Sea Glass Sunrise

by Donna Kauffman

  “So you’re saying he has something more planned?”

  “It’s all gone according to plan so far, but that wasn’t the final nail in Jonah’s financial coffin, just the first.” She shuddered a little on that last part, not wanting to believe Winstock would actually risk hurting anyone physically, but Jonah and his great-granddaughter hadn’t been that far away. What if she and Calder hadn’t been down there so she could call 9-1-1 and Calder could wake him up?

  “But with all this attention already focused on Calder,” Logan said, “wouldn’t it be a stretch to believe he’d do something else to Jonah?”

  Hannah sat back again. “Good point. But the more I think about it, the more this doesn’t feel like the whole shebang. It feels like step one. Jonah’s down, but he’s not out. Yet.” She looked at Logan again. “Maybe he only needed Calder for the first step.”

  “But if something else happens to Jonah now, and it’s clearly not tied to Calder, that would only serve to lift suspicion from him. So that defeats the purpose of making him the scapegoat in the first place.”

  Hannah nodded, but her mind was in full litigator mode. When she was working a challenging criminal case, she had to look at everything the opposition had on her client, and try to find anything that wasn’t right, that didn’t jibe, that she could use to point the finger of guilt away from her client and, if she was even luckier, on to something or someone else. “I hear what you’re saying, but without there being a more obvious culprit here—fired employee, angry vendor, etcetera—it’s got to be Brooks. And you know, the irony is, if Brooks hadn’t brought Calder here, we wouldn’t have any real tangible connection between Brooks and Jonah at all. So the tool he’s using to get what he wants is the same tool that is leading us right to him.”

  “Won’t matter if it works,” Logan said.

  Hannah nodded. “I know. We just have to figure out how to find whoever Brooks hired to set the fire. That would be the weak link. If only you could get a look at the Winstock financials, see if he’d paid anyone a sum lately that seems sketchy.”

  “A man with an empire as big as his, something like that would be too easy to bury, too impossible to find on a cursory scan of his personal banking information.”

  “True.” She fell silent, and let the wheels spin. It felt good to get her brain back in that groove; it was the one place she felt confident, certain. She just wished this were about some impersonal corporate client and not Calder Blue. A man you want to get very personal with. She frowned and pointedly ignored the little voice as she circled back to the other key point they’d stumbled across. “Who gets the case when you leave on your honeymoon? Dan doesn’t have the experience and Barb—”

  “We haven’t worked that out yet. It may be that it sits and waits for me to get back. It’s only ten days.”

  She boggled at him. “Ten days to let someone with Brooks’s resources cover his ass? And what if I’m right and this was just the first volley?”

  Logan rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and swore under his breath. “Then we’ll cross that road when we come to it.” He kept talking when she would have jumped right back in. “I’m not canceling my honeymoon. It took too long to figure out the logistics in the first place. I won’t do that to Alex, and if you say anything, she’d be the first one to do it herself to help me.”

  “No, no, I wouldn’t want you to and I’m not going to say anything, I promise. I just—can’t someone you trust in a nearby precinct step in to handle things? Machias maybe? Or Lubec? It’s a hike, but they have more resources than we do.”

  “If something happens, then yes, at least temporarily until I can get back.” He looked at her. “If something happens, I will come back immediately, Hannah. But without any proof other than a string of hunches on your part—and mine,” he added when she gave him a steady look, “that’s all I can do. That and work it as best I can right up until the minute I walk down the aisle.”

  Now she swore under her breath. “I’m sorry,” she said. “That all this is happening at a time when you should just be happy and looking forward to marrying Alex. Nothing ever happens here, and then this, and now of all times. I still have to think that’s not a coincidence. But I’m sorry it’s happening, all the same.” She fell silent, and so did Logan.

  After a moment, he said, quietly, “And I’m sorry about Tim. I thought it was a good thing. I mean, I worried about you and your work, and that you were getting so busy you weren’t having a life, but I thought maybe he would balance that.” He leaned across the seat and kissed her on the temple. “I have no problem driving down to D.C. and beating him up for you, you know,” he murmured against her hair.

  She sniffled a laugh through a sudden, fresh threat of tears. “Thank you. Not necessary, but thank you.”

  “Because you already kicked his ass?” Logan asked, leaning back and shifting forward again, putting the truck in gear.

  “Something like that,” she said, smiling, blinking the tears back more easily this time.

  “So . . . about Blue. Calder,” Logan qualified, then sent a sideways look at her as he turned the truck around and headed back to the main road. “Do I need to beat him up?”

  She laughed again. “No.” Her smile spread. “I can kick his ass on my own, too,” she said. “If it comes to that.”

  They started the drive back toward town; then, sounding truly uncomfortable for the first time, Logan said, “Did you know he’s divorced?”

  Her thoughts had gone right back to figuring out how she was going to catch a break in this case before Logan walked down the aisle. “What? Who?”

  “Calder.”

  She frowned at him. “He said something about it. Why are you mentioning it? Divorce isn’t like a scarlet letter, you know.”

  “I do know that. I just—divorce is hard and so who knows—”

  “Seriously, are you saying to me that I need to be careful because I might be his rebound fling? I’m not sixteen. And we’re not having a fling.”

  He glanced at her, his expression filled with compassion and concern at the same time. “No . . . but you’re also just out of a relationship.”

  She tried not to stiffen at the implication. “Thank you, Dr. Phil. If anything was happening, which it’s not, I believe I can make my own choices without advice from the peanut gallery. Also, how do you know he’s divorced? Because of his background check?”

  “No, that was just a criminal records check. I had a contact. Or more like a contact through a contact, in the Calais department. So I used it.”

  She swung on him so fast he actually pulled the steering wheel just a hair to the left before self-correcting. “You called someone in Calais and asked questions about Calder? Regarding an arson incident? Does he know that?”

  “I didn’t inform him, nor am I required to. Why are you so bunched up over it? I mean, given there’s nothing going on between you and all.”

  “Don’t turn this back on me. He’s here trying to find a way to mend a stupid family feud and causing a fair amount of strain on his immediate family by doing so. I have the feeling there’s more going on there as well, but, like I said, I don’t know him that well, so I don’t know the particulars. Telling someone—anyone—in his town, which might be bigger than ours, but not by much, that he’s being looked at in some kind of arson case in Blueberry Cove? Are you kidding me?”

  “I have to go where the case leads. I can’t help it if—what are you doing?”

  She lifted a one moment finger, having just pressed in a number on her cell phone and now holding said phone to her ear. Probably she should have thought this through a bit more, but what the hell. If she was going to learn to go with her gut again, she had to start somewhere. “Calder?” she said a moment later. “It’s Hannah. Are you still in the Cove?” She paused, then sighed in relief. “Good. We need to talk.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Please tell Mr. Winstock that my patience is near an end here. He either wishes
to go forward on this project with me as his contractor, or he does not. Given the considerable delays he’s faced already, I’d think he’d want to get moving on this sooner rather than later. I’ll be staying in Blueberry Cove till Sunday evening and hope Mr. Winstock can adjust his schedule accordingly. After that, I will be returning to Calais and my other business concerns and he’ll have to find someone else to build his club.” Calder barely stayed on the phone long enough to listen to Winstock’s assistant make additional mealymouthed assurances before ending the call and tossing the phone on the passenger seat of his truck.

  He scrubbed a hand over his face and considered his options for dinner now that he knew he wouldn’t be meeting with Winstock that day. He had no intention of signing that contract, but he wanted—needed—to sit across from the man and at least try to get a sense of what was really going on while looking him straight in the eye. He snatched his phone back up and called Hannah. “It’s Calder,” he said, when she answered. “Sorry I couldn’t talk longer before. I was on hold with Winstock’s office. How about an early dinner?” He grinned, listening to her reply. She was in crisp, lawyer mode. Why that made him happy, he didn’t know. It probably boded trouble. But he was discovering that trouble where Hannah McCrae was concerned was the kind he didn’t mind getting into. “Sooner is good,” he said. “I can do sooner. Just tell me where and I’m on my way.”

  Twenty minutes later, he was pulling into the lot of a small diner about fifteen miles south of the Cove, on the outskirts of Machias. No blue beast was parked in the small gravel lot, but he was sure he was in the right place. There was no other establishment in sight. Other than a boat repair shop and an old, run-down gas station, long since closed, he hadn’t passed a single other place of business since leaving Blueberry. Surprisingly, or maybe not if it was the only game in town, there were a few other cars in the lot.

  He started to get out of his truck, thinking he’d grab a table and maybe order himself a nice, cold beer, when his phone rang. Assuming it was Hannah, he smiled as he slid it out of his pocket, then was surprised to see his father’s name pop up on the screen instead. He sat back in the truck, took a breath, then answered. “Hey, Pop. I got your e-mail this morning. I faxed the adjustments on that warehouse bid to Eli about an hour ago, along with some suggested changes to the specs. I made pencil marks on the blueprint to show him what I had in mind. It’s a better fit in those corners and saves us a hassle in getting those custom collar ties and ceiling joists made. Not to mention the cost. Tell him to check the floor in the office, sometimes those long sheets slide right off the fax tray.”

  “I’m not calling about the goddamn warehouse project!” Thaddeus Blue’s gravel voice was even rougher than usual, and twice as tight.

  Calder tried not to tense, even as he swore under his breath and prepared himself for whatever this latest storm was going to be about. His father had been quite vocal in his lack of support for his oldest son’s latest endeavor, and was even less of a fan of Calder’s continued stay in the Cove. The lack of a signed contract with Winstock was definitely not helping.

  In the few conversations they’d had since Calder’s initial arrival in Blueberry, his father hadn’t asked a single question about Jonah or the Cove Blues, and Calder hadn’t offered. He didn’t now, either. “What’s going on, then?” Calder asked, hoping maybe it was another one of their job sites giving them grief, but bracing himself for yet another lecture on how he was wasting his time and company money, complete with barked orders to get his ass back to Calais.

  “What in the living goddamn hell is going on down there?”

  So, okay, not just angry. Try livid. “You know why I’m here,” Calder replied, both resignedly and doggedly. He hadn’t backed down when his father and Eli—the next to oldest and most company-dedicated of Thad’s four sons—had flipped their collective shit when he’d announced the bid and resulting job offer that would put half their resources on a job ninety-plus minutes away, not to mention the whole family feud aspect. He sure as hell wasn’t backing out now. As he’d reminded his father in heated situations before, Thaddeus wasn’t the only Blue mentioned in the name of their company.

  “I left word with Carrie with my schedule for the remainder of the weekend,” he continued. “I’ll be back in Calais Sunday night, and I’ll know what’s next then.” Carrie was the secretary and all around wrangler for Blue and Sons Contracting. “Is there something specific I can help with? Is Kendall giving you a hard time over that increase we had to make on the gravel? Because he’s just going to have to suck that up. It’s his own damn fault for not telling us about the drainage issue he’d already been having—”

  “It’s not about the fucking gravel,” his father shouted. He was actually screaming. “What is this about a burned-out boathouse and some ridiculous shit about them looking at you for arson? And I have to hear this from goddamn Malcolm at the sheriff’s office?”

  Well, shit. “Dad, Dad, calm down. I don’t know what Sheriff Lonergan heard, or told you, but I’m not in any trouble here. I’m a witness, nothing more. There was a fire. Someone torched Jonah Blue’s—”

  “I don’t give a living, breathing fuck about some goddamn fire and I sure as hell don’t want to hear you so much as whisper that man’s name ever again. The Cove Blues have been nothing but trouble for us, and clearly a hundred years hasn’t changed that.” Thaddeus was so angry, his voice trembled with rage. “Now get in your goddamn truck and drive your ass home. And in case you forgot where the hell that is, it’s not in fucking Blueberry Cove! And it’s not on that godforsaken, run-down, piece-of-shit property you’re calling a farm. You’re not a goddamn farmer. And you’re not a fucking missionary. You belong here. With me, with your brothers—who are a damn sight more grateful for what I’ve built and the life it has provided than you’ve ever been. They’re having to pick up your slack, doing the good and fine work that they and you were put on God’s green earth to do. So, get on it!”

  The line went abruptly dead as his father disconnected. Which was just as well since an aneurysm or heart attack had sounded imminent. Calder wished he could say that that kind of behavior was an aberrant thing, or that he felt guilty for being responsible for pushing his father into such a state. The truth was, for too many years, Calder had shouldered that burden and more. However, as an adult, working with his father, seeing all the ins and outs of his father’s day—and not just the parts he dragged home and shared, often at top decibel, with his family—Calder had come to realize that his father was just made like that. Belligerent, bullheaded, with a hair-trigger temper that ran as wide as it did deep. Fortunately, he wasn’t given to physical violence of any sort, and Calder, as well as his brothers, knew that his anger blew out as fast as it blew up. They’d still been kids when they’d learned to simply take the blast, wisely refrain from responding in any manner, and then continue on about their business. Until the next time.

  “So . . . sooner wasn’t soon enough, I guess.”

  Calder shifted around to find Hannah standing at the edge of his open truck door. He swallowed a string of swear words and not a little embarrassment. “I guess you heard. You and everyone within a five-mile radius.”

  “I’d hoped to warn you. Logan talked to the local law in Calais as follow-up. I should have just told you that over the phone, but I was with Logan at the time, and—well, anyway. Water under bridge now, I guess. I’m sorry.”

  “I’d apologize for my father,” Calder said, “but I’ve learned it’s not my responsibility to do so. I will apologize that you had to listen to that. He’s actually a well-educated man, though you’d never guess it by that language.”

  “Calder—” she said, sounding abashed for him, but thankfully not pitying. “Consider us even, for the call you overheard,” she said at length.

  He held her dark blue gaze, and noticed there wasn’t quite as much of a makeup mask in play this afternoon. And she’d changed since their meeting that morning at the
station house, into a soft floral, sleeveless sundress with a scoop neck, the hem of which dropped all the way to her shins, though it wasn’t any less sexy for its loosely shaped silhouette. Her hair was brushed back from her face, but worn down and loose, and he thought he’d never seen her look so soft and feminine, then realized that wasn’t true. She’d never been anything but in his eyes, no matter the wrapping. “How’re the injuries? You look better.”

  She made a face, but smiled briefly. “I feel better, thanks.” She flashed her hands at him, showing off short nails painted a pale pink. “We had a girls’ spa day and that helped, too.” She touched her cheekbones lightly. “Swelling is mostly gone, just puffiness when I first get up, and late in the evening. Still aches a bit, and the stitches are starting to itch like mad, but I guess that’s a good sign.”

  His gaze dropped to her mouth. “And the lip?”

  He saw her throat work and had to swallow the urge to grin. Because looking at that mouth worked him up a little, too.

  “Looks like I’ll get to keep it after all,” she said wryly. “My ability to whistle is saved.”

  He grinned, and it was all he could do to keep from pulling her into his arms, sliding his hands beneath that silky waterfall of dark hair, and sinking into a deep, slow kiss. Only, he knew if he put his hands on her now, he wasn’t sure either of them would stop at a kiss. Between the situation he’d found himself in with Jonah’s boathouse, Hannah now acting as his lawyer, and his father having apoplexy over the whole thing, it would probably be wise to keep his hands off her. Period.

  “Well,” he said, trying to clear the sudden roughness from his voice. “Since we’re here, we might as well go in and grab a bite.” No reason they couldn’t eat a meal together, he told himself. She was his lawyer, after all. Then he paused. “Unless you’d rather get back to the Cove. I appreciate your trying to warn me about the call to Sheriff Lonergan, and keeping that as private as possible, I truly do, but I’m sure there’s probably some wedding-related function you should be attending. Wedding-day prep? Bachelorette party?”