His throat tightened as they entered, and the images accosted him. He’d give Mom the credit for instilling in him a sense of responsibility and loyalty through hardship. He definitely knew how to prioritize family—and he’d do anything for Lauren and Elise. He supposed, if anything, he should be personally fascinated with Hidden Bay’s history—like Cressida was.
Octavia’s words from last night came back to him.“I’m concerned that her father was killed because he ran across delicate information ... Cressida’s caught in themiddle ... Protect her, and maybe seeing this through will helpyou discover what it’s about.”
Her words turned this into an unofficial investigation into Cressida’s father’s death, or rather a search for why he was killed and if his death was somehow connected to Hidden Bay. To Braden’s knowledge, Cressida remained unaware of her mother’s suspicions the man might have been murdered. This museum visit could hold answers. Good. He’d found the justification he needed to ignore the memories and focus on the present.
And in this current moment, Cressida’s expression asshe took in marine artifacts made him smile. She was a distraction for all the wrong reasons.
“This place is amazing,” she said.
Just looked like the normal stuff to him, so he kept his mouth shut. A sextant, a ship’s wheel, a boring piece of hull timber. Whaling harpoons and nets. An old nautical chart of Hidden Bay, expanded to cover an entire wall. He continued following Cressida, letting her take her time as she explored. What, specifically, she was looking for that could tie into her research on theSpecter’s Bounty, he wasn’t entirely sure. Would the museum even have information on the lost vessel?
She paused in front of a huge anchor belonging to some old ship—theSea Fortune—and looked at him. “The dim lighting and the real wood floors are just the right ambience, don’t you think?”
“Hmm?”
“The historical feel. Even though the place is new, someone went to a lot of trouble to make it feel old and build on that setting to take visitors back.”
If you say so.“I see.”
Sheryl remained in the room, hovering nearby but not too close. Guarding the relics? Available to answer questions?
Cressida continued through the museum, and she talked about various artifacts like she’d been an expert all her life. For all he knew, she had—her father, the maritime historian, would have kept her informed. A display case of barnacle-encrusted planks, brass fittings, and a compass caught her attention. Ship logs. Journals. Faded documents in protective cases. Maps. Charts. Photographs of local ships and ports, and even of Hidden Bay. Then they found the partially burned relics.
Charred remains.
He glanced at his watch. Twenty-two minutes until Sheryl would kick them out.
Cressida read out loud to him about the history of Hidden Bay. “‘A remote, small fishing community, founded in the late 1800s, turned out to be ideal for smugglers during Prohibition, while Forestview developed into a thriving local lumber supplier. But the area remains isolated and is known for artists and reclusive retirees.’” She looked up at him to make sure he was listening, then continued. “‘The Hidden Bay marine fog lends to the haunted beauty.’ I can relate to that. It feels eerie and could be the reason a person gets attacked and nobody sees it.”
Before he could respond, she continued. “Look at this. Five years ago, the fire swept through the marina and destroyed a couple of historic boats and part of the museum.”
Nothing she didn’t already know. Braden continued reading along with her. “Says the case was filed an accident, but whispers of arson lingered.”
She glanced up at him. “You’re the detective. You don’t know about this?”
“I’ve only been here a few months. Joined the county sheriff’s department in February.”
She blinked. “I didn’t realize that.”
She suddenly turned her back on the documents and gave him her full attention, and that could have knocked him over. “What brought you here? I don’t know much about you. I mean, not that it’s any of my business, but I’d like to know. Where are you from, Detective Sanders? I detect a bit of a New England accent.”
She smiled, and he might tell her anything she asked if he wasn’t careful.
“I grew up in Maine. My dad was a fisherman.”
Her mouth made a perfectO. “So this is old school to you.”
“I wouldn’t say that. Dad died on one of his trips. As soon as I could, I went into the Army. Not the Navy, mind you.” He shrugged. “End of story.”
“But still, why are you here?”
He glanced at his watch. “This place closes in fifteen minutes. We can talk about me, or you can learn everything you need to learn while there’s still time.”
“Oh, you are so right.”
He’d dodged the proverbial bullet.
“In fact, I can come back for the history later.” She glanced over Braden’s shoulder. “Excuse me.”
