Chapter 31
The sheriff’s arrival adds a note of panic to an already ruined night.
When I arrive wearing someone’s discarded shawl, the dockmaster is directing the Forthright to nose in with sweeping movements of his long arms. Father Pinnyhorne, Boots, and Sveyn have formed an impromptu farewell line, seeing the guests to their boats.
Sveyn and Boots crowd around me. “What the devil are they doing here?” Sveyn whispers loudly. “We didn’t invite them to the party, did we?”
The whispering has drawn the interest of guests, who are also probably wondering the same thing. I pull the shawl tighter around me.
Sheriff Orr steps off his transport, hat in hand and rubbing his sparse hair as he takes in the well-dressed people crowding the marina and the brightly lit big house. “I hope I am not crashing a party.”
“Of course not.” The party has already been crashed. “Welcome back to Nowhere.”
Doc holds a yacht steady as an older couple edges by, faces puckered with unease. “Keep it coming, folks, keep it coming,” the dockmaster urges.
“Thank you.” The sheriff sets down his suitcase. “I know I said Sunday, but I made great haste in view of the circumstances. Mark my words, I will not fail a second time.” The words are meant to assure, but I can’t help feeling a little queasy with the dock swaying under me.
Boots crosses his arms, putting wrinkles in his velvet dinner jacket. “What circumstances?”
“The sheriff has reopened the investigation,” I say, trying to summon some poise.
“Why weren’t we informed?” Sveyn demands, all six feet two inches of him bristling with indignation.
“I made a decision I thought was best,” I say, trying not to wilt under his gusts of disapproval. Deception comes with a price—one I hope will not prove too dear.
“It seems our suspect has a solid alibi,” the sheriff tells Sveyn and Boots. “We have lost much time, but I have some new leads I will be following up on.”
It is nearly midnight by the time I am de-jeweled, de-frocked, and sunk deep into a hot bath. Flossie works her strong fingers into my hair, and for a moment I am lifted out of my misery. “Oh, that feels so good. If tomorrow it all falls apart, at least I will have had this blissful moment.”
“Looks like this ain’t the only blissful moment you’ve had tonight.”
“What do you mean?” I look up.
She is bent over my head, her eyes full of mischief. “I mean, it looks like a mosquito bit you.”
“We don’t have mosquitos here.”
“Exactly.”
I gasp and sit up, water sloshing off me, and she hands me a mirror. Two red marks have formed, one on my neck and a larger one below my collarbone. I slap a hand to my chest.
“Musta been a pretty big bug.”
“You don’t say.” I sink into the bath again, letting water close over my shameful head.
Flossie pulls me up by the nape of my neck. “So who did it, then?”
I grimace, hating myself for missing Koa’s touch. We have crossed a line that I was not ready to traverse, especially with the memory of a secret briny cove stirring something long-held inside me.
Is it possible to desire two men at once?
Flossie gives me a fox-like grin. “It’s Koa. Nash’s mouth was busted, though I bet he’s a fine kisser too.”
“I am done with them both.” Their cockfighting has become an obstacle, and sorting through my feelings for either one a distraction. From now on, I will hold them both at arm’s length. “Mr. Sanders asked me to guard the nest, and I have done a poor job so far.”
She briskly scrubs my back. “My favorite brother told me: ‘Flossie, try to do the right thing even when it’s the wrong thing. But don’t let me catch you doing nothing. That’s the worst thing of all.’ ”
“He sounds pretty wise.”
“Yes, for a man.”
I allow myself a good laugh. It may be the only one I will have for a while.
The news of the sheriff’s return has packed the pews. I stand discreetly at the back of the church, listening to the panicked conversations, feeling too warm in a split skirt and matching lavender jacket over a buttoned-up blouse of thick silk that hides my “mosquito bites.”
Koa is not here, nor are any of the Rifles, who are working tight shifts. I don’t see Nash, either.
“Oh, it’s all happening again,” whispers one of the Quebedeaux sisters from the nearest pew. “I just feel sick. It could be anyone.”
I can’t help wondering if the washing will come to a stop again too.
“Or maybe Gilly is right,” her sister replies. “Maybe it is the you-know-what. It’s using the sea wolves to do us in, taking our fish, our Mr. Sanders. None of us is safe!”
Gilly and Jeddah’s normal spot in the corner is empty. Perhaps the fisherman is sleeping off a hangover.
After his usual prayer, the priest lifts his arms. “Now, many of you have been living in fear of the sea wolves that swim near our shores. But are they not God’s creatures, made by his capable hands?
I submit to you that God uses even the fearsome sea wolves to do his work.
” He pounds in every syllable, spit flying. “Now, let us talk about Jonah.”
A shiver rattles me. God’s work—or something else’s?
“Miss?” A voice speaks behind me. It is Red, brawn as a barn door, beckoning me out. His thick neck swivels warily as we step into the air. Though he walks with a slight limp, the flare-up of his old injury doesn’t seem to have slowed him much.
“How’s that leg?”
He blinks. “My leg?”
“Er, Koa mentioned an old injury…?”
“Ah, yes—well, the leg’s fine. Got a bullet in there, you know.”
We stop at the top of the vista, where he has tied his horse to a tree. Down below, workers dismantle the garden of its party finery: lights, wreaths, lanterns. The sheriff’s Forthright squats in the harbor like an old rain boot.
“An accident in my reckless twenties,” he continues. “I was lucky it didn’t shatter my knee. Only notice it when I’m doing the polka.” He grins, showing a mouthful of mostly straight teeth.
Perhaps the injury didn’t cause him to step down as head Rifle, then. Perhaps Red had his own reasons. Or Mr. Sanders—had he demoted the Rifle?
“I hate to bring you out of Sunday service, but a couple of matters have come up. We found holes dug on the summit of Mount Consternation and filled in again, with sticks stuck to mark the piles. They almost look like graves.”
A chill walks down my spine. Why would anyone go to Mount Consternation to bury something?
“We counted at least twenty,” he continues, rubbing his silver-reddish hair. “Might’ve been there for days, even weeks. We would’ve found them earlier, but Consternation’s off the daily patrol path with the beaches taking priority.”
I draw in a breath. “Does Koa think someone has been taking advantage of our reduced watch?”
“That, or the seals were placed to intentionally mislead us.”
My breath seeps out at the possibility. “What’s in the holes?” Seal bodies?
“Horlick’s checking it out. Also, we found a seal head by Chin Chin Beach. Looks fresh.”
I knot my arms, feeling unbalanced. The small inlet, where the best oysters are to be found, lies just north of Crow Beach. Koa predicted this fourth seal. The seal killer is still hunting. But why?
“There’s something else. He found a glove. Olive drab, woolen. At least it proves the seal killer isn’t a demon.”
“He’s getting sloppy.”
“Seems that way. I’ll let you get back to the sermon.” He unties his horse and mounts.
“Red, I happened to see you talking with Mr. Tavernish during the Gatheround blessing.”
Astride his horse, he stares down at me, and his short brow furrows deep enough to plant seeds in. “Yes. He said he felt nausea and came outside for some air. I asked him if he wanted me to fetch the nurse.”
“I see. Thank you.”
Watching him depart, I can’t help wondering what had made the lime man ill.
He’d been awfully cagey when I asked him about my father, especially after his son-in-law, Mr. Cooper, let slip that the Can Man’s remains had been found on Tavernish property.
Maybe telling lies upset his stomach. A habit of lying is in character with someone who would dump lime into the ocean for an insurance payout.
But killing? My teeth grind. As angry as I am at Nash, I need to visit Rooster Cove, and he is the only way there right now.
Instead of returning to the tense atmosphere inside the church, I remove the priest’s garden shears from his wheelbarrow and clip snowball roses from the new bushes.
I approach Mr. Sanders’s grave, blocking out thoughts of his severed head.
Instead I conjure a memory of how the man beamed at me when placing his two trick nickels into my palm.
The way he’d shake the hand of every employee, even the fetch-boy, at the Smokeout.
I place one rose on his grave and one on Daniel’s. Then I make my way to Viridian House.
At the bottom of Chapel Hill, two figures exit the madrone-lined path to Nash’s residence.
I pause behind a thick Garry oak, recognizing Sheriff Orr in his plain brown suit and one of his deputies.
The sheriff walks with his customary hurried pace, head down, not speaking, as if his thoughts are hard to carry.
What business did they have at Viridian House?
The two make their way to the big house, where I’ve allowed them to conduct interviews in one of the west-wing offices.
Stepping up to the porch of Viridian House, I am suddenly engulfed by feelings that are hard to sort out.
Worry, nerves, a strange longing… and a healthy dose of annoyance.
I remind myself to stay calm, as once again Nash is doing me a favor.
Bracing myself against the glossy wooden door frame, I take a deep inhale of the forest scents, then knock.
Nash’s face softens when he sees me. A red mark underscores his left eye, while the right eye looks mostly healed. “We have to stop meeting like this.”
“Why was the sheriff here?”
He sighs. “He had some questions about my arrangement with you over Viridian House. Do you think I am his latest suspect?”