EPILOGUE
Spencer
A month later, Coral Cove was doing what small towns do after something terrible happens. It was moving on. Not forgetting exactly, but absorbing the shock into its daily rhythm until the edges softened and life could resume without every conversation circling back to what Tess Barlow had done.
Tess was awaiting trial at the county jail.
She’d been charged with second-degree murder for Eddie’s death and attempted murder for the hit-and-run on me.
Her public defender had entered a not guilty plea on her behalf, though from what Declan had told me off the record, the evidence was overwhelming.
The confession alone, recorded at the station, would be difficult to overcome.
Craig had filed for divorce the week after her arrest. I’d heard he’d moved in with a buddy from the Blue Whale and was drinking more than usual.
Rosa sold the Pacific Lady to a fisherman from Astoria.
She told me over coffee at Driftwood that she couldn’t stand looking at the boat anymore.
She was thinking about moving to Portland to be closer to her kids.
I told her I thought that was a good idea, and I meant it.
There was nothing left for her in Coral Cove except memories, and not all of them were good ones.
Margot ran my piece on the case. She’d given me three thousand words, which was unheard of for the Beacon, and I’d used every one of them.
I wrote about the case, but I also focused on Eddie the man, not just Eddie the victim.
Everyone was so shocked that sweet Tess had been a cold-blooded murderer that I didn’t want Eddie getting lost in the sensationalism of it all.
The piece ran with a photo Rosa had given me. Eddie on the deck of the Pacific Lady, squinting into the sun, looking like what he was: a good man, living a quiet life, who deserved better than how it all ended.
* * *
On a Saturday morning, I woke up to the sound of Scout whining at the bedroom door.
I’d spent the night at Declan’s. This had become a regular occurrence over the past few weeks, regular enough that I’d started leaving a toothbrush in his bathroom and a clean shirt in his closet.
We hadn’t discussed the significance of that.
We hadn’t discussed a lot of things. We just kept showing up, which was what we’d agreed to do, and so far it was working.
Declan was asleep beside me, lying on his stomach with one arm thrown across my chest. His face was pressed into the pillow, and his breathing was slow and even.
He slept like a man with a clear conscience.
The case being closed was a relief for him.
He lingered over coffee in the morning, and he tried his best to get off work at a decent hour so we could have dinner together. He was trying, and I could see it.
I eased out from under his arm and let Scout in. The dog launched himself onto the bed and began licking Declan’s face with the enthusiasm of someone who’d been waiting his whole life for this moment.
“Blech,” Declan groaned, holding Scout at bay with one muscular arm. “Why, Spencer? Why?”
“Because it’s time to get up.” I grinned, and I headed to the kitchen to make coffee.
I learned more about him every day. Small things that added up to who he was.
I knew which side of the bed he preferred and that he hated cilantro with a passion.
I learned bigger things about him too. That he meant what he said or he wouldn’t say it.
That when he said he’d call, he’d call. If I was upset about something, he wanted to talk it out.
I wasn’t used to that. Marcus had communicated primarily through notes and the silent treatment.
Declan was steady. Calm. I was worried that I was beginning to rely on him, and I also secretly kept waiting for the part where he let me down.
So far, he hadn’t.
He appeared in the kitchen doorway, shirtless, hair auburn and tousled, pajama pants low on his hips. He took the mug of coffee I handed him with a tired smile. “Thank you.”
“I’m working on sainthood.”
He smirked. “After last night, yeah, I don’t think so. Saints don’t do those kinds of things with their mouths.”
“You’re right. I’m not a saint.” I moved closer to him, slipping my arms around his waist. I kissed the scar under his jaw. “No saint would be caught dead dating a ginger. Gingers have no soul.”
He laughed, and I grinned up at him.
“Where did you hear that?” he asked, shaking his head.
“I can’t remember. But I found it amusing.” I laughed. “I’m so glad I finally got to use it on a real, live ginger.”
He fake-scowled. “Yeah? Well, everyone knows reporters have no soul.”
“Maybe that’s why we get along so well.” I kissed him and went to make us toast.
“What do you want to do today?” he asked, coming over to where I was working near the toaster.
“I don’t know,” I said. “What do you want to do?”
“We could take Scout to the bluff trail. Grab lunch at the Rusty Anchor.”
I hesitated. “Uh… I’d rather not go there. Let’s eat somewhere else.” Declan didn’t speak, so I glanced at him. “Is that okay?”
“Of course.” He studied me. “But we should go back there at some point.”
“Why?” I grabbed the toast and began buttering it. “There are plenty of other restaurants in town.”
He leaned against the counter and grabbed one of the pieces I’d already buttered. He crunched into it, chewing as he watched me.
I squirmed a little under his gaze. “Does it matter that we don’t go there for lunch?”
“No.” He swallowed his bite of toast. “What matters to me is why you don’t want to go there.”
“You know why. It brings back too many bad memories.”
“You don’t have anything to feel guilty about, Spencer.” His voice was gentle.
I winced inwardly. “Who said I’m guilty about anything?”
“Me.” He moved closer, pinning me against the counter. His arms were on either side of me, and he held my gaze. “None of the bad things that happened were your fault.”
I shrugged. “Maybe.”
He narrowed his eyes. “No, there’s no maybe about it. You didn’t do a damn thing wrong. Tess was nuts. She murdered Eddie and would have murdered you too because she was mentally unbalanced and only cared about herself.”
“But maybe if I hadn’t pushed to talk to Gil.”
He lifted his brows. “What? And let her get away with killing Eddie? How would that make anything better?”
“I don’t know,” I mumbled, staring at his bare chest. “I just keep thinking I made everything worse by pushing. Now Gil is in jail and he’s lost his livelihood.”
“Spencer, he chose to poach in protected waters, and he got caught. How in the heck is that your fault?”
“It’s not. I know that logically.”
He pulled me close, his arms tight. I pressed my face to his warm skin, inhaling his now familiar scent.
He put his hand on the back of my neck. “Don’t give into that guilt.
I want to go to the Rusty Anchor with you.
You loved their fish and chips so much. It makes me sad that you don’t want to go there anymore. ”
I pulled back in surprise. “It does?”
His smile was a little self-conscious. “That was the first place we really connected. The night I ran into you while I was on a date with June, I couldn’t stop thinking about you afterward.
Then when we had dinner at the counter, that was when I started really liking you.
The Rusty Anchor is special. I don’t want to give it up just because Tess worked there, lost her fucking mind, and went psycho on us all. ”
“I guess I didn’t look at it like that,” I said. “I didn’t realize the Rusty Anchor meant anything to you.”
“It does.” He put a finger under my chin. “Please can we eat greasy fish and ice-cold beer at the Rusty Anchor today? I think it’ll be good for us to go back there. Don’t let Tess take anything away from us.”
“Okay.” He was right. I shouldn’t let Tess take anything from me. She’d already taken enough from other people in Coral Cove. Why would I let her ruin my memories of that place?
“Yeah?” He looked pleased.
“You’re right. The Rusty Anchor is ours.”
He kissed me softly. “That’s right.”
He showered while I sat on the porch with Scout and watched the fog burn off the harbor. The town was waking up. I could see the boats heading out, their running lights blinking. A woman jogged past the house with a golden retriever and waved.
Eventually, Declan came out in jeans and a flannel shirt, his hair still damp. He clipped Scout’s leash on. “Ready when you are.”
“I’m ready.”
We walked to the trailhead at the end of his street.
The bluff trail wound along the clifftops north of town, through stands of spruce and salal, with the ocean spread out below in shades of gray and green.
We walked in comfortable silence for a while.
Scout ranged ahead, nose to the ground, tail going a mile-a-minute.
“I got a call from a reporter at the Oregonian yesterday,” I said.
Declan glanced at me. “About the case?”
“They want to do a feature. They asked if I’d contribute quotes since I was, and I quote, ‘integral to the investigation.’“
“Integral.” He smirked. “Is that what you were?”
“I’m just quoting her.”
“I remember you being more of a pain in my ass than anything else.”
I grinned. “Maybe I heard her wrong. Shall I include that in my quotes? Chief Hale says I’m a pain in his ass?”
“Probably not.” He sniggered.
We reached the lookout where the trail gave way to a wide clearing above the cliffs.
We sat on the white bench provided. The ocean opened before us, a vast sweep of gray-blue water broken by slow, rolling swells.
Below, white foam curled and shattered against the rocks.
Farther out, the surface went glassy and still, the horizon dissolving into a thin haze where sea and sky found each other.
Declan let out a contented sigh, and he put his arm along the back of the bench. I leaned my head on his shoulder, watching a fishing boat in the distance. That boat made me think of Eddie. Wherever he was now, I hoped he was at peace.
Scout lifted his head and barked at a seagull, and Declan laughed.
The sound of his husky laugh made my chest warm and tighten.
I turned my head and found Declan watching me.
I leaned in and kissed him, and he smiled against my mouth.
When I pulled back, I could see the reflection of the ocean in his eyes.
I could see more things too. Trust. Affection. Hope.
His hand slipped around mine, warm and comforting. We sat on the bench high above Coral Cove, neither of us in any hurry to be anywhere else.