Chapter 4
"You haul a sixteen-foot fiberglass on a single axle, you deserve what you get."
"You deserve what you get either way. It's a boat trailer, Roy. It's not theology."
"Everything's theology."
The old argument swirled between the tables, mixing bad logic with the smell of fish and chips and charbroiled steaks. Gabe bit back a groan.
Roy and Hank had been at it for ten minutes at the table by the window — voices raised for the joy of being raised and not for anything sharper. Gabe sat at the corner stool of the bar, half-listening to the old argument. The Saltwater Grill on a Wednesday.
Manny set down a ginger ale, no ice, and slid over the basket of saltines.
"Roy's been on that trailer for an hour," he said. "Wait till Hank brings up the boat ramp permit at the Bay Marina. That'll be a show." He flipped the towel over his shoulder. "How was Bible study tonight? Pastor Ben was full of fire this morning when he came in for coffee."
“He talked about Job.”
“Heavy.”
“Mostly the friends. The friends were the bad part.”
Manny smiled, lifted his chin toward the back.
Reagan was emerging from the kitchen. She read Gabe’s face in the half-second it took her to clear the doorway, but she didn’t ask.
She slid his order across the counter— chowder, sourdough, and a small wedge of the cheddar she only put out for family, which literally included the entire town.
So basically, just not tourists— and tipped him a two-finger salute on her way back to the kitchen.
He spooned chowder. He thought about Cara closing up four blocks east, and the pastries she’d save him if she was in the mood, and whether Pastor Ben’s the friends were the bad part would still land tomorrow morning the same way it had at six-thirty tonight.
The bell dinged again.
Ellie Torres strode in wearing jeans and that puffy jacket Gabe remembered from winter patrol, her hair down for the first time he could remember. She scanned the room, found him, raised a hand, and headed his way.
She took the stool one over from his. Not next to him. Interesting. She had definitely tracked him down.
“Chief.”
“Not anymore.”
“Whose fault is that?”
He toyed with his fork. “It’s called a life choice, Detective.”
She huffed. “A bad one.”
“Oooh, snap.” Manny actually snapped the bar towel in his hand.
Gabe glared. Ellie grinned.
She leaned around him to catch Manny’s eye. “Coke, please.”
Gabe let her settle in. The Old Dog knew how to let a younger one fill the silence. Old Dog gets older being quiet.
Ellie arched her back and groaned. “We’ve been on double shifts since Vega got here. She’s not running us hard, just a lot. Testing our limits, I guess.”
Gabe pushed her glass closer to her elbow. “What’s your read on her?”
“Fair. Demanding. Watches everything.” Ellie took a sip. “I haven’t decided how I feel about a chief who watches everything.”
Gabe nodded into his chowder. A few weeks on the job was just enough time for the little nitpicky irritants to surface, but not long enough for any real trust to grow.
Ellie lowered her voice. “Whatever your peeps are doing on the Marshal Harney case, you should stop.”
Harney. A Federal Marshal. The intel landed like a hammer. Tom didn’t need to ID the body now. Ellie just had.
She thinks I already know. Play it.
“Why now?”
“There was a call this morning — federal office, I don’t know which.
” Ellie continued, barely moving her lips.
“ My guess is they’ll pull the case out from under her.
I may not know her well yet, but I do know she’ll take you down if she thinks you or your team had anything to do with the Feds stepping in. ”
Gabe spooned up another bite without tasting it.
Ice clinked against the sides of the tumbler as Ellie set her glass down, her movements far too precise.
Gabe waited for the payoff.
“This Harney guy was somebody, Chief,” she said. “Whatever he was into, somebody wanted him dead enough to make it look stupid.”
A Marshal, killed and dressed down to look like a trail stumble. The questions stacked one on top of the next. What was the connection to Haven Cove? Why their overlook?
He spooned up the last bit of clam in his chowder.
This wasn’t a case. Yet. There was no reason for Sweet and Sawyer to take on a federal investigation.
Not unless an ancillary victim needed help.
Or protection. That’s the angle they’d dig into.
The FBI would handle Harney’s death. But if the reason he died had to do with civilians further down the chain.
Well that was right in Sweet and Sawyer’s wheelhouse.
Ellie opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
“There’s —” She let it hang. “Never mind.”
She set the mug down with the same precision as before.
Gabe waited.
“I don’t know this for certain, but I think Vega asked you to check out the scene so she could get your measure. She didn’t need the help.”
“Copy that. Makes sense. I appreciate the heads-up.”
She rolled her eyes, looking for a second, like the late twenty-something she actually was. “Don’t appreciate it. Just — be careful.”
She finished her soda and set the cash next to the empty glass, even though Reagan would have comped her in a heartbeat. ”See you around, Chief.”
“I hope so.”
She headed out.
Gabe watched her through the windows as she headed for her vintage Jeep.
Vega had the victim’s name. She’d had it probably since Wednesday morning. She’d been sitting on it. And she’d been quietly observing his team. That was a choice.
As if she sensed him leaving, Reagan materialized in the kitchen doorway and lifted her chin. We good?
He nodded. She’d get the rest later.
He slid off his stool and headed out. The May air off the bay was cold and salt sharp. Ellie’s logic would work against her. She’d come to tell the team to stop. But now they’d dig harder.