Eli laughs, low and slow. “Thinking.”
I pretend to scribble down in my notepad. “Warden Young thinks a lot while he drives.”
“Original.” He laughs again.
Admittedly, I could listen to this all day. No, no, I could watch him laugh without sound because it’s his expression that gives me a feeling in my stomach, just below my heart.
I like it when you smile, I want to say, but I don’t because this is me collecting my research, and that’s it.
I’ll go back to California and write the book, and he’ll stay here in Maine. It will be easier this way.
You’ll never be with someone in uniform again; you know this, Alex. You know your heart won’t fall again. It just can’t. It won’t handle another fall and another break.
This takes me back to a day with Kyle. The day something in him changed.
He’d come home from work, dirty and tired. The only thing I saw was his bright eyes and his white teeth, his face covered in black soot.
Unspeakable things happen. Awful things. Things good humans don’t talk about. Lifesavers, like Eli.
He never spoke about it, but I read it in the Belle’s Hollow Newspaper later.
A child had been killed that morning. Extensive rescuing measures had been made and were unsuccessful.
He took me against the wall that morning when he came home. His top coat still on, his pants at his ankles. Kyle pushed into me that morning with sadness and frustration. Not at me, but at the fact that he couldn’t save the child. I allowed him to console his heart with my body. We moved into the living room, and he bent me over the couch, quietly whispering in my ear about my tightness. He held me upright by my breasts and touched me in my middle until I came.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Kyle,” I say, staring out the window at another body of water, this time, much bigger than the last body of water. “What percentage of Maine is covered by water?”
“Want to talk about it?”
I stop and look back at Eli, his arm still resting on the steering wheel. The intent in his eyes is as if he wants to take every single worry off my heart.
“Kyle or the water?”
“Kyle.”
“Not yet.”
“Twelve-point-eight percent. Seems like a lot more, right?”
“Everywhere I look, there’s a stream, a pond, or a lake.”
There’s a long silence between us as I write this down.
Eli’s phone rings. “Young.” He listens. “On it.” He hangs up. “Car versus moose.”
Eli changes his demeanor, rubbing his thumb over the steering wheel, his hand still over his mouth, thinking. I quietly take a back seat as I watch him in action.
Through the beauty of the fall foliage, we travel, and after several minutes of driving down the highway, we pull up to the scene. A giant rack is sitting well above the road. An EMT is loading the victim into the ambulance. Ryan has a contraption that he’s using on a tripod.
Nine
Eli
October 12, 2017
Ryan found his gun after we shooed the family of raccoons out of the bushes and away from my house. He found it on the opposite side of the truck, under the seat.
“I swear, I didn’t leave my gun on that side of my truck.” Ryan’s rifling through his work truck with the dome light on—looking for what, I’m not sure. “Why would someone move my gun and not steal it?”
In Maine, gun owners over the age of twenty-one can have a permit to legally carry, concealed or open.
“So, it wasn’t a meth addict because we probably would have found it at Benny’s Pawn Shop in town. But someone moved it. You’re sure?”
Ryan stops. Stares at me. Pops his jaw.
His look says, We’re game wardens. We don’t not remember where we put our firearms.
My hands go up. “All right, all right.”
Rookie is sniffing the tree line of where the family of raccoons scurried into the dark woods.
Ryan’s phone rings and I turn to go inside.
“Hey. Yeah. Give me ten. Yeah, okay. Bye.” He slides his phone back into his pocket, follows me inside, and grabs his uniform and duty belt. “Heading out.”
“Duty calls?” I lean against the counter with a smirk, knowing full well it was a woman on the other end of the line. “Be safe, man.”
I’m dead asleep when the phone rings. I’m not sure if I’m dreaming or if it’s really her. “Alex? Are you all right?”
“Yeah. Hi, Eli. I know it’s late.”
“No, no, it’s fine. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. But there’s a dead animal in front of my place. And—”
“Lock your fucking doors, Alex. You lock your doors, and do not open them until I get there. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
We hang up—or at least, I think we do. I’m already out of bed. I put my clothes on and head downstairs, keys in hand. With Rookie at my heels, I lock up and head down the hill at a pace that makes Rookie growl.
A dead fucking animal? This motherfucker is fucking with the wrong woman. The wrong community. The wrong fucking game warden. Anger sits in my gut like a prime whiskey, just waiting to show its magnitude.
I know where the Malcomb Place is. It’s Grace’s parents’ old place. Of all the places Alex could have rented in Maine, all the towns, all the camps, she ended up here.
I make it to the house quicker than I’ve ever made it to the Malcomb Place. I pull up into her driveway and see the beast in her front yard. It’s the rack that catches my headlights first as I park.
I walk to the front door, Rookie at my side. I just need to see that she’s all right before I deal with Goliath in the yard.
She opens the door before I reach the step.
You need to put more clothes on, is what I want to say. I pray to God I don’t stare at her bare legs, which are screaming at me to touch them. Focus, Eli. For fuck’s sake. But I steal a glance. You idiot. “Hey.” I see the gun she’s carrying. “Concealed weapons permit?”
“I can go get it.” She motions inside.
“No, I trust you,” I say. “Warden Lowe is checking the perimeter. I’m going to examine the legs—the deer. I’m going to examine the deer.”
“Okay.”
“I want you to lock the door right now. I’ll let you know when we’re done.” I turn around and stalk toward the deer.
After the investigation and Warden Lowe’s search of the perimeter, there’s no sign of anyone on the property, and Rookie couldn’t pick up a scent either. I go back to the door and knock.
Please have pants on. Please have pants on.
Rookie looks up at me. “What?” I give him a look.
Alex answers the door. She doesn’t have pants on, but she has on the same fucking shorts.
“Please, come in.”
I follow her in. “So, the deer looks like he died from natural causes. I’ll get him to the State Police Crime Lab to confirm. Rookie, truck.” Rookie heads back toward the truck.
“Can’t he come in? It’s cold outside,” she says.
Fuck. And she likes dogs. She likes basketball. I groan inside myself as my stare becomes intense. “Rookie, come. Inside.”
I walk past her and debate on holding my breath because I’m afraid she’ll smell too good, and I won’t be able to control myself. I don’t hold my breath but try to pretend like Alex doesn’t have any effect on me.
Rookie sits down at the door while I walk to the living room and sit down on the couch.
I just met Alex. How does she have this effect on me?
She sits next to me.
Eli, you’re going to have to breathe, or you’ll pass out and look like a dumbass, I tell myself.
I want to tell her why I freaked out a little bit. “There’s some wack job out in the woods, putting dead animals on people’s front lawns and porches.” I debate on whether or not to tell her what else I also know, but I know I
have to for her safety. “They aren’t just shot and left. They’re mutilated, Alex, dissected.”
I’ve been able to remove myself from the job, so this part doesn’t make me want to throw up like it used to. Rolling up on car accidents with mangled human bodies, some more gruesome than others, it takes a toll on us. We serve as backup to the State Police when they need us. They’ve needed us a lot. But I wonder how Alex will take this news. She’s not hardened to these kinds of facts.
But she doesn’t even wince when I tell her, “The only reason I’m telling you all of this is because your call tonight scared the living shit out of me.” I swallow hard. “I thought for sure he’d left the deer on your porch.” I set my jacket down on the coffee table.
She says something, but I’m too caught up in what I’m going to say next.
“I’m staying here with you tonight. Then, you’ll come to my house and stay with me. I’m sorry, but I can’t let you stay alone while there’s some crazy asshole running around town.”
“You’re not all business all the time, huh?”
She pushes softly against my elbow, and I swear to God, I feel it everywhere. I lean back on the couch, attempting to shake what she’s doing to my body.
“Besides, how do you know he’s a male?”
“I don’t think a woman could cut out babies from a mother’s womb. Do you?” Facts.
“You’re right. But why do you think he’d target me? Come after me? I mean, you said yourself you thought he’d come here.”
I look to Alex. Her dark brown hair sits around her neck, and her soft eyes stare back at me as she waits for an answer.
I say, “Because you’re beautiful,” because my mind is lost in her innocence.
She has no idea how beautiful she is. She has no idea what men think of her when they look at her.
“You’re wet, Warden Young. Stand up.” She’s not asking; she’s telling me.
Wait. What?
“Take off your shirt.”
Oh, fuck.
But I do what I was told, and I can’t take my eyes off her. I want to know what it’s like to wake up with her on a Sunday morning. I want to know what it’s like to run my fingers through her long hair. Touch her skin. And I want to know what it’s like to be inside her.
I pull off my shirt.
There’s a big gap of silence around us, not between us.
I want her to touch me. But I know it’s not right. She’s still grieving. I’m still married.
My phone rings and I answer. “Warden Young.” I can’t look away from her.
She tiptoes off to the laundry room.
When Alex walks back into the living room, I’m still on the phone with Warden Lowe. I watch as she walks over to Rookie and rubs his ears. When she’s not looking, I shake my head and stare up at the ceiling.
What the hell am I doing? I’m still semi-listening to Warden Lowe. She loves dogs. I’m a goner.
I hang up the phone. “The only other person he does that with is Ryan. Do you have any blankets?”
I assume they’re in the hallway closet—the linen closet, I think it’s called. Or that’s what Grace used to call it.
The wind has picked up. She hands me some blankets, and I feel like I’m playing dumb or being deceitful. I know where I could have gotten more blankets.
The Malcomb Place was sold to a vacation rental company about five years ago when Gene and Rachel Ebscott—Grace’s parents—decided to relocate to Florida, claiming the winters were too much for them anymore. The Ebscotts had bought the house thirty years ago from Walter Malcomb, son of Edward Malcomb, the original owner. The house has been updated several times, most recently about ten years ago by the Ebscotts so that they could eventually sell it.
The Malcombs are big landowners in Maine and still are today. Edward only had one son, Walter, while Walter had five sons. Three—Bruce, Brent, and Brian—turned out all right. Mainers refer to them as The Good Three, who are wealthy investors on the East Coast and will also inherit their family’s money once Walter passes on. The Good Three come back to Maine every now and then to visit their father. But the other two—Barry and Brad—turned into assholes and have a reputation around Maine. In and out of drugs, waiting on dear old dad to die so that they can inherit an assload of money.
Maybe I should tell Alex all of this with the house and whatnot. I’d have to bring up Grace, and I really don’t want to do that. Not until the divorce is final.
“Good night, Alex.”
“Good night, Warden Young.” She walks away.
“Hey, Alex?” I call from the couch.
“Yeah?”
“Good night again.”
“Good night, Eli.”
October 13, 2017
“Will the victim be okay?” Alex asks as we leave the scene of the moose accident.
“The moose didn’t make it. He’s dead.” I try to be funny.
Alex laughs out loud for the world to hear. And it’s magic. There’s a light in her eyes that I haven’t seen yet. A light I want to see, get to know. Something inside me clicks when I watch the lines from her eyes form deeper, the harder she laughs.
I grin, and before I know it, I’m laughing, too.
We’re both laughing uncontrollably.
Once we regain ourselves, it’s quiet in the truck. I side-eye her, and she’s still smiling, staring out the window. I wonder if she knows she’s smiling. Something inside my chest aches for her. Something I’ve never felt before. Maybe it’s fear. Fear that this won’t work. She won’t last here. She’ll go back to California and leave me in the dust. I want to hear her voice again. I need to hear it.
“What kind of books do you write?” I say, taking a left.
She hesitates. Like she doesn’t want to tell me. Or maybe she’s embarrassed.
“Come on, Cali, you can tell me. I’m a Paul Doiron kind of guy.” I try to ease whatever she’s feeling.
Her face slowly turns toward me. “What did you just call me?”
I deadpan. “Uh, Cali? Short for California.”
“Let’s be clear, Warden Young. Nobody, absolutely nobody, from California refers to themselves or the state of California as ‘Cali.’” She uses air quotes. “It’s California or nothing. The only time you can use the word Cal is when you are referring to Cal, Berkeley, and it’s usually when they’re playing UCLA. I’m not sure why that it is, but it is. Wait. No.” She stops, and she’s trying really hard not to smile. “You can call me Cali if I can call you … Maine Man.” And there Alex goes again with laughter. This time, she tips her head back, exposing her slim neck.
I shake my head, laughing. “There is no way in hell you’re calling me Maine Man.”
She looks back at me, her laughter starting to cease. “Then, it’s a deal. No Maine Man, no Cali.”
I nod.
It’s silent for a moment, just the low hum of the truck against the road.
“For what it’s worth, when I think of a Maine man, I don’t picture you.”
“What does that mean?”
“I picture a rugged guy with a big, bushy beard, a plaid shirt, and a bigger middle with a shotgun over his shoulder, who looks as though he just crawled out of the woods after a long winter’s nap.”
I’m curious now. I want to ask her how she sees me, but I don’t think we’re at that point yet. “That’s my cousin, Bert.”
She smiles. “Well, maybe I ought to meet Bert—you know, to get the full Maine experience.”
My phone rings. It’s dispatch, and this time, I put the call on speaker, so Alex can get an idea of what a call sounds like.
“Busy morning,” I say.
“We have a report of goldfish in an outside pond.” Dispatch gives me the address. “Neighbor called in. Didn’t want to be identified.”
I hang up, and we flip around and head back toward Granite Harbor. We’re ten minutes out from the address listed.
“Why would someone report a neighbor of dumping gold
fish into their pond? Is that really a crime?” Alex asks, pencil in hand, ready to write.
“Outside goldfish ponds are illegal in the state of Maine. They’re an invasive species. They’re a bit of a nuisance because they breed like rabbits, bringing in disease and killing off native fish. So, we have to investigate any report called in.”
Alex is writing.
“Is this stuff interesting?” I side-eye her as I watch her bottom lip move slightly as she writes.
“Fascinating.”
Ethan’s truck is already at the residence as we pull into the driveway.
“Eclectic choice of decor.” Alex leans forward, staring out the window at the house with solar panels and a large lemon on wheels. “Is … is that a lemon on wheels?”
“Huh, guess so. Come on. Let’s go check it out.” I look at Alex, who’s staring at me. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“What?” I get out of the truck and look back at her.
“Do you have freckles on the bridge of your nose?”
I laugh. “A few.” My mom used to love them. I used to hate them. Nothing’s changed.
Alex gets out of the truck and walks to me. “I’ve always wanted freckles.”
Ethan meets us where we’re standing. “Eli, Alex.”
Of the twins, between Ethan and Aaron, Ethan is definitely the more reserved one. Get him drunk though, and he’ll talk your ear off.
“Woodchuck fair all right?” Alex asks, masking her eyes from the sunlight with one hand while pulling her jacket tighter around her shoulders with the other.
This weather must be quite a change for her.
“Yeah, he eventually made it back into the woods.” Ethan nods.
A man comes from behind the house. A ponytail, a long-sleeved tie-dyed shirt, and a hat with lemons on it. Might explain the lemon on wheels behind us.
“Hello, I’m Warden Young, and this is Warden Casey.” I extend my hand. “Seems there’s been a report of goldfish in a body of water on your property here?”
“Sam. Yeah, in the back. Would you like me to show you?”
Peony Red (The Granite Harbor Series Book 1) Page 9
