Suffice it to say, relaxing had never been on the agenda.
But island life seemed to lend itself to downtime. People worked hard here, no doubt, but when the wind was too high, or a nor’-easter swept in, there wasn’t much to do besides hunker down. People here operated on “island time,” meaning things would happen when they were ready to happen, not when the clock said so.
The Lightkeeper Inn was located on the eastern end of the island, where soaring cliffs provided breathtaking views of the open ocean and the outer islands of Lightkeeper Bay—and the lighthouse itself. The western end was where the fishermen and other working-class folks lived, including those who worked at the inn. That part of the island was equally beautiful, but more low-lying, with thick forests growing right up to the edge of the rocky shores. Coves and inlets punctuated the shoreline. The island’s beauty was minor-key, stoic but haunting, almost melancholy, until the sun came out and the wind ruffled the ocean and everything sparkled.
“West or east dock?” the captain asked her.
Even though he was dead to her, she directed him to the west dock. She had a room booked at the Lightkeeper Inn, but she was here on a mission, and her client—if that was the right word—planned to pick her up.
2
As they closed in on the west dock, the wooden pier came into view, with its dark green freight shed and islanders casting fishing lines into the ocean. Even though it was late in the summer, a few teenage girls were sunbathing on towels spread out on the planks.
A tall figure waved eagerly at the incoming boat. A flash of strawberry-blond hair caught the sun.
“You know Marigold?” the boat captain asked, his tone changing.
“What’s it to you, evil captain?”
“Don’t tell her I messed with you, would you?” He sounded nervous now. Good.
“Afraid of a strong woman, are you?”
“Respect. It’s called respect. That woman beat out every other fisherman in the lobster trap lifting competition. She could probably lift this boat up with one hand.”
“Noted.”
As Tina stepped onto the float, Marigold Olson greeted her with a bone-crushing hug. Maybe the captain had a point. She also grabbed Tina’s two suitcases and balanced them on her shoulders, although both had wheels and could easily be dragged up the ramp.
The evil Captain Sparrow mouthed something to Tina as he reversed the water taxi away from the pier. Maybe he was saying the word “cream” again just to annoy her, or maybe it was a “told you so.” Either way, she ignored him and focused on her client.
“How are you holding up?”
“I’m squarely in the rage portion of the grieving process.” Marigold’s long legs ate up the aluminum ramp that led to the dock, while Tina scrambled to keep up. Her own strides felt like hops compared to the other woman’s. Marigold was easily six feet tall, with a pole vaulter’s build, her long body topped with a gloriously radiant head of bright blond hair. At first Tina had thought Marigold was an odd name for such a tall and sturdy woman. She ought to be named after a tree, not a flower. But Tina’s mother grew marigolds in their backyard garden, and apparently they were so tough that they repelled insects. Too bad they didn’t also repel assholes.
“Technically it’s called the ‘anger’ phase, I believe.”
“Oh no, it’s rage,” Marigold said firmly as she set down the suitcases on the dock. “I like to be accurate. I don’t like squishy language. I don’t like lies. And I really don’t like fraud.”
“Right there with you. That’s why I’m here.”
Marigold had recently been stood up at the altar. When Tina first heard about it, she’d wanted to double-check the year, because did that shit even happen anymore? In the age of Google, didn’t everyone know everything about everyone? How did you get all the way to the little archy-thingy with the flowers—the wedding had been outdoors—with no idea that your bridegroom had left the state?
Especially because Marigold was no gullible virgin. She was the island’s assistant constable, working under Luke Carmichael. Tina had a lot of respect for Luke’s abilities. He never would have hired or kept on someone unless they were smart and competent. Marigold was both, he’d told her, as well as salt-of-the-earth, real, strong as hell, good in a crisis, and occasionally hilarious. Those were all the ways he’d described her. Gullible and naive weren’t on the list.
Of course, love could do crazy things to a person. That was why Tina studiously avoided that crap.
Marigold hauled her suitcases up the gravel road to where she’d parked her truck, a faded red Chevy pickup that was probably at least twenty years old. Out here, no one bothered with new vehicles because the salt air did so much damage it wasn’t worth it.
Marigold shoved aside a pile of mail and an unopened can of WD-40 and three cans of cat food so Tina could sit in the passenger seat. She must be doing errands as well as chauffeur service.
When they were both settled into the bucket seats, Marigold hauled in a deep breath, then whooshed it out. “Breathing exercise,” she explained. “It’s the only thing that keeps me sane. Every time I talk about Adam I feel my cortisol levels spike. I’m not going to let that bastard give me inflammation on top of everything else.”
“Understandable.” This was going to be a tough investigation if Marigold had to stop for breathing exercises every time Adam’s name came up. “We can just refer to him as the perp if that makes it easier.”
“How about the motherfucking piece of shit stuck to the bottom of my shoe?”
“That works too,” Tina said mildly. Watching Marigold’s hands gripping the steering wheel, she hoped it didn’t break in half under the pressure.
