CHAPTER TEN
Declan
Spencer was asleep when I got back from the Tidewater Market.
Before carrying the groceries in, I went to check on him.
The bedroom was dark, and he’d pulled the covers up to his chin.
His breathing was deep and slow, and I smiled as I watched him doze.
My heart twinged as I took in his sleep-softened features.
Even bruised and with stitches, he looked handsome, if a bit battered.
I left him to unpack the groceries in his small kitchen.
I took stock of what I had to work with.
His fridge had been depressingly empty, save for a few condiments, the avocado, and the six-pack of beer.
I’d bought chicken, pasta, garlic, olive oil, and fresh vegetables.
I wasn’t a chef, but I could make a decent chicken pasta.
I found a pot and a skillet in the cabinet under the counter.
His kitchen was organized the way a person’s kitchen is organized when they don’t cook much: everything was there, but nothing was where you’d expect it.
The cutting board was behind the baking sheets.
The garlic press was with the ladles and a random pair of chopsticks.
Dinner was almost ready when Spencer appeared in the doorway of the bedroom, barefoot, wearing the T-shirt I’d helped him into earlier and a pair of gray sweatpants. He was moving carefully, one hand braced against the doorframe.
“Something smells amazing,” he said, his voice still rough with sleep.
“Chicken pasta.” I glanced at him. “How do you feel?”
“Kind of like I got hit by a car. Imagine that.” He eased himself onto one of the barstools at the counter with a wince. “I could use a drink.”
“Wine goes great with this dish, but sorry to say you can’t have any.” I tossed the garlic into the skillet with some olive oil, and it sizzled. “Not with the pain meds.”
“Boo.” He rested his elbows on the counter, chin in his hands. “Water it is.”
I met his gaze. “I won’t have any wine either in solidarity with you.”
He smiled. “Aww, that’s nice of you.”
I grinned. “Well, to be honest, I forgot to buy wine, and you don’t have any.”
He laughed. “So it’s forced solidarity. Nice.”
I filled a glass of water from the fridge and set it in front of him. He took a sip and set the glass down. “I almost never cook anymore,” he said. “It seems like too much work just for myself. It’s so much easier to eat out.”
“Expensive though.”
He winced. “Yes. I should probably buy the Rusty Anchor. It would save me money in the long run.”
I chuckled.
“Since you’re here, who’s taking care of Scout?”
“Nobody. He’s fine.” I shrugged. “I checked on him when I went to get the groceries. I left him with a full bowl of food and fresh water. He’s got a doggy door if he needs to go outside, and he’ll just sleep.
” I plated the pasta and brought two bowls to the counter.
Then I settled beside him on the other stool.
Spencer picked up his fork and took a bite. He lifted his brows. “Yummy.”
“Thanks. I should teach you how to make this. It’s easy and fast.”
He glanced at the cutting board near the stove, where the garlic press lay. “Anything that you have to use a garlic press for isn’t easy.”
I frowned. “That’s not true. The whole point of a garlic press is to make working with garlic easy.”
He smirked. “Yes, but it takes longer to clean all the little garlic pieces out of the garlic press than it does to make the meal sometimes.”
I laughed. “You’re right. You should buy the Rusty Anchor.”
He grinned and went back to eating.
We cleaned our plates, and I had to forcibly lead Spencer to the couch so he’d stop trying to do the dishes.
He really did struggle with letting people do things for him.
I hoped that would change as we got to know each other better.
Once I had the dishwasher filled and running, I joined him on the sofa.
“There’s something I need to tell you, but I was waiting until you were out of the hospital,” I said quietly.
His face tensed as if bracing for bad news. “Okay.”
“I officially reclassified Eddie Salcedo’s death as a homicide.”
He widened his eyes. “You made it official?”
“Yes.” I added, “Obviously, I can’t tell you what tipped the scales for me since it’s an ongoing investigation.”
“Declan, I get it,” he said irritably. “You don’t have to always say that. I know you can’t talk about the case with me.”
He was right. I did always feel compelled to tell him that. “Sorry.”
“Forget it.” He sighed and grimaced. “I’m just grumpy because I’m in pain and I feel like shit.”
“No, you’re right.” I touched his leg. “I know you understand how an investigation works. If I keep repeating that to you, it’s like I don’t trust you won’t try to get information out of me.”
He looked relieved that I understood. “I respect the boundaries. I want you to know that.”
I nodded. “Yes. I know you do. Again, I’m sorry.”
There was a self-satisfied glint in his eye. “And for the record, I knew Eddie was murdered. Something was off from day one.” He added quickly, “And I don’t expect you to respond to that. I’m just telling you how I felt the whole time.”
“I know. I know.”
He fell silent, but I could see the wheels turning. After a moment, he met my gaze, looking uncertain. “You can’t talk to me about the case, which I totally understand.” He hesitated. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t tell you things that I find out about the case, right?”
I frowned. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea. First of all, I don’t like the idea you’re investigating Eddie’s death.”
He cocked his head, looking affronted. “Seriously? I’m a journalist, Declan. I investigate things all the time.”
“Okay, but this is a homicide investigation.”
He laughed. “Yes. I know. I’ve investigated those before in Portland.”
“How about you let the police handle this?” I tried to sound reasonable because I knew enough about Spencer at this point to realize he didn’t like being told what to do.
“Because I think I have some information that you could use to solve Eddie’s death.”
I squinted at him. “How would you get that kind of information?”
“By talking to people,” he said gruffly. “You know, like a journalist does.”
I opened my mouth, and he cut in.
“Declan, just listen. You don’t have to confirm or deny anything. I’m just going to tell you stuff I found out, and you can investigate it or not.” He shifted carefully, wincing. “Why is that a bad thing?”
“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” I said patiently. “I just don’t want you involved.”
“And that isn’t your call,” he grated out. “Besides, I already know these things. Why wouldn’t I tell you?”
I held his stubborn gaze. “Fine, what is it you think I should know?”
He settled back against the couch cushions, his expression less obstinate. “I was at the barbershop the day of my accident. Ray Tillman was there.”
“Okay.”
“We were talking about Gil making Rosa an offer on the Pacific Lady—”
I frowned. “Gil made an offer to Rosa for the boat?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I guess you didn’t know that?”
“How would you know that?” I was a little irked he had that info and I didn’t.
“Tess told me. I ran into her at the Tidewater Market the other day. She mentioned that Gil had offered Rosa money for the Pacific Lady.”
“And you think she’d know?”
He sounded exasperated as he said, “I told you, I think Gil and her are having an affair. Yeah, I think she knows everything Gil is up to.”
What he didn’t know was supposedly Tess had told Craig it was Eddie she was sleeping with. I still found that hard to believe, but was trying to keep an open mind.
“She even said the offer was a generous one,” he said. “She said he was using his savings to buy the boat.”
“Hmmm.” Gil had that much in savings? That was surprising.
He watched me. “Should I continue?”
“Yes.” As much as I didn’t want Spencer involved, he obviously had information I didn’t, and that might prove useful. I just had to be very careful how I reacted, and this would not be a two-way street.
He cleared his throat. “When I told Ray about the offer on the boat, he couldn’t figure out where Gil would get that kind of money. He said nobody in the crab fleet is making enough to have big savings right now. Not with the current quotas and regulations.”
I kept my face unreadable, but that tracked with my own thoughts about Gil’s finances.
“Ray said the only way someone would have that kind of money is if they were doing something they shouldn’t be,” he said. “His words, not mine.”
I grunted.
“I asked him what that would look like, and he described guys running extra pots, fishing too close to restricted areas, overfishing past their allowed amounts.” Spencer’s gaze was intense.
“He said people sell off the books, try different ports, find buyers who aren’t picky about how you got your catch.
Small stuff that adds up if you do it often enough. ”
I didn’t speak, but my mind was buzzing.
This pointed me back to the GPS. I’d been focused on the data from the day Eddie died, but if what Spencer was saying was true, the days leading up to it might be just as important.
I’d felt the GPS might be a dead end, but now I was rethinking that.
I needed to find out if the techs had been able to pull anything from the unit beyond that one day.
“So, Ray was skeptical Gil would have the money to buy the Pacific Lady,” I mused.
“More like Ray was adamant Gil couldn’t come by that money legally,” Spencer said. “Not from fishing.”
“Okay.”
“After talking with Ray, I got the idea maybe I should talk to Gil. See if maybe I could get him to tell me where he got the money to buy the Pacific Lady.”
I scowled. “That seems foolish. If you think Gil is doing something illegal, why would you poke the bear?”
Spencer frowned. “Because who’s to say Gil is doing something illegal? I figured I could talk to him and see what he said.”
“Why would he talk to you?”