“No.”
“Terrible! Worst thing you’ll ever taste in your life. He thinks he’s so above us. High and mighty. Entitled hipster is what he is. Smug bastard, thinks his beer is something special. Well, I’m telling you it’s not.”
“You think Chris wants the prize enough to have Heim killed?”
“I think he went out there—got on Heim’s boat all friendly. You know how he is, always on the water. Gets on his boat. Maybe they drink some beer. Maybe they talk, maybe it’s all nice and chummy. Then Chris tells him he doesn’t like the good catch going to Mom’s, doesn’t like competition. No, no. He can’t stand someone competing with him. It’s why he blew up my rhubarb. Afraid my rhutbeer would win the blue ribbon. So he sweet-talks Heim into giving his piss-poor beer a high score. Maybe tries to bribe him. But Heim—we all know he was a reasonable man, decent reputation, even though he slept with that Frenchwoman and drinks too much—Heim won’t take the sweet talk. Heim won’t take the money. Chris gets fed up, and…”
He paused, looked at me, his eyes a little wide. “How did he die? Did Chris shoot him? Slit his throat? Stab him in the chest?”
His heart was beating so hard, I could see the throb of his pulse at his neck.
“I’m not convinced Chris killed anyone, Mr. Perkin. This is a very…thorough picture you’re painting. How do you suppose it all ended?”
“Bang!” He pointed his finger at me, and I resisted the urge to reach out and break it.
“Chris is a low-life coward and shoots Heim right in the back. Then he…he swims back to shore—you know how he’s always swimming. Says it’s good for the heart. Like he has one. I swear he’s part fish, the freak.”
The freak was, actually, kind of part fish. I decided to steer the conversation away from that truth.
“He’s a good swimmer. A skill that would have saved Heim.”
“Is that…is that how he died?” His eyes darted to everything but my eyes. “Drowned?” He sounded worried. It was the first time I’d heard him worry about someone else. I tried out the idea of Heim and Dan having a friendship.
Nope. Couldn’t picture it.
“I don’t have the report back yet.” It wasn’t a lie.
He rubbed his fingers over the bill of his hat three times, and then three times again. “Well, if it was drowning, you’d think a captain of a boat would know how to swim. Wouldn’t you? Anyone who spends their life on a boat should swim. Hell, I swim, and it’s been years since I’ve been on a boat. Back in my Navy days. When a man’s word meant something.”
“All right,” I said. “That’s all an interesting story. But last I’d heard, he and Heim were pretty close friends.”
“Friends,” he spat. “That doesn’t mean anything when there’s an award on the line.”
“An award in a small festival in a small town? I don’t think anyone deserves to die for a blue ribbon, do you, Mr. Perkin?”
“It’s not the blue ribbon. It’s the pride.” He jutted out his chin. “Chris Lagon is prideful as sin.”
I heard footsteps approaching and glanced at the sidewalk.
Ryder.
My stomach filled with butterflies. There was something about the way he walked that drew my gaze. Hands tucked into his coat, stride fluid and easy, eyes flashing with a kind of intensity that set flecks of gold to glitter. Maybe it was his mouth, turned always at the corner as if barely containing a wry smile. Maybe it was the width of his shoulders, the thickness of his chest, all tapered down to lean hips and long legs.
Maybe it was everything, and me wanting to know it all better.
I only took a second to size Ryder up before I turned my gaze back to Dan.
I could feel Ryder’s eyes on me, and had a moment to wonder what he saw. I was bent forward, my butt sticking out, my hips shifted on one bent knee, so I could lean far enough down to talk to Dan through the car window.
I’d traded my jeans for my uniform slacks today, though my plaid button-down shirt tucked into my slacks wasn’t regulation. The slacks weren’t much for figure flattery, and frankly, neither was my shirt.
“Did you hear Chris and Heim argue?”
Dan frowned. Looked angry that nothing came to mind. “Lots of people hate each other quietly. For years. Plan their revenge. Quiet is best for revenge. Lots of people know that.”
That wasn’t creepy.
“One last thing, Mr. Perkin. I’d like you to put together a list of people who you think would want you harmed. People who would want to blow up your property.”
“It’s a short list. Chris Lagon.”
“No one else? No one at all?”
“Nope. That’s it. He’s your man. Find him, and you’ll find your killer and your bomber. I promise you that, officer.”
“Okay,” I said. “Thank you for your time.”
“Bring Chris Lagon to justice,” Dan said. “For the good of Ordinary.”
“I’ll do my job, Mr. Perkin. Don’t you worry about that.”
I patted the doorframe and moved back. He started his car and drove away. He checked the rearview mirror an awful lot, his hand reaching up to stroke the bill of the hat again. Nervous about what I was going to do with that information, or maybe he had just developed a new paranoia since the explosion.
Not that I would blame him.
My gut said something was going on with him. Although he’d done nothing but talk, there was more he wasn’t saying. More he didn’t want me to know.
Who did Dan Perkin have to protect in this? Who did he even care about enough to protect? What wouldn’t he want me to know?
“Any breakthroughs?” Ryder asked.
“Dan doesn’t like Chris. Newsflash.”
He grinned, and I smiled right back. The world just took on a lot more sunshine when he smiled.
“So about last night,” he said.
I raised my eyebrows.
“I was thinking maybe we could try that again tonight. The dinner part. My place?”
There was no reason for me not to—other than a killer I needed to track down and a power I needed to give to some poor, unsuspecting mortal. Somewhere in the middle of all that I should have time for a life—my life—right?
Not really. If I failed to give the power over to someone, the power would kill me, injure my sisters, then turn on the town. Flirting over breadsticks while trying to outrun a ticking time bomb wasn’t the kind of multitasking I was made for.
Or was it? Dad had loved Mom through the years of carrying the bridge responsibility. He’d handled several power handovers and never missed one of our dance lessons or volleyball games. When he’d remarried, he’d had the time to love Kirali too.
How did you make it all look so easy, Dad?
“Or we could break up a fight,” he suggested. “See a sappy teen movie without explosions, go on a stakeout.”
“What?” That was when I realized I’d been standing there silent, probably scowling at him like a hemorrhoidal lunch lady.
No wonder I never got any dates. I had zero moves.
“Tomorrow?” I blurted. There. That felt better. Also a little embarrassing.
He tipped his head. It felt like forever before he answered. “I could do something, maybe.”
“Dinner?”
He shook his head. “Meeting with a client.”
Right. He did have a business to run.
“After dinner?” he suggested.
“Dessert. My favorite meal. Where?”
“Who’s open after nine now?”
We’d lost the Sweet Dreams restaurant that opened late and closed early. It had been surprisingly successful selling specialty desserts and drinks. But when Ganesha had decided he was done with his vacation last year, he’d shut the business down.
The loss of our all-night dessert shop had been mourned by everyone in the town, and nothing had taken its place yet.
“Besides the bars and grocery store?” I thought of canned pudding and stale donuts.
“Curly’s?” he suggested.
Curly’s. I hadn’t thought about the homemade ice cream and dessert parlor for years. It was almost an hour’s drive to Netarts, where the little shop lorded over the tiny town’s boat launch next to the bay.
“I haven’t been there in ages,” I said with longing. “It’s too far, though. Maybe the casino? The dessert bar there is decadent.”
“You go out there a lot, don’t you?”
Every week to pick up god mail.
“Off and on.”
“What I think you meant to say was every Friday.”
It was true, but it was also, actually, a weird thing to say.
“Are you stalking me, Ryder Bailey?”
“Just paying attention. You like to gamble?”
“I like to get out of town every once in a while.” It was the excuse I thought up when I’d become the courier for the gods. “They have good food.”
“And a nice hotel.”
I paused before answering that, wondering if he’d just accused me of what I thought he’d accused me of. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Nothing.” He ran his hand back through his hair, mussing up the dark waves. “I shouldn’t have. I didn’t mean anything by it.” The tension was back in his heavy shoulders, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think he was embarrassed.
What could embarrass the easygoing, big-city, own-my-own-business, open-the-door-naked Ryder Bailey?
Hotel room.
It clicked, and I had to swallow down a burst of laughter. “You think I’m going up there to sleep with someone?”
“I did not say that.” His eyes flashed in warning. I was not intimidated in the least. I had the upper hand here.
“But that’s what you meant, isn’t it? You think I have a weekly booty call.” I grinned. “My, my, Mr. Bailey. How quickly your mind slips to the gutter.”
Ryder grew more uncomfortable, hazel-gold eyes squinting like it was suddenly too bright out. “Delaney. I didn’t—”
“I
am
single. I don’t see why I
shouldn’t
have myself a little weekly dessert on the side.”
“Are you done? It was a stupid thing to assume. And none of my damn business.” He still looked uncomfortable, but his body language was loosening, and that shadow of a smile was back. Good. I liked a man who could laugh at himself.
“I don’t know. Is there anything else you’ve been dying to ask me?”
“How about what that kiss this morning with Cooper was all about.”
He would have to bring up the one thing that would make
me
blush.
“That was a miscommunication. A mistake.”
Is it suddenly hot out here? “
He thought there was something to salvage from our relationship. There isn’t. I’m not seeing anyone. Not in town, not out of town, and certainly not Cooper Clark. My trips to the casino are a chance to get a cup of coffee where I’m not Delaney Reed, the chief of police who couldn’t figure a way not to get roped into taste-testing rhubarb, a fruit that is an affront to all things decent.”
“Vegetable,” he said. “It’s a vegetable.”
“That’s what you got out of the conversation?”
He shrugged one shoulder and the smile was back, along with the light in his eyes. “Everyone knows it’s a vegetable.”
“New York ruled rhubarb was a fruit in 1947. Lower tariff fees.”
He pursed his lips, hiding the smile. But not for long.
“I did not know that,” he said.
“So what about you?”
“I like the coffee in town.”
“Are you seeing anyone?”
“I’m trying to, but she works really long hours and has no concept of the food groups.”
Oh. That was sweet.
“Are you going to keep trying? To see her?”
“Dessert is a strong possibility.”
“Good.”
He stood there. I stood there. We stood there. One of us was going to have to do something. The ever-present wind tossed his dark hair, sunlight highlighting the stubble along his jaw. I wondered what his scruff would feel like against my lips.
“We lost Jean.” He waved vaguely at the door, his gaze on me. He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t looked away.
“She knows her way around.” He was wearing that nice cologne again. Just strong enough that, standing this near to him, I could catch a hint of it on the breeze.
I wanted to kiss him, taste him. Wanted to run my fingers over the curve of his lip and bite at the soft skin near his ear. A knot of ache, of desire filled my chest. This felt right. The idea of Ryder being mine, even if it was only for a short time, felt really right.
“Ryder, do you think—” I started, then shut up as a door slammed.
Jean jogged over to us. “Hey, Ryder,” she singsonged. “Hey, Delaney. How’s it going?”
Better before you butted in.
“Swell,” I said.
Ryder exhaled, then rubbed his palm over his hair to smooth it. He looked off to the horizon for a moment, and I thought his breathing was a little faster than it should be. I thought mine was too.
“Did I interrupt something?” Jean asked. “I sure hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”
“Were you going to ask me something, chief?” Ryder met my gaze again.
I nodded. “Do you think it’s stupid to work with your siblings, or do you think it’s super stupid?”
“No comment,” he deadpanned.
“Good answer.” I walked toward Jean’s truck. “Ryder, head on back to the station and see if Roy or Myra need a hand with anything. Jean and I will be back in a bit.”
“Roger that.” He strode over to his truck and swung up inside.
I got into Jean’s truck and slid on the seatbelt. She hopped up into the driver’s seat, but immediately turned to me. “You two were standing in the middle of the sidewalk mooning over each other.”
“We weren’t mooning.”
“You were mooning.” She glanced at the rearview mirror, watching Ryder as he pulled out of the parking lot. “Tell me you kissed him.”
“I did not kiss him.”
She groaned. “Why won’t you just
do
something? Can’t you see that you two were meant to be together? Seriously, Delaney, glaciers move faster than you.”
“We have a date.”
She whooped. “About time!” She held up her palm. “High five, sister! C’mon. Don’t leave me hanging.”
I shook my head. “It’s just a date. You and I still have work to do.”
She grabbed my wrist and smacked my palm into hers. “You can’t have fun for two seconds in a row.”
“You can’t stay serious for one.”
“That’s because my two older sisters are serious enough for the entire town. Did Dan pan out?”