Megan craned her neck to catch a glimpse of two dark-haired girls covered in flour and laughing hysterically. “Haven’t met them yet. How old are they?”
They’re sixteen and they’ve aged me about twenty years this week.”
Megan smiled affectionately at her friend. “You should come by for dinner and let us feed you for once.”
“I’ll do that. Hey, if I could get you a meeting with the show producer, would you want that? You could try to convince him that their viewers would rather see birders than halibut-hunters.”
“Could you really do that?”
“I can try. He left me his card.” A shout of alarm came from the front of the restaurant as a puff of smoke burst from the brick oven. “Can’t I step away for a damn second without them setting fire to the place? I’ll talk to you later.”
Not even smoke could get her to rush. With no hint of hurry, she strolled back to her station like a queen surrounded by her subjects.
Megan watched her with envy. As far as she could tell, Zoe didn’t have an anxious bone in her body. She used to be that way too—carefree and impulsive, adventurous. But that was before Ruby had arrived. And definitely before the—
Don’t think about that.
Settling in one place had become important to her, and she’d come closer to peace here than anywhere else. She glanced toward the next-door crafts studio. The owner was watering the flowerpots on the back deck. Behind him glittered the silver-washed blue of Misty Bay. The bay and the jagged ridge of snowy peaks on the other side—Lost Souls Wilderness—had a way of taking her breath away when she wasn’t prepared. All that extravagant beauty just minding its own business while the harbor workers went about their mundane tasks.
Sometimes she’d glance up while doing something basic like filling up her car and just laugh at the outlandish glory splashed across the bay like an artist’s backdrop. It was almost too spectacular for her eyes to take in.
Pulling her gaze away from the flowerpots next door, she switched to the neighbor on the other side of the pizza shop.
And there her glance landed on a different kind of work of art.
Lucas Holt cleaning fish. Lucas Holt without a shirt as he cleaned fish. The sun was beating down on his bare back. Holy halibut, did he have to be so bronzed and muscly? His head was bent over the white plastic folding table with the hose mounted to it. His rubber-gloved hands moved quickly and efficiently, cutting, rinsing, tossing bits to the waiting seagulls. He frowned as he worked; she got the impression that his thoughts were far away.
He was probably thinking about how much more money he was going to make when he starred in Trekking.
The worst part was that her parents watched every episode of Trekking. Maybe they’d finally accept her choice to live in Alaska if they saw her on TV.
But no, they’d be watching Lucas instead of her, and so would every travel hound in America. Would he take his shirt off for the show? Maybe he was practicing for his starring moment.
On impulse, she propped open the window and called out to him. “Hey Holt, don’t you know Trekking is a family show? Your cheap tricks won’t work.”
He glanced up in surprise, his hands stilling. “Spying, Megan? Or just enjoying the scenery?”
Her cheeks warmed. “I’m just giving you fair warning. I want that spot on Trekking and I’m going to work my ass off to get it.”
“Guess I’ll have to step up my game.”
“You will. I’m a very competitive person, you know.”
“I picked up on that.” He pulled out a handful of fish guts and dropped it in a five-gallon bucket. “Sorry to say they already scheduled a shoot with me. So you’d better get your ass in gear.”
“You shouldn’t refer to my ass.”
“You referred to it already.”
“That’s different. It’s mine. I can refer to it all I want. Like, kiss my ass, for instance.”
He laughed, gazing at her from the lower deck like a Romeo in oilskins. The sun glided across his bare chest picking out dips and ridges like an artist. “You trying to light a fire under my ass?” He paused. “I can refer to my own ass, right? You don’t have a problem with that?”
She had a problem with everything he did, to be honest. Perhaps because he always surprised her and that made her nervous. “I have no problem with that. Except it’s not going to work. I’m going to grab that spot if it kills me.”
Ruby crouched next to her, a warm little bundle at her side. Megan startled. She’d momentarily forgotten about her own daughter. Why was she talking about “asses” within earshot of Ruby? “If what kills you, Mama? Hi Lucas!”
“Hi there.” Lucas waved his fillet knife. “How’s the pizza?”
“You should come have some with us.”
Megan nearly panicked at the thought of Lucas sitting down with them. No no no. But of course she shouldn’t have worried.
“That’s nice of you, Ruby, but I’m all tanked up.” He brought a handful of fish guts halfway to his mouth and pretended to dive in for a voracious bite, like a pirate.
“Ewww.” Ruby laughed and squealed, and so did a few nearby patrons. Megan caught the sound of a camera clicking. Photogenic Lucas Holt was going to appear on someone’s Instagram.
Well, he was probably used to it. All the fishing charter customers took tons of photos. She’d even noticed a photo of a much-younger Lucas on the bulletin board in the harbormaster’s office—apparently he’d caught a record halibut when he was a teenager. Making headlines even as a kid.
She couldn’t exactly compete with that, could she?
“Come on, Ruby, let’s finish our pizza and let the fish surgeon finish his operation.”
“Fish surgeon. Not bad, Bird Nerd.”
Megan gritted her teeth and dropped the window closed. With Lucas, she always tried to get the last word and yet so rarely succeeded. He was almost as good with the verbal jabs as he was with his fillet knife.
“Mama, what did you mean ‘if it kills you’?” Ruby wore a worried look as she scooted across the wooden bench back to their plates.
“Oh, it’s just a silly expression. It’s an exaggerated way of saying I really want something.”
“Want what?”
“To win. To beat Lucas.” She laughed at how competitive that sounded. “No, what I really want is the opportunity to be on a TV show that could be very helpful to the Forget Me Not.”
She had to keep her priorities straight here. Beating Lucas wasn’t the point. Keeping her business afloat was.
“Couldn’t you both be on the TV show?”
“I don’t know. It’s possible, but Zoe said they wanted to profile one boat. If they only pick one, it will probably be the Jack Hammer.” She was so used to being overshadowed by Lucas and his charter business. He had the most desirable slip, the prime advertising spot on the Chamber of Commerce brochure, the most prominently located office on the boardwalk. It made sense; everyone knew the Jack Hammer and no one cared about nature tours. But sometimes she got discouraged. “I think that’s a great solution, sweetie. I’ll see what I can do. Now what do you say we go to the beach and walk off this pizza?”
“I wish we had a dog to walk,” Ruby said mournfully as they clambered down the scrubby path that led to the shoreline. “Or at least Fidget.”
Megan suppressed a sigh. If it wasn’t Lucas, it was Lucas’ dog. If it wasn’t Lucas’ dog, it was his boat. Lost Harbor was obviously Lucas Holt territory, and where did that leave her?
Chapter Five
Lucas met with the detective the next morning. Maya Badger had been a year ahead of him in high school, and they’d actually dated for about three months—a time they never talked about anymore. She’d always been smart but quiet, and he never would have pegged her for a future police officer.
Showed what he knew, because she’d joined the tiny police department right out of school and worked her way up to lead—and only—detective at a rapid pace. Her quiet manner
worked in her favor. She knew how to drain the drama out of a situation and get suspects to spill incriminating secrets.
But so far, she hadn’t been able to get Lucas to drop his quest to find out if there was more to his father’s death than the official ruling of “accident.”
Maya showed up at the Jack Hammer as he was setting out a bowl of food for Fidget, whose nose was already twitching with delight. “Morning, Officer. Nice and sunny today.”
“Let’s do ourselves a favor and skip the weather portion of the conversation,” she said dryly.
He shrugged and brushed his hands on his pants. “If no one in Lost Harbor talked about the weather there’d be a lot of silence.”
“No, there wouldn’t. There’d be endless drama filling the gap. I’m pro weather convos because they don’t generally go off the rails. But right now I don’t have time.”
“Do you at least have time for some coffee?”
He already had a pot brewing in his little onboard galley.
“Got decaf?”
“For you, Officer…” He gave up. “No. Sorry, I don’t think I have any decaf on board. I might have an ancient mint tea bag from circa 2003.”
“Pass. Thanks.” She tucked a strand of hair into her bun. Maya was one of a handful of African-Americans who had attended his high school, maybe five in a class of a hundred graduating seniors. He’d often wondered what that had been like for her, but even when they were dating they’d never talked about that. “So. Mr. Hammer Junior.”
He winced. “Thank God that’s not an actual nickname.”
“I could work on that. Spread the word in a few key spots around town.” She fixed him with a mildly threatening look. He’d always appreciated her sneaky sense of humor.
“Now that’s just mean. Am I really causing that much trouble?” He sank down onto the cushioned starboard seat and rested one arm along the gunwales. She didn’t sit, but kept her boots braced apart on the deck as the Jack Hammer gently rose and fell.
“Here’s the thing, hotshot. I investigated your dad’s death personally. I mean, of course I did because who else was going to? It’s my job.”
“And you did a good job. I know you did. I’m not casting doubt on that. You know that, right?”
“Not really. If you believed that, you wouldn’t be wasting your time the way you are. I mean, I heard you wanted to interview the coroner. He drowned, Lucas. He fell off his boat and drowned. He was extremely drunk. He was often drunk. You know all this.”
The sentences came at him like jabs of a knife. “I know this,” he agreed tightly. No one knew it better than him.
“So why’d you start up with this ten months later? Maybe I just answered my own question. You’re following in your dad’s footsteps. Jack Holt never let go of anything in his life, did he?”
“He let go of me.”
That came out starker then he’d intended. Her face softened. “He had to. You left Alaska. He still talked about you, though.”
His throat tight, he nodded. Fuck, why did talking about his dad get him so worked up? They’d fought until they were each bloody and bruised—sometimes literally. They’d fought until the rest of the family fled or put on headphones or blasted the radio. One of the things they’d fought about was the Jack Hammer. Lucas had never wanted to take over the damn thing. He’d left so he didn’t have to. Started his own business. Made a decent amount of money. And yet here he was, after all that, running the Jack Hammer. Fuck, what kind of idiot was he anyway?
“Did you ever think that maybe you’d be better off talking to a counselor than trying to solve something that doesn’t need solving?”
“Funny thing is, I have, Officer.”
“You don’t have to call me that all the time.”
“Detective?”
“That either.”
“I can’t just call you Maya. You’re an officer of the law. That’s requires some respect. You earned a title, right?”
The corners of her mouth lifted in a pleased expression. “When you put it that way, sure, I’ll take the title. Officer Badger.”
“That’s both appropriate and oddly adorable,” he murmured, then winced. “Adorable” didn’t seem to go very well with the “respect” part. “Sorry.”
“Don’t sweat it. Anyway, back to my main point. People are grumbling. They don’t like being interrogated by a civilian. It’s awkward.”
“I’m just asking questions. I don’t want to put anyone on the spot. I’m just trying to piece together a timeline of that night. Who he talked to, who he was drinking with, who he was feuding with.”
“Your father had a dozen feuds going at a time.” With a huff of frustration, she pulled a black leather bound notebook from her pocket and scribbled on a page. She tore it off and handed it to him. “Talk to Nate Prudhoe. He was the first firefighter on the scene. First to examine your dad. If you don’t believe me, maybe you’ll believe him.”
Her exasperation gave him a stab of guilt. “This isn’t personal, Officer Badger. I mean, it is personal in that it’s my father. But not when it comes to you. I know you did a thorough investigation. I just can’t—”
“What? Can’t what?”
“Can’t get his voice out of my head,” he admitted. “I never thought he’d go that way. Not yet, anyway. Falling out of his own boat—drowning—it’s too sudden. That’s not how it was supposed to end.”
“This isn’t a movie, Lucas. Things end when they end.”
He winced at her bluntness. “I’m guessing you don’t do a lot of notifications of loved ones?”
“I’m about ‘tough love,’ you know that. You’re grieving, Lucas. I see that. But you’re starting to rub people the wrong way. Not just me, not just my boss, but other people around town.”
Lucas felt that familiar “Hammer” stubbornness settling into his bones. When that happened, there was no budging a member of the Holt family.
“Maybe you should give me a list of those people. Maybe there’s a reason they don’t like me asking questions.”
With a giant roll of her eyes, Maya flicked the piece of paper she’d given him. “Not happening. You talk to Nate, then you stand down.”
He knew Nate. They’d played hockey together. It would be good to catch up with him. “How about this? I won’t bug anyone. I’ll simply listen. Observe. Drink a few too many mugs of beer at the Olde Salt Saloon. If I pick something up, I’ll—”
“Come to me.”
“Come to you,” he agreed reluctantly. “I don’t like taking up your time, though.”
“You won’t. Because there won’t be anything. Because there’s no mystery here. No crime. No foul play. It was an accident.”
He gave her a neutral nod as she stepped over the railing onto the ramp. “Thanks for stopping by, Officer Badger. If you need any halibut for your freezer, give me a call.”
“Can’t stand halibut. Nasty flabby-ass bottom feeders. See you around, Lucas. Be good.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Chapter Six
After Maya left, Lucas set to work on the right-hand eight-cylinder, thirteen-thousand horsepower MAN marine engine, which had been misfiring more than he liked. He unscrewed the casing and set it carefully to the side. His father had taught him how to fix engines starting around the age of eight. Jack Holt would crack open a beer and bask in the sun while Lucas took an outboard apart and put it back together again.
Occasionally he’d grab a part and toss it overboard.
“Now do it without that. Jerry-rig it. You’re out on the water, engine fails, what do you do?”
“Call the Coast Guard?”
“Sure, but the nearest Coastie’s all the way around Far Point and the wind’s picking up. You gotta get that engine going.”
“We have two engines. I’d just use the other one and go half as fast.” It seemed like a brilliant idea to him.
“I said a storm was coming.” That irritable voice, the crunch of a hand tightening on a be
er can…
Lucas ignored the signs. “So I’d go into a cove or something until the storm was over.”
“Do you have to argue about every fucking thing? Fix the damn engine.” Lucas ducked as something went flying past his head.
“Hey, that was my lunch from Mom!”
“Yeah well, you can go crying to her when the job is done.”
“Hey! Holt. We’re heading to the Olde Salt for a quick one.”
Lucas jerked his head up, the memory of his father darting away like an eel slipping underwater. Three of his father’s friends clustered next to the Jack Hammer. In their fishing boots, flannel shirts and unruly beards, they were a motley crew. “It’s not even nine yet.”
“By the time we get there, doors will be open.”
Good God. Why was he even surprised? Many fishermen liked to drink, especially the older generation. Jack Holt had probably spent a million hours in the Olde Salt Saloon over the course of his life.
But he didn’t want to go against Officer Badger’s orders quite so soon.
“Sorry, guys, I just got into this engine. Save a spot for me.”
One of the fishermen—Lenny—peered into the cabin. “Looking good in there. Jack would hardly believe his eyes.”
“Yeah, I’ve done some upgrades.”
He’d cleaned and ripped out the moldy old seat cushions. Painted. Installed some new brass fittings. Mostly cosmetic fixes, but enough to attract a more modern clientele.
Old Crow, whose hair was still as black as ever, shaded his eyes and scanned the interior. “Hardly looks like Jack’s boat anymore. Not even his suitcases are left.”
“Suitcases?”
“Yeah, he was sleeping on his boat a lot before he drowned. Kept hauling suitcases down here. Guess your mom must have grabbed ‘em.”
“Guess so.” Suitcases? What the hell? Why was he just now hearing about this? Could that be a clue of some kind?
Mine Until Moonrise (Lost Harbor, Alaska Book 1) Page 3
