Monte was her husband, and, as such, was still a part of her life. It all needed discussing.

But not now. Not yet.

After paying the bill, she was pleased to take her leave and head for Noah’s trap shed. The same fog that had obstructed the sunset now produced a dusk that was thick and moist. She wore a sweater, and buttoned it up as she drove.

The shed was at the end of Spruce Street, where houses had given way to wild grasses and trees. She might have missed the small wood hut, had it not been for a glow in the window. She had barely parked when Lucas appeared from nowhere, ran back and forth in a moment’s frenzy, then butted his muzzle against her hand. Delighted, Julia was patting his head when Noah appeared at the door, and suddenly it hit her—the way he was now with his hair messed and his sweatshirt and jeans spattered with paint, the way he had looked as a teenager with his buddies and all of them with that ropy tattoo, the way his voice had gentled earlier when she had called on the phone.

Her insides melted. The best she could do was manage a smile.

With a hand high on the door frame, he smiled back. “Hey. Mmm, you look nice. Just come from dinner?”

She nodded. Leaving a hand on Lucas’s head, she raised her brows and looked around Noah into the shed. With the door open, the smell of fresh paint was quickly supplanting that of the salt mist.

He stepped aside to let her in. Lucas went first. “I sent Ian home. He was exhausted. I’d say ‘poor kid,’ if he hadn’t been out until two this morning with friends.”

The oil lamp threw enough light to show dozens of buoys newly painted a bright blue. “Oh my,” Julia said, finding her voice. “Have you done all this tonight?”

“I had no choice. I don’t want those traps lost. I’m about to start on the stripes.”

“Give me a brush.”

“Not dressed like you are.”

Julia spotted a sweatshirt on a hook. “That’ll do, won’t it?” she asked as she unbuttoned her sweater. In no time, she replaced it with the sweatshirt. It was large, but large served the purpose. She homed in on an open can of orange paint. Several brushes lay nearby. She picked one up. “Show me how you want it done.”

He showed her, and for a time they worked quietly, with Lucas sleeping nearby. They were done with nearly half before Noah said, “Tell me about Kim.”

Sitting back on her heels, Julia told him about the visit. By the time she reached the part about the bankbook, he had stopped painting too.

“Twenty-three thousand?”

“And change.”

“Most over the last eighteen months?”

“That’s right.”

“So the question,” Noah correctly concluded, “is what he was paying her for. She didn’t indicate in any way?”

“Only that she was saving up so that she could leave here. She gave me the bankbook for safekeeping. I guess she’s thinking that if she becomes part of an investigation, she doesn’t want it drawing attention. But the bank has those same records. Investigators would come up with them in no time. If they start investigating her,” Julia added, because that was the crux of her own dilemma. “What do I do, Noah? Is the bankbook an admission of guilt? I can’t swear which boat she was on the night of the accident, but I now have that bankbook in my possession, which means I know something the police don’t. Artie was paying her for something. The question is what.”

“How did she seem?”

“Not evil or manipulative, that’s for sure. Stricken,” Julia decided. “That’s the hardest part for me. I feel protective of her. She was there with us that night. Regardless of what she was or was not involved in, she’s suffering.”

Noah considered that thought. After a minute, he resumed painting, and Julia followed his lead. He was thinking, she knew. She could see the way his brow was creased and his mouth had tightened. He would talk when he had something to say.

Sure enough, when the last of the blue buoys wore orange stripes and had been carefully hung to dry, he put out the oil lamp and led her outside. There, leaning beside her against her car, he said, “Let me talk with John. He’ll tell me what’s going on. He trusts me. He won’t think twice if I prod, what with my father having been killed.”

She wanted to see his face to learn more than his voice conveyed, but with the fog obscuring moon and stars, the night was dark. Gently, she asked, “How are you doing with that?”

“Not bad. I’ve cleaned things up, and now Ian’s here, so the house feels different.”

“How was it with him today?”

“Awkward. He answers questions but doesn’t initiate anything. The good news is he can follow orders. First thing tomorrow, we’re heading out to replace buoys. He’ll be fine with that.”

“I may see you out there,” Julia said on a lighter note. With her eyes adjusting to the dark, she saw Noah turn his head and look at her. “Alex Brier asked me to take pictures of your gray buoys. Matthew Crane is taking me out.”

Noah tipped his head. His voice held a smile. “Matthew, huh? None of the working guys would do it?”

“Don’t know. Didn’t ask. Matthew offered. I said yes.”

“You have him wrapped around your finger. Bet you do that to all the men.”

“No. Not all.”

“You’ve sure done it to my dog. Look at him sitting there, right by your leg.”

Julia scratched Lucas’s head. “Maybe he’s just a lady’s man, starved for female attention.”

“Nah. There’s plenty of females around. He’s not interested in them. I told you. He knows beauty when he sees it.”

Julia didn’t reply. Noah had said those words more than once— three times, to be exact—but they were only words. She knew not to put much stock in them; Monte thought her beautiful, but it hadn’t kept him interested for long.

Words were easily spoken. But there was something else here with Noah, something in the thick night air that sent a warmth through her veins. It could have been the way his body touched hers, arm to arm, hip to hip, or the way he looked at her, then away, then back, as though he couldn’t control his eyes, any more than she could control the heat she felt inside.