She was here.
Kale Conner stepped outside Youngstown’s Municipal Offices as the Budget rental car pulled into the lot. Mayor Patterson owed him one for this. No one on the village council had wanted this job, but not a single member was willing to allow Sarah Newton to roam the town unsupervised.
Her reputation preceded her.
By several hundred miles and endless newspaper headlines.
“Ms. Newton?” Kale ordered a smile to go along with the cordial tone he managed. There was work he could be getting done. Running a decent-size fleet of lobster boats kept him plenty busy. But, as Patterson had so graciously reminded him, he also had an obligation to the citizens and to the village. There would be times that obligation would need to take priority over all else. Like now. Since Kale was the first in all the generations of Youngstown Conners to hold a political office, he doubted his father would be particularly proud if he screwed it up this early in his new career.
New. Right. His career was the same as it had always been—pleasing everyone but himself.
Get over it. There were worse things. Doing the right thing was something to be proud of.
“That’s me.” Newton thrust out her right hand.
Kale gave her hand a quick, polite shake. Her grip was firm, self-assured. He’d expected nothing less. “Kale Conner. I’m certain you’re anxious to get settled at the inn.”
Zipping her coat against the chill, she glanced around. “Actually, I’d like to go to the scene first.” Her gaze reconnected with his. “If you’ll give me directions, I’ll be fine on my own. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience anyone.”
The offer was tempting, but he had his orders. “You’re our guest, Ms. Newton. We—”
“Sarah,” she cut in.
Kale hesitated.
“That’s what people call me,” she explained, obviously mistaking his pause to modify his strategy for confusion at her suggestion. “At least in the beginning.”
He nodded. “Sarah,” he repeated. “We appreciate what you’ve come here to do, and we want to facilitate your efforts any way we can. I’m completely at your disposal.” Good for him. He’d gotten out the whole backup spill without a glitch. He couldn’t see any reason why she wouldn’t grasp the logic in that explanation.
Except maybe for the skeptical look in her eyes. Clearly he’d needed a Plan C. She was nowhere near convinced of his sincerity or the sensibleness of his offer. Great.
“That’s very nice of you, but I’m used to working alone.”
He just bet she was. She had that whole martyr-with-a-cause attitude about her, from the defiant tilt of her chin to the wide set of her feet. At all of five three or four, maybe ninety lean pounds, and full of spit and fire, she was ready for battle. Blond hair hugged her neck and would probably hug her face if it weren’t so haphazardly tucked beneath a black ski cap. Shaggy gold wisps curled this way and that. But it was the eyes that put him on guard. Bluer than any body of water he’d navigated, and he’d navigated plenty. Intense, high-octane blue. And totally suspicious of his motives.
“But leaving you to fend for yourself wouldn’t be very neighborly of me.” When all else fails, go for the basics. “I insist on making your visit here as pleasant as possible.”
That analyzing gaze she skillfully wielded claimed another few seconds to complete its scrutiny of him; then she presented half a smile. “You mean you don’t trust me so you want to babysit me.”
Well, hell. “Ms. Newton—Sarah—” he amended, “we’ve had a murder. The first in twenty years.” The irritation he’d kept tightly compartmentalized seeped past his guard. She didn’t want him hanging around and, in truth, he had better things to do. But that was just too bad for both of them. “We’ve got an eighteen-year-old girl missing. We want her found and this case solved. The whole village is living in fear of who might be next and, so far, the police don’t have a shred of evidence, much less a suspect. If you can figure this thing out, I’m all for it. So’s the rest of the town.”
As if she’d read his mind when he visually sized her up, she tugged off the ski cap, finger-combed her hair, then pulled the cap back into place before settling her full attention on him once more. She sighed as if she had to trawl long and deep for patience before responding. “Let’s be completely frank here, Mr. Conner, I—”
“Kale,” he interrupted.
Her eyes tapered with more blatant suspicion. “Kale,” she acquiesced. “I know who you are and why you’re here.”
He resisted the impulse to brace his arms over his chest. Keep it relaxed. No telltale body language. He should have anticipated that she would look into who’s who in Youngstown before showing up. As much as she clearly wanted to give that impression, people like her didn’t dive into a situation blind. To the contrary, they calculated every move.
“You’re a fifth-generation fisherman with a good-size operation,” she said. “Like so many other small Maine fishing companies, you turned the greater part of your attention to lobsters when the fish stocks became largely depleted. Last year you got yourself elected to the Youngstown Village Council. I imagine your family’s very proud. But Ialso know that you’re the youngest and newest member of Youngstown’s esteemed council, so you get the menial jobs no one else wants to deal with. Like the potentially unpleasant task of handling me.”
He opened his mouth to regain control of the situation, but she held up a hand to stop him. “In the past ten years, I’ve been down this road more times than I care to recall. I’m well aware of what people, like you and your fellow council members, think of me.”
She sent a pointed look across the street at Cappy’s Chowder House, where most of the patrons had their noses plastered to the windows. “I know what the citizens in your town think of me when they haven’t even met me. And that’s okay.” Another of those half smiles slanted one corner of her mouth. “I didn’t come here to make friends. I didn’t even come here to make nice. I’m here to clarify the facts in an unsolved case swaddled in naive myths. Nothing more.” She made one of those facial expressions that screamedwhatever. “It’s quite simple. You don’t get in my way and I won’t get in yours. Capisce?”
Don’t say anything you’ll regret.
Though he’d passed impatient and was barreling toward ticked off, he took a breath. Kept it contained, as challenging as that proved. He inclined his head and countered her lengthy discourse with a somewhat shorter one of his own. “I know a little something about you, too, Sarah Newton. But I won’t trouble you with the details. Whether you believe me or not, we’re on the same side. If you can figure out what our chief of police, a fourth-generation lawman, and all his deputies can’t, then by all means, let’s get to it.”
