Chapter 1
ONE
Four months later
T
ripp released the handle on his chop saw and pulled off his safety glasses as the sheriff department SUV slowed to a stop near the open bay doors of his workshop.
A moment later, his friend Sheriff Rafe Torres stepped out in a spotless uniform, sunglasses shading his eyes against the glare of the bright morning sun angling over the trees on the east side of the property. “Morning,” he called out.
“Morning. What are you doing up here at this time of day? Am I in some kind of trouble?” Rafe never came up this way in uniform unless he was on official police business.
“Depends on whether you’ve got fresh coffee ready or not.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Wow. What kind of operation are you running that you can just take coffee breaks whenever you want? You’ve only been on the job a week.”
His longtime buddy shrugged. “One of the few perks of being in charge, I guess. So, you got coffee or what?”
“Sure. Come on back.” He led the way through to the small kitchen at the rear of the workshop and started a pot.
“Damn, you need to install air conditioning. It’s like a damned oven in here.” Rafe sat in a chair at the small wooden table Tripp had built. Red alder. Made with mortise and tenon joints, no nails, and sealed with three coats of high-gloss varnish.
“I installed bay doors that—I’m not sure if you noticed with your highly developed cop’s observational skills when you walked in—are both currently open.
Along with this conveniently placed window, also open to allow for cross ventilation.
” He gestured to the window behind them above the small sink.
Rafe grunted. “That thing’s more like a porthole than a window, so I’d say your design is flawed. Might hit the low nineties today.”
Tripp shook his head, though low nineties was hot for the island even in August, especially this close to the coast. Thankfully those sorts of temperatures weren’t common, and usually only lasted for a few days in a row at most during a strong ridge of high pressure along the coast. “Living on the mainland for so long made you soft.”
“Has not. And most of us over there have aircon, because we’re more civilized.”
“Aww. Should I make your coffee iced? Or better yet, we can go into town and get one of those fancy caramel frappamachino things with a big dollop of whipped cream on top for you instead.”
“Heathen. It’s called a Frappuccino, and don’t knock the whipped cream. It’s delicious.”
Tripp smirked and grabbed two mugs from his custom-made cabinetry while the coffee percolated, filling the small kitchen with the rich scent of dark roast. That aroma was as much a part of living in the Pacific Northwest as the salty scent of the ocean.
But yeah, a ceiling fan in here wouldn’t be amiss. It was hot.
“So, how’s the big job going so far? Solve any murders yet?” he asked.
“Not yet. Got a few missing persons cases that are still active though. Garrett Edgerton’s family is making another big push to find out what happened to him.”
His insides tightened. Rafe had still been living on the mainland when it had all happened. “That right?” Everyone on the island knew that piece of shit’s name. The memory of what he’d done and the aftermath were still fresh for a lot of people around here. “So you’re looking into his case?”
“Will be at some point. Among others.”
“Any leads?”
“Nah. Been too busy getting everything organized in between dealing with drunk and disorderlies, DUIs, and a few simple assaults. Mostly tourists.”
“Yeah? That’s good.” Relief slid through him that Rafe hadn’t been digging around in that particular case. For everyone’s sake. If Tripp never heard Edgerton’s name again, it would be too soon. “What percentage would you say? Tourists to locals.”
Rafe mulled it over for a second. “Seventy-thirty.”
“Good to know most of us locals are still peaceful, law-abiding citizens.” Well. Most of the time.
“What about you?”
He couldn’t help stiffening slightly. “What?”
“Business steady?”
He relaxed. For a moment there he’d thought Rafe meant whether he was law abiding or not. “Oh, yeah. Spring and summer are the busiest times of the year for me. Lots of custom orders coming in to keep me busy.”
Things were so good he was actually thinking about hiring someone else to help him with the basic builds. All the customization and fancy finishing he’d handle himself. Like carving, which he loved and got to do more of these days. “Word of mouth’s been great for marketing.”
“That’s good, considering you barely ever go into town,” Rafe said, his tone dry.
Yeah, well, he had his reasons. And a physical reminder of them every time he looked in the mirror.
“Working on anything special right now?”
“Custom armoire for some rich guy’s wife. He built that new mansion on the bluff at Cedar Point.”
Rafe whistled. “Hope you’re charging him what your time’s really worth. God knows he can afford it.”
“I did. He had the mahogany shipped in from Malaysia.”
“Mahogany? Nice. What’s he do?”
“Something to do with the tech industry.”
“Of course. Big money here in the PNW.”
He poured the coffee. Pressed one of the mugs to the bar of the ice dispenser on the fridge just for fun. A handful of cubes tumbled out, splashing coffee over the top. But it was worth the mess to see Rafe’s deadpan expression. “Want some sweet cream to go on top?”
Rafe eyed the mug in disgust. “Sure, why not. You’ve already ruined it.”
“What? How dare you.” He opened the fridge, took out a carton of half and half, poured some, then grabbed a couple sugar packets from the drawer.
He sprinkled the contents on top with a flourish, then held out the dripping mug.
“There you go, Sheriff. Hand-crafted iced coffee with sweet cream. Even better than Starbucks.”
“Thanks.” Rafe took it, held his gaze defiantly as he sipped.
Paused. Then nodded in surprise. “Actually, that’s not bad.
Hey, if the whole finish carpentry thing doesn’t work out, maybe you could get hired as a barista at one of the cafés in town.
Make all those fancy frappamachinos you mentioned. ”
Tripp grinned and picked up his own mug of hot, black coffee. The way it was meant to be enjoyed. “Not a fucking chance.” He took a sip. Savored the aroma and feel of it sliding down his throat.
Rafe didn’t say anything as he continued sipping his iced coffee. A sure sign that something was on his mind.
Tripp leaned back against the countertop and crossed his ankles and waited.
They’d been friends for almost twenty years, since the summer Rafe’s parents had sent him to the island for military camp in an effort to turn him around.
They’d met when Rafe had snuck out of the facility with some other delinquents one night and joined the beach party Tripp was at.
After that Rafe had come back every summer for a week or two, along with. ..
He pushed the thought aside before it could take hold. Rafe had been silent way too long. “Okay, so when’re you gonna tell me why you’re really here?” he finally asked.
Rafe looked up at him. “Whaddya mean?”
“You really think I believe you left the station and drove all the way up here just to say hi and hang out for a free coffee?” Tripp’s place was fifteen minutes out of town.
Rafe sighed and leaned back in his chair. “All right. I came to tell you something.”
His somber tone and expression, on top of coming here to tell him in person, made Tripp’s stomach tense in warning. “Okay, what?”
Rafe hesitated, confirming whatever he was about to say wasn’t good news. “I just heard this morning and thought you should know.” His amber eyes were troubled. “Willow’s coming back to town.”
Tripp’s chest seized, his fingers squeezing his mug until they were bloodless. Simultaneous waves of elation and dread hit him.
No. Not dread.
Apprehension. Cold and slick, coating his insides like a corrosive liquid.
“When?” he asked, his voice surprisingly calm even though his ribcage was being squeezed by an invisible vise.
“She’s supposedly on the ferry right now.”