Chapter Sixteen
The warm glow of The Blue Heron spilled onto the gravel parking lot as Jill parked her car.
She took a moment to adjust her jacket and smooth her hair, eyeing the upscale restaurant’s inviting windows.
Her brother Oliver and his wife, Katie, had insisted on this dinner, and she had reluctantly agreed, though something about their eagerness had set her on edge.
Inside, the restaurant buzzed with low murmurs and the clinking of glasses. Jill spotted Oliver and Katie at a corner table. She pasted on a smile and made her way over. Her suspicion deepened when she noticed four place settings.
Katie waved enthusiastically as Jill approached. “There you are! We were beginning to think you’d changed your mind.”
Jill slid into her seat, her brow furrowed. “Why are there four settings?”
“I ordered you wine,” Katie said brightly, sidestepping the question. “19 Crimes Red Blend. Your favorite, right?”
Oliver chuckled. “Nineteen crimes? Is that how many cases you’ve solved this week?”
Jill grimaced. “No, that’s probably the number of cases I’ve drank. It’s been a stressful week. I’m not trying to be ironic. I just like the taste.”
Katie nodded in agreement. “Yes, it’s perfect. As long as it’s red. Nobody ever fell in love over white wine.”
Jill arched an eyebrow. “Who am I falling in love with?”
Katie’s answer was cut off by the arrival of a familiar voice. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” Mark Haskell said, slipping into the seat across from Jill. His amusement was evident in his smile, though he kept his tone neutral. “Had to step away for a moment to take a call.”
Jill’s stomach sank as realization dawned.
A blind date.
Of course, they’d set her up on a blind date—with the man she was already secretly seeing.
Katie beamed. “Mark, I thought you’d be perfect for Jill. She deserves someone great.”
“Very kind of you to say,” Mark replied smoothly, his gaze flicking to Jill.
Jill forced a friendly smile. “What a surprise.”
It wasn’t going to be easy pretending they barely knew each other when they’d been hooking up for months.
It had started late one night in the DA’s office—just the two of them, combing through case files and arguing over strategy.
A shared takeout container balanced on a stack of depositions, a laugh that came too easily, lingering a beat too long.
Then a brush of hands, a look neither of them could quite dismiss.
One minute they were trading barbs about witness credibility—the next, she was perched on the edge of his desk and they weren’t talking anymore.
The first course arrived—clam chowder served in delicate porcelain bowls. Jill stirred hers absently, painfully aware of Oliver and Katie’s watchful eyes as she and Mark made small talk.
“So, Jill,” Mark said, his tone light, “how’s work been treating you?”
“Busy,” Jill replied curtly.
Oliver leaned forward, grinning. “She’s had her hands full with the Chips Hogan case because she never should have arrested Waldo Duggan. He didn’t do it. He’s an innocent man.”
“Oliver …” Katie warned.
“What? It’s just my opinion.”
“You’re also Duggan’s lawyer.” Jill sighed.
“I understand your family stands behind Duggan—” Mark started to say.
“Not all of us!” Jill interjected.
Mark smiled faintly but didn’t comment further.
As the county DA, he knew far more about both cases than he could say, especially in front of Oliver, one of the defense attorneys he often sparred with in court.
“I can’t discuss my case with you, Oliver, but you already know that.
You’re just fishing for information about my prosecution strategy.
But I will say this. I wouldn’t have filed charges if I didn’t think I could get a conviction. ”
“Enough about Waldo Duggan, please,” Katie begged.
Oliver squeezed his wife’s hand. “Yes, dear. Let’s discuss Clyde Peterson. His trial starts next week.” He turned to Mark. “Do you honestly think you have enough evidence to sway a jury beyond a reasonable doubt?”
“I’m more confident about that case than Duggan’s, to be honest with you, Oliver. Clyde Peterson has a rap sheet longer than a Maine winter, with offenses ranging from petty theft to assault and everything in between.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Oliver admitted. “He’s no Boy Scout.”
Katie interjected sharply. “Stop. No more shop talk. This dinner is about Mark and Jill getting to know each other, not hashing out cases.”
Mark’s eyes twinkled with suppressed laughter as he looked at Jill. “You heard her. This is about us. So tell me. Who is the real Jill Holbrook?”
She bit her lip, unsure if she wanted to strangle him or burst out laughing herself.
Jill sat up straight as Mark started to play footsies under the table.
She’d kill him later.
By the time the entrees arrived, Jill found herself relaxing slightly. Mark was good at steering the conversation into safer waters, and despite her initial annoyance, she couldn’t deny he had a knack for putting people at ease.
After dessert—crème br?lée that Katie declared the best she’d ever had—Jill excused herself to the restroom.
In the bright, quiet space, Jill splashed water on her face, then dabbed it dry with a towel. She wasn’t sure whether to feel irritated or touched by her family’s meddling.
The door opened, and Katie stepped inside, her expression hesitant. “Did we overstep?”
Jill shook her head. “No, Katie. I know you’re just trying to help. But I’m perfectly capable of finding my own boyfriend.”
Katie smiled, relaxing slightly. “I just want you to be happy, Jill. After everything Sam put you through … leaving you to raise Audrey on your own, then starting a whole new family in Portland …”
Jill’s jaw tightened. “Katie—”
“I know it’s not my place,” Katie said quickly, “but you deserve to be happy. Mark’s a great guy. And he’s cute, don’t you think?”
Jill chuckled despite herself. “Yeah, he’s cute.”
Katie smiled. “Good. Then maybe this isn’t the worst idea we’ve ever had?”
Jill shook her head but didn’t argue.
“But if it’s not in the cards for you and the hot prosecutor, there’s still the gorgeous new dentist in town I’ve been raving about. I hear he’s single.”
“Katie …”
“Never mind. We should see how this plays out first. Now come on. Let’s finish this night on a high note.
Jill smoothed her blouse, took a deep breath, and followed Katie back to the table.
Outside, the night air was crisp and cool. Oliver and Katie stood by the valet station, practically glowing with self-congratulation.
“C’mon, admit it. We nailed it,” Oliver said, elbowing Jill as she approached. “You and Mark hit it off, didn’t you?”
Katie rolled her eyes and grabbed his arm. “Leave her alone, Oliver. Let’s go before you ruin it.”
“Fine, fine,” Oliver said with a grin. “But I expect an update. Maybe a second date?”
Katie tugged him toward their car, waving cheerfully as they left.
Once they were gone, Mark turned to Jill, his smile playful. “Well, that was fun.”
Jill crossed her arms. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Come on,” Mark teased. “It was like a first date on The Bachelor. Except no roses. Or cameras.”
She smirked. “Or actual interest in being on a date.”
Mark leaned closer, his tone softening. “Speak for yourself. I enjoyed playing my part. And we don’t need roses—we can go straight to the fantasy suite. My place?”
Jill opened her mouth to respond, but her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen and frowned. “It’s the station. Another body.”
Mark’s smile faded. “Duty calls?”
She nodded. “Sorry.”
The pier was alive with activity when Jill arrived. Red and blue lights flashed against the dark water, and the hum of voices filled the air.
Mason stood near the edge of the dock, shivering in a tank top and gym shorts.
Jill strode over, her heels clicking sharply. “Mason, what are you wearing?”
He looked sheepish. “My uniform’s at the dry cleaners. I grabbed breakfast burritos to go this morning—messy ones. Got salsa all over my shirt.”
She shrugged off her jacket and handed it to him. “Here. You’re freezing.”
He hesitated. “You’re all dressed up. Was this a date?”
She fixed him with a glare. “We had an agreement. No questions about my personal life.”
Mason slipped on the jacket. “Sorry.”
He gestured toward the water. “Two boys were horsing around. One threw the other’s cap in, and when they tried to fish it out, they saw the body.”
Jill moved closer, where the CSI team had pulled the body from the water. Her breath caught as she recognized the face.
“Griffin Mead,” she said softly.
Mason frowned. “Who’s he?”
“Chips Hogan’s old business partner,” Jill said. “They had a falling-out years ago.”
Before she could elaborate, a familiar voice rang out.
“Jill!”
She turned to see Maggie, bundled in a thick coat, hurrying toward her.
“Mother.” Jill groaned. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard it on the scanner,” Maggie said, her face lined with concern. “What happened?”
Jill sighed. “This is a crime scene. You need to stay back behind the yellow tape.”
Maggie glanced around. “What yellow tape?”
Jill glared at Mason. “The tape Mason is going to put up right now.”
Mason blinked. “Oh. Right. On it.”
As Mason scampered off, Maggie crossed her arms. “Don’t dismiss this, Jill. Chips is dead, and now Griffin? That’s no coincidence.”
“For all we know,” Jill countered, “it could be an accidental drowning. Griffin wasn’t exactly known for moderation. He could’ve had too much to drink at the Thirsty Gull and fallen in.”
Maggie shook her head. “You don’t believe that any more than I do.”
Jill turned back to the body, her mother’s words echoing in her mind. She couldn’t deny it—Griffin’s death felt like more than just a tragic accident.