See You at Sunset (11 page)

The guy’s personnel file contained only three sheets of paper. Jace Horton was twenty-nine years old, lived in South Portland, and had worked at unskilled construction jobs since high school. He’d started to work at the resort site in February.

“I need to ask you a few questions,” Micah said. “Should only take a few minutes.”

Horton shrugged.

“Where were you on Tuesday between eight in the morning and five thirty?”

“Right here,” Horton said in a bored voice. “I started work at seven thirty and I didn’t leave until five thirty. Got a couple hours’ overtime. That’s been happening a lot lately.”

The answer was so quick and thorough that it sounded rehearsed. “Okay, we’ll check your time cards just to confirm that,” Micah said. “Did you leave the site at any point before quitting time?”

Again, Horton didn’t hesitate. “Yeah, I went to my buddy’s house to eat lunch and have a beer. He’s got a car.”

“How long were you off-site?”

“Half an hour. That’s what we get for lunch, and the fucking foreman watches us like a hawk.”

“You go there a lot?”

“Often enough. Can’t drink beer on the job, right? We’re out here busting our asses all day, and a guy gets thirsty for a cold one. Who doesn’t want to get away from the job for a few minutes if he gets the chance?”

“Sure. So what’s your buddy’s name?”

“Logan Cain. We’re on the same crew.”

Micah lifted Horton’s file. Cain’s was next in line. He slid it open and scanned the top sheet. “So Cain lives on the island.”

“Yeah, maybe three minutes from here.”

The address was Fortune Lane, a dead-end road in the middle of the island. The house was a well-maintained and nicely furnished rental cottage owned by Sally Christopher. Micah remembered Ryan telling him that a laborer and his girlfriend had recently rented a cottage.

“Anyone else there when you guys had lunch Tuesday?”

Horton shook his head. “Nope.”

Micah made a note to ask Griff Turner to run a criminal record check on Horton, as he had for another guy he’d interviewed. The simple fact that Horton had left the site on the day of the burglary made him a suspect.

“So, Mr. Horton, you ever run into trouble with the law? Any arrests?”

“Long time ago,” Horton finally said after a long pause. “Just some juvie stuff, and that doesn’t count.” He paused again, as if deciding whether to say more. “And there was a bogus conviction for possession of stolen goods.”

“Bogus?”

“Totally. I was just keeping some stuff for a friend. Doing him a favor. It was all bullshit.”

Micah would check that out. “Okay, that’s it for now,” he said, getting up.

Horton shrugged again, then lazily pushed up from the table and strolled out. It was weird that the guy hadn’t even asked why he was being questioned. In Micah’s experience, it was usually the first question people raised when confronted by a cop. Most of the other workers had asked immediately.

Horton’s buddy, Logan Cain, strode in a few seconds later, a smile on his deeply tanned face. According to his file, Cain was only twenty-five, but Micah figured he looked more like thirty. Unlike Horton, he was big, well groomed, and what most women would no doubt call good-looking, with dark, spiky hair and a small silver ring in his left ear. The guy had an easy smile and the confident swagger that suggested he didn’t spend any lonely nights unless he wanted to.

Unlike Horton, Cain had no visible tattoos, but he had plenty of muscles and his hands were covered in nicks and scars.

When Cain extended his hand, Micah gave it a solid crunch. The grip elicited a blink and a quick, indrawn breath, as if Cain were surprised. When a guy looked that laid-back going into a police interview, it always raised Micah’s antennas.

He started off with questions about Cain’s background. The guy had grown up in Bangor, went to community college there, and then worked construction in two other Maine cities before landing in Portland a year and a half ago. During last year’s bad winter, he’d been laid off. When Micah asked him how he’d found the Seashell Bay job, he said Horton—whom he’d met on a previous job—had told him about the opportunity. He’d worked at the resort since February, and in May had decided to rent a cottage on the island. He liked the slow pace of Seashell Bay and had convinced his reluctant girlfriend to give it a try, even though she had to commute by ferry to her job in Portland.

“You’re a lucky man to live here, Deputy,” Cain said with a friendly smile.

“Tell me what you did on Tuesday,” Micah said, putting a little steel into his voice.

Cain closed his eyes for a couple of seconds. “It was another long day with a couple of hours’ OT. After work I went straight home, had a beer, helped the girlfriend with dinner, and watched a little TV. Same old, same old.”

“When did you sign out?”

“I guess it must have been about five thirty. Like I said, we got about two hours’ extra work.”

“Did you leave the site at any point during the day?”

Cain raised his eyebrows. “Didn’t Jace tell you?”

“Please answer the question.”

“Jace and I went to my place for lunch. We were back here at noon, if that’s your next question.”

Cain obviously had a brain and wasn’t the least bit nervous.

Micah would verify the accuracy of Cain’s claim as to when he came and went from the site, as he would every other employee’s. The crews were required to record their arrival and departure times, signing in and out with the guards on duty at the gates.

“Did anyone other than Horton see you during the half hour you were gone from the site?”

Cain shrugged. “Guess not. Hell, we just went to my place, ate a sandwich, drank a beer, and got back to work on time.” He sat up straighter and locked his gaze on Micah’s eyes. “What’s this about anyway, Deputy?”

Micah had been careful to keep that information from all the guys he’d interviewed so far. There was no need for them to know unless they didn’t have solid alibis, and the first wave of guys had them, with the exception of Horton and one other. Most had been working long days as the construction bosses pushed to make up for time lost due to bad weather.

“Since you live on the island,” Micah said, deciding to gauge Cain’s reaction, “maybe you heard about a burglary at a house on Yellow Grass Road.”

Cain barely reacted. Just a slight curl of one corner of his lips. “Actually, I didn’t. I try to mind my own business, though people around here do like to gossip, don’t they?”

Micah decided to try a different tack. “If you’re like most construction guys I know, you must get hurt a fair bit on the job. You’re used to dealing with pain.”

Cain was clearly surprised by the abrupt shift in direction but recovered quickly. “Actually, most of my pain comes from my girlfriend.” He winked at Micah. “You know what I mean?”

Asshole.
Micah’s instinctive dislike of him grew. “Ever been arrested?”

“Never,” Cain said.

“Maybe you and Horton spent your lunch hour breaking into that house,” Micah said abruptly. “You don’t have much of an alibi, and your buddy has a criminal record. Possession of stolen goods, no less.”

Cain’s gaze flickered, then he look irritated. “So you just assume that everybody with a criminal record is a liar?”

Micah gave him a bland smile. “Okay, that’s it. For now.”

Cain stood quickly and left the room.

Micah stayed seated, thinking. His spidey senses were definitely tingling when it came to Cain and Horton, but he had to caution himself against letting his gut feelings send him down the wrong path. Since he had to conduct this investigation with little support from the rest of the department, he’d better be sure to get it right.

Chapter 9

A
s Holly stowed the vacuum cleaner in the hall closet, a sharp rap sounded on the door. She took a quick glance out the front window through the venetian blinds and saw the sheriff’s office cruiser parked in the driveway.

Crap.
She looked a mess.

Pulling the scrunchie off her ponytail, she shook her hair loose and then glanced down at her pink scoop-neck tank top and white shorts. Thank God they didn’t look too horrible after a couple of hours spent tidying up her aunts’ house.

“Hi there, Deputy,” she said brightly as she swung open the door. Her heart skipped a few beats at the sight of Micah in his sexy cop’s uniform, complete with handcuffs on his belt. Man, was he a fantasy come to life.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked. “Seven thirty probably isn’t the best time to drop in. Have you had dinner?”

Was he about to ask her out if she said no? Holly wavered between wanting an invite and being afraid of one. She instinctively came down on the side of caution.

“I had a salad earlier,” she said, lying. “And I was just doing a little cleaning. Under the circumstances, I’m happy for the interruption.”

“Good.” Micah stepped inside. As usual, his stubble was heavy at this time of day, and he was wearing a slight frown. In fact, he looked pretty tired.

“Long day?” she asked.

Micah’s smile was wry. “More cats to rescue than usual.”

“Yeah, those darn cats.”

“Actually, I spent most of the day at the resort site interviewing guys about the break-in at Fitz’s place,” he said. “Then I got HQ to run criminal record checks on some of them.”

She should offer him a beer. Island hospitality demanded it, which was as good an excuse as any. “Why don’t I get you a cold beer and you can sit down and tell me about it?”

His face broke into one of those easy, warm smiles she found so appealing. “I didn’t come to talk about the case. But, sure, a beer would hit the spot.” He glanced down the hall toward the kitchen. “Could we go out on the deck? It’s a real nice evening.”

“Of course, though I’m afraid it’s a bit of a danger zone out there. It’s getting pretty decrepit.”

Holly led him to the kitchen and retrieved two bottles of Shipyard from the fridge. Micah slid open the patio door and stepped out onto the battered deck that ran almost the full width of the house.

The harsh coastal weather—the rain and the salt and the brutal winters—had combined with the passage of time to render most of the deck unusable. Looking down at the rotting, crumbling boards made Holly sad. She’d spent a lot of happy hours out here in her teens and twenties, her bare feet resting on the low rail, a glass of lemonade or beer on the table beside her, and a thriller or romance novel in her lap. The view of the glittering water and the islands in the bay was both breathtaking and soothing. Sadly, the deck had become yet another casualty of her aunts’ need to economize.

As with so many other things, Holly had practically begged them to let her pay for the necessary repairs. And as usual, the answer was no. Florence had admitted she was afraid to go out on the deck anymore and missed being able to sit out there. But she remained adamant that she’d pay for the repairs herself when they could afford it. Which would probably be never.

“As for the case, there’s not much to go on so far.” He took a long drink, one hand resting on the rail.

“Better be careful, Micah. If that rail gave way and you fell, the county would probably sue my aunts for negligence.”

Micah rolled his eyes and then gave the rail a yank, causing it to wobble. “The state of this deck is exactly what I came over to talk about.”

She frowned. “It is?”

“I’ve been thinking about things I could do to help Florence and Beatrice. And what I’d really like to do is build them a new deck.” Micah shrugged, as if already hearing her aunts’ objections. “I must owe them for about five thousand cups of free coffee by now, after all.”

She smiled. “Well—”

He cut her off. “I’ll pay for the materials and do the work myself. Your aunts have always enjoyed sitting out here. A view like this shouldn’t go to waste, and those two more than deserve it for all the good they do for the island.”

Because the conversation was starting to make her feel way too emotional, Holly decided to go for lighthearted. “Okay, you seriously win the vote for nicest guy on the planet. Although way to make me feel guilty, dude.”

Consternation pulled his brows down. “Holly, I never—”

She poked him in the arm. “I’m kidding. I think it’s a wonderful idea, and I’d be happy to help with the costs. I just hope you have more luck convincing them than I’ve had.”

Micah glanced out toward a passing ferry heading for the dock, its decks loaded with passengers waving at friends and relatives onshore. Then he settled his gaze back on her, and the intensity made her stomach go fluttery.

“I’m not going to take no for an answer,” he said. “Your aunts are proud, and pride is important. We all know how deep it runs here on the island. But letting your neighbors help out and take care of you in tough times is important too.”

Like he took care of her last summer when she was injured. Like all her friends had taken care of her.

He crossed his arms over his broad chest, silently challenging her.

“Okay, I’m with you,” she said. “I’ll hog-tie Florence if she gives you any trouble.”

Micah’s warm laugh rolled over her, turning her flutters into pinwheels. God, she loved his laugh.

“I’d pay a lot of money to see that,” he said.

She held up her arm and flexed the muscles in her bicep in a silly imitation of a bodybuilder. “I’m tougher than I look. And by the way, I intend to help you with the deck. I have zero experience with power tools, but I can fetch and carry like nobody’s business.”

“Great. Now, how’s Florence doing anyway?”

The question wiped away her smile. “Beatrice called this afternoon. Florence’s blood work is off, so they’re going to keep her a while longer and redo the tests.”

“She’ll hate that, but at least she’s getting some much-needed rest.” Micah turned and started to carefully test the boards of the deck with his foot. “I was just thinking—what if we converted the deck into a screened porch?”

“Micah, that’s an awful lot of—”

“Expense,” he finished. “Not as much as you might think. Anyway, if we enclose the deck, your aunts can enjoy the fresh air and the view even when it’s raining. And we could replace the screens with windows when summer’s over so they could use it all through the fall.”