The Harbor. Carla Neggers
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I won’t mind being carded when I’m forty.”
Bruce got up, plucked the darts off the dartboard and walked back to the table, sitting down heavily. “No Christina,” he said under his breath. “You see that?”
“She and Zoe are having dinner together.”
Without standing up, Bruce turned his chair and fired a dart at the board. It hit the wall. He fired another, hitting an outer ring. “They’ve had a tough year. Chris has a good thing going with her café. She’s scared Zoe’ll start knocking heads together, or stir up dust just because she’s here—”
“She tell you that?”
“She’s been saying it for months. ‘What if Zoe comes back and it all starts over again?’ Like that.” He turned slightly to take a sip of his beer, and his eyes shifted to Kyle, just for an instant. He made a face, muttering under his breath. “I wish I knew what she sees in him.”
“He’s smart, rich, artistic and not from Goose Harbor.”
Bruce managed a grin. “Other than that. I just want her to be happy.”
“That’s what I told myself when the congressional staffer I was dating last year gave me the heave-ho. It beat the truth.”
“The truth was you’re a jackass, McGrath.”
“Possibly. I also wasn’t around enough, and I didn’t know the right people and get invited to the right parties.”
“I’ll bet you didn’t get invited to any parties. Who’s she seeing now?”
“No idea. I’ve been busy.” J.B. left it at that. Bruce had exhibited very little curiosity about the details of J.B.’s work with the bureau, which was just as well since he wasn’t getting any of them. “That’s why I’m on vacation now.”
“Where you staying tonight?”
“My boat, the rate I’m going.”
Bruce liked that. “I can loan you a sleeping bag and a tarp if it rains. You could stay at my place, but I have three dogs—most people complain about the dogs.”
“Do they eat off the counter?”
“I don’t know. I’m not there all the time.”
“Bruce, if they’re good dogs, you know they don’t eat off the counters.”
“They’re good dogs,” he said. “They’re just not prissy, overly well-behaved dogs.”
Staying at Bruce’s was definitely out. Their lobster rolls arrived, and Bruce examined his before pulling out a small piece of tail meat. “I think I know this guy.”
J.B. laughed, feeling more relaxed. If anyone would understand how one of the West sisters could work her way under his skin, it’d be Bruce Young. J.B. started on his lobster roll, but stopped when he heard a commotion near the front door.
Christina West burst through the crowd at the bar and charged over to Kyle’s table. “Caught,” Bruce muttered, but he must have seen what J.B. did, because he got to his feet. “What the hell—”
J.B. stood next to him. Christina was white-faced, breathing rapidly, trying to hold back tears. “Someone broke into my café,” she told Kyle. “They smashed in the door and took cash out of the register—there wasn’t much—”
Kyle didn’t bother to get up. “What about my apartment?”
“It’s fine. They tried jimmying the door, but the police think something scared them away before they could get in. I just left there—” She inhaled sharply, brushed at her tears with the back of her wrist. She had on a black skirt and white top, black shoes that’d be easy on the feet. Despite her obvious distress, her boyfriend still hadn’t gone to her. “Zoe’s talking to the police.”
“What for?” Kyle asked. “It’s not her café.”
Christina didn’t seem to notice his annoyance. “We had dinner at Aunt Olivia’s house, and she was driving me back. She realized the café was broken into before I did. Can you believe it? Two days in a row. I feel like I’m a target!”
Bruce stepped forward. “You okay, Chris?”
She nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She managed a faltering smile. “You should have seen Zoe go into her cop mode. She’s still got it. The local police almost choked when they saw her, but, you know, she was so good—”
“She was the best,” Bruce said softly. He touched her arm. “You want a drink?”
“That’d be great.”
Using his foot, Kyle kicked a chair out from under the table for her. “Have a seat, Chris. Goose Harbor’s serial thief strikes again. You’d think with the FBI crawling around town, they wouldn’t dare.”
Bruce rolled his eyes and stepped back, firing his last dart, but too hard. It hit the board and bounced onto the floor. He glanced at J.B. “You want to go see Zoe? You need a ride?”
“I’ve got my Jeep.”
Bruce grinned at him. “You’d think a G-man would drive something snazzier—”
“Want to meet me there?”
He shook his head. “Nah. It’s not my problem.” He glanced sideways at Christina. “Kyle can help her fix her door this time.”
He threw a few bills on the table and grabbed the last of his lobster roll, finishing it on his way out. J.B. went over to Christina’s table. “Your café’s in a well-traveled location. Maybe someone saw something.”
“That’s what the police said—there could be a witness. I don’t know, though. It’s pretty quiet on the docks. It’s so dark and cold—” She sniffled, looking a little embarrassed. “I don’t know why I’m this upset. It’s not as if anyone was hurt or there was any serious damage. There’s no reason to think there’s any connection—” she hesitated, then continued as if she wished she hadn’t started “—with anything.”
“I’m glad they didn’t get into my apartment,” Kyle said. “All my materials for my documentary are in the living room, right out in the open.”
Christina angled a look at him. “The police think whoever did it was after cash, not your documentary.” There was no sharpness in her tone. “Still, who knows. None of this makes sense. I suppose I could have caught the attention of some creep now that I’m running a business—oh, who knows.”
J.B. knew what she meant. Speculation only brought more speculation, but it was always a temptation to run various scenarios. He thought of Teddy Shelton and wondered if the police would be talking to him. “I’d like to run down there and see what’s what. Can I do anything for you?”
She shook her head, her smile stronger this time. “No, but thanks. Well, one thing—make sure my sister doesn’t push too hard? She’s bad enough when she has to play by the rules. Now she’s just a regular person.”
“I’ll do what I can.”
He left. He’d had only two bites of his lobster roll, but he wasn’t hungry—or all that fond of lobster, which he kept to himself.
When J.B. got to the town docks, the police had gone. Zoe was sitting on the hood of her VW Beetle staring out at the dark harbor. It was a clear night, starlit, a sliver of a moon sparkling on the quiet water. J.B. could hear the endless whoosh of the tide. It’d be just past high tide now. He was becoming accustomed to its rhythms. Western Montana and the isolated alpine meadow his father had loved seemed far away, a part of a life J.B. wasn’t even sure anymore had really been his. He’d left at eighteen and only went back for summers in college to work as a fishing and hiking guide. He landed in Washington, D.C., as a low-level state department worker, then decided on a career in the Federal Bureau of Investigation. He did fieldwork