CHAPTER ONE
Spencer
The fog was just beginning to burn off when I saw the body.
I’d been sitting on the bench by the fuel dock for the better part of an hour, nursing a thermos of lukewarm, crap coffee and watching the harbor come to life through the gray.That’s when the Pacific Lady drifted into port.
I saw Eddie Salcedo slumped over the wheel of his boat, one arm hanging.His head was at an angle that didn’t look natural.The boat had appeared to be riding the current with her engine off and no running lights.Feeling like I must be dreaming, I’d stood and set the thermos on the bench.The fog had thinned for a moment and I’d seen the wheelhouse more clearly.
Blood ran down the side of the man’s face, and his skin was an awful gray color.I grabbed my phone and dialed 911, walking down the dock, adrenaline pumping through my body.The dispatcher answered and I gave her the location, the boat name, and what I could see.
There was a light on in the old green harbor master building, so I banged on the door.I heard the sound of radio chatter and footsteps, and then Ray Tillman opened the door.His face was creased and irritable until he saw mine.
“What’s wrong?”he demanded.
“I think something really bad happened to Eddie Salcedo,” I said, distractedly taking in the desk buried in papers behind him.“At least, I think it’s Eddie.It’s his boat.He looks—”
“Did you call the cops?”he interrupted, looking startled.
“Yes.They’re on the way.”I rubbed the back of my neck.“I think he might be dead.”
“What?”He bugged his eyes, grabbed his coat off a hook by the door, and pushed past me.He ran to his skiff and took off, cutting across the water toward the Pacific Lady.He wasn’t gone long, and when he came back, his grim face confirmed what I already suspected.
Ten minutes later, the paramedics arrived.Then the police.Fishermen and townspeople materialized, drawn by the sirens and the radio chatter that traveled through the community.People stood in loose clusters near the fuel pumps and the bait shop, arms crossed, faces tight.Nobody was talking much.Eddie’s wife, Rosa, wasn’t among them yet, and I found myself hoping someone she was close to would get to her before she heard what had happened from a stranger.
One fisherman who’d talked to the harbor master, Ray, said he’d heard Eddie had a fatal head injury.Ray had observed blood on the gunwale and on the deck where Eddie might have fallen and injured himself.The fact that he was slumped over the wheel had people speculating he’d tried to get back to the harbor for help after he fell.There was nobody else on the boat.
I stayed back, just listening and observing.I’d been down at the dock this morning working on a piece about the crab fleet for the Coral Cove Beacon.The kind of soft feature that fills space between tide charts and church announcements.This unfortunate accident meant I’d probably have something more titillating to write about now other than the annual crab festival or a parking lot being repaved.I’d much rather have kept writing the dull stuff.
Everyone was waiting for Police Chief Declan Hale to arrive.Declan was new, having been hired only three months ago from Portland PD.I didn’t know much about the guy.We were both transplants from Portland, but I’d never actually met him when I lived there.I’d heard his name connected as lead detective to a few murder cases over the years, but Portland was a big city.
Here in Coral Cove, I’d seen him at Driftwood Coffee once or twice, but he never lingered.I always got the feeling he didn’t want to socialize much.He wasn’t unfriendly, exactly, just not chatty.Apparently, he kept to himself.According to the renowned Coral Cove gossip network, Chief Declan had a dog and sometimes went running in the morning, but other than that, I knew little about the guy.
When Chief Hale arrived, he came down to the dock in a navy department windbreaker and moved through the scene like he’d done this a hundred times.No hesitation, no grandstanding.He was tall and wide-shouldered, and he gave off an air of quiet authority.He spoke to the paramedics first, then the harbor patrol officer who’d been first on scene, then Ray.
He crouched by Eddie’s body for a long time, studying it without touching anything, and then he stood and looked at the boat itself.Really looked at it.He walked the deck slowly, checked the wheelhouse instruments, moved along the gunwale, and looked over the side at the water.
I watched him work, noting how carefully he moved through the boat.I’d assumed he’d be on and off the boat quickly, but he was lingering.That made my reporter senses tingle.If it was a simple accident, why was he taking so long?Was something suspicious about Eddie’s death?
Gil Moran, Eddie’s fishing partner, had shown up and was standing at the edge of the crowd with his hands in his jacket pockets.His face was the color of old paper, and he looked devastated.He kept running one hand over his mouth, mumbling to himself.When Ray came over to say something to him, Gil grabbed his arm and held on like a man going under.
“I need everyone to step back from the boat.Please head farther down the dock.”Hale’s voice cut through the low noise of the crowd.“This is an active scene.”
People obeyed instantly because his voice held unyielding confidence.I’d known police chiefs who couldn’t clear a room with a bullhorn.Hale did it with fourteen words and a level gaze.I was impressed, but I hung near the fuel dock all the same.The way Hale was lingering on the boat had caught my interest.I’d just spent six months writing about tide charts and parking meters.I wasn’t walking away from the first story in half a year that might have a pulse.
Hale spoke to one of his officers, Bree Nakamura.I found it interesting when she started stringing crime scene tape.Not that the tape alone meant anything important.But crime scene tape could mean that the police weren’t ready to definitively call this an accident.I had to wonder what it was Hale had noticed that prevented him from immediately writing this off as an accidental death.I wanted to talk to him and see if I could get anything out of him.I still wasn’t even sure if the victim was Eddie Salcedo.
I waited until Hale was between conversations, then approached.“Excuse me, Chief Hale,” I said politely.“I’m Spencer Cross, Coral Cove Beacon.”
His face tensed instantly, but he didn’t speak.
I wasn’t sure why he looked so uptight, but I smiled, hoping that might relax him and persuade him to talk to me.“Any chance you could tell me some details about what happened here?That’s Eddie Salcedo’s boat, so I’m assuming the body is Eddie’s?”
He looked me in the eye and my pulse sped up because his gaze was intense.His brown eyes were shrewd as he studied me.He had auburn hair, cut short, and there was a faint scar on his jawline that I wouldn’t have noticed if we hadn’t been standing close.He was taller than me by a few inches, broader through the shoulders, and he smelled like coffee and something citrusy underneath it.
“Spencer Cross,” he repeated.“I know who you are.”
He knew who I was?That was surprising.“Do you?”
